Baker Life

I’ve been MIA from blogging since April and an update is most certainly overdue. Well, Matt and I had the wedding of our dreams in Missouri on June 9th. Family and friends flew in from all over the country. We powered through the 90 degree weather with 90% humidity, and instead of going to Nashville for our honeymoon, we stuck around the property simply relaxing and catching our breath before flying back to Washington.

When we came home, Matt received an award at work for Team Member of the Month! Immediately after, I signed him up to take a basic riders course and shortly thereafter, he found and bought his first bike. He’s been riding it to Seattle and back. One of these days, I’ll buy a helmet and jump on the back to ride with him.

We’ve been looking around at homes to rent, because we want a bigger, newer space to ourselves. Nothing has caught our eyes, yet, but we know for sure that we will be moving out of this dinky apartment in the next year.

Right now, loud and obnoxious fans are scattered throughout our apartment, drying the wet walls. A leak spout occurred four days ago from the 2nd-3rd floors above us, causing a cascade through our walls and into the kitchen, living room and bathroom. Repairmen ripped into the base of the walls, so we have holes throughout our home. Thank goodness our bedroom was untethered and we can get a decent night of sleep.

I hear that many newlyweds go through a tough first living condition. Not all… some have the fortune of living beyond comfortable without any strife. I guess our struggles had to happen early on in our marriage for us to later appreciate the simple things that we take for granted… like a place to watch TV or a bathroom to go potty in without fans blowing on you!

Not to mention it’s been a tough year on Matt after transitioning out of the army and dealing with the monster of an ex-wife. There is the proverbial “light up ahead”, but while we’re in this tunnel of daily life (and not so daily life) struggles, we keep faith, trust and love for each other. We are a team. We are so far from perfect, but man, we are perfect for each other in hard times. He picks me up when I’m feeling down, and I hope that I do the same for him.

We know that life will always have its ups and downs, and we gotta make the best of it even when we’re down. He has a bigger faith and belief in God than I do, but I do believe that He or the Universe is looking out for us. When we start to feel uncertain or scared from life’s turbulences, something or someone steps in and reassures us that we’ll be okay.

I feel blessed for the speed bumps we go through together, because it makes the good times that much greater. It would be, however, quite pleasant if those speed bumps grow some distance between them! But we can’t control that. We can only control how we respond to the bumps in the road.

Eventually, we’ll learn how to fly above them.

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Playing Catch-Up

It’s been four months since I’ve written anything. I am so glad that I am carving out this evening to finally put fingers to keyboard. There is no purpose for my desire to write, other than I simply must. I must write about the chaotic, amazing, stressful, new and frustrating experiences that have occurred.

One thing happened that was expected, which was travel. The army certainly took me to the weird state of West Virginia for a month-long course in January. It was cold, snowy and isolated. I did not enjoy the cabin fever, the time I almost spun-out in my rental vehicle and died, and the time away from my husband. Fortunately, I returned home for one month before I went to somewhere much cooler. Japan. Although it was only for a couple of weeks, I loved getting a tan near the ocean, devouring the most delicious sushi I have ever tasted and seeing all of the small cars that made my little Mitsubishi at home look like a monster truck. I brought home many gifts and checked off a huge travel bucket list item.

I have been home for two weeks now and adjusted back to the normal timezone. It is incredibly nice to be back with my husband who was recently hired at a nice steakhouse in Seattle. Our schedules have been opposite, but he’s been working his butt off and making good money. I am so proud of him!

In June, we’ll be having our formal wedding in Missouri. It’s been a whirlwind of planning and preparing, but luckily I have the best mother-in-the-law in the world who has been hashing out the details for us. My mom also bought me the wedding dress of my dreams and I cannot wait for Matt to see it on our special day.

Next month, I am also hitting my two year mark in the military. It’s amazing how time has been soaring by. In terms of career, I don’t want to jinx myself, but I am putting in a packet to apply for Officer Candidate School and hoping to get accepted for the September panel. I am hoping for the best!

That’s the gist of everything for now… More adventures are soon to come.

Bright Spots

Bright spots. Those moments we look forward to in life with the person who will bring us joy, courage, comfort and light. In isolation or separation, those bright spots become rather dim to see; sometimes nonexistent. The one thing that keeps us moving forward during time and distance apart can be a phone call, a private meditation practice, a cup of coffee – something.

When we are apart from loved ones, all we can think about is time. What time is it at home? How much longer until we see each other again? When will this heartache go away?

I experienced this personally last month when I was away from my husband. We’re newlyweds. I was fortunate to have only been apart from him for 30 days, while so many others are apart from their spouses for much longer. That’s tough. Being a service member, I understood what I signed up for. Distance is inevitable; I just didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did. The amount of negative self talk that I heard myself say was excruciating. Although I was in a class with other students, most of us didn’t socialize outside. I, at least, kept to myself with a book to read or Netflix on my phone.

While I kept in contact with my husband, I missed everything about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about when I’d be in his arms again. Every second apart from him felt like my heart would burst into a million pieces. I counted the days until I would see him again. Yes, we are fortunately in the day and age of smartphones – thank you, live video chat! But technology can only help so much. There were times when it hurt more to see him through my phone than not at all. Nevertheless, I am grateful that loved ones can see and speak to their family when they are states and even countries apart.

That was one of my “bright spots;” a live video chat with him. Just five minutes of seeing his face in real time made my stomach do a flip flop. A text message saying “Good morning” brought a smile to my face. Staying in contact with him through the distance was the best thing that propelled me forward, day by day. There were times, however, when I had to be creative and find personal joy in my solitary state.

One thing I did was set an early alarm to have a cup of coffee and dance before class. Yes…. dance. In my hotel room. Alone. In my pajamas. I put on Pandora and moved my arms, my hips, my legs. I didn’t care at all. It beat the hell out of going outside in the winter cold to go to the gym. On the weekends, I also took a drive through the country to see what was around me. I turned up the radio and explored. Google Maps failed me out there when I tried to find the nearest Bank of America and it took me to a veterinary hospital! That was part of the adventure and it was a fun story to tell my husband.

I took that trip as a learning experience. If I could go back and do it again (God forbid), I would’ve socialized and opened up more to company. I had no idea how critical human interaction was until then. I missed a friend’s wedding while I was there, and I waited in my hotel room by my phone for updates. I was miserable. All I could think to do was be patient and time would end my silent suffering. I thought updates on my phone of a wedding I wasn’t able to attend would bring me joy. It didn’t. I hurt myself more by not going out and sharing a drink or two with a classmate or fellow soldier.

Overall, January 2018 was miserable because I – not knowingly – made it miserable for myself. I am back home in Washington and feeling so much better, though. Not only am I back with my husband, I am back with a little more self-awareness in my back pocket. I know now that I found what can help me through isolation and separation.

It’s people. Good people. Surprisingly, good people are the proverbial few and far between. Good people who just want to share their humanness with one another and feel belonged. At the end of the day, soldier or not, spouse or not, we need someone to rely on or connect with, especially if you’re stuck in the same place together for a period of time. I guess everyone learns this at a younger age, but I’m not the fastest learner. Maybe I had to experience that little trip to make room for another one in the future and come home stronger, less vulnerable. I truly know now that the person to my right or left is sometimes all I’ve got to get through the day.

 

Reborn as Amanda Baker

Four days ago, I woke up as a Baker and cuddled my husband and our dog. The wedding was a success – small, intimate and perfect. Matt and I made it to the church in the morning where we had close friends and family join us. We went to brunch at a local saloon and enjoyed our first official dance that night at the studio where we first met.

The following morning, a wave of emotions overcame me as I stood in the shower and I realized that I was no longer a Ridder. I remembered how one of my female friends told me when she got married that she would hyphenate her name and keep her maiden name. But I always thought that was ridiculous. If you’re going to change it anyway, change it completely. It’s less work and it’s less confusing, but that’s just my opinion.

Still, I felt something change within me. I wondered if every woman in the history of name changing by marriage felt this way. Did they feel that sudden tear in identity? A letting go of who they knew or who they thought they knew for 27 years? I took a moment to honor her – Amanda Ridder. She had done so much. She had fought so much. She loved so much. With the black ink of a pen and a few raw vows, she was gone.

I felt her soul linger a moment in the reflection of my foggy mirror of the bathroom. Glancing back at myself, the old self I knew so well – I was with her, and then without her.

I was reborn.

 

What 2017 Taught Me

I swear I was just on a plane to Joint Base Lewis-McChord, a shy little Specialist Amanda Ridder straight out of airborne school traveling to her first unit, unsure of practically everything you could imagine. I blinked and here I am: Specialist Amanda Ridder about to become Specialist Amanda Baker, a young woman open to a new chapter of her life once again.

2016 was the year I graduated basic, AIT and airborne school. Before joining the army, I was a 25-year-old college graduate living at her parent’s house waiting tables. I took the leap and joined the 1%, and no regrets ever since. And I’m just getting warmed up.

After the whirlwind of 2016, I wasn’t sure how I was going to be ready for 2017! I had conquered my biggest fear yet by volunteering to jump out of five perfectly good airplanes! I set the bar pretty high for myself.

In 2017, I grew to understand that time would open my eyes to even bigger challenges that I never predicted; that Google never told me; that a manual could not teach me. I fell in love and got engaged. I am planning not only one, but two weddings: one here in Washington in 18 days and another in  Missouri on my fiance’s family property next year. This alone goes to show how blessed I am. And yet again, I have set the bar higher.

I can only imagine what 2018 has in store.

Thoughts with my younger me

If I could transport back in time and speak to my younger self, my seven-year-old self, I’d tell her how beautiful she is and to never lose that imagination. She loved pretending to be Pocahontas and run on the front lawn barefoot as if dashing through the forest. She played in a kiddie pool with her neighborhood friend. She loved dancing in her backyard to her boom box that played Britney Spears CD’s.

I would travel back to middle school and whisper to thirteen-year-old me that I shouldn’t insist that dad buy those boots that I’d never wear to the school dance.

To my seventeen-year-old self, I would tell her that her boyfriend would not be the man she’d spend the rest of her life with and to thank the heavens for that. I’d tell her that she will spend the next ten years of her life with all of the wrong boys.

“The man you’re going to spend the rest of your life with,” I’d say, “is with the wrong ones, too. Be patient, and continue on. He’ll find you when God knows you’re both ready.”

If I could check in with the woman I was five years ago, I’d tell her to be prepared for her life to take a giant turn.

I’d tell her, “The storm will come in and it will be fierce. But like everything, it will die down and you will find an even greater strength within you. You will be braver than you have ever been.”

Checking in with the woman I am now, I am telling her not to crumple up this page and throw it away. I am telling her to keep writing and believing in herself, because I know my seven-year-old self would tell twenty-six-year-old me to do what I love and get my feet dirty.

Seven-year-old Amanda is my guide as much as I am hers. She reminds me to embrace the imagination within me, dance when I think no one is watching, and stay in touch with old friends. Thirteen-year-old me whispers, “Dad will always have your back.” She tells me that in his eyes, though, I don’t need boots in order to be beautiful. Seventeen-year-old Amanda is on the verge of finding love and tells me to never give up on it when I have found the right one. I reassure her that I have indeed found him.  Twenty-one-year-old me reminds me that every day is a gift. Live it as though tomorrow won’t come.

Time collapses upon itself to reveal an untold story: the one I am living now and the one I will continue to live. I honor what me at seven, at thirteen, at seventeen, at twenty-one went through to get here.

This is where I am meant to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Storyteller and the Timekeeper

I sit at the computer desk with my glass of red wine with my ambient music playing on YouTube for background music. In front of me sits a blank page. A tauntingly empty page. I might as well be staring into an abyss.

My breathing steadies, and for a few moments, I feel as if I am sucking in air and suffocating. Words don’t come out. My fingers don’t move along the keyboard. Just… nothing. I am absolutely paralyzed.

To ease my mind from the shock, I take a sip of wine and stare at something else. There is a key holder at our front door that has the words “you are my sunshine” sewn above it onto a board. I let those words soften my stiff imagination. I allow that to be a focus.

The letters dance from my fingers onto the page, and suddenly, a story unravels. Effortlessly, I draw the images from my mind that come from truth.

Until I reach a few paragraphs into my story and something distracts me. Blocks me. I have come too far. My mind tells me that I either have to dive in deep or let the story go for awhile, until I’m ready to return to it and give it the attention it deserves.

Time becomes a hindrance. There never seems to be enough of it when there’s a schedule to keep.

The Storyteller within me whispers, “You’re making excuses. Get back to work.”

The Timekeeper within me argues, “You’re not being reasonable. If you dedicate your time to your story, you’re going to lose sleep.”

Storyteller says, “Sleep is for a Disney Princess. You’re a freaking writer. So write, darn it.”

This battle continues as I take breaths and move forward into the abyss which slowly transforms into a full length novel.  I also realize that the Storyteller was right all along. There’s only time. There’s always time.

It’ll tick, it’ll tock, and it’ll bother the hell out of me. It takes all of my energy to peel my eyes away from the clock at the bottom right hand corner of the computer screen and remain focused on the story.

The Timekeeper goes back to her corner of the room and opens her agenda. She pulls her thick, dark-framed glasses closer to her eyes and tilts her head to the side as she gazes into her weekly tasks.

The Storyteller sits on the edge of her seat with her back rounded towards the keyboard and her eyes fixated on the clack-clack-clack of her typing, the smooth keys pressing beneath her fingertips.

Both escape into their separate spheres, neither one more real or legitimate than the other.