I originally started this blog because it was something that was required for an English course that I was taking. It's been a few months, and I honestly haven't given much thought to this blog, or blogging in general, whatsoever. Lately though, I've been having a bit of an epiphany. My life is wonderful. I was fortunate enough to marry my best friend, I have wonderful friends and family, and I finally feel like I'm headed on the track that will make me happiest in my education. While I feel very fortunate to be so lucky as to have all of these desirable things going well for me in my life, I still feel like I should be doing more. I've decided that it's time for a change, and this is where it is beginning. I'm going on a personal quest for more - to do more, to help more, to see more, to know more. I'm going on a personal quest to live - truly live - more. This brings me to my first goal. In the spirit of Aldous Huxley, I've decided to start my journey in "living more" by reading 20 books over the next 40 days. Why 40 days? Well, it's the last day of the quarter, and I have exactly 40 days of no college until the next one starts. I'm anxious and excited to both get some of my writing chops back, as well as seeing the differences in myself after these next 40 days. Only time will tell.

It's become somewhat of a cliche in American culture and American holidays: Who is going to bring the green bean casserole? My family is no exception. The funny thing is, nobody really eats the casserole. That is, except for Grandma, but hey - she eats anything. Nonetheless, there it sits, year after year, somewhere off to the side of the counter, surrounded by the foods that are much more desired. It is the ugly duckling; the black sheep to our holiday feasts. Just like the crazy uncle that everyone talks about, or the strange cousin we all try to avoid any other time during the year, the green bean casserole is there whether we want it to be or not. And even though few of us eat it, somehow, it adds to the ambience. It gives us something to talk about. We all line up to get the food and make faces at it, daring each other to try a taste. Those that do try it become overly dramatic, faking death because of the supposed wretchedness that has graced their toungues. Of course, Grandma is standing by to tell us we didn't get a big enough bite, and how delicious it is. In a way, it brings us together. Maybe that's why we always invite the green bean casserole back. It's something we can always count on as a family to be there. It's a common ground that most of us will be able to relate to, no matter how much things have changed since we last saw each other. No matter where our lives take us, we always have the casserole. And the casserole will always have it's place. Looming, at the back of the counter, eloquently arranged on a platter. It has to be there, just as we all have to be there. It's tradition, whether we allow it to serve it's purpose as a sidedish or not. The holidays just wouldn't be the same without it.

Isn't it ironic that our driver's license is referred to as our "ID" and our "ID" is also our "identity"? It's almost an injustice to the world identity itself. Everyone carries around a purse or a wallet to hold their ID, so does that mean that all we are is in our purses and wallets? I wish knowing the roots of someone’s identity was so easy! Voting for the President wouldn’t be as much of a contest. Judges would know the nature of those they are trying. It would be a great tool when trying to hire someone. It would definitely save those who are unlucky in love a lot of time and heartache. Unfortunately, it isn’t that easy.

My purse doesn’t contain much – a small wallet with my driver's license, debit card, health insurance card, a few credit cards and a little cash. Oh, and we can’t forget the Starbucks card. At any given moment, it more than likely contains my cell phone and car keys. There are a few photos of family and friends. One is of my husband and me in Cannon Beach, and also one of us in Epcot at Disneyworld. Another is of one of my cousins, who is currently serving with the Army in Iraq, and one of some old friends that live too far away. The coin purse of my wallet contains one of two guitar picks my husband and I got at Experience Music Project nearly five years ago on one of our first dates (the other is in his wallet). Aside from the photos and the guitar pick, there’s nothing that couldn’t be found in any other woman walking down the street’s purse. And what is there to learn from those items anyway? That I have a checking account, I can drive, I probably like music, I’ve been to Florida and also to the Oregon Coast, and that I know someone in the Army? None of that is unique to anyone in particular, and who doesn’t know at least someone that’s in the military these days?

What my purse doesn’t show is all the things that make me who I am. It doesn’t give any insight into my personality and values. My purse can’t tell you all the things that I’ve been through. It doesn’t say what my major is, or where my family comes from. It doesn’t reveal my heritage, or that when I gave up my maiden name, I gave up a name that I shared with one of the most admired men in history, and that I am proud to be his great-niece. It can’t say that I hate olives or that I eat pineapple on everything, or that the reason I have that Starbucks card isn’t because I like the coffee, but because in my mind, a cold, rainy Washington day isn’t complete without a Grande Nonfat Vanilla Rooibos (which is tea). You wouldn't see how much I love summer, or how no matter what the weather is like, I'm probably wearing flip-flops. While it does hold a few clues that might hint at my love for travel and music, it doesn’t show just how important I think those things are. It doesn’t show that my friends and family mean the world to me, and that my husband and I have been friends since we were kids. It can’t tell you how much I love helping others, or how much I love laying around the house on Sundays. Sure, it does have the information that the bank and the government and my insurance company needs to help me easily be a functioning member of society or in times of trouble, and all of that is important stuff. However, at the heart of the matter, they're just little plastic cards with our names on them, some numbers that somehow connect us to the conveniences they provide, and maybe our address and birthday. That’s about it though. They're just our standard issue, cookie-cutter, just-what-everyone-else-has-and-has-to-carry-around pieces of plastic.

With all the the possessions our purses and wallets can hold, possessions aren't what define us. They lack the heart, soul, feelings, likes, dislikes, and history of their rightful owners. Those are the things that make you, you. Those are the things that make you different and set you apart from everyone else. Those are the things that give you your true identity.

I've thought about starting a blog for quite some time after reading some pretty incredible ones! I'm really interested in seeing what becomes of all this in the weeks to come.