Hello, again

Gosh, okay, it's been almost three years since I'd written anything...THREE! That's a long time. So I guess I'll catch you up with a few bullet points:

• So remember that guy I fell in love with? And I was really happy that I was washing dishes while he was in the next room? The one who likes to have his back scratched? Jason Aldean? Yeah, I married him. About 2 months ago, actually. He's pretty awesome. I'll probably blog about our wedding day some other day. But he's cool...you'd like him (if you were into dry humor, sarcasm, and Canadians). My family from France, Singapore, Switzerland all made it to the wedding. Not only was it the happiest day of my life because Adam and I made vows to love and care for each other for the rest of our lives, but because our families and friends came from so far away to be with us. Needless to say, I cried that entire day. 

• I left academia...yes, it's true, I left my second postdoc, and joined the dark side. I am now a Scientist in Quality Control (QC) at BioMarin Pharmaceutical, a pharmaceutical company that provides enzyme replacement therapies for rare diseases. My job in a nutshell? I run the Special Studies group within QC. What that means is that my group is responsible for investigating the impact to product quality caused by manufacturing process deviations, troubleshoot assays, and anticipate when our drugs would go bad (aka forced degradation studies). I run a small but mighty team of 4 employees, and this summer, I added on two interns who have their own independent projects. So yeah --my work life is a bit busy these days with 6 employees who report to me, and I responsible for assessing the quality of our drugs when something deviates from the norm.

• I am back at the wheel...the pottery wheel, that is. As soon as I joined the dark side (read: when I transitioned from academic research to the corporate world), I started to make enough money to pay back my loans, travel, AND join a pottery studio again! WOW! I supplement my studio fees by washing the windows at the studio once or twice a month...I couldn't be happier. For our wedding, I made 100+ little pots as party favors for the guests. I thoroughly enjoyed the project, and I think our guests did as well.

• Oh! We got cats! Two, actually! Whiskey and Caesar...brothers from the same litter. We got them actually in January of 2013...they were 4 months old when we adopted them from the SPCA in San Francisco. They are the funniest, sweetest, most affectionate and social, fluffiest roommates either of us ever had. We are still crazy about them.

• I got into two car accidents within 1 month, recently. The first time, somebody hit me from behind. The second time, I  hit somebody from behind. Guess what? They both happened at the same intersection, for the same reason. Needless to say, I started taking a different route to work --turns out, my new route shaves almost 5 minutes off of my 37 minutes commute. I'd say that's the silver lining in the increase of my insurance rate that will be happening in October.

• Adam and I went backpacking for the first time about a month ago. It was our first trip as a married couple. I think it changed my life. And I think it strengthened our relationship. What I learned on the trip? My husband needs new hiking shoes, and I cannot climb over fallen logs to save my life. But we did experience the best sunset of our lives over the granite mountains of the Trinity Alps Wilderness.

• We also went to Italy last summer, where we became engaged. I've made up my mind --Italy is where I want to retire --preferably the town of Orvieto, which has got the best melon gelato, and my favorite memory of our trip, when Adam proposed in the moonlight.

I guess the fact that I chose these 7 updates to include in my return indicates that these are the most important happenings in my life right now. I am also guessing that I will have more to say about each...maybe I'll try to blog regularly again.

Until next time, keep looking forward.

Our cottage (to the right) overlooking the Umbria countryside in Orvieto, Italy. The town wall there, outside our cottage, is where Adam proposed.

Our tour of the Coliseum in Rome, Italy.

Sunset over Caribou Lakes in the Trinity Alps, our first backpacking trip as husband and wife.

Drs. Adam and Khanh Courtney...at the General's Residence at Fort Mason in San Francisco 

I will always love you, Adam Courtney.

Pots. All the little pretty party favor pots. 

Wedding photographs by: C Wagner Photography (Cherlyn Wagner)
Our first song: Ed Sheeran - Perfect

Unconditional love

There is evidence and there is faith. What does Unconditional Love fall under? Is it a factual phenomenon or is it something people believe in? As in faith, just because you STRONGLY believe it, it is ultimately "truth"?

Watching: Blue Valentine

A page from his book

I have a major flaw. I admit it. I've had it since I was young, and although I am aware that it's a problem, I can't seem to control myself. I am an incredibly defensive human being. And not only do I simply get defensive, I get nasty defensive.

I've noticed that in the past, if a boyfriend was not paying attention to me for some reason ...such as a busy work week, stress, etc, I would always find some kind of stupid reason to get mad. I don't do this intentionally...I just have a tendency to magically discover a problem. And then blow it out of proportion. I would think that since he is not really talking to me, or paying attention, maybe he's not that into me. Hardly do I consider --maybe he's quiet because his mind is preoccupied with worries about work, or that he's feeling overwhelmed with life --as we all feel once in a while. I'd obsess about it, and then pull back to gain some distance. My motto has always been that having little expectation of another person will prevent me from being disappointed and getting hurt. So if someone is not paying attention to me, I will not pay attention back. (Real mature, I know).

This week, my boyfriend Adam has been really overwhelmed with work. He's got a lot to do in very little time. He didn't talk as much when we got home from work, and wasn't being very playful (hasn't tickled me in weeks!). We went to bed, and he kissed me goodnight as always, and turned over to the other side. So, instead of getting butthurt about it, I took a page from his book. As he always does when I am feeling down or anxious, I put my arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze. I rubbed his back for a while and hugged him some more. I could feel his tense body loosen up, and relaxed. And he told me how stressed out he was and began talking about all his worries and all the things he had to do. I laid there listening to him and kept rubbing his back and scratching it (just how he likes it). I could tell immediately that my small little gesture was enough to make him feel better. That was the only evidence I need. From now on, each time I am about to get defensive and take one step back, I will take a page from Adam's book and step 3 steps forward instead. I have to trust that just because someone I love isn't talking to me, it doesn't mean they don't love me anymore. All it means is that they might just need a little extra love that day.

Adam and Khanh at Adam's hockey friend's birthday party

 Lee Brice - I Don't Dance

Every time I think about her, I drink

Every time I think about her, I drink. Or maybe...every time I drink, I think about her. In fact, it reminds me a lot of when I lost the first boy I ever loved at the tender age of 18. Back then, he was my everything. And I absolutely could not deal with the fact that we broke up...not because we didn't love each other (although as I grow older, I realized it's not that he didn't love me, it was because he didn't love me enough), but because of his religious beliefs. I could not accept it. I cried, and acted a fool and stupid. I humiliated myself in multiple occasions in public just to show my disdain. The more I drank, the stupider I became. And unfortunately, I drank each day as I thought about him and experienced the pain all over again as it was the first minute of infliction. Until one day, I realized that the only one I was hurting was myself. He had already moved on. It was only ME I was hurting. It took me years to work through the loss, the disappointment, and the absolute disclosure. 5-6 years to be exact...years which I put someone who loved me very much through a lot of pain all by his lonesome as I worked through these issues in my own head.

The loss and failure of my first postdoc has the same effects on me. The funny thing is, each time, whether it was my first love or my first postdoc, it was my decision to leave. Each time, I left because I knew that I deserved better. That the relationship was toxic to my integrity, that it was making me lose my sense of identity. But ironically, each of these loss made me feel even less sure of who I was.

I hope I will soon regain my sense of self. Hopeful at this age nearing the beginning of my thirties, it won't take me as long as 5 to 6 years to reidentify myself as the loss of my first love over a decade ago. I just want her to stop haunting me in my dreams as he did. All I ask is an opportunity to redefine who I am, and be confident with whatever that outcome may be. All I ask is to stop faulting myself and regain some sort of dignity again. I just really hope this happens much sooner than 6 years from now. Maybe it would help if I stopped drinking so much old vine Zinfanfel.

The L'Oreal

Recently (like earlier this week), I completed my application to the L'Oreal USA Women in Science Fellowship. Each year, L'Oreal USA gives out five awards to young investigators in the science, technology, engineering, and math fields of study. Now what sets this award apart from all the other fellowships and awards? Why do I think it deserves so much respect? The L'Oreal award is $60,000 that you can spend to pursue your own independent research idea. Now you may think that $60,000 isn't a lot of money for research, it is an incredible opportunity for a postdoc, or an "apprentice", as myself --a newcomer in the field of science -- to have that money to spend on whatever I want for MY OWN research agenda instead of that of my boss. To further iterate that the money will go solely to support the creative and innovative ideas of the awarded postdoc, L'Oreal puts a stipulation on the award that absolutely no part of the $60,000 will go to what's called in academia as "overhead fees." Most often, the university takes a big chunk out of any awarded grants or fellowships that supposedly goes to general maintenance of the infrastructure, i.e. pay electricity, water, build more buildings. The money also cannot be used towards paying health insurance and benefits, or salary (use for salary would have to be justified) as these should be the responsibility of the PI for whom the postdoc works.

The other aspect about the L'Oreal that sets it apart, and why it deserves so much respect, is what it wants to stand for. The L'Oreal USA Fellowship aims to recognize not only researchers with excellent repertoire and merit, but female researchers will serve as great role models for women of future generations. To determine this, the application requires almost just as much information about my past work in community service and how I aim to mentor young women as information about my research proposal (this ratio of 1:1 is rare to find in grant/fellowship applications). And I am quite proud of what I have achieved in the past. I was glad to finally have an opportunity to share my passion for public education with a foundation that actually cares whether or not the person they support will become a good mentor. I'll know in November if I made the 1% cut. In 6 months, I will report back. At least I am officially done with application for fellowships for now...until December when I will most likely have to revise and resubmit my application to the NIH (assuming that I will probably got get it the first time around). Joy!

Anxiety

As I get older, the more anxious I've become. About anything and everything. Sometimes, I get mini anxiety attacks and they scare me. What are they triggered by? I don't know, but nothing serious, I assure you. Most of the time, they are very minor things.

At my old job, I would have really bad anxiety attacks when I hear the jingling of keys. It usually meant that my boss was in. My anxiety isn't as bad anymore as back when I was at my old job, but sometimes, it pokes its ugly head into my life and I can't help but want to drop everything and go hide somewhere.

This weekend, I was doing an experiment that requires that my reaction is done over 2 days in a bucket of solution. This bucket has tubes coming in and out of it --bringing in and out solutions from various other buckets --all facilitated by a peristaltic pump. The first time I did a mock experiment like this a couple of months ago, the pump died. Luckily, it was just a mock reaction, with just water, so no major experimental harm was done except that I killed a machine. The second time I did this experiment, I used a different pump, but all the tubings became tangled up and when I came in on Saturday to check on my experiment, I found solutions all over the cold room, and all the buckets on their sides...and sadly, my reactions on the cold room counter. Needless to say, the experiment failed. The third time was another mock reaction, using a different pump, again with water. The pump also died (Note: Pharmacia Peristaltic Pump P-1 cannot withstand 4 degrees Celcius). This weekend was my fourth time trying to use the set up, and the second time doing the actual experiment with my precious reagents. I was anxious all weekend long. I was scared to go in and check on my experiment. My heart was pounding and I was sweating a little periodically on Saturday and Sunday. I was envisioning buckets of solutions all over the cold room, reactions on the counter. Maybe I mixed up the tubings and now my bucket with the reaction is overflowing. Did I forget to turn on the stirring? Maybe the dialysis bag carrying my reactions has a cut and everything is gone.Okay, nothing crazy went wrong. But I will know the results if it worked today.

I had a mini panic attack this morning when I got a text from my mom: "Are you sure you're going home this week? Your brother misses you :( "

Oh, God. Oh, God. Heavy breathing, cold sweat.

I had many small panic attacks yesterday meeting up with my old high school friends who all have at least one kid, married, own their own homes: "When are you guys going to have kids? We're not that young anymore."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Heart pounding. Cheeks flaring. "We don't...talk about it."

"Does he want kids?"

Truth is...I don't know.

When the kids started crying as I tried to pick them up: "They can sense you're not a motherly person! Hahahah!"

My heart skipped a beat, and then started pounding. My breathing stops.Of course I want kids! Of course I want a family! Of course I want to be a mother! Of course I can be motherly!

I just can't get any of it out of my head. I need to focus at work. And all I want to do is crawl into a small space where no one matters, my actions, reactions are independent from everyone in my life, and I can just be.

I need to do something about this crazy anxiety I seem to have developed. And no, I don't think a vacation will help. It will just remind me of all the things I should be doing instead of idly frolicking around.

You're not alone

I'm gonna talk about something that does not get talked about enough; it's the psychological abuse of postdocs, grad students, and techs by their supervisors in academia. It's one of the most important problems that we face in this industry and somehow, it's a taboo topic of conversation and often has a negative connotation. In fact, I am not sure how many people in academia (victims, abusers and bystanders alike) actually see it as a problem. Well, if it's not happening to me, who cares? Or, I can't tell someone how to supervise their people. And best yet, they're just too sensitive.

I'll start by talking about my own experience. I came from a Ph.D. lab that was very supportive. I had a great supervisor (mentor) who was not only a respectable scientist, but a decent human being. He took good care of the people who worked for him. He has a very idealistic outlook about the academic world that he instilled in all of us. I continued in science because of mentors like him. I moved to San Francisco, expecting what my former mentor had always told me: "Your postdoc years will be the best years of your research life. This is when you will get to develop yourself as a scientist, have the freedom to explore your scientific ideas, and not have to worry about managing a lab. A postdoc is science nirvana." Kickass, I thought. I had a very good graduate education, in a place that cared very much about their students. Now, it was time for me to join the big league. I was more than ready. Needless to say, I thought I was invincible. Hardwork and Intensity never deterred me from any situation. (One time when I was down at Louisiana State University to do a very interesting and important experiment, I worked around the clock for 10 days, slept between incubation periods, to get the experiment working, repeated three times to make sure the results were real, and had the results all ready for publication. Normally, this would take a few months and I did it in 10 days; I don't mind working hard.) I was clever, knowledgeable, passionate, with great ideas. I've got all the tools I needed.

I joined a lab that I thought was the perfect environment for me. I was wrong. Details of this experience deserves its own entry, a bottle of wine, and a box of Kleenex. But what I want to talk about is how the abuse affects young scientists. What I absolutely hate is the fact that some supervisors feel that it's PERFECTLY OKAY to use the insecurities that postdocs already have against themselves as a weapon to milk every drop of energy, passion, and creativity from their postdocs. Grad students become postdocs not for the glory or the fame, and God knows, not for the money. They go into it thinking they have the tool set sufficient to explore science and do experiments to answer important questions in biology (or physics, or psychology, etc). Along with this confidence and passion is a lot of insecurity. Everyone around you is now really really smart. You may be working in the same department, or on the same floor, or even in the laboratory of a Nobel Laureate. The graduate students who you now work with side by side are probably even smarter than you are as a postdoc. The insecurity of a postdoc comes from what you think is expected of you: 1) to produce sexy data quickly, efficiently, and worthy of a coveted Nature/Science/Cell publication, 2) to know almost everything, afterall they are paying you the "big bucks" for your research experience and your ideas, 3) And you THINK that you're expected to drop aspects of your personal life to fulfill the life of the research. So as an ultra-overachiever that you naturally are, you beat yourself up and alter your lifestyle so that you can  match these expectations. And when your supervisor uses these exact reasons to push you to work even harder, they end up driving you over the edge. I strongly believe that manipulation cannot be a tool to exploit workers who are in it because of their passion.  But unfortunately, it IS the best weapon if you're going to exploit someone who is there because of their passion.

When I was experiencing this kind of abuse, I thought I was the only one. Which lead to a lot of demeaning self-lectures: put yourself together, stop being such a pussy, you need to work harder, smarter. And a significance increase in self-doubt over basal levels: if this is what it takes to be successful in the big league, I can't do it. Maybe it's because of the high level of research in the bay area...I can't compete with these people. I don't have what it takes. I am not good enough. I don't work hard enough. I don't sacrifice enough. But I cannot mentally or physically work anymore than this. I can't sacrifice anymore than this. I guess that means I can't make it. I won't make it. I don't have what it takes to succeed. Maybe if I just suck it up and stick it out for another year, I will get a publication and get out. I can't throw it all away. I can't be this big of a pussy.

I remember coming home everyday incredibly down on myself and some nights, crying because I didn't think I had what it takes to finish my training to realize my dreams of being a scientist. I thought I was invincible. I thought I could take anything and handle it all. I didn't realize I was so weak, so sensitive.

Well, I was one of the lucky few to get out of my situation and into a new postdoc position. I did it with the help of older faculty members and my mentors (including my Ph.D. advisor). Although in my mind, I knew that this happens sometimes, that sometimes, a certain lab is not a good fit and you just gotta move on. I just didn't know how common it is and how common the abuse is in the realm of academia. During the process, I felt so alone. Why am I in this situation and others are fine? Maybe this whole thing is because of me. This could all be my fault. I am learning now how common these self-deprecating thoughts are in other young scientists like myself. I wasn't alone, but I felt alone because no one else talked about it. Postdocs who are dealing with it don't talk about it because they don't want to make it seem like they're whiny little bitches. They don't want it to get back to their supervisor, who could make their life hell. They are quietly pushing themselves to give MORE so that they can reach those expectations. They promise themselves, in one year, I will publish and get out. And of course, by that point, even though they haven't yet published that paper, they are so pot committed that they will stay longer and bear the abuse. And now when I meet these sad postdocs, I tell them, "you're not alone. Talk to your real mentors, talk to other postdocs. You will feel better knowing that you're not alone. Get someone to help you get out of your situation, and give science another try. Not all supervisors are abusive. Don't let just one crazy person ruin your dreams."

Psychological abuse and manipulation cannot be a criteria to being successful in academia. This behavior cannot be rewarded with success!

Rihanna - Stay

Heavy Lifting

My boyfriend has been incredibly amazing lately. And yes yes, everyone thinks their sigo is incredibly amazing. But mine has been...well amazing beyond expected. I have been really busy, stressed out, and tired from applying for postdoctoral fellowships. By April 8 (in less than a week) I would have written 5 applications, two of which are REALLY FRICKEN LONG. Usually at home, I am the one who does 75% of the cleaning and 60% of the cooking. I had to break it down into percentages because I am don't do all the work all the time, but I do lead the process and delegate. The cleaning is mostly initiated all by me --but I like it (crazy to believe, I know) because I like taking care of Adam and of my home. Anyhoo. Due to the piles and piles of work with which I have been preoccupied, I have not touched anything in the kitchen in almost 2 weeks. No cleaning, no dishes (maybe once), and absolute NO cooking. Hells. No.

What has Adam done? Everything. I mean, everything. He's made dinner almost every night, except that one night when he took me out for sushi to celebrate because I had just submitted one of the big fellowship applications. He just did a ton of dishes tonight and sometime a few days ago. And I think, he even wiped the counters last weekend. Of course, he would always make me a drink before he made our nightly meals (gin & tonic, strawberry daiquiris, mojitos --all of my favs). Completely unsolicited. And I just feel so happy and lucky and special and so incredibly loved. For a while, I wondered if he had this in him. People had warned me that he wasn't too much of a "warm" person. He's extremely independent, does his own thing --that's how he's been for all of his 33 years. Nothing was going to change. But the Adam that I met a few years ago was incredibly nurturing and nothing like they said. After we had lived together for a while, it felt like that nurturing aspect of him was periodically MIA and at some video-game-land. Maybe I was just doing more than I should've and he became comfortable. Or maybe I often have too many expectations of him. But for the last couple of weeks when I have been off in my own crazy science world, he's really picked up all of my slacks around the apt, and has done all of it without me even saying anything. He even went to pick up groceries over the weekend when it was supposed to be my turn --told me I didn't have to worry about it. He even dropped off our rent check at the realtor's office! A chore that I often do!

So. I just wanted to show off how sweet my boyfriend is, just for a quick moment. I remember hearing, or reading, somewhere about how partnership can't always be 50/50. There are times when you have to jump in and take over 90/10, and there are times when the other person does the 90/10. Just glad I have someone who's got my back. Without me ever asking. Hopefully he stays like this forever.

St. Joseph Island, Ontario - Summer 2013

Chris Stapleton - What Are You Listening To

Rejection

Rejection is a brutal thing to experience. Nobody wants to be rejected, especially if they just showed you the best version of who they are and why they deserve your love.

I work in academic research. I get rejected all the time. The high frequency of rejections forces you learn how to numb the pain, limit the amount of time you spend at your own pity party, and pick up the pieces to start over again.

One type of rejection that scientists like me often experience is the road to getting money for research, which boils down to a few things: We put our intelligence and ideas out on the line, and get about a 97% chance of having them rejected. The process looks something like this. I come up with an incredibly interesting and important scientific question about a natural biological phenomenon (something like: how does an embryonic stem cell know how to become something else, like a neuron, or a kidney cell, or a red blood cell?), I come up with a great idea to experimentally answer said question. In fact, I come up with several great ideas so that the experimental designs reinforce one another, and to have an alternative way of getting to that answer just in case one of the designs doesn't work out. I write a long scientific proposal to explain why answering this question is critical for mankind, important for the betterment of general biological understanding, AND will for sure cure cancer one day. I tell them all about my many grand ideas and why the methods that I came up with are the only hope the field will have to answer said question. Concurrently, I must ensure them that my experimental ideas are well thought out and will DEFINITELY work! If not, I've got all these other alternatives --list several other great ideas. I spend weeks preparing this document. Illustrating the problem and the experimental ideas through my own words, past research done by other people, and pretty pictures. In addition, I write them another document --another sales pitch but this time for myself as a scientist explaining why I am an awesome researcher and why I deserve their love. Look at all these skills I have! Look how many research papers I have published in 5 years! Look at my education! Look at all these techniques I know! Can't you see that I am an exceptional researcher and deserve this money you wanna give to fund research?

I write all of this without sounding as desperate as I feel, of course. And then, 2-4 months go by. I hear nothing. Then an email. Sorry, not so sorry. Out of the hundreds of applicants, we have decided to fund just a few. Money's tight, you know.

REJECTED. But. You don't agree that this is an important problem in biology? You don't think my ideas are good enough? You don't think they're innovative or cutting edge? Or is it that you think I suck as a scientist and don't have much to show? I just ripped out my brain, tied to it a thick string of my undeniable passion for this work, stuck to it a platinum list of all my past accomplishments, and served it to you on a 9-page golden platter! And it's still not good enough?!

WHAT IF. Okay, alright. What do you want? Okay. Got it. I'll fix the problems. How's it now? 2-4 months later. Sorry, not so sorry. We've run out of money. This time, we decided to fund only one researcher. Better luck next year! GAH!

#fellowshipwriting

David Garrett - Vivaldi vs Vertigo

Jason Aldean

Jason Aldean brings me back to when I started to fall in love with Adam. I remember when we first met, I went up to his lab to find someone. I just happened to ask Adam where that person was. The first thing I remember about him is his smile. He kinda leaned back against the lab bench, folded his arms over his chest and said, "I think you just walked by him in the hallway" with the sweetest, cutest, sheepish grin on his face. And I didn't know what to do. I wondered to myself, who is this person? I've worked in this building for four years, how have I never met this person? So I said, "Oh. The guy with the pink shirt? I guess I thought he would be Korean. Oops, haha....." Smile. Smile. Smile. Gosh, that smile. That was in September. Then came the departmental retreat a few weeks later --we exchanged acknowledgements and somehow we ended up going to the Genna's on Capitol Square afterward with a bunch of work people. Again, I thought, how have I never met him! We have plenty of mutual friends! At the departmental Halloween party a month later...we made eye contacts across the Biochem atrium throughout the night. Gosh, that smile. Got me everytime. I invited him to the annual Halloween party that my roommates and I throw every year, thinking he would never show up. We had hardly exchanged 5 words to each other. But he did. We shared a dance and I caught him discretely sniffing my hair. We didn't speak or see each other again for over a month --it was a silly little crush after all. Just a handsome guy with a sweet smile who worked upstairs from me. But I found myself trying to catch glimpses of him on his floor through the open atrium (turns out he had started to take the long route to go to the bathroom, so he could try to catch glimpses of me, too).

One day, I received a message from him through Facebook to congratulate me on my new job offer in San Francisco. Oh! The boy is thinking of me! He remembers who I am! I thought happily. Then we started chatting through Facebook (lame, I know). And I kept waiting for him to disappoint me. To say something that would turn me off --because that's what usually happens. But it never came. He always made me laugh, always gave my face a ridiculous, cheesy grin. He asked if I wanted to grab a coffee at the cafe in the Microbiology building. I said yes. 20 mins, only, I told myself. Those coffee breaks came more frequently...and became longer than 20 mins. So silly! I told myself, you're moving to California! This is no time to overanalyze the situation! By the time the departmental holiday party came around late December, the chemistry between us had gotten so intense that you would need a machete to walk through. I had to leave the situation. I had to get out before I did something I would regret. I picked up my stuff and walked out of the bar. He rushed after me and we sat for what felt like hours in the planter box outside the Big 10 talking, the liquid courage bringing out the honesty and breaking down the inhibitions we both had been carrying around. Feelings were professed, Hearts were shared, Dreams were etched, What-ifs were drawn, Plans were discussed...but of course, reality also set in. I was moving to California in a little over 3 months, he was moving to Toronto in 5 months. So for the next few months, we texted. We snuck out for coffee breaks. We exchanged smiles and waves between the 3rd and 4th floors through the open atrium. We were just friends. No one could know this incredible bond that was slowly forming.

This is where Jason Aldean comes in. Every night I would work very late to write my dissertation and prepare for my thesis defense. Adam would drop by my office before he went home every night, sometimes with beef jerky (my favorite), sometimes with other snacks, sometimes with dinner, but always with many sweet and wonderful hugs, kisses, and funny stories. Every kiss was full, if you know what I mean. Every single kiss he gave me felt fully packed with his heart and his soul. Each kiss felt like how kisses were meant to be given --full of the person who's giving it to you. And my heart just grew and grew. I thought about him constantly. I felt so much happiness thinking about him. While everything else in my life was complicated and chaotic, I had a great sense of clarity. It was clear that this is as organic as love gets. Every night that late winter, I walked home in the snow, listening to this new album I had purchased by Jason Aldean and dreaming of Adam's smile, his warm hugs and genuine kisses. I would walk out of Biochem, press play on my iPhone, and Jason would serenade my dreams about this sweet boy of mine. I would only have 3 months to live this fantasy, so I savored every moment. Come April, I probably would never see him again for the rest of my life. So I savored, and cherished every single minute that I had left --even those quiet moments when he wasn't there. I allowed myself these 3 months to feel and love to my heart's content. With no boundaries of guilt, or rationale, or reason. This feeling of raw, organic love doesn't happen very often to a person in their lifetime, so I deserve to feel it completely --to drown in this hazy, crazy, love. To this day, two years later, Jason Aldean still brings me back to these late night walks home. When a song comes on the radio now, I still smile that ridiculous grin, think about those hugs and kisses, and grateful that he's at work, 5 floors down from me, and that we'll be going home together later tonight. Or when a song comes on while I am doing the dishes, I feel grateful that he's simply in the next room, playing with our cats or on his computer, and I could go out there and kiss him anytime I want.

My last day in Madison

Jason Aldean - Just Passing Through