Why I'm Glad I Conceal Carry - And What Happened That Made Me Even More Glad.

I want to share with you guys a story of a recent trip I went on. 

As you know (if you follow any of my feeds or anything, or you just know me), I'm super pro-gun and pro-carry. It started as an annual hobby: we'd go shooting for summer camp in high school every year. That was cool. Then I moved to Georgia - it was normal for a lot of people to carry there, so I had some practice. By the time I was 21, I had already made up my mind to apply for my concealed carry. It took a while - between having to take a class, obtaining finger prints, a background check, a passport photo, complete my application and pay a lot of money throughout the process, I finally was able to submit my application. On top of that, actually getting a firearm wasn't easy either. I was a Florida resident living in a different state, where they didn't sell guns to you if you lived out of state and had no license to carry. It took me a month to actually get my gun once I'd bought it because of Florida's 3-day wait period (you have to wait 3 days after buying your gun to pick it up) - and trying to plan that in between full-time classes and work.

The day I actually picked up my Bersa 9 mm was a proud day for me. A lot of research and a lot of practice had gone into my decision to get my gun, and I loved it from day 1. Guns are fun to shoot - but I also liked having the knowledge and the comfort that having a gun could at least give me a shot (no pun intended) of not becoming a victim should anything ever happen. Going out of town, traveling, staying at hotels, even being at home alone just felt a lot more secure knowing that I had a weapon that was both intimidating and that was powerful enough to hurt someone that was trying to hurt me. Especially being a woman - a woman that goes to stranger's houses for a living to entertain at parties and events - it just felt nice to know that I had something in between me and danger. I became increasingly more pro-carry after actually being license to carry a gun (and doing so). Bachelorette party? Carry. Trip to charleston with a friend? Carry. Walking around Atlanta? Carry. I'd worked hard for my permit and I'd trained to use my weapon. The campus carry bill was exciting for me. I hoped it would be passed. I'm pretty sure a lot of my friends thought I was a little too over the top about wanting to carry my gun places - but again, after having a firearm and getting used to the security that it lent me, it was hard to leave it at home. I trusted my ability to protect myself a lot more with a gun than I did with pepper spray or a knife.

As far as actual self defense goes (and I know, this isn't great), I didn't know a ton about it. Someone attacks you? Make noise and try and fight them off. Go for the areas that hurt. I knew stuff like that. I recently took a class in self defense and I had no idea that I might actually have to use it sometime soon - but I guess that's the point. You never know why you might need to use it. Something I appreciated about the class was that they did address having a firearm. I had a gun and I knew how to use it, but it's hard to predict that you'll know the appropriate thing to do in a situation where you actually need it. I learned a lot about how you shouldn't pull your gun out obviously - how you need to read the situation - and when to make the choice either to run for it, or if the person needs to not be able to run after you.

The day after the self defense class, some girlfriends and I decided to go on a camping trip in Alabama. I've never been hammocking before, but I thought it might be fun. We built a fire, brought out wine, and set up our camp site. We were sitting around the fire in our chairs when my friend and I were laughing about what might happen if something actually did go down. "You've got the gun. You'll distract them and keep them away while I run to the car. And then you get to the car."
It was around midnight when I heard something and asked, "What am I hearing?"
"Coyotes," One of the girls said, obviously much more comfortable with camping and much less worried about the coyotes than I was. All I could picture was coyotes eating me in my sleep before saying, "Uhh.... I don't like coyotes." One of the other girls piped up that she wasn't the biggest fan, either. The hammocks weren't high - the fire was dying and the wood was low - we decided to go home. We started picking up and putting out the fire.
But I'd never been in a hammock! I crawled in just to spend some time seeing what it was like. It was comforting - rocking gently between the trees. But I was glad we were going home. It was dark and a little creeepy.

The occasional car had passed by on the dirt road at this point, but this one was louder. I peeked my head out of the hammock and saw the girls were over by the fire, putting it out and listening to. I turned off my headlight. Rocks and gravel rolled underneath big tires of an obviously large vehicle. I looked at the girls again, then back at the road. Something wasn't right. "Get to the car," one of them shouted. I leaped out of the hammock and grabbed my backpack full of insulin immediately. I pulled my gun out of its holster and hid it in my sweater; I ran to the car, ready to bolt. I hid back behind the headlights of my friend's car, slightly in the dark. A huge truck blocked the entrance to the gravel exit of the campsite and a loud voice shouted over the intercom, "THIS IS THE TUSKEGEE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE. PUT YOUR HANDS UP and QUIET. STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE." I could hardly see because the lights of the giant truck were on high beams and they were so bright. Adrenaline was pumping through my body at this point. My hand gripped my gun harder, finger off the trigger, but ready to shoot. My hands weren't up, but I was off to the side. The other girls had their hands up. "STAY WHERE YOU ARE. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY WEAPONS". I said nothing - I didn't want anyone knowing I had a gun. One of the girls shouted "Yes." Silence enveloped the 4 of us. "No... tell them it's a knife. A pocketknife. Or something." I muttered. "Just not a gun." "We're not a threat." One of them said. "Don't tell them," I said as I shook my head, hand still on my gun. They kept demanding to know what the weapon was. I thought. No. "Ask to see their identification," I said, remembering my mom's old lessons to me to never trust someone saying they were law enforcement - especially until they could show some identification. "You can have the site if you want it." One of the girls said. "We were just leaving." "DO YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS OR ALCOHOL. IT IS ILLEGAL TO HAVE ALCOHOL ON THE PREMISES." I later learned this wasn't true, but part of me legitimately thought "Shit, am I seriously gonna go to jail tonight for drinking and possession of a weapon?" We were all silent. I was ready to shoot or bolt depending on what happened next.

A woman in a pink shirt with ratty brown hair smoking a cigarette got out of the car, laughing. "Aww... we're just kidding!" She said. I was so angry. My hand was still on my gun, hidden in my sweater. I walked closer to her. "You need to leave. Now." I said. My friend was nicer. "You guys have a good night," she said. The lady threw the cigarette on the ground. "Aw, we're just out driving around. You guys have a good night." We tried to catch their plates but the lights around the plate were busted out as the truck backed up and away - and we bolted, hurrying to pack up the rest, not wanting to stick around in case anyone came back.

And what's more: one of the girls called 911 right away to tell them that someone was visiting campsites impersonating an officer and was likely drunk and tried to give as good of a description of the people and vehicle as possible. 911 said: "That's cool... well, I don't know what you want us to do." "Well, we're leaving. Just wanted to let you know," the girl said. "You're leaving? Really?" 911 asked. "Uh, yeah. We're leaving. Of course we're leaving."
It seems like such a silly situation, but being in that situation - it was scary. We had no way of knowing who these people were: Threat? Not a threat? It was unpredictable and we were 4 women alone in the woods. It was pitch black except for the bright vehicle lights. I didn't know if these people had a gun, or if they meant harm. I was thankful for that self defense class though, so that I didn't just pull my gun out in plain sight and potentially make myself a target. And I was also thankful for my gun - thankful I didn't have to use it, but thankful I had it, in case things became worse. I'm glad we're all safe, and I'm glad it was just some people pulling a joke. But it could have been a lot worse... impersonating an officer isn't cool.

So, yeah. It's situations like that that there's NO way that you could predict that make me very, very glad that I conceal carry.

Puzzle Pieces.

My paths have brought me back to Macon again today.

Funny enough, in Atlanta; city of so much everything, it's a lot harder to get Dr.'s appointments at the health department. I always just make an appointment at the one close to Macon because I'm always able to be seen there, and it's so easy. It's always been worth the drive to me, which is a little less than an hour, depending on how fast you drive.

Driving back is always like driving back into the past to me. The nostalgia never leaves - if anything, it just grows stronger, as I start to realize that the people I know and the connections I have in Macon are slowly growing smaller, fading away, until one day they will be nothing at all and Macon will simply be a place  used to live. Not a place to reconnect with old friends who still carry out their lives here. 2 years ago, I was sitting in this coffee shop lamenting about leaving here. 2 years later, I drive back with a sense of how small this world is here; how small the shops are, how small the community is. How people know each other. And I'm amazed at how I ended up here, in this little town of all places, when I had a world of choices at my feet my senior year of High School. 

Do I regret it? Spending time in a place as seemingly tiny and unimportant as Macon? I don't. Because I have memories here. And this is how I met Kris, a year after leaving it. 

I think that my decision to attend Wesleyan was grounded in a lot of reasons. Some of them were stupid teenage girl reasons. Others were very founded - Wesleyan is a wonderful school, and I loved the ability to be taught in classes that were reasonably sized and build community with my small group of friends. And Macon... as small as it is, is a good place to learn about who you are if you're a first-timer at living away from home. It wasn't too big to intimidate me, like Atlanta likely would have been. It was a good medium - set apart from my hometown of Orlando, and different, big enough to keep me occupied, small enough to feel like home away from home. I won't bore you with the details of the things I did here because that's encapsulated in a variety of my other blog posts here. The bottom line is, I know this place isn't the best. It's not even close to it. But it was my home, and I'll always go easy on Macon because of that. I'll miss seeing Lake Tobosofkee and shopping at River Crossing (The New Mall) and hanging out at one of the few speciality coffee shops in town. I loved the Rookery and the shitty, sketchy clubs and the old, moss covered tombstones of Rose Creek cemetery on the banks of the muddy Ocmulgee. And I think of these things... and I think of me, still a girl at 16, who came up here to spend a Summer some 6 years ago. I think of the hot, hot July days that summer of 2010 - no ocean breeze to cool them. I think of driving around the neighborhoods just to see the pretty houses - driven by someone, because I didn't have my license yet. I remember this goat that sometimes got into the house I stayed at. The strawberry patch: picking so many berries that we couldn't find enough use for them and we got sick of eating them. Staying up until the early morning playing video games. Wondering why I got cranky and shaky when I didn't eat - thinking I was hypoglycemic, when I couldn't have predicted that it was actually more. My online classes... the 10 page essays due every week. Walking barefoot on the gravel until my feet learned to be tough, sitting on the porch with the kittens at dusk,. Watching the kittens pass away... 4th of July by the lake. The best sweet tea at Aunt Shirley's on her lovely porch. 

Those things made me feel as though I belonged, and for a whisper in time, I did belong there. I made my life there. I met people there. I loved there. My heart broke there. I learned so much about life and I became who I needed to be. 

One summer spent in Forsyth, years ago - it must have been 4, or 5 - I was browsing on the internet, struggling to find a way to stay in Macon when I knew inevitably I'd have to leave: there were no physical therapy schools there for Graduate school.

Mercer had one... Mercer's main campus was in Macon. But this program was in Atlanta. Maybe it was close enough to make it work. Atlanta wasn't so bad, after all. 

I didn't make a decision yet, but the seed was planted. It was, inevitably, my love for Macon and my desire to stay close that pushed me to apply to Mercer. 

After I was accepted to Mercer in 2014, UCF back home called me. I was tempted to say yes... and maybe I could have. At the time I was accepted to Mercer and after I had applied to graduate school, it turns out I no longer had any more reason to stay in Macon. My 5-year long relationship hadn't worked out; it had died, and with it, my ability to belong here. 

Did I go back home where I had friends and family and for a brief period of time, I could relive that? I could get back what I'd sacrificed when I'd left home to make a life in Georgia. It was safe. It was familiar. 

Atlanta was huge, cold, unknown, mysterious. Scary. 

I thought for a second on the phone, feeling bad for going silent after being told I'd been accepted into their program. I'd already been accepted to Mercer.

I made the decision that would change the rest of my life:

I told them I'd made my decision to attend Mercer.

At the end of Summer, I moved to this big beautiful lonely city and I learned to love it. To find the kind of nooks and crannies I'd found in Macon. My life and my world blossomed. I met my friends Robert and Chelsea - I still dated someone from back home in Florida. In an effort to please them and also to see what it was all about after hearing Robert rave about it, I decided to attend my first swing dance. I struggled with it, I questioned whether I wanted to do it, but I stuck with it. Something drew me to it... even when I didn't dance well with the person I'd initially learned it for. The fun, the excitement, the variety - I loved it. I felt alive. Keep coming back. Something told me. Keep going. Exams came and went, competencies passed and failed, semesters ended... spring, my second semester in PT school, ended and I found myself at swing dance again. And there I found a man: There I found the man I'm about to spend the rest of my life with.

This is the story of how unlikely places can still lead you to where you need to be. How they can pave the path for greater things, and how life is a marvelous puzzle made up of pieces so tiny that sometimes you can't see the big picture until it's done and you get a good chunk of a section put together. Which takes time. 

Macon brought me to Atlanta, and Atlanta brought me to Kris. And PT school brought me to Kris, even when it discouraged me and made me feel as if maybe I'd chose the wrong profession. And dancing! Even dancing brought me to where I needed to be - despite saying I'd never learn to dance and swearing I have two left feet. 

2 years ago, I wondered where my life was going: I was headed into the great unknown. 2 years later, and I'm about to get married. I'm off to clinic. The puzzle pieces have come together: Not all, but some. Some of them have revealed their mysteries to me and showed me where my life is headed. 

2 years from now, I wonder what I'll be writing about then? All the new joys, responsibilities, and troubles I'll have, no doubt. I guess I'll have to wait until that section of the puzzle is complete.

Stress Management for the Diabetic, Graduate Student, Entrepreneur Bride-To-Be.

When I look at my engagement ring, there's a pretty part of the sapphire in the center that has an almost iridescence to it. It's a facet about it that looks lovely in the light, and you can only catch it sometimes.
I think that this is a stark comparison to myself, because when I look close up at my facets, I don't always think they are lovely. I spent the other morning rushing to get to school; I spilled protein shake powder all over me and the floor when the entire container's lid fell off while reaching for it in the cabinet. I accidentally caught the bird cage door (without the bird in it, he was in the other cage) with my purse and made it fall over. I broke my lamp this morning. I accidentally confused the date on a party for one of my repeat customer's this weekend, causing me to have to give the event to someone else. I got lost on the way to my gig the other night, which doesn't usually happen. I was short with people because I felt sick this morning.

I am clumsy. And what else - I'm super imperfect. I'm busy, and I know I shouldn't use that as an excuse to dictate my behaviour. But I'm bad at answering texts and communicating. I'm short with people when I don't mean to be. I brush over edges I should take more time on. Sometimes, I'm not in a good mood around Kris. Sometimes, I say mean things. I'm on my phone too much. I haven't been to church as much as I should have.

The other morning I was having one of "those" mornings and I started to turn on some music. I didn't really love how it made me feel, though. Music is one of those things that really augments (or can change) your mood. John Mark McMillan is probably my favourite Christian artists now thanks to Kris. Selfishly, that's a little because Kris is so good at singing his songs on the guitar. But also, he's just really awesome at what he does. I swore off a lot of Christian music for a while even though I grew up with it, because I'd had an apologetics teacher tell us about how not all Christian music is created equal and some of it is sacrilegious. John Mark McMillan is one of the first Christian artists I've loved in a long time. So I turned his music on instead, and instantly felt my mood change. It's amazing how the things we listen to and the things we surround ourselves with make such a big difference on us.

As I enter finals week next week, take a competency this weekend, and try and balance planning a wedding in a month and starting clinic - as well as my usual chores around the house, keeping the place clean, and not having my business crash around me - all while managing my chronic illness - I am reminded to create peace for myself, and try my hardest not to become overwhelmed. I'm trying to make time to do Insanity at least 3-4 times a week (and it's working, my pants are loose!) and really eat healthy (no sweets), lots of water. I'm trying to listen to calming music and keep the apartment clean and take time for me, even in the midst of grad school which demands a lot of time. That hectic morning was a good reminder that stress, or helping to make yourself less stressed, has a lot to do with how we choose to act towards the events we can't control.
I can't control the coming stressful weeks entirely, but I can do my part to have as much control over keeping the situations that come at me as in check as possible.
I can do it.

2 Months.

Earlier this week, it was eve of a big competency for school. There I am, listening to nostalgic music, and cats are surrounding me. A year ago, my life looked very different. Spring 2015 semester was in full swing, life was sucking hard, the music I was listening to wasn't quite nostalgic yet, and the man I'm marrying in two months I hadn't event met yet - but I was going to. Soon.

I was a different person then, even though it was only a year ago. I was sad. Down to my core sad.  I felt alone; a lot of that was because I kept trying to seek validation from people that I would have been better off with leaving alone. People who didn't build me up, but left me feeling empty. Some of it was I was literally alone in a huge city. I'd go to school, go home, and repeat. Some of it was that I felt like school and work and life was a huge mountain that I had to climb and there was no one else around to help me through it. I wasn't confident, I wasn't happy, and the future had a big question mark in front of it.

I don't miss that at all. But you know the kind of cool thing? That man that I'm going to marry was going through some of the very same things, at the same time. We were both sad, but we were about to meet each other, and change each other's lives. We just did a lot of struggling before then. I can honestly look back at last year, and then look at the months following my meeting Kris - and see that I have changed for the better. I truly have. And that's always the kind of person I wanted to marry: someone that challenges me to change for the better, someone I can be a team player with, someone I care for more than I do for myself.

I measure my life in semesters a lot, as school takes up so much of my life. I can now look at summer, at this past fall, and now almost all of spring, as the last month of my didactic PT school career will draw to a close at the end of April. And right now? Life is good. I just found out that I received a 100% on my entire competency this week. I've gone from a girl who failed almost everything in school to someone that is actually proud of her performance as a physical therapy student. I'm more confident now - I can do it. I can put in the work. The hours are long and my mind gets tired from the work, but I'm doing it.
I'm now writing this while listening to artists that I learned about through my fiance. I now own a plaid shirt. I can comment on coffee more than I used to be able to. And I'm joyful. My life isn't any more perfect than it ever was, but everything, in spite of how overwhelming life still gets sometime, is so damn wonderful that I can't help but wake up thanking God every day.

The challenges of life aren't nearly as bad when you share half of the burden with your better half.

I love Kris. Prior to him, I had never experienced love like I experience for him. An overwhelming feeling of positivity towards life that bleeds into all of the aspects of my life. An optimism that was waiting to be found in me. A desire to be more like him - impossibly generous, kindhearted, and the best example of loving someone that I've ever seen. Kris loves me so gracefully and completely, even when I am upset, downtrodden, or overwhelmed. He doesn't waver for a second. He's helped me through so much - and I can't wait to marry him in two months and see what marvelous adventures life has in store for us.

The Things I've Learned From Being a Princess: And Why It's Still One of my Proudest Achievements

It might be hard to believe, but this year is going on my 9th year of doing entertaining for children. 9 years of princess costumes and uncomfortable shoes. 9 years of dancing to the chicken dance in high heels. 9 years of hoopskirts and long sleeves in the scorching summer heat, and 2 years of being Elsa pretending that the biting, bitter winter cold doesn't bother me (The cold doesn't bother me anywaaaaays). 

Before I go on, I have to say that I couldn't have done it without my mother. She's the one that has been doing this for decades. When I was a little girl, I remember sitting in her office, bored on weekends and weekdays, waiting for her. My mother would stroll in - clad in a sequined blue Cinderella gown, her whispy blonde hair up in curls and pearls around her neck. She was the most beautiful princess I had ever seen - and I wanted to be just like her.

As a teenager, at laugh at myself now. I was so stubborn, and argumentative, like all teenagers are. I argued with everything my mother told me to do. Study for the SAT's - try hard in math - apply for colleges and college scholarships. No, you can't skip that party I booked you for this weekend. No, you can't get a nose piercing. Nothing came without an argument. Why was she making my life so difficult? My mother was and is, as she describes herself, a hard-ass. And guess what? I'm still argumentative. And we still argue sometimes. But it's funny, because now I look back on my teenage and childhood years. And I look at now, and where I'm at. And I see the struggles with money and work and life and responsibility that many of the people I've known have gone through. And I can't thank my mother enough. 

Because of her pushing me, she has made my life as an adult so much easier than it could have been. If she hadn't pushed me to take those AP and college classes, or study for the SAT, or apply the the scholarships I did, I wouldn't be where I am today. And furthermore, if she hadn't sat down to take the time to teach me face painting, balloons, and how to be a princess that doesn't disgrace herself, I would have struggled a lot more in my life than I have. Thanks to her, I can truly say that I am in a good, stable place: I've never had to struggle in ways that a lot of my peers have (though I've had struggles in my own way), I've never gone without a job because I've created one for myself, and I'm proud to say that's because of what she taught me and the hard work I've been inspired to pour into my life. My mom inspired me to face my life with passion, fire and inspiration, and it has never failed me throughout all of my trials.

Adulthood has brought the same unexpected financial hardships that anyone my age has likely gone through. Car accidents, break ups, hospital bills, tuition, and so much more. My parents have never been able to give me a lot of money, but my mother did something better - teach me the tools to create a business that has allowed me to save up enough to not have to struggle month to month. Teach me the tools to empower myself. Teach me that I can do business - I can talk to people - I can be whatever and whomever I aspire to be.

Being a princess has taught me so much more than just being able to do the chicken dance in high heels. It's taught me to think on my toes and to be creative. To come up with party ideas and activities that I'm not always completely comfortable with, such as filling an hour with music and games for 8 year olds.

It's taught me responsibility: if I'm going to go out and party, I still have to be ready for work at 9 am the next morning. I do not cancel parties unexpectedly, no matter what: sick, overwhelmed, busy, heartbroken, whatever. Over the years, I've had to drag myself to parties during the midst of all of these things, and it's been hard. It's hard to smile when your heart hurts. It's hard to dance when you're not feeling well. But being a princess is a commitment I take seriously, and I take making children happy seriously. If I ever do have to cancel for some reason - I will find you a replacement that you like, because it's the right thing to do. Being responsible also means juggling ordering balloons, placing phone calls, writing invoices, collecting payments, sewing and maintaining costumes, and rushing to work right after school despite a full time Graduate or college school schedule. It means training other princesses or entertainers if necessary. It means battling stress and exhaustion and not letting it show when I'm at events.

Being a princess has taught me to talk to people. I've had to get over my fear of phone calls and my shyness and cold call people. Discuss things with clients I have never met. Send professional emails. Settle issues calmly and professionally if they arise. Make small talk with confidence, be optimistic and bright, act confident even when I'm shy and unsure.

Being a princess has taught me to take things in stride. Things aren't ever going to go perfectly, You can plan a whole party and then have it all go differently. Maybe no one except the birthday girl shows up and suddenly you're just entertaining her. Maybe the kids don't want to do games and you have 30 minutes to still kill. Guess what? It's ok. Just roll with it. I've learned to rely on myself and my instinct, because I have experience and I know what to do. I can teach kids to swing dance. I don't know how to sing well? Well, being Elsa means I know how to sing now - so put on Let it Go and fake it! Fake ice powers! Practice princess lessons! Whatever it takes to make kids feel special and happy, because that's what it's all about. I help to create good memories. And it's extremely fulfilling.

Being a princess means strolling headlong into unknown situations with confidence. It means learning cultural competence - many clients will be offended if you don't partake in their food after the party. Some clients want you to come dance with them. Take your shoes off when you get indoors. Don't play the limbo. Act cool around blaring rap music. Brainstorm when the sweet birthday girl is in a wheelchair and the 40-people party suddenly has to be in a trailer indoors because it's raining - and nobody speaks English.
Situations can get difficult, but it means not breaking out of character even for a moment. Even when clients accidentally call Elsa by her "real name" or ask her what she's going to college for.

Being a princess means learning patience. Even when you've painted 30 kids and there's always just "one more"... and it's past your time and you're exhausted. Sometimes, it's just the princess thing to do and stay and make that one extra kid happy. You paste a smile on your face and keep going. (Being a princess also means knowing how to nicely say "you have to go back to the castle" though, too. :)

When it comes down to it, I could go on for days about what it means to be a princess. But at the end of the day, the crux of the matter is that it's been an extremely rewarding and fun filled life experience. My life has been so colourful and fun thanks to what I do. I've seen almost every corner of the state of Georgia. I've met mayors and basketball players and Doctors and physical therapists and so much more. It's costed me: I've gotten speeding tickets, I was in a car accident that nearly costed my life, I've spent more money on balloons than I probably spend on myself every year, and if you know me, it's also made me a bit of a workaholic, which I am working on.

But I'm glad for it all. I'm very proud of what I do, because it's helped to shape who I am. Sure, my closet is filled with princess dresses that battle for room with my other clothes for which ones can be hung up. Sure, I kind of talk in a permanent Disney princess voice even when I'm not trying to. But I'm also more business savvy, financially smart, professional and responsible, culturally competent, optimistic, strong willed, quick-minded, creative, and people-smart than I used to be before I ever did this. I'm confident: I have juggled this business for as long as I've been in school, and if I can manage the responsibility of a business every weekend - doing as many as 5 parties in a single day sometimes - while passing a full-time Doctoral program and juggling every day life - I'm confident that I can do anything. And that's why being a princess is one of my proudest achievements. That's why it's an achievement I'll proclaim loud and clear. Because I'm proud of who I am, and proud of who my mom taught me to push myself to be.

And with that, this princess is going to bow out and go back to studying for her musculoskeletal exam tomorrow - so that one day I can be Lacy Ball (Mason), Princess and PT, DPT. How's that for a resume?

My Journey to Georgia Residency

I've lived in Georgia as a student for a long time, but I never bothered to switch my driver's license until recently. After taking a defensive driving class in an attempt to lower my car insurance because I was told I could get points off my license, I was informed by Florida that Florida licenses aren't eligible for points reductions. Only Georgia licenses. Fine. So, I'd just apply for my Georgia license, and get my $95 points reduction that way.
So, two weeks ago, after obtaining way more information that I needed to - proof of residency, lease from the past 3 years, a dozen pieces of mail, bank statements, etc. (I like to over-prepare), I finally gave up my residency to the sunshine state and traded it in for a Georgia Driver's License. It was, surprisingly, super easy: way easier than I thought it would be. The up side? I can purchase a firearm here now. The downside? The circus that ensued.

First, I called my car insurance company to let them know I had changed my state. They forwarded me to a new agent and gave me a quote for a new Georgia policy. I told the agent that I would need to make sure that it was ok to switch my insurance (since I didn't have a Georgia tag yet), and she told me it was fine to call the tag office and check first.

Instead of telling me to switch my insurance to a new company as soon as possible, they (without telling me) automatically changed my policy to a $1000/month policy (an "out of state" fee). After receiving this bill in the mail and freaking out, I called them and told them I had been in touch with the tag office but would have been much faster with changing insurance companies if they had told me that suddenly my insurance was going to jump several hundred dollars up per month. I switched my insurance right away that day and spent countless hours on the phone trying to ensure that I received a refund for this lack of oversight on their part.

Then, that brings me to the tag office. After nearly 2 hours of waiting on the phone, I was informed that I would need a slew of paperwork to receive my Georgia tag. Georgia insurance - my vehicle title and loan information - but not just that. Since my car title also had my mother's name on it, that meant we had to get a signed power of attorney stating that I could go to the GA tag office alone, without her, to obtain my new tag. As well as a copy of her driver's license... as well as a copy of my Florida registration, which just so happened to be lost. After searching my entire apartment and the black hole that is my glove box, my mom just sent me a picture from online and I prayed that would suffice.

We haven't even gotten to the emissions test part yet. Florida doesn't require emissions tests - I have never had an emissions test - for years, I wondered my on Earth these shady little emissions test stations nestled away in creepy parts of the city even existed. Apparently, Fulton County (Atlanta) requires yearly emissions tests to renew (and get) a tag. No problem, right?
Except a few months earlier, my cars "check engine" light went on. Freaked out about what could possibly be wrong with my 2012 car, Kris took it to get the code read and the technician said "oh, man, that's a bad code. You're catalytic converter's gone bad."
Well, that's an expensive $1000-$2000 fix. But it's not a problem, because Florida doesn't do emissions tests and only one side of the cat was bad, so the fix could wait, right?
No... by changing my driver's license, I now had 30 days to get my Georgia tag, and pass my emissions test. I took it by a repair shop and just got the code reset. I didn't know that emissions tests will fail you if you get your computer reset and take it in for testing too soon after. So that didn't work. Thankfully, Kris's family happens to have the hookup with car repairs, so after purchasing a catalytic converter online and Kris spending an afternoon down in Albany, my catalytic converter was thankfully fixed for a lot cheaper than $2000, for which I am endlessly thankful.

After running around the entire city of Atlanta to get paperwork notarized, tracking down pieces of paper that I haven't seen in years, and having to do it all on the one day of the week I have off from school, everything was finally ready to take to the tag office. Luckily, I had no trouble with my paperwork - I again brought way too much - and 7% of my car's value later (ouch), I finally received my new Georgia tag.

These past few weeks have been a goose chase: Atlanta's way of telling me "welcome to adulthood, Lacy!"
But hey - at least I can buy firearms here, right?
I'm sure it's going to be equally as much a joy to change my name in just a few short months - though, I can't really complain. A few afternoons of trouble to spend forever with the man of my dreams? It will be a pain, but the trade off is totally worth it!

Less Than 4 Months!

I remember our second date because it's the night I truly started to like him.
It started at Dr. Bombay's, one of my favourite, quirky coffee shops in Atlanta. Nestled into a rather dark space and tucked away in Candler Park, Dr. Bombay's had rows and rows of $1 books and umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom had pages from Grey's Anatomy on the walls.

Kris came and sat down next to me, rather than across from me. I still didn't know him well, but I grabbed his right arm to get a closer look at his tattoo.
"I'm an INFJ. Do you know what your Myers-Briggs is?" I asked him. We launched into what probably turned into an hour and a half long conversation about personality types. He talked about books and lent me Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I gave him Atlas Shrugged and a book of poems by one of my favourite poets, Sylvia Plath.
It was getting dark and I was tired of studying when he suggested taking a walk through Candler Park; it was right across the street. Say what you want about accompanying a man you've hardly met into a dimly lit park late at night, but I decided I really trusted Kris. I decided to go.
We walked through the park, the stars lit up better than I normally saw them in the city. The park was quiet - only a few passerby's. "It's really safe here," Kris assured me. We walked, and I thought about our date the night before. How we'd gotten locked into Oakland Cemetery because it was past dusk and I was scared of being caught in a graveyard after nighttime but Kris hopped the fence and raised his arms up to help me. I climbed the wall and fell into his arms. I caught his gaze before he lowered me down; it lingered for a second, and then my feet were on the sidewalk.

We got to a grassy part of the park next to a few small oak trees. We stood, we looked at each other, and I looked up at the stars, trying to distract myself from the obvious feelings I was starting to develop for a man I had thought would be just another date.
What normally might have been a typical second date conversation (Tell me about your siblings, where do you want to travel one day, blah) ended up turning into a nearly 4-hour conversation. Kris suddenly told me his entire story - his sad, lovely, beautiful story. And I did something I had never done for anyone before: Not even people I had dated in my longest relationships. I opened up and told him all of mine. I told him all of the ugly sides of me, the parts of me I hated, the secrets that ate away at me just a little and then some. I told him my thoughts on all of it. And when I finished my story, he put his arms around me, and I was okay with that.
It must have been one in the morning when we left. Way past a curfew if I still had one, but it was Friday, and I only had one job the next day, and something told me to let the evening run its course. We walked back to Kris's car and we both realized that neither of us wanted to say goodbye yet. Which is why when Kris asked me if I wanted to go home and see his cat, I agreed - either it was the cheesiest and weakest attempt to get a girl to go home with him, or it was an earnest question in an attempt to spend as much time with me as possible - regardless, I was about to find out that it was a totally earnest question on his part.

Sure enough, there was an adorable, fat, fluffy cat named Sparta waiting for me when we went back to his apartment. I fell in love with him immediately. And then Kris played guitar for me - he played me a song he wrote, and it's still my favourite one out of all the songs he played, because he wrote it.
We watched Great Gatsby until it was 6 in the morning with me sitting on the opposite side of the bed because I was shy and didn't want him to get the wrong idea (Yeah, I know I just went to some dude's apartment in the middle of the night, but that's just me, I guess.)
By the time he left me back at my car in the morning after we'd eaten breakfast at Majestic Diner,  I realized I really didn't want him to go. But he left, I went to work, and then fell into one of the deepest sleeps I'd had in a long time after I'd gone home.

2 weeks - that's how long it took for me to realize that this guy was here in my life to stay. He was different than anyone I'd ever met, and I realized that after all of the questioning and soul-searching I'd tried to do when considering who was the right person for me, knowing who the right person is shouldn't be a guessing game of pros and cons. It should be effortless. And it was.

It's less than 4 months away from our wedding, and in the midst of wedding planning, I still have to pause and look up at him from across the table in a coffee shop and have to catch my breath. He's the kindest, most incredible man I've ever met, and he gets to be in my life forever. How incredible and wonderful is that?
I look at the next 4 months ahead of us and I treasure these times: the times we are spending not only planning our wedding, but planning our lifetime ahead of us and laying down the foundation of our marriage.
I'm a lucky girl, that's for sure. I never was able to see the big picture before, but now I see what God was planning for me in the last few years - and it's more perfect that I ever could have imagined.