mollybuckley.

Sure, I’m like every other dog owner who loves her dog. I love my dog. A lot. Like, on the for reals, she is my best friend. I don’t know what I would do without her. I’ve had my dog a little over two years now, and Audrey Hepburn Buckley has taught me a lot. She’s been there for me through the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even though I trained HER, she’s probably trained me more.

So, here are just a few things my Audrey girl (aka: Auds, Woogs, Skizzles, Skizzy, Boo boo, or Booger) has taught me:

1. It’s never too early or too late to play
2. Dessert (treats) are welcomed and encouraged at any time
3. A long nap after a long run is key
4. Looking cute will get you everywhere
5. Showing the people you love that you love them never gets old
6. In addition to #5, you can never love the people you love too much
7. Snuggling makes everything better
8. Who doesn’t love a good back rub?
9. Stop pretending to be something you’re not
10. It pays to be a good listener
11. It’s okay to be picky about where you poop
12. It’s okay to get your paws wet and dirty every once in a while, but at least be a lady about it
13. Jump at the chance to make a new friend (sometimes literally, jump)
14. Defend what’s important to you (for Audrey, that’s her bone and her crate, and well, her mommy)
15. Take joy in the relaxation of a long car ride
16. Get good at sniffing out the bad apples
17. AND always be loyal to those who deserve it

What has your dog / cat/ ferret / best friend taught YOU?

Word.

I take a lot of pictures. For example, currently on Facebook I have 161 ALBUMS. Each album has at least 60 pictures, but most of my albums are nearing the 200 limit. And, in addition, there are over 2,600 pictures tagged of me. This is not a brag fest. I have a point…

Sometimes people will make comments about the fact that I have too many pictures, or so many pictures, or “holy-crap-you-have-a-sh*t-ton-of-pictures.” People will comment that I should just sit back and relax instead of trying to document whatever event I’m experiencing through pictures.

my mom after she bought the house i grew up in

I say no.

Not only do I just love the art of photography and the whole notion of “pictures really CAN be worth 1000 words,” I take pictures now because prior to the age of 17, I didn’t really take very many. And it’s getting hard to remember.

[I'm about to get just a wee personal.]

Most of you reading this know that my mom died when I was 17. I was a senior in high school, she was 55 years old. Yesterday I spent close to 3 hours going through old photo albums that I found trying to remember. The fact is, although this was 8 years ago, there’s a part of me that feels like I’m starting to forget things… the little things. Sure, I remember big events, overarching themes, and large characteristics of her, but I’m forgetting her laugh and her smile, and the little times spent together.

I have very few regrets in life. In fact, I don’t really believe in “regrets” – I believe in “things not done.” The one thing I could possibly classify as a regret would be this: In all of my pictures from age BIRTH to 17, I have very, very, VERY few photos of my mom and me in my teenage years. Such a simple thing, yet I never captured any of those moments. What I would do for a picture of my mom and me the night we went to the N*SYNC concert and she crimped her hair and wore pleather pants. Sure the pictures are “in my head,” but for me, it isn’t the same.

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 63. She loved Diet Coke in a giant 44oz. jug (like mother like daughter), sugar free Dole Popsicles,  Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk, and chocolate cake. Oh, she also loved those fruit and yogurt parfaits from McDonalds. I can’t tell you how many times I had to go get her one of those at like 3AM because she needed it right then and there.

She also loved pictures. She never wanted to forget anything. She remembered everything. And well, like mother like daughter, I want to remember everything. So I’m going to keep taking a ton of pictures.

my mom and i Christmas 1999. and yes, i loved that sweater.

So, in honor of the “coolest mom who ever lived’s” birthday, I finally scanned some of the greats.

It’s okay to miss those we have loved and lost – as long as we remember.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Word.

Sunday, May 23rd, 2010. Monday, May 24th, 2010. These days, for me, will go down in infamy.

Now, don’t go judging me so quickly.

Yes, for the past SIX years I’ve been a devoted fan of LOST. And yes, for the past, close to TEN years, I’ve been a devoted fan of 24. And in the past 72 hours, both of those television shows have come to a close. To an end. Fin. Donezo. Peace out.

I’m not typically a huge television fan. The nerd in me loves to read and write, and frankly, I can get rather lazy when it comes to keeping up with the Joneses or Kardashians. But LOST and 24 have had my heart, soul, and dedication for close to a decade.

Sure, everything comes to an End, well, in the end. This chapter closes and another opens, why would I care? I knew the end was inevitable and/or nigh.

I’ll miss these shows because I “grew up” with them. Although I’d done the majority of my biological growing up when they started, these shows changed as I did over the last few years. Some of my greatest memories are spending time with some of the most important people in my life watching these shows together.

I’ve been out of college three full years now and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I miss it. And ironically, LOST and 24 were a HUGE part of that time. (I know, I know, three years isn’t that long. I’m young. Get over it.)

I remember the first time I watched 24 and LOST like I would remember any other major event in my life. I even remember on my anniversary with my college boyfriend, we went to WAL-MART and bought the first season of LOST and spent the next three days watching it together. And it was awesome!

I remember the Saturday marathons of 24 where my friends Matt, Nick, Erick, Ross, and I would start at 8AM and watch an entire season of 24 back to back for 18 straight hours. There was so much pizza, fun-dip, Diet Coke, and funny bits during those 18 hours. When the show would go to commercial and the clock would read 3:45:08, we’d have a competition to see who could guess what time the clock would read when the show would come back. I mean, it was an INTENSE competition.

Wednesday nights were always hopping in the “446 Suites.” LOST had a dedicated following of college students who would laugh, cry, and ask WHATTHEHELL? together.  The times spent in my apartment, Harrison 104, with the “safe zone” pining over the next episode. Oh, and Ethan was the creepiest character ever.

Those people that I spent time with watching 24 and LOST were my best friends, and I haven’t seen some of them since we graduated in 2007. And for some reason, in the last three days, I’ve been really nostalgic thinking about them. Wishing we were all together again to watch that chapter of our lives come to an end.

So, why would I ramble on and on about a couple of TELEVISION shows?

Because as they have changed, I have changed. I am not the same person that I was when they began. I’ve matured, I’ve grown, and I’ve transitioned. Just like them.

I’ve moved on. (Just like… well, I won’t say for those of you who HAVEN’T seen the finale of either…)

It’s okay to miss those days. It’s okay to miss those people. It’s good to know they were in your life for a reason.

Just like the characters of Jack Bauer and Jack Shephard were there… for THEIR reasons.

“There are no shortcuts. No do-overs. What happened, happened. Trust me. I know. All of this matters.” - Jack Shephard

It all matters. And it’s okay to miss it. As long as you don’t take what you’ve experienced, all of it, any of it, for granted. It’s okay to move on.

Word.

And now a message from an old guy:

Now if you are going to win any battle you have to do one thing. You have to make the mind run the body. Never let the body tell the mind what to do. The body will always give up. It is always tired in the morning, noon, and night. But the body is never tired if the mind is not tired.”

-General George S. Patton, U.S. Army and 1912 Olympian

Dang. I didn’t realize the words of an old (deceased) Army General would ever make so much sense to me. The body always gives up – for me. Trust me, my body would always rather stay on the couch, or in bed. My body never wants to get up earlier than it has to. My mind does the grunt work. My body is just the carrier pigeon.

Was feeling a small sense of personal defeat on Friday – and was feeling a general sense of being overwhelmed. (It happens. Right? Right.) And, in the midst of doing work, stumbled across this quote. I think I’m going to print off 100 copies of it and tape it up everywhere I need a reminder.

Sometimes the mind just needs a reminder – because the body tends to forget.

Word.

PS: I think Betty White is a rockstar in both body and mind. She was effing brilliant on SNL last night. For reals.

We all work.

Although “work” isn’t so easily defined for all of us. For some of us, “work” is what pays the bills. Going to the gym is “working” out. To others, volunteering is “work.” It’s all work – in some way or another.

Sure, we all “work” for someone. Unless you are one of the lucky people who have no one to answer to but yourself, either because you’re a loner or because you’re a billionaire, you “work” for someone.

But my question to you goes deeper than a boss / authority figure: WHO do YOU work for?

You don’t make money for your boss, you make money for yourself or a family you’re supporting. But in the end, are you happy with the “work” you’re doing? Are you really working for the money, are you working for the boss, are you working for your family, or are you working for yourself? Is the paycheck the most important thing?

The reason I pose this question is because it is a question that I, myself, have posed a lot recently… to, well, myself. I don’t make a lot of money and I work a lot. But what is my end goal? Do I have a plan? Do I have a vision? The things that I do outside of my 9-5 job, are all those activities (other involvement) considered, work? Do I see the hard “work” I put into those things as valuable? Of course. Because I don’t get paid to run. I don’t get paid to do improv. I do those things for myself.

Even if you spend 80 hours a week at the office, or you work 100 hours a week at 3 jobs, or you are lucky and you have a very strict 9-5, 40 hour a week gig, it’s important to take a step back from the daily grind and remember who you work for FIRST.

Who’s your number one boss? You. YOU are you’re number one boss. You know when you’re procrastinating, working diligently, improving, accomplishing, goal setting, yada yada yada. You know YOU better than anyone… which that should go without saying.

I know I need a reminder every once in a while. So, I thought, maybe if I wrote it down and reminded myself, in turn, I’d help to remind other people. You work for yourself first, because if you’re your own number one employee, it will show in everything else you do.

I work really hard. Always have.

That medal was my running paycheck. I earned it.

But particularly, I’ve worked really hard for six months on a “side-project”, and this past Sunday was my mid-year evaluation. I ran my first ever half-marathon. 13.1 miles. The Long Branch, New Jersey half-marathon. And the only one boss that could judge my performance? Me.

It was, by far, the most difficult thing I have ever done. Not only was it 13.1 miles, but it was 93 degrees, no shade, no breeze (for at least 10.5 of the 13.1 miles), high pollen count, etc. etc… By mile 2 I wanted to quit – and I knew I had a long way to go.

My goal was a finishing time of 2 hours and 30 minutes. I ended up finishing in 2 hours and 56 minutes. Was I disappointed?Sure. But was I proud of myself? Absolutely. For the last six months I have trained and prepared 100% on my own. No one else made me get up in the morning and run 5 miles, no one else told me I had to run after working at 15 hour day… I told myself. I did the work.

My friend Colette and my friend Greg were my mentors – talking me through the bad runs, the good runs, and the prep. But in the end, my legs did the running.

And yeah, I’ll admit it, mile 9 of 13.1, I cried. Straight up. No lies. I didn’t know if I could finish or not. As I watched people passing out beside me, and people throwing up from heat exhaustion, I had to have the conversation with myself, did I want to pass out or did I want to finish? I chose the later.

In running, in comedy, in life, I am my own boss. If I am proud of the work I do, the people I literally work for will feel the same way.

Who do YOU work for?

Word.

I’ve talked about this some – but not enough I feel like. I had a long day at work today and then a night of rehearsals, and was, yet again, reminded why IMPROV is my religion.

some of my group, made of bees

I’m not going to get in to a religious debate here, that is not the point of this. Sure, I went to Catholic mass as a kid. Sure, I went to Bible study in college. But for me, in the end, getting up at 9AM every Sunday and singing hymnals wasn’t a way for me to connect with God, or a higher power.

A while ago, I can’t even remember when now, I read a story about someone who was taking an improv class with the infamous Amy Poehler – this is before she was famous and when she taught at her theater the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in NYC. In this particular class session, Amy gave this note/small speech:

Treat the stage with respect. Treat it with total and complete reverence. The stage is my church. There is no place that I feel more alive, more myself, more truthful, more satisfied and happy.

Some people go to church to feel in touch with that creative force that some people call God. Well, I get that on stage. I have learned more about the person I want to be and can be from the lessons I have learned in improv classes and performing in shows. That is why I am here today. So if the stage is my church, improv is my religion.

Now, two people up for a scene and just rock out with your cocks out.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Through all the bullshit, the stress, life changes, work, relationships, family, friends, money, cash, and foes: the stage, improv, they’re there for me.

The stage doesn’t let me down. It’s not about impressing people, it’s about having an outlet where unconditional support, positivity, and the ultimate in creative freedoms are embraced and encouraged.

Growing up, I was awkward as hell. Hell, I’m still pretty awkward. It wasn’t until I found comedy that I embraced the awkward and said, “Ahhh, fu*k it,” and I made this unspoken agreement with myself that I would no longer let the past dictate my future.

Am I getting way too existential for you? Am I making any sense at all?

The life lessons I have learned through improv, the way I feel when I completely embody a character that is totally unlike myself, the total and utter high I get when a scene is knocked out of the park and the audience is experiencing that side-splitting laughter and all I want to do is do THAT, again – that is the ultimate feeling of freedom. Of originality. Or selflessness. Of happiness. That’s my connection with God, Allah, a higher power, or the like.

During that time, I’m 100% connected to the stage and the people on it.

My best friends in the entire world are people I improvise with.

At Improv SLAM rehearsal tonight, the entire cast, all of us, we’d totally lost our minds – stuff went to crazytown, but I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. When you get in that mode, nothing else matters. Every little stressor in life is completely washed away for those minutes or hours when you’re improvising with people you love.

In the alternate words of Aaron Neville, “I don’t know much… but I know I’ll have improv for the rest of my life.”

I want to know: what’s your Church? Do you practice a non-traditional religion that makes you feel awesome?

Word.

So I got in a car accident three weeks ago. Wait no, almost a month ago now. Dayum.

Yes, it was my fault. Not on purpose of course. They don’t call it a car purpose. It’s a car accident because that’s what it is. AN ACCIDENT. No, I wasn’t on my phone. No, Oprah, I wasn’t texting while driving. It was 5 o’clock on a Tuesday during rush hour and the guy in front of me stopped too fast for me to stop. No, we weren’t at a stop sign. No, we weren’t a stop light.

It all happened in less than 30 seconds. I tried to swerve to miss him, but unfortunately, I did not.

I’ve never been in a car accident. It freaked me out so much. I got a little whiplash and had a pretty good bruise from the seat belt for a couple days, but other than that I was fine.

But I remember getting out of my car, making sure the guy was okay, and then seeing my car and I immediately started crying. For a couple reasons, one because I was shaken up, two because my pretty car was no longer pretty, and three, I thought “HOW IN THE H AM I GOING TO PAY FOR THIS? WHAT AM I GOING TO DRIVE WHILE THIS IS GETTING FIXED? WHO IS GOING TO TELL ME THIS IS GOING TO BE OKAY?” etc. etc. etc.

And of course, I’m totally lucky. It’s a good thing I WAS paying attention. I hear horror stories of these car accidents on the interstate and I am thankful I was not one of those. So, of course, hooray for it being okay.

Sure, I have car insurance. But there are those things like rental car deposits, tickets, and deductibles we forget about.

SIDE NOTE: The rental car I got for the last 25 days was a 2010 Dodge Avenger. AKA: It looks like a manly muscle car. BUT it did have Satellite radio. I used to have Sirius satellite radio a long time ago – I forgot how much I missed it. I was really sad to say goodbye to Cosmo radio. MAN that is a good station.

Oh well, 25 days after my accident, I finally have my car back. And she’s good as new and pretty again. The guys at Elite Auto Body in Carrboro did an AMAZING job.

(They sure as sh*t better have for having it be a $4,000 repair job…)

Well, here she is, in all her glory:

Lucy before.

Lucy AFTER! Isn't she cute?

Moral of the story? People get in car accidents. Sure, it sucks, but it happens to everyone. I just need to make the benjamins now so I can pay it off…

And I think the two-second following rule should be a five-second following rule.

Just sayin’.

Tell me: Have you ever gotten in a car accident or fender bender? Did it totally suck? If it did, I’m sorry. Share your wisdom and experience in the comments.

Word.

I’m going to try and keep this post as short and concise as possible, because there is a lot of information to update you on. But, because I enjoy writing, am long-winded, and digress excessively, that may not happen. Oh well. I do what I want, yo.

colette and i after the race with our medals!

holyshit I ran the TarHeel 10 Miler.

And I finished it. And I didn’t come in last place! This wasn’t just a big deal for me, in the immortal words of our beloved Vice President of the United States, “It was a big fu*king deal.”

I went from being a horrible runner who would pass out after trying to run a half a mile to finishing and SPRINTING THE FINISH LINE of a 10-mile race. My first race, no less. It was hard. Definitely. I ran with one of my best friends (and FEMMEBOIS comedy partner) Colette, and I don’t think I could have done it without her. We really motivated each other, and when mile 8 on the Laurel Hill challenge came, she kept yelling, “KEEP RUNNING, MOLLY! You can do it!” All while my leg muscles were burning hotter than Justin Timberlake’s dance moves.

The two best parts of the race? Seeing the amazing DSI Comedy people cheer us on at the 6.5 and 9 mile water stops and sprinting the finish line in Kenan Stadium. Sprinting that last 1/4 mile stretch around the track in Kenan was so exhilarating. When we finally crossed the finish line, my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I just started to cry. I couldn’t believe it.

Regardless, in 8 days, I will run my first half-marathon, and only my (now) second race ever. I’m working with a bit of a knee and foot injury, but I know I can do it. 8 days. 8 days. 8 days.

In Memory Day

Some of you saw that I tweeted about having the opportunity to speak at the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial Foundation event In Memory Day in Washington D.C. Well, I spoke. I was (surprisingly) able to get off work for the weekend and take Monday off. I drove up to Herndon, Va (the town where I was born and raised) and spent Saturday with my best friend, Bec, before she left Sunday for Colorado. Spent some much needed quality time with my Dad, my friend Katie, and even got to see a friend and sorority sister of mine, Caroline. And yes, we ate at the Tortilla Factory in case you weren’t wondering.

I’ve written about my mom a lot more lately. A lot more than I ever have or used to, so I won’t go into the details of her story, her life, etc. Basically, In Memory Day is a ceremony that takes place at the wall in honor of those who served in the Vietnam War and died because of their service but do not qualify to have their names inscribed on the wall.

My mom was honored in 2004 and 2009. My dad spoke in my place in 2004 because I was in college. This year, I was given the opportunity to speak. I did it because it was important for me to spend that time with my dad, be able to talk about my mom, and hopefully keep her story going – because it’s one that should no soon be forgotten.

Well, footage of my speech is available online. You can see the ceremony in it’s entirety here with my speech beginning at approximately 26:45.

Senator Lisa Murkowski and I at In Memory Day

I was honored to be able to be a part of such an important day.

And last but certainly not least, the girl with 4 jobs, as of Monday, April 26th, will now have ONE.

You read it right. As of Monday, April 26th, I will be a full time employee of 1360 WCHL. A lot has happened in the last few months, and I’ve worked really, really, REALLY hard. Also, I’m really, really, REALLY burnt out. I sort of had a breaking point a couple weeks ago and realized I couldn’t keep working at the pace I’m currently working. No days off. 13, 14, sometimes 16 hour work days. No free time.

It seemed like so many things kept happening and finally I broke. It happens to everyone. Conveniently, at the time I figured out I couldn’t work this many jobs anymore, my part-time job at the radio station offered me a full-time position. Over the last four months at the station, I took the part-time position I was given, and treated it like a full-time position – giving it exactly what it deserves, going above and beyond my job description, and showing the station why I am an asset to the team. And finally, it paid off. And I couldn’t be more excited.

I will continue in my role as Sales and Marketing Coordinator, but I will also be expanding my role into commercial writing, editing, and production along with station promotions and initiatives. I’m taking the things I love to do, write, edit, create, and market, and I’m applying them to my job. I’m pumped.

Money is still tight, really tight, and I’ll have some serious budget re-working to do, but I’m excited to get somewhat of a life back and love going to work every day.

++++

I’ve learned a lot over the last few months and I know I have a lot more to learn. There’s some big stuff coming my way. I know it. I can feel it.

In the end, it’s all going to be okay.

I want to know, what have YOU learned so far this year?

Word.

ps: see? told you I couldn’t keep this ish short.

me (far right) with one of my English classes

Some of you know and some of you don’t know, that I was a high school English teacher for two years in Richmond, Virginia.

I didn’t go to college to be a teacher, it just sort of, well, happened. I stumbled upon it. (The explanation of how I really got the job is another story for another day).

Regardless, it was by far the most liberating, challenging, rewarding, fun, [insert other adjective here], experiences of my short life. Although I’m not teaching, nor am I living in Richmond anymore, the students that I taught for those two years had such a great impact on me – so much so that I still keep in contact with many of them.

When you spend as many hours a week with these students as I did, you learn so much about them and their lives. You learn who’s popular, what sports they like, favorite songs, boyfriend and girlfriend drama, who’s taking whom to prom, what their goals are, etc. For many of my students, in addition to being their teacher, I became a mentor and a sounding board.

There were countless students that I didn’t even have on my official roster that would come into my classroom on a daily basis and talk to me or just want to say hey.

Well, in the last month and a half, tragedy has struck the Hermitage HS community twice. Two students, both of whom made an impact on my life in addition to the lives of so many other students, passed away at two separate times. Knowing what death and loss feels like, I grieve along with the Hermitage community. Young lives gone too soon. To the friends and families of Jackson and Drew, know that I’m thinking about you. You will get through this.

In addition to teaching English, I was the photojournalism/yearbook teacher. At the end of the year last year, I wrote a “Farewell from the Adviser” note and published it in one of the back pages of the yearbook. I pulled my copy of 2009 Panthian out today, read it and I just cried. I needed that.

And so, I thought it would be fitting to share it with you, for no other reason than I felt it needed to be shared.

A FAREWELL FROM THE ADVISER… (Dated June 2009)

It’s hard to explain to someone on the outside, exactly what it is like to be a yearbook adviser. It’s hard enough explaining what it’s like to be a high school teacher, who looks like a high school student. My two years at Hermitage have been short, but I have learned more in the past 670+ days than I think I have in my entire 23 & 3/4 years of life. On the day of my interview for my job at Hermitage, Mrs. Saunders and Mrs. Montgomery said to me, “How would you feel about also becoming the yearbook adviser?” I had told them that I was on yearbook staff when I was younger and that I would definitely be interested in the position. Well, when I came into work on my first day, smack dab in the middle of my schedule I noticed that I had photojournalism 5th block. I was naive, idealistic, and frankly, had no idea what was in store for me.

Being yearbook adviser has easily been the most challenging thing I have ever experienced in my life. [Students: you have no idea how hard it is to create this thing you're looking at. Cherish it. Love it. Don't throw it away, please.] Hundreds of hours are spending designing pages, taking and choosing pictures, writing stories, editing captions, editing captions again, getting quotes, placing quotes, finalizing spreads, getting proofs, fixing the spreads again, and maybe having to fix the same spread a 7th time. The details involved in putting together a yearbook are innumerable. And that’s the easy part. There is also this “other” part of being a yearbook adviser that no one tells you about. The part where you have to train, motivate, educate, organize, and empower 24-30 TEENAGERS into making the actual thing. Nope, no one tells you about that.

Well, on a sunny day in September of 2007, I walked into photojournalism on the FIRST day of school, (also my first day teaching, ever) and I had no idea that already, every single kid in that room hated me. The yearbook had gone through a lot of turnover with advisers and I was predisposed to be Enemy #1. As I read my syllabus to the class, I could hear the grumbling and I could feel 25 sets of eyes rolling. As I continued to read, the class became more and more agitated and I had no idea why. Suddenly, two students walked out of the room. I looked up, and if looks could kill, I would have been about eight feet under by that point. I knew right away that what I was facing would be a challenge. I also knew that it couldn’t get worse… right? [BTW: of course they eventually grew to love me, or tolerate me. I'm not 100% sure which.]

I don’t want to ramble and rehash old details of yearbooks-past, but I do want to tell you what I’ve learned. I learned about people and how to cope with differing personalities. I learned how to take every moment in stride. I learned how to instill a sense of leadership in those who had no clue as to what being a leader meant. I learned how to take the bad and roll with the good. I learned how to accept me for ME. I’m young, I look young, and I love to laugh and make people laugh. I had accepted that and I wouldn’t want to be any other way. However, I also learned how to stand up when I know I’m right and accept it when I know I’m wrong.

To the faculty, staff, and administrators: thank you for supporting me. Thank you for letting me vent when I needed to vent. Thank you for making me laugh when I needed a laugh. Thank you for all the advice, mentoring, friendships, doughnuts, popcorn on Fridays, stepping, and lunches. You are all incredible educators and the students at Hermitage are blessed to have you in their lives.

To my students: thank you for teaching me. I hope that I have taught you a little something. Whether it’s what you should order from Chipotle [and that Chipotle is WAY better than Qdoba or Moe's], whether it’s how to navigate the subways of New York City, or how to “blend in” when creeping on people for a picture. In the end, it is my hope that I have taught you to never settle. Accept yourself for who you are and embrace every part of it. Don’t change for something else because you think you have to. All of you are incredible young adults: bright, funny, smart, and confident. Don’t ever forget that, because I will never forget you.

In the school of improv comedy [yes, I do comedy] we are taught the philosophy of “Yes, and…” – meaning to accept every offer by saying, “YES!” and then to build upon that offer with something new and wonderful. My time here at Hermitage has been one big moment of “Yes, and…,” and I will continue to “Yes, and…” every moment from here on out.

Go Panthers!

-Ms. Molly Buckley

Well, and that brings us to present day. Dear Hermitage, I miss you.

QUESTION: What event/job/experience in your life taught YOU the most?

Word.

Sometimes “It” hurts.

“It” can be anything. Life, work, relationships, school, writing, walking, talking, and even running. It doesn’t matter how long or how hard you’ve trained. Or how much you’ve prepared yourself for “It.” Sometimes, “It” just hurts.

I’ve been training since November for these races. I ran 8.2 miles on Saturday. Today, I tried go out and run 4, and could only run 2. My feet and my knees were killing me. Like, to the point where all I could focus on was the pain each time a foot hit the pavement. I kept trying to run through it, but it just hurt worse.

So, much to my dismay, I turned around, and I ran back home. I even had to walk part of the way. And I felt this deep sense of personal shame. This is what I said to myself:

“WTF, Molly? You ran 8 miles on Saturday and you can’t even do this? How are you, in 4 days, going to run TEN MILES?”

Then the other part of me said:

“Hey, sh*t happens, and tomorrow I’m going to wake up early. I hate waking up early, but I’m going to wake up early, I’m going to pop a couple of Aleve, and run. And then rest. And then go to work with a smile on my face. And work and do bits all day. Then, on Saturday, I’m going to get up at 5:30 in the morning, I’m going to put on my shoes, and I’m going to run 10 miles. My knees, my feet, my confidence, they’ll be fine.”

Because sometimes when “It” hurts [whatever "it" is] you just have to push through “it” and keep “running.”  Because there is no better feeling in the world than crossing the finish line when you know how hard you’ve worked to get there.

Am I right?

Word.