In the time I was away, I produced a huge pop up store for Delta Air Lines called T4X. Located on the corner of West Broadway & Broome (NYC), the space is open to the public Tuesday – Sunday from 11-3pm through May 22nd. Please stop by and explore! And tweet me if you do (@maiah) – it would mean the world.

I was also published on life & career coach Nicole Orisich‘s CareerSugar talking about my career reinvention story. I’m so thankful for the opportunity! Please visit Nicole’s website and let me know what you think.

And finally, I’ve been trying to plan for the future. Or at least figure out what’s next. My very wise mother told me to go where the money is. However, my father, who I’ve recently learned is a dreamer, simply told me to follow my dreams instead. His words still resonate with me every day: “he’ll be lucky to try and have failed, than to have never tried at all.” Here’s hoping to merge both into a successful future filled with the richest dreams a girl could have.

As a Boston Baby, there were several things I looked forward to every year: (1) summer in the city, (2) Red Sox opening day and (3) Marathon Monday. Falling on Patriots’ Day, the Boston Marathon is the oldest annual marathon in the country, as well as one of the largest. It’s a huge draw for tourists, and for runners across the globe aspiring to set a new goal. For Bostonians, Marathon Monday is the most beautiful day. It’s more than just a day off from work or school, and more than just a marathon. Hundreds of thousands set aside any differences to come together, cheer on family and friends, and to celebrate life.

This year, on Monday, April 15, 2013, 2 bombs struck the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Reports say 3 are dead (including an 8 year old boy) and over 110 are injured (ranging from age 2 and up). 4 hours into the race, bombs went off along Boylston Street in places I called home. One across from an old neighborhood haunt called the Lenox Hotel where my girlfriends and I used to spend all of our hours enjoying martinis and gabbing through the night. Another across from the Boston Public Library, a place where I used to escape to during lunch breaks from my Prudential Center job. More importantly, these 2 bombs went off in the middle of crowds rooting for the home team.

There are many who will never be able to walk again, run again, or smile the same way again. And for that I am heartbroken. Dismayed. Speechless. Disgusted. There’s no one yet to blame and there is only fear to embrace. The 26th mile was to be dedicated to the kids who died in the Newtown tragedies, and within the 26th mile, a death toll rose.

I am blessed. My family is okay. My mother did not go to her downtown Boston job today and my father’s commute doesn’t involve the city at all. My aunt is well, my grandmother and uncle are too. My cousin is safely tucked away in college.

I am also hopeful. I’ve heard reports that marathon runners who crossed the finish line kept running to hospitals to donate their blood. I watched the YouTube videos that showed instead of running away, many ran into the smoke to help. I’ve read blog posts of spectators giving runners their coats, money to get home, and cell phones to call home with no request of the items to be returned. There are Facebook groups and Google Docs filled with people offering the warmth of their home and the comfort of a roof for those without.

So, behind the cloak of this senseless tragedy, there is a glimmer of light. Bostonians: we’re strong, we’re scrappy, and we’re the underdogs. We’ll be okay.

(photo credits: 1, 2)

I’m not ashamed to say I love to shop. So much so that when I heard Carrie Bradshaw shout from the balcony of her non-smoking Los Angeles hotel, “I have an addiction, sir!” I thought to myself, me too!

I wouldn’t say my shopping was getting out of hand like some horror stories I’ve heard. However, after the 3rd purchase of Mexican glassware in a week (I collect it, just like my mother) I figured I had nothing to lose by giving up swiping the plastic for the month.

It wasn’t an easy journey, but I’ve come away with a few tips on how to get through it for anyone considering a shopping freeze of their own:

Announce your freeze
When I made the decision to stop shopping for lent there was no going back. To make sure I walked the walk, I announced the freeze to my colleagues, friends, and family. Sort of in the same way you declare on Twitter that you’re “working it out in the gym” making this announcement helps hold you accountable for sticking it through to the end.

Don’t torture yourself & don’t be tempted
One of my favorite post-work pastimes is browsing the racks at the stores that line Broadway on my way to the N train. However, that also opens the door for saying things like “I’ll just try it on” and “I’ll only buy 1 things instead of 2″. Find other things to fill your time with and other ways to clear your mind. Mine fell under the categories of food, beers, and boyfriend.

Gather a support group, but don’t trust them
Everyone needs a little support, regardless of the endeavor. I found strength in talking to my mother about not shopping together. That said, after my mother called me one day to tell me she bought a cashmere sweater (because it was on sale and what’s a girl to do), I knew I had no one but myself in this cold, hard world.

Enter back into the shopping world, one purchase at a time
A trip to the outlets over Easter weekend proved to be overwhelming but my little experiment worked. I was more focused on price and good value, and didn’t buy what I couldn’t live without.

I know I’ll sound like a PSA, but I have to admit, the shopping freeze heightened my understanding of what’s important. I realized there wasn’t anything I couldn’t live without besides my family, friends, and loved ones. A knowledge like that is priceless to me.

What have you given up that’s changed your outlook?

This morning, I came across an article outlining a Chris Brown interview on the Ryan Seacrest radio show on March 26th, 2013. He was supposedly honest and open about his immaturity as someone in their late teens unable to control their emotions. But as I grazed the article, my stomach turned because I’d heard it all before. Between leaked of photos of Rihanna’s beaten face, a horrible swarm of stories about court dates, and then a myriad of articles about how each had “moved on” it was all to clear that something more was brewing.

An Oprah’s Next Chapter episode (aired August 19, 2012) featuring Rihanna solidified for me that they weren’t anywhere near the end with an admission of her love for a man that was currently taken by another. Twitter feuds ensued and media companies got their bounty from what should really have been a private and personal exploration of self, love, and self-love.

Statistics show more often than not, that abused women return to their abuser. They return for a number of reasons (love notes, death threats, fear of starting new, all of the above) none of which are clear cut and straightforward. Rihanna’s inability to live without Chris (and to love without Chris) isn’t surprising, but it is realistic. I watch her story as a woman in my late-twenties very differently than I watched Bobby & Whitney when I was 14 years old. They were horrendous, and fascinating. I despised and yearned for a love like that, you know? Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.

And now, while I want to applaud the honesty of Rihanna and Whitney, Chris and Bobby, I simply can’t. Similarly, as I re-read the aforementioned Carrie Bradshaw quote from Sex and the City, American Girl in Paris Part Deux, I am overwhelmed by how unstable our examples of love are.

I believe in signs of home. When I hear Maria Muldaur’s Midnight at the Oasis or Bonnie Raitt’s Nick of Time, I smile. They are songs I used to listen to on repeat with my mother and they touch a soft spot for my graceful transition into being a mild hippie. When I hear those songs,  I must unlock my iPhone and let my fingers find the familiar numbers of my family’s land line.

I believe in signs of work. For every opportunity I pass by or that passes me by, well, I don’t see them as mistakes or missed chances. Instead, I see them as stepping stones on the way to something better. I see them as a reminder that being this good takes work, and that work takes time.

I believe in signs of love. I believe that every man that didn’t scoop me up to be his was preparing me for a larger love. A love that our hearts have been preparing us for with every heartbreak. A love that we all deserve.

I believe in signs of fate. Or is it signs of faith? Because as I perused the selection of literature at the NYC Housing Works Bookstore, I came across the uncorrected proof of a title I’ve been obsessing over written by an author I’ve been mentioning as my “future mentor.” A reminder that the more I write, the closer I’ll get to a dream coming true. It was a blessing in paperback.

I believe in signs. Small signs, short signs, tall signs, fat signs. I believe in them. I suppose because I need something to believe in (don’t you?). So, I welcome signs when they come: the joy the might bring or the challenges they represent.

Like I was saying, I believe in signs. All of them.

As an only child, I quickly learned to filter the things that were important to me from the things I chose to care a bit less about. The things that took priority were my parents, my dog, my books, and myself. To this day, I still feel off-kilter if I don’t get my daily family update; I still read books from cover to cover; and I still relish going to the theatre just to say “one ticket please”.

Suddenly it’s not just me anymore, and as an only child (and self-proclaimed princess), I’m learning how to say “for two.”

Para dos. Pour deux. Per due. Para dois. Dla dwóch osób. برای دو نفر Für zwei.

This language lesson is not for nothing. The more malleable my tongue, then the more flexible my mind. The more flexible my mind, then the more I’ll be able to relate. The more I learn how to relate in a relationship, the more comfortable we’ll become. And with every step towards comfort, the more I’ll replay this song below.

So, as admitted before, I’m not the most understanding person… but I’m working on it.

When I was young I went to Kingsbury Hill Riding Camp. I was fearless when it came to the horses, to making friends, and making memories. I fell in love with the meanest horse, and proudly proclaimed my summers were filled with horses, flies, and shoveling poop. I didn’t care if someone turned their nose up at those attributes to my summer, and perhaps not caring is a perk of being young.

When I was young I loved to swim. I learned to swim in a pool with my grandma, who took me to my swimming lessons at the Y. Growing up summering on Martha’s Vineyard meant that I loved the ocean. I loved the beach. I loved sand in my hair, bathing suit, and between my toes.

When I was young I loved to talk on the phone. My first “boyfriend” used to call me after 9pm, which was a huge no-no in my house; he had to call before 8. Regardless, we would talk for hours and hours about nothing and everything. We would talk until one of us fell asleep and we would say things like: “I’m looking at the same stars you are,” and that was all we needed. I suppose that’s the simplicity of youth in dating.

There is such beauty in the simplicity of being young. As I approach my 30′s, I find myself returning to that carefree mindset that we lose quite abruptly as we navigate our teens and early 20′s. Things I loved turned to things I hated in an effort to be cool during my most turbulent years. Now, as I embrace being older, I’m embracing not giving a fuck. It’s liberating, and just as exciting as being 11 and waiting for the mail to come on Blue’s Clues.

The event, which took place in the brand’s beautiful downtown showroom, was so colorful that it made us both feel bad for wearing the New Yorker’s Uniform: dark denim, black, navy, and grey. In fact, this will probably be the most color you see on Writing with Wine (who’s brand guidelines also follow the NYer’s Uniform). I entered the space and totally fell in love with the adorable decor: yellow plexi campfires, weathered wooden oars, canvas tents, and the cutest little accent bulbs, all of which I wanted in my home, pronto.

The preview was exactly what I expected, but that’s because I love Old Navy. I discovered the brand my freshman year in college, when I vowed to stop squeezing my feet into shoes a size too small. Not just applying to their shoe selection (which is cute, trendy, and available in size 11 for tall girls like me), Old Navy offers cute styles at affordable prices. I already live by Old Navy fitness products. And beyond that, I caught a glimpse of my future: Maiah (in Old Navy) goes to Martha’s Vineyard. Let the summer countdown begin!

A few of my favorites:

These items will be in available for your shopping pleasure in April & May (I personally can’t wait. I gave up shopping for lent and all your girl wants is a sandal and a comfy tee).

Appendix:
*All photos are my own, taken and edited with my iPhone 4s.
*No formal compensation was provided for this review. All opinions are my own. An adorable gift bag was offered on my way out (thank you!).

I couldn’t figure out where things took a turn. A conversation strictly about love became (in my opinion) an ugly exchange of words, which shocked me because I love love. In discussing it with my mother (my rock) she inferred that perhaps most things (all things) are better left unsaid…

“No one even knows your name at my job, and your father is strictly Mr. Johnson.” When I started to ask why she simply said: “I don’t want them to Google you,” with what sounded like a smile.

The morning after our chat, I still can’t help but wonder: when it comes to matters of the heart, is any sharing over-sharing?

The thing is – I love to share. Sharing adds an incredibly personal touch to an interaction and that’s important to me. This is both a good and bad quality: things I may share in confidence are often telephoned far more than I am aware.

And in no way am I meaning to sound self-important, trust me on that. But as I grow older (and part my hair in a way that glorifies my single gray strand), I’ve begun to learn that spreading gossip is exciting at any age, no matter how boring the subject is. That’s why my mother bites her tongue at work. I’ve also learned that it’s not easy for everyone to enjoy your happiness. And that’s okay too because we never know what someone is going through.

So, as I continue to better myself in 2013, I’m going to learn how to button it up, to reel it in, and to better cherish my moments in a personal way.

What about you? Do you share or is mum the word on personal things in and out of the workplace?

One: A Colorful & Warm Beanie
I initially bought a green beanie for My Honey but promptly hijacked it for myself. According to him, heat escapes from our heads so what’s better than a bright accessory to keep the warmth?

Two: A Leopard Print Eternity Scarf
I’ve donned the same leopard scarf since last fall. It was a sneaky find snagged off a mannequin at H&M with no shame. I’m a firm believer that there’s no better accessory than one covered in spots.

Three: A Classic Grey Coat
I love grey as a neutral and feel its so necessary in the winter months. This statement may make me far from a fashionista but I refuse a mustard or red coat in fear that it may clash with my moody latte New York State of mind.

Four: Levi’s Curve ID
I’ll let you in on a little secret – the best time I shop Levi’s is after the winter holiday season. Crazy sales mean amazing jeans giving great butt. My favorite Levi’s store? Downtown NYC on Broadway in Soho.

Five: Target Xhilaration® Sneaker Wedge
Apparently on the last wave of people to discover these gems, I’m totally obsessed with my Xhilaration Wedges. Aside from feeling like Beyonce in Love On Top, they are comfortable and offer great traction during the winter months.

What about you? What can’t you live without in the winter?