The Moments I Knew

April 14, 2014April 14, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ 2 Comments

I would say I’ve wanted to be a writer my entire life.

I have had many dreams outside of writing, but it was always “I’ll be a _____ and a writer.” (Blanks include marine biologist, nautical archaeologist, several other things that end in -gist, mathematician (ha!), and museum curator.)

But writing. Writing was always there, and every once in a while I get a reminder that it’s what I’m supposed to do with my life. Like little whispers to my heart, those moments of peaceful certainty are enough to sustain me through every hard writing day, countless rejections, and each time I have to throw away a story out and start again. Those quiet moments mean a lot, and they don’t happen very often.

But I had one this weekend.

The first “writing aha” moment was when I was seven (?) and wrote my first two picture books. After showing them to my mom, she said, “You could be a writer.” Now, Mom tells me I can be anything (as most moms do), but this was different. I knew she meant it, and I knew I really could.

Others have come throughout the years. One when I was fifteen and wrote a very silly two-page story (that included an elephant stampede) that I’m still convinced is some of my best work. Another, when I filled out a Pepperdine application at 11:30 at night–this is equivalent to 3 am for most other people.

And another, when I read the Boston Jane book series. I’ve blogged about Boston Jane before, but this weekend, the series came back into my life in a very wonderful way.

I got to meet the author of Boston Jane, Jennifer L. Holm, at the LA Times Festival of Books. (Don’t worry. I’m sure to blog about this festival at least three more times because it was amazing.)

I was able to get my trilogy signed and meet Ms. Holm and her brother, Matt. (They write super cute graphic novels together.)

And I don’t think my interaction with her could have gone much worse.

Jennifer: “Hello!”

Me: “Hi.” (I handed her Boston Jane.) “This book series made me want to be a writer.”

Jennifer: “Aww. You’re going to make me cry.”

Me: “Me too.” (I proceeded to cry.) “I’m sorry I don’t have the original covers.”

Jennifer: “That’s okay. I like these ones better.”

(I laughed for a beat too long.)

Me: “May I have a picture?”

Jennifer: “Sure.”

(We took a picture.)

Me: “Thank you. Thank you. Have a good day! Thank you.”

I ran away.

I don’t often crash and burn in interactions, but when I do, tears are usually involved. I don’t want to say I scared Jennifer Holm, but I definitely didn’t give off a very “mentally stable” vibe. I mean, we exchanged many smiles, but I couldn’t remember how to form words. (Also, my hair was doing weird things.)

It was bad. I was running away thinking about how I didn’t say anything I wanted to, except that first line, and then I remembered I forgot my phone with the volunteer who took our picture and had to go back and get it. Perfect.

I did a fast-paced walk in the other direction. Then, I decided to look at my signed copies because that would make me feel better, and in the second book (my favorite one), she put a note (that I hadn’t seen her write through my tears). And I looked at that note and thought, “That’s true. I don’t know when or how or any of the specifics, but I believe that’s true.”

And there it was. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that I had an awkward interaction with one of my favorite authors. It didn’t matter that I am more than a little unsure of where I’ll be when school lets out. It matters that I will be a writer, and I know it.

She’s A Better Hilary

April 8, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ 1 Comment

I’m a pretty confident person. I don’t think I’m cocky; however, I started a blog, so I have to be feeling okay about myself. We can talk about blogging and narcissism another time though.

Right now I want to talk about when my self-confidence is shaken. Fun!

Usually, it takes a lot. Growing up with two big brothers (I won’t loop my sister completely into this), I developed a decently thick skin. I won’t shatter from being called a name or a bad hair day (unless it’s a bad haircut). (Bad haircuts are just the worst.)

Sometimes, though, all it takes to wreck me is a person who is me but a better me. Let me explain.

One of my friends in college, let’s call her Darla, ran into another student named Darla. Now, my friend is pretty darn great, but this Darla was on another level. She was über peppy, had great hair (and skin), and she had about a million friends (a lot of them were mutual friends with my Darla). When the two Darlas met, my friend was overwhelmed meeting this insanely vibrant person. We left, and she had a mini breakdown, during which she said, “She’s a better Darla than I am.”

And thus, a concept is born.

It’s hard when you meet someone who’s like you, but doing it better.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to sing karaoke. (Jill and I did a poorly-received version of “Zombie” by The Cranberries. After which, I said, “Some people just don’t get rock-n-roll.”) I decided to dress up for the night, which is unusual. I had on heels, my pixie was styled, and I put on lipstick dun dun dun. I actually wore lipstick! (I don’t do that. Ever.)

I was feeling good about myself, but that kind of “delicate good” because it’s all so new. You know the one.

We met up with friends at Cafe Habana (our go-to for karaoke), and a young woman was visiting. This woman was everything I am, but she was better at it. She had a freshly cut pixie (which makes all the difference), a brighter red lip, better accessories, better teeth, and was super, mega sweet. I was searching for something I could own, trying for jokes (because that’s what I do), and she one-upped me on the joke front making everyone laugh. The night was over right then. I could go home. There was already a me, and she was doing it better.

That’s all it took to shatter my self-confidence for about twenty minutes (felt off and on over a two-hour period).

Of course, I took to dancing to make the night fun again.

But I couldn’t let go of this woman and how she was a better version of who I am.

Then, we said goodbye, and the better me said, “Oh my goodness.” Yes, she even said that. Had she said, “My stars,” I would have packed my bags immediately.

She said she was watching me dance and trying to copy my moves because they were so hilarious.

And there it was.

Lots of people are worried about someone else being the better version of themselves, but WE DON’T HAVE TO BE.

I guess I just want to say that only you can be the best version of you because there’s only one.

Dr. Suess says it better, “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

I’m so glad you’re you, and I hope you are too.

There’s room enough for two pixie cuts in every group. There’s room enough for bold skirts and jokesters and Darla’s and red lips and good teeth and harem pants. There’s always room for harem pants and ridiculous pictures.

Photo Credit: Jillian Denning

IndyCar vs NASCAR

April 1, 2014April 2, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ Leave a comment

I was recently having a discussion with FAC + Rob (an honorary member) about the types of people we went to high school with. Because the four of us are from very different parts of the country, we had different groups of students at our schools. (Jill had cowboys. Real cowboys!)

When I did my impression of the kids who rode on my bus, I think the others were more than impressed. I basically said, “Hey, man. NASCAR!” over and over again. (This is disturbingly accurate.)

(I realize this is making fun of those people. I liked pretty much everyone I went to high school with, but those hillbilly kids were mean, if that makes it any better.)

Anyway, after we stopped laughing–I’m exaggerating. No one has to “stop” themselves from laughing at my jokes– Jill asked me, “Hilary, do you watch NASCAR?”

I gasped. NASCAR? Me? HOW COULD SHE?!

“OF COURSE NOT!” I said, “IndyCar is totally different.”

Then the four of us got into a discussion about whether or not IndyCar and NASCAR have differences. I claimed that IndyCar is so much classier (and cooler and better) than NASCAR. No one agreed.

Katie tried to come to my aid (bless her) and said, “IndyCar had that girl, Danica Patrick, didn’t they?”

“No!” I said. “She moved to NASCAR, and IndyCar is better for it!” (Sorry, Danica fans. Although, you’re probably NASCAR fans, so never mind.)

Now, maybe I see the stark differences between NASCAR and IndyCar because I’m from Indiana, where we literally have class projects based on the Indy 500. (See my 5th grade, spray-painted, milk jug race with its egg passenger.)

But I don’t think so. I think IndyCar is genuinely different (and genuinely A LOT BETTER). Let’s look at 5 facts:

1. Racers.

When I think about the people racing in NASCAR, it’s Ricky Bobby and bad mustaches and lunch boxes from Walmart with bright numbers painted on the side.

With IndyCar, you get international wonders (see Tony Kanaan), Indiana Jones fans, and etsy t-shirts.

Indianapolis+500+Qualifying+Z75CYpjLQUWl — Marco Andretti, aka the David Beckham of racing. (I bet you didn’t know that.)

2. Celebrations.

The Daytona 500 ends in champagne being sprayed everywhere. Civilized? I think not.

The Indianapolis 500, aka The Greatest Spectacle in Racing, ends with the winner drinking milk and pouring it over himself. It may be messy, but at least it supports calcium consumption.

3. Cars.

Let’s look at these babies.

NASCAR’s cars, i.e. the taxi cabs.

IndyCar’s cars, i.e. artwork.

See?

4. Famous people.

Alyssa Milano plays in a NASCAR fantasy league.

IndyCar owners include Patrick Dempsey and David Letterman. And also Patrick Dempsey. And also Patrick Dempsey.

5. And also Patrick Dempsey.

Mimi is pretty much the best

March 24, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ 1 Comment

My mimi is pretty incredible.

I often wonder how much I am like her. I have one of her (five fabulous) names. I have her “pug” nose (or so she says). I can talk a really long time on the phone.

But Mimi is the sort of graceful woman that I’m sure I’ll never exactly be. I make too many toot jokes, and my purse never matches my shoes.

Whether I’m like her or not, I find her stories fascinating (at least the first three times). Did I just slam my grandmother who doesn’t even use the internet? It’s okay. She’d think it was funny. I think.

I was able to interview Mimi for Lydia this week. Check it out HERE.

Mimi has led an amazing life, and I’m so thankful to be a little part of it (and anything like her).

children’s books

March 17, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ Leave a comment

I live for kids’ books. It’s almost a problem. Almost.

If you asked me what my favorite book for adults is, I would have a hard time coming up with something written in the past twenty years. That’s not to say I haven’t read recent fiction, but those stories don’t impact me like children’s books do.

There’s something very unassuming about a kids’ book. Some would say that they operate on fewer levels or that they are more on the nose. Hmm. Well, I would first argue with the “some,” but then I would say that sometimes the most clever, most affective way is to hit something right on the sniffer. Besides, isn’t simplicity wonderful?

“I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.” – L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea (Oh, Anne Shirley!)

Children’s books are like those sweetest days.

Here’s my list of 7 Children’s Books Every Adult Should Read. (They’re all recent middle grade books.)

Here are three recent picture books that I wanted to put on the list, and then didn’t because I didn’t (I’m thuper thmart).

Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You by Nancy Tillman // Oh, gosh. This book is sweet and lovely. Isn’t that what a picture book is supposed to be?

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore by William Joyce // Heather gave me this book a couple of Christmases ago. I read it out loud, and then cried (in front of everyone). Note to self: destroy Christmas Video 2012.

Pinkalicious by Victoria Kann (author) & Elizabeth Kann // My nieces introduced me to this one. They have impeccable taste.

living in malibu can be super cool

March 11, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes it hits me that I live in Malibu, CA.

It’s sad to say that over the past 20 months living in Malibu–I can’t believe it’s been that long–that some really extraordinary moments have become almost routine.

The other night I was watching City of Angels (because it’s always a good idea to watch a Nicolas Cage movie, right?). In the movie, the angels all gather at the ocean to watch the sunset, and when that scene came up I sort of casually thought, “I live five minutes away from that beach. If they turned the camera, I’d see my neighborhood.”

Then I stopped, and shook my head at myself.

I live next to that beach? The one that’s right there on screen? What?!

How cool is that?!

I was momentarily overwhelmed with how neat living in Malibu is, and this is not a rarity. Moments like this happen all the time, and it’s up to me to recognize them and geek-out a bit. To not let them become routine! Because if I don’t get excited what am I even doing here?

Here are this week’s moments when Malibu struck me as a super cool place to live…

When this was a small blurb on the front page of The Malibu Times.

When I spent the day here.

When I sent this text message.

I totally walked back to where he was and stared until he looked at me and smiled, and then I was angry I didn’t have makeup on because THIS IS NOT HOW I WANTED US TO MEET.

When I saw dolphins on my drive home, and then took a very bad picture of them.

The point is that Malibu life can be surreal and freaking cool sometimes, and I think it’s completely necessary to recognize that.

But I also want to say that it’s necessary to recognize how magical moments (that don’t include an Orlando Bloom sighting because that’s on it’s own level) happen every day no matter where you live. Indiana is just as magical as California!

I hope you’re all acknowledging the super cool moments in your life because they are there, waiting for you to look!

still alive

March 6, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ Leave a comment

I’m still alive!

Ha ha ha ha stayin alive, stayin alive!

The Bee Gees! I can do a pretty good Barry Gibb impression, by the way.

Did you know that Stayin Alive has the perfect tempo for CPR compressions? The more you know… brought to you by lifeguard training.

Yes, I was a lifeguard once. I got the most amazing tan lines you can imagine, and I was able to show them off at my brother’s wedding. Don’t worry, those pictures will just be framed and on display for the rest of my life. No big deal.

Wedding Guest: “Hilary, is that a white t-shirt under your dress?”

Me: “No.” **Silent tears**

I feel like we got off-topic. Back to the beginning.

I’m still alive!

I’m sorry I’ve neglected this blog. Although, I’m sure no one too disappointed (except for my mom).

I’ve been having some adventures since I last posted.

I flew to Denver to see my Norwegian Rachel. I was able to tell her, “You haven’t seen Frozen?! It’s the film of your people!” Worth the trip just for that conversation, I think.

But mostly I’ve been snuggling my dog and trying to not be sick, which is hard when you are sick.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist putting a picture of Ms. Estelle Getty in here. Proud Dog Mom. (Is that a bumper sticker? Someone keep it far away from me if it is. Far, far away.)

Anywho, I wish you a very happy rest of your week, and I hope that you, too, get a “Let The Good Times Cinnamon Roll” photo op for Mardi Gras. Although, I suggest you don’t lean over or be sick in said photo op because it will make you look eight inches shorter and twenty IQ points lesser (but that won’t stop you from liking the picture!).

growing out a pixie cut is the worst

February 17, 2014February 17, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ 4 Comments

I know you’re all dying for an update on my hair.

Last summer I trimmed my pixie for the “last” time. It was the last cut before the great grow out, the final feast before the epic quest. I braced myself for the days of graceless hair ahead, but I had no idea of the trials that would befall me in winter. No idea at all.

In my defense, I trimmed the mullet along the way. I knew that much from pinterest, but not even mullet trimming can prepare you for the ear-length-bob-now-I-look-like-a-Bob months. That’s right. Months. The hairs (all of them) beg to be pulled back into a half-updo, yet cannot reach the clip. The agony!

What they said–no idea who “they” are–is true: growing out a pixie cut is one of the worst experiences in the world. Growing out a pixie cut should warrant some sort of major award. Off the top of my head, I’m thinking automatic stellar hair-days forever or a year’s supply of Propel water. (Am I the only one still drinking those things?)

Growing out a pixie cut requires a six-month hiatus from mirrors.

Growing out a pixie is like carrying the One Ring across Middle Earth to be destroyed in Mordor. I took on this impossible mission and began the trek.

But then February came, and like Frodo, I failed. I got to the edge of the Cracks of Doom, but couldn’t complete my task.

In other words, I got my hair cut on Saturday.

I even had a stylist (Sauron? Gollum?) that said, “I wouldn’t keep your natural color. It’s kind of dead mouse brown,” and then she washed my hair. “What I’m putting on your hair is called shampoo. You should try it sometime.”

I’m not kidding. But I think she was?

Then I stepped out of the salon (Mount Doom) with cut hair. Short hair. Looks-like-I-never-beared-THE-ONE-RING hair.

Oh, well. The good thing about short hair (one of the many) is the reminder that it’s just hair.

Maybe next time I decide to grow it out I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’ll just enjoy making it stick up in weird ways.

Never Been Dated

February 14, 2014December 24, 2017 ~ hilly miller ~ 1 Comment

We’ve got bigger problems than kissing, folks.

I’m going to try to be very honest about this subject. You’ve been warned.

I’m not sure I get dating.

Let me put it this way. The closest thing I have had to a date was my prom. I went with a boy from my math class who was three years older. Need I even continue?

We went in a group, and I paid for my own meal at Panera Bread. You read that correctly. I went to Panera Bread in a prom dress and paid for my own soup in a bread bowl. Ah, to be sixteen! Ah, to be familiar with the sound of crinoline sliding into a vinyl booth!

This whole prom saga ended with me telling my “date” that yes, I liked him as a friend, but no, I didn’t like him as anything more and nothing would ever change my mind. Ever. In a million years. And that I was sorry that I could never love him. Ever. In a million years. He said he understood.

Then he gave me a song he wrote about how much he loved me.

Since then I’ve had a few minor crushes. The largest being on Hayden Christensen circa Episode II. (I told you I was going to be blatantly honest.)

And so, I’ve never really been on a date. I am Josie Grossie from Never Been Kissed. I even say, “culottes.”

These are the facts, but I want to know why. Why have I never really been on a date?

Here are ten hypotheses I’ve come up with so far. Let me know if you have further insights.

1. I don’t flirt. Well, I don’t flirt well. I mean, I don’t flirt in the way most girls do. I probably flirt the way some gross boys do. Any time I think a guy is attractive I try to do some sort of impressive (awkward) physical move, like jumping off of something really tall.

If I hold back from such impressive (awkward) moves, I usually do something like pull my pants up past my waist and pretend to use a monocle or make fart noises with my mouth or just immediately start walking away from the guy.

Why haven’t I been on dates again?

2. I’m marriage material, and boys my age aren’t ready for that. (Please ask my Italian Rachel for confirmation that I repeated this phrase throughout the entirety of high school. Josie Grossie, people. Josie Grossie.)

The problem here is that there are people my age who are married, so this excuse can no longer hold up.

3. I don’t see the point of dating.

I’m not trying to condemn anyone for dating here. I just don’t really see the point. A free meal? We already saw how the Panera thing worked out.

Getting to know someone just sounds exhausting.

4. An actual line on my bucket lists (all versions) says, “Make it to 30 without having been married.” That’s right, folks. I’m holding out until my golden years.

I like being alone. I see people my age who are married who are so happy, but I’m just not ready for that yet. And since I’m not ready for marriage, I won’t date (see point #3).

5. I look like a troll, but not in a way that would appeal to LARPers.

This could be accurate, but my mom doesn’t think so. (Thank you, Mom.)

6. I’m too beautiful for men to even approach me. I’m like that smouldering celebrity who says men are too intimidated by her to ask her out.

Considering the number of unibrow jokes I have endured over the years, this is just absolutely false.

7. I could be asexual. I don’t really have that many crushes. Maybe I’ll join a nunnery.

But wait…

**cue shirtless picture of Aaron Taylor Johnson that I could not, in good conscience, actually post**

Wrong. Not asexual. No nunneries.

8. Two weeks ago, when the drive-thru boy (child?) asked for my number, I said, “Uhhhh no.” Then he said I made him feel like a creepy drive-thru man, and I said, “Yeah.” Then he gave me his number on my receipt.

Not sure what this has to do with why I haven’t been on a date, but it’s a pretty funny true story, right? It’s also recent evidence that I am not without a bit of womanly charm (at least if you look at me through my driver’s side window).

I guess it also made me feel a little bit good.

But still, no dates.

9. I believe in true love.

This could be a fundamental dating hiccup, actually. Believing this means I usually go ahead and pick my wedgie in front of the cute guy in the supermarket. “He’s cute, but eh, he’s not ‘the one.'” Resume tasteful picking.

(“The one” is away, turning down a modeling career to backpack across Europe. Obviously.)

10. God has really protected me.

I think this is absolutely true. I have MANY friends with broken hearts, and it looks… rough. I also have a wincy bit of a miniscule tendency to go whole-hog crazy over things that I like, and I don’t need to be throwing that affection from person to person all willy-nilly.

I suppose if the right boy came along, I wouldn’t purposefully show him the door, but I’m also not inviting him in, ya know?

Bonus #11: I’ve never asked anyone out. It feels very necessary to state the obvious here.

CONCLUSION: I just don’t get this dating thing or why I don’t fit into it. Oh, well. Maybe I need to shout: “I’M NOT JOSIE GROSSIE ANYMORE!” or maybe I just need to work on my flirting game (i.e. look for taller things to jump off) or maybe the world needs to know that non-daters aren’t entirely off their rockers.

Off Their Rockers.

Betty White.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

the world’s best window

February 13, 2014February 13, 2014 ~ hilly miller ~ Leave a comment

I love the ocean, but let’s not start there.

When I was around eight I got my own room (for the second time).

My parents remodeled our upstairs floor to be a very cool loft split in two: one side for the brothers and one side for the sisters. I love my sister dearly, but this situation made things tense. We shared a waterbed. The bed was wonderful; it made that great sloshing sound, and you pushed up when someone else got in. The bed was also a point of contention. I liked to cuddle and Heather didn’t. The tension escalated when in the night I touched my foot to her sun-burned calf, and she immediately slapped me. I’m pretty sure that was the last night I slept there.

I moved back downstairs, and relationships were restored. When I had my own room (again), Mom gave me three framed artsy photos to put on the wall: two girls walking with their arms around each other (which I am realizing could have been a message), a girl standing in the rain, and a group of girls looking out a window. (You should know that I originally wrote “winder” for “window.” Hoosier-talk.)

In the third picture, the girls’ backs are facing us as they sit in a windowsill. Most of them are huddled together talking in a group, but there is one girl sitting on the end, staring out of the glass. Mom said I reminded her of that girl. Now, it could be that she had the same haircut and color as mine, but I think it had more to do with that feeling.

My whole life I’ve been staring out windows.

Life makes sense when I stare out a window. There’s so much going on, so much beyond whatever is happening inside.

I feel the same way about the ocean. Things make sense with the ocean. It’s on its own clock. The ocean is calm and powerful and incredible, and seeing its majesty makes whatever I’m worrying about seem pretty inconsequential. Watching the ocean is feeling a part of the miracles of every day, the ones that are all around.

The ocean is the world’s best window, and I never tire of looking because looking at life on the outside makes you see life on the inside that much more clearly.

“For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)

it’s always ourselves we find in the sea”

-ee cummings

I love the ocean. Let’s end there.

Hilly Miller

make today great

Author: hilly miller