Does life ever go as planned?

A little over a year ago I was on top of the world. I had just graduated after 5 grueling years of all-nighters, way too many eccentric roommates to handle and an overall exhilarating experience where I felt that I had truly discovered who I am as an individual. In spite of the impending student loan re-payments, I packed up a (way too small) backpack and flew to Europe with three of my favorite gals.

We had taken a leap over the pond that represented much more to us than a mere vacation. This was the first time  in which we were solely responsible for getting from point A to point B and making sure we had a roof over our heads by the end of the night. Our phones were deactivated to avoid international charges and our only hope of connecting to any form of technology was through free Wi-Fi, which was far and few between. We had no one to fall back on when we struggled to navigate curved streets that seemed to end abruptly and begin elsewhere without our being the wiser. At times, we were overwhelmed (especially during a particular outing that found us wandering the streets of London at 1 in the morning trying to find our hostel). But we did it. We adapted. We rejoiced in the spontaneity of it all. We explored. And walked. And walked. And walked. It still baffles me that I was able to gain weight with all the walking we did, but I guess that’s a testament to how delicious European cuisine is.

By the time we returned to the States, I was exhausted and changed. I felt empowered, as though I could tackle any hurdle. I had faced the fear I felt toward the unknown and emerged a victor. Now before you scoff, I am aware that traveling abroad is not the perfect manifestation of the unknown, but it’s pretty close. It was a place where everyone was a stranger, and frequently there was an impenetrable language barrier. The food was new, the streets were confusing and we were without the comfort of knowing that regardless of what happens we would be at home in our beds by the end of the night. I had discovered a part of myself that I had never been aware of; I am adventurous, and, at times, even fearless.

After my adventure, I was ready to go into “The Real World.” I had a pretty piece of paper attesting to my five years of higher education and was preparing to move into an awesome apartment in Burbank. Why Burbank? Because that was where I was going to make my dreams come true. I could go to acting classes, write at home, and (hopefully) be surrounded by other creatives who would connect with me instantly and help me navigate this journey toward success. Only, that’s not quite how it worked out.

When Reality Steps in.

I had finished setting up my apartment, with whimsical world traveler decor becoming a common theme. The only thing left was to go back home for some last second summer fun and return to my new home with my beloved pooch in tow. Sasha (named of course in honor of Queen Bey), was a sturdy, spunky and ridiculously affectionate Cairn Terrier. To save you the time from googling it, she was a “Toto” dog. She provided me with an endless supply of love and laughter through her sweet little kisses to her habit of rolling onto her back the second I entered the door. Some day soon I’ll dedicate an entry solely to my love of her and the truly miraculous bond that we humans share with these amazing creatures. But for now, I’ll begin at the end. After seven years of her being the last thing I saw before I went to bed and the first I saw upon waking, I had to say goodbye. Since she first came into my life, I loathed the cruelly short life-span of dogs. I would calculate in my head how old I would be when she most likely would pass and imagine what my life would be like at the time. I would be in my early 30s, married, maybe already a mother. I would think, ” Man, that’s going to be a really hard year.”

Instead, I was in my early 20s, recently returned from Europe and greatly anticipating the next year of my life. I was watching Les Mis in the living room with my mom when it happened. Sasha had gone out the doggie door at some point, presumably to prance around the grass as she always did and mark her territory (she was quite masculine that way). As the end credits began to roll I got up to call her inside. When she didn’t come running right away, I thought nothing of it, because she often would become obsessively captivated by a squirrel or some other critter. The first moment of panic came when I realized I couldn’t hear the faint jingling of her collar. I instantly clamped down on the fear and told myself that maybe she dug a hole under the fence and was in our neighbor’s yard. I held onto that belief, especially since their dogs were uncharacteristically loud and aggravated. With flashlight in hand, I began to walk the perimeter of our yard to see if I could determine how she had gotten out. As I neared our back fence-line the unyielding clarity of the LED light landed on Sasha. Sounds and words I did not consciously choose to make exploded from my mouth as I backed away and mom and dad came running outside yelling “No! No! What happened?” Somehow I ended up on the couch, sobbing and repeating the same word over and over. No. No. No. I had never been so unselfconscious when crying in front of someone else. I sobbed, I screamed, I punched the couch cushion.

A quiet, remote part of my brain still functioned. I felt like I was floating above, a spectator to my horror and disbelief. I saw myself contorting my face in a hideous representation of my loss. I saw mom trying desperately to comfort her daughter while she herself was devastated. My first semblance of control came when dad came back inside after moving Sasha and putting her somewhere safe for the night. Safe is a weird term to use here, as she was already gone, but he knew the importance of protecting what was left of her. Realizing what he had done, what he had forced himself to see and do broke my heart. He loved her just as dearly as I did and the thought of him seeing her like that and not being able to run away as I had brought me back into my body. I was no longer drowning in my own emotions. It still felt like I was, but I kept my head above water and took in the pain that my family was feeling. They were there with me, mourning with me. The true testament to their empathy was that they didn’t waste time and effort saying “It’ll be okay.” They formed a shield around me with their hugs and said, “I am so so sorry. Candace, I am so sorry.”

That was the longest night of my life. I didn’t sleep for a second, and the minutes crept by like hours. Some may not understand this level of grief over a dog. I hope to change that, or at least give you some understanding, when I get around to that entry. For now, I’m just looking back on the past year since then. I have lost several months from the grief-struck blur I was living in. Instead of tackling my new adult life with zeal, I was overcome with loneliness.. My apartment felt empty and uninviting without Sasha there to greet me; her bed and toys I had yet to hide from sight taunted me with her memory. Suddenly, this new town was no longer exciting. It was scary. Not only did I not know anyone in the city, but I also was met with unfamiliar faces at home. My security blanket and constant companion was not there to distract me from the unfamiliar territory and all of the confidence I had acquired on my trip to Europe had fled me.

It has now been just over a year since I lost Sasha, and my life is nowhere near where I had thought it would be.  I am now back in my hometown as my rent was raised astronomically. My extreme desire to avoid house-hunting and going on awkward “make sure my roommate isn’t a psycho” coffee dates are totally fine with that. I’m back where I was before I  started this journey, but I’m not at the beginning. I am changed. I am stronger from my experiences, even my grief (don’t let the tears fool you) and I have found my love for life again.

This isn’t what I planned, but I’m going to make it work. No more being intimidated by the Mark Zuckerberg and Jennifer Lawrence success stories. No more constantly comparing the reality of my life to the calculated presentations of success on my friends’ Timelines. I am living in the moment. I am embracing being present to my surroundings and the fascinating people I encounter every day.

This isn’t what I planned, but this is my life. I am going to live it.

~Check back here as I share my experiences, struggles, jubilation, insights and, very likely, rants (I never claimed to be perfect).~