Allow myself to introduce myself.

I am assuming that if you are reading this it is because you know me or you have stumbled across my blog because you are a ham enthusiast. Either way, excellent! And welcome to my little world of pork.

So I must begin this blog by noting the fact that traveling to Eastern Europe for three and a half months sounds like something a fun person would do. Which may be why this trip is such a feat for me.

I have friend named Brett who calls himself a fun-pig. A fun-pig is someone who cannot resist fun. This is the type of person who has trouble saying no to a night out, who is willing to do anything on a moment’s notice, who feels most comfortable in the company of friends. Brett is fun-pig. My boyfriend, Dan, is a fun-pig. Megan, my friend at work who's known around the office as “Megaphone” for her loud and boisterous voice: fun-pig central. I would even venture to say that Lindsay Lohan is a fun-pig of the extreme variety (though she is nothing to aspire to).

I am not fun. And this blog may be called Polish Ham, but I am no pig. At age 28, I have the life that I always imagined myself. I live in New York City. I work at a woman’s magazine. I share an apartment with my boyfriend of four years. I am close to my family and enjoy my friendships. On paper, it looks like the perfect life. This life may even give off the appearance of fun, but that is just pretense.

For the last ten years, I have devoted much of my time, my thoughts and my energies to my work—which for the most part, is not a fun thing to devote your time, thoughts and energies. My college memories are not of the friends I made or the good times I had, but of the papers I wrote and the books that I read. After graduation, I toiled at three odd jobs at the same time, working seven days a week, until I finally got my first “real job” working as a sales assistant. After moving around and back again, I became a promotion manager at a woman’s magazine that gave me the opportunity to work with smart people, write a lot and be creative—which I loved—but also involved tremendous acts of multi-tasking and tossing-and-turning-at-night anxiety.

I have always thought that work would be the place where I would find the ultimate fulfillment and happiness, and all I wanted was to be good at what I do—with the intention of making it to the corner office one day. And because of my dedication to working hard and being the best I can be, I am good at what I do. But putting 100% of myself to my work left me with little time or energy or desire to participate in the other aspects of my life—most notably the fun aspects.

Though I have gotten better at it, it is hard for me to relax at a party, grab a drink with a friend at a moment’s notice, talk on the phone about nothing for long periods of time, try something different for the change. I am exceptionally good at work; I am terrible at fun. This trip is about my quest to become a fun-pig. I’ll never be like Brett or Dan or Megan nor do I aspire to be the life of the party. But what fun-pigs share—and what I admire and crave—is a zest for living, an appreciation of the small things, a gratitude for what life has to offer.


Brett (in yellow): The original fun-pig


Megan (in brown): the life of the party.

Dan: Always ready for a good time.


Me: No fun at all.