About a month into the new millenium I was hanging out with my younger brother in his room and I started to talk about how impatient I was for my life to get going. It was only January, and I couldn’t imagine waiting until September to start grad school. What was I going to do during that time? I had planned to move to Washington, DC, after grad school, but I was taking baby steps to get there. What if I skipped school — I hadn’t paid for anything yet and I could always defer enrollment in case I changed my mind — and moved to DC NOW? As I talked to my brother, the idea became rooted. There are certain times in my life when a plan has struck me and I instantly know that it’s the right plan, the immediate plan, the plan I need to focus all my energy (and money) on immediately. I had that feeling when I quit my newspaper job after college to move home with my parents and become a reporter, and later editor, at my hometown newspaper. And I had that feeling one day as a reporter, sitting in another interminable county commissioners’ meeting, that I should quit my job now to travel through Europe again (instead of waiting a year and saving money for an around-the-world trip). I knew that feeling. That feeling was excitement and resolve and certainty, tinged with a little nervousness, but not hesitation. So, in that January 2000, I quit my job, began applying for editing and writing jobs in DC over the Internet and made plans to move. In February, I was in DC to interview for jobs, find an apartment and stay with my good college buddy, Marina, who had been pestering me to move to DC for a few years. By March, I had a new zip code and a new paycheck.

I loved DC from the moment I visited in 1998 and loved it even more when I moved here in 2000. With only one friend in the city, I spent most weekends walking, exploring neighborhoods and learning to navigate the city. (I got in tremendous shape from all that exploring!) I remember my first week on the job I was sent to Capitol Hill to cover a press conference and a few months later, I was sent to the White House to cover an event with the first lady, Hillary Clinton. I loved my new city–everything was happening here and I was surrounded by news. Now, 10 years later, I’m on my fourth job in DC; have had a few relationships and my heart broken; moved away for a year to travel; bought a sofa and a queen-size bed (the first two items that made me feel like I was an adult and had put down roots); discovered cell phones, ipods, Macbooks, social media; learned how to cook and bake; cried and ranted about these long, long wars; made new friends and dumped old friends; walked 60 miles in a 3-day breast cancer walk; met a few celebrities and plenty of congressmen; survived 9/11 and cried for days after; traveled to Austin twice, Minnesota, London again, San Francisco a few times, NYC a few times; explored and fell in love with Peru and my great travel partners; cried over New Orleans and Katrina; tried out speed dating, blind dates, Match.com, and finally fell in love with  a guy I met on eharmony; moved in with a guy for the first time; got engaged to that guy in my favorite city, Rome; and married that guy in my beloved hometown (and sang a song at our wedding!).

Now, as Eriq and I sit near each other on our one couch, engrossed in our separate laptops, I look ahead to 2010 and beyond and our life together. I ask first and foremost for health and happiness, but also for a little help with this economic devastation and the effect it’s had on Eriq’s business. I look forward to traveling more with Eriq — I yearn to return to Scotland and show Eriq that wonderful country. I’m wishing to someday move into a condo, townhouse or small home where we’re allowed to have pets. If I could clone my uncle Kevin’s dog, I would, and snag a few kittens from the pound.

As I look back on all that has happened the last 10 years, I acknowledge and appreciate how lucky I’ve been in love, life, work, family and travel. What more could I ask for?

So, now I’m joining corporate America again, but I know it won’t be like my first experience. The fact that the company has been able to hire during this recession should be a good sign. And I’ve had exciting conversations with my soon-to-be bosses about how they use social media and new media and the magazine teams I’ll be leading. But still, it was a big decision to leave my “work home,” where I’ve worked longer than any other job. My department is a close group. We complain together, we laugh together every day–sometimes holding our stomachs and with tears streaming down our faces–and most of all, we work together, developing new ideas and creating websites, magazines and health awareness campaigns out of thin air. They were there when my boyfriend broke my heart, when I started dating again, when my now-husband showed up at work unexpectedly after just our second date with an orchid (because I had told him no guy had ever given me flowers before “just because”). They were there for my engagement and my marriage.

While six years may not seem a lot to those of you who have worked at the same place for 10, 20, 30 years, imagine leaving that place. OK, quit smiling. Seriously, imagine leaving your work family, knowing realistically you’ll stay in touch with only some of them. Imagine having to make new work friends, learn a new corporate culture, get accustomed to a new computer system and workplace rules. Imagine being the new kid again.

I was comfortable at ACOG. I knew my job, I knew my co-workers, I knew the expectations. I knew who was helpful, who was a pain in the a**, who I could count on and who I should just leave alone. Deep down, I know I’ll enjoy my new responsibilities and succeed at my job, but I’ll miss my comfort zone. So I suppose that accepting a new job out of the blue is definitely “deliberate spontaneity.” I feel like I’m heading off to college in two weeks — the nervous anticipation of a new environment, the excitement of being able to reinvent myself if I want to, wondering if I’ll make new friends easily and imagining what my new assignments will be like. It’s back to school time.

My husband and his family enjoy sushi and, even more so, sushi buffets. When his brother-in-law invited us this week, I immediately reminded my husband that I don’t like sushi. And later that evening, he reminded me that I was trying to become more adventurous. He was right! It never even occurred to me that expanding my culinary tastes could be a part of my deliberate spontaneity project. After all, I love food. It’s not as if I only eat meat and potatoes or all white food or only American food. I love trying new things — or at least, that’s how I imagine myself. I can be very Midwestern in my tastes and stubborn in general, so maybe I don’t try as many new types of food as I could and should. So, camera and notebook in hand, I set out on my tough assignment to eat a sushi buffet brunch today.

My husband’s family was surprised to see me come along for the sushi event, so that alone should tell me I need to get out more and try new things. Eriq’s younger brother informed me that I should try the fried bananas, which sounded tantalizing.

Sushi by definition is vinegar rice with other ingredients, including usually some type of fish. It can be in little rolls or oblong and is often wrapped in what looks like paper called nori, edible types of seaweed. We dipped our sushi into soy sauce, but you can also use wasabi if you’re brave enough — I had a pinprick portion of wasabi in London in 2002, and it was enough to set my mouth ablaze and make me sweat. Sushi is served with green tea, but I stuck with Sprite. I guess that means I’m not quite Anthony Bourdain or the guy from Man vs. Food yet.

My second plate of sushi

At the restaurant, I poured my soy sauce into my tiny dish and tasted the miso soup. My sister-in-law said that if I was going to try miso soup for the first time, this was a great representative. However, I wasn’t a fan of the tofu aftertaste. On to the sushi … I filled my plate with a small portion of rice noodles just in case I became anti-raw fish and grabbed one of each of the dozen or so different types of sushi. I snagged a couple of fried specimens as well. I started with safe flavors first, a California roll, which was filled with cucumber, crab meat and avocado. My next piece was even tastier. It may have been what is known as a firecracker roll, which has red pepper in it to give it a little kick and cream cheese to cool it down. This was fun! I dove in and tried several other pieces, including a couple of oblong pieces of packed rice with a piece of salmon or crab on top. I realized later that I didn’t try the eel! One of the fried pieces was a sweet surprise — the fried banana I was waiting for. I returned to the buffet and filled my plate with some more sushi rolls and grabbed two pieces of fried banana, which I saved as my dessert — the perfect sweet taste after my brunch of new and tasty flavors.

But in our back yard, we had a jungle gym, which included a set of black plastic rings. Even though the rings event was a male-only event, this was the closest I would come to becoming Mary Lou. I would stand at the edge of the alley, raise my right arm to signal to the judges I was ready, race 20 feet to the rings — in my head, I saw my “stocky” legs churning and pounding down the mat just like Retton — “leap” into the air a few inches, grab the rings, swing forward, flip backward and let go. I landed solidly on the ground, straining to stick my landing, back arched, both hands in the air. My head was held high, my smile plastered on. I turned side to side, arms still raised, to acknowledge the roaring crowd and the judges. I perfected approximately 10,000 of these landings that summer.

Twenty-five years later, I decided to continue my gymnastics career when my husband, Eriq, and I signed up to take a trapeze class with the Trapeze School New York, which had recently moved its Baltimore location to Washington, DC. I’m not afraid of heights, but I am afraid of jumping off platforms into the air. Even tethered, even with a net, it’s not natural to jump off things high in the air unless you’re jumping down, with a plan for a landing. But just jumping OFF, into the air, is terrifying. I discovered this earlier this summer after helping Eriq build elements on his ropes course. He wanted me to try to jump off the 40-foot platform and hit the tether ball a few feet away. My husband had secured my harness and was belaying me, and I was confident that my dear, sweet, newlywed husband wasn’t going to allow me to plunge to my death (who would clean the bathroom and cook for him, then, right?). But preparing to jump physically is one thing — it’s more difficult when a voice inside your head is screaming like a very concerned fairy godmother, “Are you insane? That’s a 40-foot drop you’re leaping into it! DON’T DO IT!” I steeled myself, bent my knees and hopped — but I didn’t actually move. My feet never left the ground. Ten minutes of this, and I finally “lept” off the platform, but my leap disintegrated in mid-air as I yelped and just kind of fell forward. Now, I was going to try this again with a trapeze and strangers.

We began with a short safety and instructional lesson from Mike, one of the instructors whom we later saw had the most toned back and chest muscles imaginable — I didn’t even know some of those spots in my back WERE muscles. Mike taught us how to arch our back, stick our belly buttons out and trust the instructor holding on to the back of our harness as we leaned forward over the platform. Then, we practiced our bunny hop. I couldn’t even perfect this on the ground, which should have been a sign of things to come. I didn’t hop far forward enough, and Mike asked me to try again. We grabbed a trapeze bar just a few feet off the ground, and Mike led us through the actual motions that we needed to do once we were in the air. That was it. Now, time to fly.

In our group of four beginners, I went third, my husband, last. The first woman was flawless, the second was terrified, screaming the entire time she swung in the air. I was next. I hooked the safety tether into my snug harness, climbed the ladder 23 feet into the air and stood on the platform, while Mike unhooked my safety tether and hooked me to the belay line controlled by Mandy on the ground. I leaned forward, with Mike holding onto the back of my harness, arched my back, grabbed the bar with my right hand, then my left, bent my knees when he said “ready,” and when he barked “hup,” my circus cue to jump forward, I did not hop forward. My legs were rebelling. Mike just kept shouting “hup” one after the other, and I didn’t move. I giggly said “just a second” and tried to steal myself to jump forward. I thought it took me several minutes before I jumped, but, in reality, when he said “hup” the fifth time, I hopped forward just enough, and he let go. I’d like to say that I felt free, wind whipping through my hair, as I swung through the air, but to be honest, it all happened so fast and I was concentrating on Mandy’s instructions so much that I wasn’t aware of the platform behind me, the net below me or the other trapeze bar that I was supposed to arch toward. I just swung out, hooked my legs over the bar when Mandy told me to, let go with my hands, dangling in mid-air. Did I see anything? Were my eyes closed? I grabbed the bar again and tried to swing my legs back and forth as fast as Mandy was instructing me to, but I was off count and a little wobbly. When she told me to let go with another “hup,” I didn’t realize I was supposed to kick my legs forward, to form an “L” with my body, so instead, I just landed on my feet on the wobbly net. And quickly fell forward on my face. That was graceful.

The next two times I didn’t improve much. The second time was much like the first, except I jumped the first time the instructor said “hup.” My hop was barely detectable though, and my swing was slow. I landed on my face. Again. The third time I was determined to improve my hop and jumped so far forward, that I lost the natural momentum the bunny hop provides, making it impossible for me to pull my legs up over the bar. However, I did land on my butt this time, in a sitting position. After three times, I was ready to head home. I didn’t feel any freedom or excitement or wind whipping my hair as I was “flying.” I just felt frustrated and bored. I was over it. I tried it, I conquered my fear of jumping off a platform, I was never going to be Mary Lou or a member of Cirque de Soleil. I didn’t see what I would gain from taking another turn.

But Eriq, always the motivator, encouraged me softly with a few simple words that I should keep going, to show myself that I could continue to go on even when I didn’t want to. I didn’t entirely agree with him — I didn’t think “going on” during a trapeze class could be compared with “going on” when you were fighting for survival, stranded at sea or lost in the desert. But, I went on anyway. And he was right. I perfected my hop on the fourth try, swung out, arched my back perfectly, hooked my legs and let go. I saw the platform behind me for the first time, the blue, cloud-filled sky in front of me. Hey, I was flying!

I never had my timing right to attempt the back-flip landing, nor to allow me to move on to the next lesson of the day and attempt “catches” by Mike from his trapeze. But I did something new, something different. And it was exhilarating, even if my stomach muscles and trapezoid muscles (so, that’s where they get that name!) hate me today.

I’m cautious. I’m organized. I’m deliberate. I like my life to be orderly and planned. This does not make for a spontaneous person. And while I’m fine with that, it also hinders adventure. So, with deliberate spontaneity, I plan to spend the next year pushing myself beyond my comfort zone, trying new things that I haven’t dreamed of before, taking that extra leap into the unknown. The challenge is to do at least one new adventure each month, leading up to the penultimate adventure at the end of 12 months: kayaking. While kayaking may not seem that adventurous to some, I’m deathly afraid of putting myself into that “plastic coffin” (as my sensitive husband calls it) and of being in open water, let alone trying to learn how to do a “roll” in the kayak — is it an omen that I keep thinking of this safety technique as the “death roll,” mistaking it with the move alligators/crocodiles use to drown their prey?

So, by Labor Day weekend 2010, I may not be base jumping every weekend, nor walking across a tightrope without a net, but perhaps I’ll stretch my limits a bit. Maybe I’ll go whitewater rafting and even like it. Or, maybe I’ll stay up on a snowboard long enough to feel the thrill of zooming down a mountain. Maybe I’ll jump out of an airplane. (OK, let’s not get crazy here.) Stay tuned …