Year in Review - Part 1

               So, I’ve been fairly neglectful of this blog as of late. And I don’t even know that I have a really good reason for it. I’ve still been writing. Working on my travel blog a little more. Trying to get back into working on the novels/ideas for novels I’ve got in the works. And, I’ve even written some posts that belong here, in this space. But for some reason, they just didn’t make it this far. Some of them may find their way here eventually. Others my forever be confined to pen on paper. Either way, now you’re going to get bombarded with a series of posts (because it’s the end of the year/start of a new year).

               I want to start with a few things that I learned this year (broken into two separate posts). It also happens to be a brief synopsis of some of the “blog posts” that were written, but never found their way here:

1.      One of the things I’ve learned that I feel has been most prominent in my life as of late, is how much people can surprise you. I’ve found myself surprised by a number of people in my life (some good, some bad, some still to be determined). I’ve learned hard lessons through people who I THOUGHT had my best interests at heart. People I thought I could trust, but shouldn’t have. People who fed me lines to pacify me, but whose actions showed true colors. But then, almost as a peace offering, I’ve learned that some people, who I have known for years, but just never taken the time to pursue a friendship with, are actually pretty cool people. People who genuinely care. Who want to help. And who have seemingly come out of the woodwork – for such a time as this – to provide support, and renew hope. People can ALWAYS surprise you. Sometimes for the good. Sometimes for the bad. But either way, there are lessons to be learned.

2.      God gives you the relationship and friendships you need, when you need them most. Truthfully this is something I’ve known for a long time. But this is a year in which I’ve witnessed it frequently and been reminded of it multiple times. My heart has been overwhelmed with the quality of friends that God has provided me with and the new relationships that have transpired, both through those friends, and through completely spontaneous interactions. This past year was not an easy one for me – especially the last six months of it – but in a lot of ways, I’ve never felt fuller. And I’m certain it has everything to do with the friends I have that help hold me together.   

3.      The hurt and suffering we experience is not for nothing. This is also something that I’ve known for a long time. But I don’t know that I’ve ever hit a point in my life where I’ve gone “THAT’S why.” Where I’ve been able to look back and see all of the pieces line up that brought me where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, with the knowledge and words I needed when I got there. It makes the pain, and perseverance worthwhile. But I’ve also learned that you have to be willing to share your story with others. Because having all of the experience, knowledge, and wisdom in the world does you no good, unless you’re willing to share it with those who are seeking what you’re able to offer them.

4.      Rarely do things turn out how you expect them do. Sometimes they’re better. Sometimes they’re worse. Sometimes you have absolutely no idea whether they’re better or worse – they’re just different. And acceptance of those differences can be hard (or easy, depending on which way it goes) to come to grips with. And sometimes it takes a while for it to happen. And that’s okay. Things don’t have to be resolved overnight. It’s okay if they take time.

Never assume you know people. Never underestimate God’s ability to give you the people you need, when you need them. Make sure that your pain has a purpose – SHARE YOUR STORY. 

Journeys and Journals

So, a few months ago, my friend and I played a fun game of “what would we be doing if we weren’t doing what we’re doing.” I’m sure you’ve played, at least with yourself, before. But you know what makes it even a little more fun? When you play with someone else and let THEM pick your new career. But there are rules, of course.

1. They have to pick something that they could legitimately see you doing. Something THEY think YOU would be good at.

2. Money is a non-issue. Meaning this is strictly for enjoyment purposes. You don’t have to worry about a mortgage or bills or food or anything. We’re just going to assume that what is picked for you will earn you enough to pay for (at least) your current lifestyle.

The part that makes it more fun to play with someone else is:

1. It removes our own tainted view of what we’d be “good at”. It removes the thinking. When we try to pick for ourselves, we’re always thinking logically – can I get a job like that where I am? Do I need to go back to school? Will it pay enough? Even if it’s just for fun, your views are still skewed by such questions. When you let someone else pick, they’re not.

2. You get to discover what other people see in you that maybe you don’t see in yourself. What others thing you would be good at and what others think you are capable of.

SO, for her (currently a banker) I assigned her the new job of party/event planning. Because she’s a rock star at such things. As far as I’m aware, she’s never done it for money – just for family and friends’ weddings/babies/etc. But she nails it. She’s the one you want to plan your party because she goes all out.

For me (currently an accountant) she assigned me the new job of journalist (originally) and when I (probably very rudely) laughed at the suggestion and tried to guide her more towards “travel planner.” She settled on “travel journalist”. So, there you have it, folks. If I wasn’t an accountant AND money was no object, I would be a travel journalist.  

Unfortunately, money IS an object which means I won’t likely be quitting my day job as an accountant anytime soon. HOWEVER, a girl can dream and while this is not even (kind of) an attempt making a beeline toward my “new career.” I HAVE decided to start a new blog. Travel related. Where I talk about places I’ve been (starting with my trip to Oregon), places I want to go, what goes on inside the mind of a travel journalist at heart and who knows what else. The posts on that blog will likely be less regular because, like I said, money IS a factor, and travelling is expensive. But, who knows where it might lead. Worst case scenario, I have my trip documented for my future self to read.

Of course this blog will continue to be the home to my posts about my personal life/struggles/learnings, but I will also have my travel blog. SO, if you’re interested in reading entries from my wanderlustful mind and seeing pictures from my wanderlustful eyes, check out my new blog at www.journeysandjournals.org. Send your friends. Send your family. Send anyone you think might be interested in learning more about areas I’ve been or areas I’m hoping to go to.

Pieces

The hardest part about finding yourself again after losing yourself? Besides reopening old wounds that you sometimes didn’t even know you had? Realizing how many relationships have been damaged and how many friendships you’ve lost along the way. And being able to pin point moments where (you believe, anyway) things went wrong. And all you can think is, “Damn. That wasn’t me. But it WAS me.” Physically anyway. It was my body. My words. My actions. Or lack thereof. That was there. That said those things. That DID those things. Or didn’t do them. It wasn’t the real me, though. It was the me that had been hurt by one too many people that made me believe that I was the problem. That I needed to change.

I’ve heard the saying, “Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.” And to some extent, I agree. We can’t constantly dwell on the could’ve/should’ve/would’ves of our past because it will kill us. It will kill our joy. It will kill our spirits. BUT I’m sure were all also well versed on the phrase “those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” And let me tell you, I have no interest in repeating this.

As I look back (with the desire to learn from my mistakes) I am constantly asking myself “Where did I go wrong.” I’m always searching the corners of my brain for where I went wrong and when find somewhere I went wrong, I search for WHY I did what I did. Said what I said. Became who I was. When you spend time consciously trying to change your behavior, I’m finding that things kind of creep into your mind about WHY you’re having to change it. Your eyes become opened to things that have been buried for so long you forgot about them and when you keep an open mind, you are able to get a little bit more of an objective view about things.

And what I’m coming to find is actually not that much of a revelation at all: I was shaped and changed by things that happened to me. I know. Not really that unheard of, right? Everyone knows that we are shaped by circumstances. BUT here’s the thing that I’ve realized more than that. My reactions to those things were not what they should have been.

I’ve been hurt in various ways by different people. I’m sure we all have. Some of these things were buried. I forgot about them. I moved on. Until recently when I started digging to get to the bottom of things. Some of them, I never once forgot and probably never will. And while both types of hurt changed pieces of me, I think it’s the ones that are still fresh in my mind – ALWAYS fresh in my mind that are the real culprits. Not the people. The situations. I’m not here to try to push blame onto other people in a sorry attempt to justify everything. That is helpful to absolutely no one. I take full blame. Full responsibility. Because it was MY reactions to those circumstances that created the problem.

Allow me to explain. I’ve been hurt by various people in various ways. And while I take things pretty personally (a lot of the time) I tend to give people chance after chance after chance to prove to me that they didn’t intend to hurt me. Most of them time, they do. But the times they don’t? I basically let them continuously hurt me until there’s no way that I COULDN’T be a different person as a result of it. It would change me. It would make me believe that maybe it was me. Maybe there was something I needed to change either to:

1. Give them one.more.chance to problem me wrong and like me OR

2. To keep them from hurting me again.

I think the general tendency was to go with option 1 first – to change something about myself and if that didn’t work, I’d go with option 2.

Sometimes, option 1 DID work. So I’d end up with a mish mash of “don’t do this, don’t say that, don’t be this person around that person.” that was inevitably more difficult to keep track of the more it happened (talk about major identity crisis) and the honest to goodness plan of action by the time I got to option 2 was just to shut down altogether. Guard up. Closed off.

And while option 1 clearly has a whole host of issues, I don’t think my response to option 2 was really that out of line. But HERE’S where it all went wrong.

These mishmash of personalities and closed doors didn’t end at the people that hurt me. They should have. But they didn’t. They carried over into my friendship. My REAL friends. The ones who liked me just find that way I was. And the ones whose approval SHOULD HAVE been enough. They were find with me the way.I.was. But what I eventually gave them was a guarded, closed off person who tried so hard to be what everyone else wanted that she didn’t even know who she was anymore and had somehow developed some bitterness along the way. It’s no wonder they moved on. The person they wanted, that they grew to like, was gone.

It’s a hard realization to make. Really. To realize that you gave up something REALLY good for, what? Nothing? No-not really nothing. For something you didn’t even want and would spend years trying to get rid of later on down the road. Like the old tube TVs that sit in the basement because you can’t give them away. Not even to the garbage man. You can’t even light them on fire.

It’s a tough hole to try to dig yourself out of. Do you go running back to the people you miss, screaming “Wait! Give me another chance! Look, I’m different now!”? And hope that they give you the opportunity to prove yourself and then hope even harder that if they DO give you that opportunity that you don’t screw it up even worse than the first time? Because if you’re being honest, you’re still hurdling some things and you’ve never been known for your hurdling abilities.

OR, do you cut your losses and hope that you find new friends along the way that can fill the holes left and just vow to never let yourself dig that hole again?

It’s tough. It’s tough facing your missteps. The mistakes that you see so clearly now and know that while it was you. It wasn’t REALLY you. Somehow, some way, you have to pick up what remains and either try to piece it back together, knowing it will never be quite the same. Or, decide to discard the pieces altogether and try to create something new. Something you can only hope will be better and just pray that you can keep it from ever shattering again.

Closed Doors

This is on my mind daily. Which should be reason enough to assume that means I’m supposed to do something about it. But yet, I remain frozen. Terrified. Unnerved. Trying to figure out “why” and “where do I go from here.”

A year ago I was comfortable with where I was in life. Sure, there were a lot of things that weren’t ideal Things that I would change if I could. (Aren’t there always?) But overall? I was comfortable. When I took a step back and really analyzed where I was, how my life ended up, I discovered that it was good. That all things considered, I hadn’t done too badly for myself.

And then, things started to change. Inexplicably. Things that I loved started to get tainted. They started to leave a bitter taste on my tongue and an uneasiness in my heart. Small things at first. Things that I could (mostly) take in stride. Vent about. Then take a deep breath and move on. But the small things started to pile up and turn into big things. Until I finally found myself in my current position. Feeling that I am being ushered – no – SHOVED right out of the doorway of the house of comfort I’ve been sitting in for years.

I’ve tried to dig in my heels. To resist it. But. I just. Keep. Getting. Shoved. The harder I dig in, the harder I get shoved. I dig in. I get shoved. And then, I settle into the new, less comfortable way things are. And I think “This is okay. I can handle this. It’s not THAT uncomfortable.” as I adjust my position so the elbow in my back is just a little bit more to the right. Then, when I think I’ve figured out a way to sit so I’m comfortable (enough), another elbow pops up. And another. And another. And, seriously, how many elbows does this guy have?! And then we graduate to feet. Because everyone knows you can push harder with your legs. So I get shoved further. And further. And harder.

Maybe I’m a little slow to figure things out. Maybe I’m a little stubborn. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. But I’m beginning to think that maybe there is someone who is sick of my ignorance and stubbornness and is taking matters into His own hands.

The more I think about it, though, the more I wonder – is it really that I was content with life? Did I really think that everything was going just great? Or is it just that I was comfortable where I was because the place I ended up became like home to me? Because I had been there so long. That I knew what to expect. What was going on. Maybe it’s just that things were familiar.

I am also kind of coming to believe that maybe God doesn’t LIKE it when we’re comfortable. Maybe it provides us too much opportunity to “slack off”. It can keep us from spending time developing our relationship with Him. Because everything is “just fine” as it is. No need to change anything. It keeps us from always striving for more. Maybe He shoves us to get us exploring more. Thinking more. Learning more. To get us to realize that we are capable. Of. MORE.  

And yet, it’s still SO HARD to take that step. We all know that the whole point of faith is that you don’t know what’s coming next and you just need to trust. But, let me tell you, when you’re nearing the edge of the cliff and you’ve got an infinite number of elbows and feet pushing you closer, it’s not easy. It’s terrifying. You have no idea what’s coming. All you can see is the edge of the cliff getting closer and closer and you can’t stop it no matter how hard you try. Maybe there’s a just a nice easy trail that winds its way down the side that will make you wonder why you were so terrified of the edge in the first place. Maybe there’s a series of landings that gradually stair step their way down requiring you to make some big leaps – not necessarily an easy way down, but not the worst either. Maybe you’ll get there and there will just be a sheer drop off and with the relentless elbows and feet at your back, you will just have to trust that when you start freefalling, someone will catch you.

The reality is, that we’re going over the edge one way or another. And I’m sure that God would really just appreciate it if we would go “okay, I see where you’re pointing me” and RUN, fearlessly, toward the edge, hurling ourselves off with reckless abandon and straight into the plan He’s had for us all along. But for those of us who are a little more stubborn, He’ll still get us there. He has no problem pushing us up to the edge and then just giving us a shove off. So that when we finally see what all the shoving was about we can marvel at the way that He STILL pulls through for us. Every. Time. The way that His plans for us turn out to be bigger than we could have ever imagined from our place of comfort. Always. And the way He doesn’t let our own stubbornness and fear keep us from His plan for our lives. Ever.

Here's the thing...

Here’s the thing. About struggling with mental health. A lot of people just don’t “get” it. They’ll try. They’ll pretend that they do for your benefit. But they don’t. Not really.

And sometimes, the things that you do as a result of your mental health struggle seem unreasonable to those who don’t understand. They seem like extreme measures. And those people, whether they mean to or not, may react in ways that only add to your struggle. They may say things or do things that will make you feel like you ARE being unreasonable. Or that your “extreme measures” are a bit TOO extreme. But it’s important that you remember that they’re not. Not really.

What others frequently don’t understand is that just like with anything else, when we struggle, we learn. Mental health is no different. When we struggle, we learn and we learn quickly. We have to. Because in some cases, it is, quite literally, life or death. But those who have never struggled don’t understand that. And they probably never will. Not really.

They don’t understand that (sometimes) we can see things coming that we KNOW will send us backwards in our journey. They don’t understand that when we see those things coming, we do EVERYHING we can to avoid them. To keep them from coming. Or at least avoid having to fact them head on. Because we’ve learned. And. Honestly? Because we know that there’s a good chance that something else is coming that we DON’T see coming that will inevitably send us backwards. Others don’t understand that we’re trying to avoid what we CAN see coming in order to save our energy to fight what we DON’T see coming. Because if we don’t learn from our past and just continue to hit everything head on despite what we know to be true, we will continuously be knocked backwards. Over and over and over again. Until we’re so far back, we can’t find the way forward.

If you struggle with mental health, know this: There are no measures that are “too extreme”. None. Not really. Whatever you need to do to make forward momentum is what you need to do. Your mental health is important. REALLY important. And caring for it is necessary. REALLY necessary. Don’t let people who don’t understand try to convince you otherwise. Don’t believe them when they make you seem like you are being unreasonable.

If you don’t struggle with mental health, know this: Those measures you think might be a little “extreme”? They’re not. Not really. That person has been there. They’ve experienced hurt that you don’t understand and may never understand. They’ve experienced a hurt bad enough that they will take “extreme measures” to never go there again. They’ve learned. They’re trying to maintain forward momentum. And it’s not your place to tell them whether or not they’re doing it “right”. Not really.

We don’t expect everyone to understand. Not really. But we do expect that you acknowledge that we know what we’re doing. Why we’re doing it. We do expect you to respect us and our mental health enough to let us heal. On our terms.

Grief

               Grief is kind of an interesting thing. I’m not sure that I’ve ever experienced TRUE grief before now. And I’m honestly going back and forth between “30 is kind of old to be experiencing grief for the first time” and “I’m not very old to be experiencing grief”. Of course I know that your age has no influence on what you are “allowed” to feel, but I can only imagine that feelings like grief get worse and occur more often the older you get and as more people you know pass.

               When my grandpa died, I told my mom, “When grandma goes, you might as well dig a hole for me too.” And I meant it. I couldn’t picture myself in a world without her. I was close to her and was for pretty much my whole life. We had a special bond. Shared similar interests and I think I would have lived with her if I could have (I pretty much did during the summers). Her house was my favorite place to go, and the hardest place to leave. I’m pretty sure I cried the whole way home every time we left.

               I expected the day I found out about her passing to be the hardest day of my life. The one where I wouldn’t be able to pick myself up off the bathroom floor for at least a day. And then – who knows? But it wasn’t. Not really. The hardest day was the day that we were given the diagnosis and the timeline. When it came to my emotions, it was essentially the same as being told she had passed.

               The “upside” to knowing what’s coming – being given a timeline – is that it leaves no room for regret. You can plan for it. You can go visit. You can spent the time remaining making sure to do the things you want to do and say the things you want to say. For that, I will be forever grateful. I have no regrets.

               How things played out, though, directly affected the course of my grief. While I was (kind of) already grieving when we were given the news, I didn’t really have time to accept that grief. And to deal with it. I couldn’t let it overtake me because there was still time to be spent with her while she was living. I had to ignore my feelings and try – DESPERATELY try – to act like everything was normal and make the most of the time remaining.

               By the time the day rolled around that she had actually gone to be with Jesus, I’m not sure I even knew what it meant to grieve. In some ways I thought that I already had. Because I knew it was coming. Everything happened essentially as we were told it would and in the timeline they said it would. It wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t unexpected. It happened the way it was supposed to. So I thought that I was good. I made it through the funeral without many tears shed which is abnormal for me – I’m the type of person who could go to the funeral for a complete stranger and I would bawl my eyes out the whole time.

               It wasn’t until after the funeral, on the two hour drive home that it really hit me. Just like when I was a kid, I cried the whole way home leaving grandma’s house. Because I missed her. And the feeling was only intensified by the fact that I knew for absolute certain that there was never going to be another day on this earth that I would see her fact in person or hear her voice on anything but the voicemails I have saved in my phone – that I still can’t bring myself to ACTUALLY listen to.

               Grief is and interesting thing. It somehow convinces you, for a few days, that, “You’re okay!” “Everything is fine!” “You’ve accepted what’s happened and you’re moving on!” And then completely out of the blue, it smacks you hard across the face and says, “Just kidding! You’re not okay” “Everything is NOT fine.” And “You’re NOT moving on.” And “Now we’re going to cry hysterically on the bathroom floor for the rest of the night.” And that’s what you do. Until it convinces you, again, that you’re okay for a few days while it winds up to slap you again.

               I don’t think I ever expected to still be struggling SO MUCH with this a month a half later. I’m not sure why not. If I truly believed that I would be in a hole in the ground beside her by this point. Or if I believed that if I could survive the first week after and the funeral that I would just somehow move on as if nothing had happened. But here I am. On the floor in my bedroom, trying to see what I’m typing through tear-stained eyes and trying to keep my sobs to a minimum so my roommate doesn’t hear me upstairs and come down wondering what the heck is wrong with me.

               But I guess this is what grief is. Believing you’re okay for a few days until you’re reminded that you’re not. That a part of you left with the person you love. A part of you that you won’t get back until the day you reunite in Heaven. Trying to convince yourself that you’re going to be fine, when, frankly you’re really NOT fine, until…when? A year? Two? A whole lifetime? Do you ever become truly okay again? Do you ever actually stop grieving? Does anyone even know?

Not Easy

               “They” say that nothing in life worth having comes easy. Which, apparently is supposed to provide us with comfort, or something, while we struggle. It doesn’t though. Provide us comfort. Or at least it doesn’t for me.

               Honestly, I’ve been struggling lately. With life. With my future. With this journey I’m on.

               When I started with this journey of trying to take back my life. With trying to recreate who I am or maybe regress back to who I was 10 years ago, I certainly didn’t expect it to be easy. I didn’t expect it to be something that would happen overnight. It took 10 years for me to even notice that I had become someone different. I knew better than to expect it to happen right away.

               And changing yourself – intentionally changing yourself? It’s not easy. Trying to retrain your way of thinking. Unlearn learned behaviors. FORCE yourself out of your comfort zone over and over and over again? It’s not easy. It’s not “normal”. It’s a constant uphill battle. A constant struggle between your old self and your new self. But I KNEW that would be the case. I was ready for it. I know it would be worth the battle.

               But what I wasn’t really ready for? Getting to the root of why I change in the first place. Figuring out why my thinking is the way it is. Why I learned the behaviors that I now want to unlearn. It can be painful to explore these things. And like a scab, the more you pick at it, the more you keep bleeding until pretty soon, you’ve come to the realization that maybe it’s not just your brain that needs retraining, but maybe you need new skin too. Or else you have to figure out how to fit your scar ridden old skin into your new self without letting the constant visual reminder of your scars override your attempts at creating your new self.

               It had never occurred to me that this journey would lead me to having to reevaluate decisions of made in my life. To consider the possibility of having to make new major decisions and change things about my life that I had assumed would somehow just conform into the “new me” without issue.

               I’m not sure why this didn’t occur to me. I mean, it only makes sense, right? That the “new me” that I’m trying to get to might have to part ways with some of the decisions that “old me” made – life altering or not? Things that the previous version of myself was just fine with allowing to happen. Things that I used to just sit back and think ‘oh well’. Things that the newer version of me says ‘this is not okay’ or ‘this needs to change’.

               I wasn’t ready for that part of it, though. I’m still not sure I’m ready for that part. Sometimes I think I’m getting closer but then fear, anxiety, and the thought ‘what the h-e-double hockey sticks am I doing?’ comes for me and I just get stuck. And unfortunately, it’s not a very pleasant place to BE stuck. Staring at the things that are beating you down, kicking you while you’re down and then waiting for you to stand back up so they can do it again. But too paralyzed with fear and uncertainty and lack of confidence in what your brain – and heart – are telling you to actually DO something. To actually run. To actually change.

               Nothing in life worth having comes easy. It doesn’t make me feel the slightest bit better. About anything. But at least I know I’m on the right path. Because it certainly isn’t easy.

Heroes

               My best friend (fairly) recently adopted a new motto for her life. “Don’t be a hero.”

               She and I are a lot alike in that we try to be everything to everybody. We never say “no” to anything and we’re not very good at saying “no more” when something else gets piled on top of our already full plates. We just scoop other things to the side in order to make room. Or we try to find a bigger plate.

               You need something done? We’ll do it. Doesn’t really matter what it is. We’ll do it. So we can be everything to everybody. Is it some kind of complex that we both suffer from? I don’t know. Maybe. But what it really boils down to is that we just want to help. We want to make sure we’re doing our part when it comes to establishing who we are, we want to leave no stone unturned. So we do. And we do. everything. that’s asked of us. And when we’re done with that? We do more.

               We want to be everything to everybody. DO everything for everybody. Be the hero in every situation. The one that’s always there. Always willing. Always exceeding expectations. The hero of every story.

               It may not seem like a bad trait to have and if we’re being honest, I think it has gotten us both relatively far in our professional lives and social statuses. But I think we’re both discovering that it hasn’t been beneficial to our own personal lives. To our own well-being. We end up running ourselves ragged. Sacrificing our own satisfaction and happiness for the benefit of others. We pour everything we have into everybody else. Leave justenough for our family and close friends. And ourselves? Well, you can just forget about THAT completely.

               Hence her new motto of “don’t be a hero”. It’s essentially her way of taking her life back. To stop the continuous motion of trying to be everything to everybody. To DO everything for everybody. To stop sacrificing her own life to be someone else’s hero. And while I support her motto and agree with her logic behind it 100% and recognize the usefulness and applicability it has to my own life, I think it’s important to take it one step further. To be YOUR OWN hero.

               There have been a lot of instances in my life – especially recently – that I have done things solely because “no one else is going to want to do it.” No one else including me. But for whatever reason I feel some sort of obligation to be the one who takes the bullet. Always. The hero who saves everybody else from having to dodge the bullet. But the more I do it, the more I realize that I’m not bulletproof. And I CAN’T be the hero all. the. time. For everybody.

               Being the hero and taking the bullets often comes at a price. That price being my own happiness. My own sanity. My ability to fight for myself. And my ability to be the hero of my own story. And if we’re not our own heroes, then who are we? Because, let’s face it, there is not a single other human being on this planet who can be our hero. We are our own best advocates when it comes to anything in life. We know what we need. Mentally. Emotionally. What we need in order to be happy. To be the heroes in our own lives.

               Be your own hero. Fight for yourself. For your own dreams. For your own goals. For your own ambitions. And if you’ve got energy left over to devote to being other people’s hero, go for it. But always first for yourself first. Advocate for yourself first. Be. your own. hero. First. Always.

Tables or Fences

“When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.”

Not an original quote. There’s a good chance you’ve heard or read it before. Not really even a new concept – although one that CAN be difficult to remember to live by.

When we purchased our house 5 years ago, it was more than we needed. Still is. At 4300 square feet, with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 basements and a bonus space, we don’t even really use ½ of it. But, the price was right. It met a variety of criteria that we were looking for that we couldn’t really find in any other home – the extra space was kind of just a bonus. And, I figured, we would find some way to fill the space. Eventually. And hopefully not with just ‘stuff’.

My vision for how to fill the space (despite the obvious of just filling it with children) has changed numerous times over the past 5 years and likely will continue to change. My original dream (and quite a lofty one at that) was to use part of it as a bed & breakfast. How fun would that be?! That dream was fairly short lived when I considered all of the things to do around here and realize there was nothing and therefore, probably wouldn’t be much of a client base for a bed and breakfast.

My second, perhaps loftier, vision hinged on finding some way to get Scott McGillivray from HGTV’s “Income Property” to come help me convert part of my house into a rental space. Obviously, that was a no go too.

I’ve considered foreign exchange students or becoming a foster parent, but the thought of being responsible for other humans kind of terrifies me. I barely feel like an adult who can take care of myself – let alone someone else!

I’m not sure where my desire to do things like this came from. Perhaps my aunt who, I’m pretty sure, hasn’t gone longer than 6 months without and ‘extra’ in her house in probably the last 10 years. Or, maybe from the initial quote at the beginning of this post which has stuck in my mind since I first read it 3 years ago. Or, maybe it’s because I don’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to achieve my own goals and dreams but am all about finding any way to help others achieve theirs (that’s perhaps a topic for another blogpost, though). Or, maybe it’s a little of all three.

My most recent vision for our extra space – and my most achievable vision to date – is to open it up to other adults. People who can take care of themselves. I’ve made the offer to a handful of people – that we have space, they can live with us. Some were looking to move, but needed somewhere they could stay for a while. Some had found themselves roommateless and weren’t sure where that would leave them. Some were facing uncertain financial futures and weren’t sure how they would continue to pay rent. While I have made the offer to numerous people, none of them have taken me up on it. Until now. Within the next few days, one of Steve’s Marine Corps buddies, will be moving into one of our extra bedrooms and staying for an undetermined amount of time. Until he decides what he wants to do. Whether he wants the move here to be a permanent one. Ironically, he is the very first one we ever made this offer to – about 3 years ago. He had always said he was going to take us up on it, but I don’t think I ever believed it would really happen. So, we will be adding another chair to our table – for a while, anyway. And, honestly? I’m kind of excited about it.

But, can I just move on to the last part of that quote for a minute (I guess you can’t really stop me, can you?). I feel like it’s easy to know and understand what it means to build a longer table. To invite people. To open our homes – and our hearts – to those around us. But I feel like the fence thing can be easy to just push to the side. In today’s world, where there’s talk about walls separating countries, I think it’s easy to read that and only picture an actual physical fence.

Our property didn’t come with a fence. The only one we’ve installed is the underground one that keeps my dog in the yard (most of the time, anyway). And we have no intention of ever installing one. But yet, I find that I have to constantly remind myself to not build that higher fence.

When you have more than you need, as the quote says, you can easily fall into the trap of building a higher fence without even realizing you’re doing it. By buying the newest, flashiest vehicle. By buying new ‘toys’ (the expensive grown-up kind). By buying the newest gadgets. Or making everyone around your feel like they need to chase you. To climb your ‘fence’ that you keep adding onto and changing and upgrading and making bigger and better.

I’ve been there. The one trying to climb the fence. The one constantly trying to make sure my fence looks okay compared to my neighbor’s fence. The one trying to keep up with the ones who are trying to keep up with the Jones’. It’s exhausting. It’s discouraging. And it’s not where I want to be anymore. Because I realized that it only adds to the lineup. It makes me build my fence. And makes people around me want to try to climb my fence – want to make their fence look as nice as mine. People who also find it exhausting and discouraging. I’m trying desperately to break the cycle. Sometimes I fall off the wagon and try to start building my fence again, but then my neighbors with the higher fence remind me that that’s not who I want to be and I go back to trying to build my table instead.

Stop exhausting yourselves trying to build your fence and come sit at my table instead. I’d love to have to add another chair. Or another leaf. Or even a second table.

Independence

**The fact that this post comes on Independence Day was completely unintentional. When the need to write strikes, you kind of just have to go with it and sometimes it just 'works'.**

I’ve never been very good at the ‘independence’ thing. As, apparently, the child that requires the least assistance, my mother would probably argue differently. And in some respects, maybe that’s true. I’m a pretty independent learner and I’m pretty independent when it comes to work that needs to be done, but that’s about where it ends. When it comes to doing things…going places…living life, independence has never been my forte.

It makes sense, really. All throughout elementary and high school, I had my friends – band of misfits that we were. We did things together. We went places together. We did life together. By the summer after my junior year of high school, I had started dating the man I would eventually marry. And while he was gone for the better part of the next 5 years, I still had my college/work friends. We did things together. We went places together. We lived life together. And when I graduated college, I chased down my now-husband to live with. To do things together. To go places together. To just live life together. And it worked. Everywhere I had been for the past 22 years, I had someone beside me to do life with.

But somewhere along the way, I lost my ability to actually BE independent. To do things on my own. My friends now live in different towns. Or have adult responsibilities that make it difficult to make plans or do things. Go places. And my husband doesn’t always share the same interests as me. Want to do the same things. Or go the same places. Or live the same life.

So for the last 5 years of my life, I’ve found myself, more or less, waiting in limbo. Waiting for friends to come along who want to do things. Go places. Live life. And no one ever came. And when they didn’t, I would beg my husband to go. He would – most of the time – but not without grumbles and clearly not wanting to – which wasn’t really ideal and didn’t make said things enjoyable to me.

It wasn’t until the last year or so that I started noticing – REALLY noticing – strong, independent women in my life. Some are friends. Some are friends of friends. Some are people that I actually took notice of and admired when I was a child but it just never ‘clicked’ until now. But these women kept popping up in places. Doing things. Going places. Living life. And doing it ALONE. And you know what? Never once did I think, “That poor girl, having to do that alone.” The thought that I assumed for sure people would think about me if I did things by myself. No. I thought, “Good for her! For not letting anything stop her from doing things. Going places. Living life. Good. For. Her!”

I think it was the start of this year that I started to notice that it seemed like life was going on around me and I was just sitting here. Unhappy. Still waiting for someone to come along to do things with. To go places with. And I thought “What am I doing? Why am I just waiting for life to happen to me?”

And that’s when I decided. No more. No more waiting. Not more living in fear of being independent. No more wasting life.

So after surviving ta season, I started doing things. Going places. Living life. If someone wanted to come with me wherever I was going then that was great. But if no one wanted to go with me – no biggie. I’ll go anyway. By myself (or with my dog). Because I really wanted to go.

Honestly, the first few times of going by myself to wherever I was going, it was terrifying. It felt weird to not have someone with me. I ALWAYS had someone with me. But now? I love it. I crave it. I need it. The independence. The feeling of being able to do things on your own. The ability to live life on your own terms and do what you want to do, when you want to do it. It’s empowering to not have the fear of independence hanging over you but to embrace it. And roll with it. And see how far you can push your independence. Riding the high of empowerment into places you never thought you would end up by yourself. To see just where you end up and what you end up accomplishing.

Do the things. Go to the places. Live life. And if you can’t find someone to do it with you? Do them anyway. Go anyway. Live. Life. Anyway.

Movement

I’ve never been particularly great in the compliment department and by not particularly great, I mean I don’t give them out often. Part of the reason is probably due to the fact that I always feel mildly awkward when someone compliments me. “I like your shirt.” “Uh, thanks? I guess?” I mean, I didn’t design it. I just picked it off a rack, tried it on, thought it looked okay and bought it. Or in the more likely case for me, I found it on a clearance rack for a hell of a bargain and it fit so why the heck not? But at the same time, it seems rude not to say anything back. Since I always feel a little awkward about such exchanges, I always (probably wrongly) assume that everyone else does too, so I just steer clear altogether.

Probably the bigger reason I’m not so great with the compliments, though, is that I’m not very observant. Yep. I’m one of those people that wouldn’t notice if you got your hair cut or probably even if you changed your hair color. My co-worker has occasionally made comments like, “I think I just wore this shirt last week.” And I will respond “Eh. You could wear the same shirt every day and unless it’s blaze orange, I wouldn’t notice.” And it’s true. Attention to detail when it comes to numbers: A++. General observations of everything in day to day life: Fail. Major fail. Go back to chapter one. Better luck next time. Maybe try it with your glasses ON this time around.

There are some people I know that are really great at compliments and really generous with giving them out. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t doubt for a second that they are being genuine. Because what would be the point in going out of your way to tell someone you like their shirt or their hair if you don’t, in fact, ACTUALLY like their shirt/hair?

BUT, have you ever noticed that the compliments we tend to give to each other always seem to be related to superficial things? “I like your shirt!” “Cute hair cut!” Or even “You look great!” if someone has just lost weight or just had a baby or something. I mean, I guess it makes sense because (most) women (especially) are insecure about the superficial things. We have no problem picking out our physical flaws so it only seems natural to compliment them on their looks to give them a little ‘boost’.

But do you know what else (most) women (and possibly men, but I can’t really speak for them) are insecure about? Pretty much everything. How they’re doing as mothers. How they’re doing as wives. How they’re doing as homemakers. How they’re doing in general as productive members of society. Or even just what people really, truly think of them as human beings. And yet we never seem to compliment each other on these things. On the attributes that we find admirable about each other.

Admit it. There are people in your life (men or women) that you admire. That you see and think “Man, they’ve really got their life together.” (They probably don’t feel like they do, by the way) or “This person is really great at (insert admirable quality of choice here).” Or “Man, I really think they’re doing something great.” You think it, but you’ve never actually TOLD them you think that, have you? WHY NOT?! Why do we sit in silence as we witness people doing inspiring and admirable things and then never say anything?

Is it out of fear? Do we think that these people already know they are awesome and that they are just going to think we’re creepy/absolutely nuts for just pointing out what they already know? Do we think that they don’t need or want to hear what we see in them that makes them stand out (in a good way) to us?

If I’ve learned anything from my recent blogposts that have been a little more raw and honest than in the past, it’s that a lot of people feel/think very similarly to me and likely to you too. So, what’s the hold up? Don’t we all have insecurities about who we are as people? And if we do, why do we all sit and admire each other in silence instead of trying to help people get past their insecurities by giving them a fresh perspective of what the world (or at least you) sees? By just telling them that you admire them or are encouraged by them. Why is it SO EASY to compliment each other on superficial things – clothes, hair, etc. but so terrifying to compliment people on who they are as people?

It’s something that I’ve thought about fairly regularly over the past six or so months and I’ve decided to start making a change. Instead of instantly shutting it down as “I can’t say that, they might think I’m crazy”, I’ve started asking myself, “What the worst that can happen?” Most of the time, the answer is “They might think I’m nuts and never talk to me again.” Which, I guess in the case of someone you admire could be devastating. But it could also be argued that if they can’t take a compliment, then maybe they’re really not all that great to begin with.

The second thing I ask myself is “What’s the best thing that could happen?” You could go with the obvious answer which would be “I could make their day.” But I choose to dream a little bigger and instead my answer usually ends up being “My words could give them the little push they need over edge they’ve been hovering on that will send them soaring into something that will completely alter the course of their life – for the better.” After I ask myself these two questions, if the best thing that could happen outweighs that worst thing that could happen (and it usually does) then I just go for it. I tell them (usually via FB messenger) because what do we have to lose, really? Some of you have maybe already been the recipient of one of these messages. Most of you will likely end up with a message completely out of the blue one day.

I think it’s interesting. I recently found out that a friend had been contemplating a similar idea. And she had a friend who had been contemplating it too. So here we all are, once again, THINKING about it, but not actually doing it. How many more are out there? Thinking the same thing? Feeling like maybe a step in being brave and honest is exactly what the world needs, but either not sure how to go about it or too scared to make that step?

I think it’s time to take steps. To start movement. Get on the train. Don’t sit and admire from afar without ever telling people. Encourage people. Compliment them – and not just on their appearance. Let people know that you think they rock at life (because let’s be honest, NONE of us ACTUALLY think that we are rocking at life). Be real. Be honest. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

Fearless

“So, like, what’s going on with your book, Kayla?”

I ask myself that question multiple times a day. Since the last time I mentioned my book, I recruited a few more people to read it and the feedback has been (mostly) positive. Full of constructive criticism and encouragement. It still needs a lot of work, which is to be expected. While “winging” things has become a part of my daily life and I’ve gotten relatively good at it, writing a book isn’t exactly something you can “wing” and have it come out a-okay the first time around.

I haven’t worked on (or even looked at) it or any other projects in oh, 4(?) months? Mostly because: tax season. But also because I’ve been undecided on where to go next.

Writing takes a lot of time. Like. A lot. And even when you’re not actively working on it, you’re still working on it because your brain is still writing even when you aren’t (or at least that’s been my experience).

I feel like I’m currently at a crossroads with one direction being “keep at it, but then you’re all in, you’re working it until completion” and the other direction being “just let it go, but then that’s it. LET. IT. GO.”

I think the majority of the struggle comes in that I’m not really a quitter so my instinct is to keep going. But at the same time, I feel like that would be taking the easy way out. Yes, you read that right. And yes, I meant what I said (typed?). Continuing to work the story would be the easy way out.

Confused? Good. Now we’re on the same page.

In my first blogpost about my book, I mentioned that I learned some things about myself and that I had a desire to get back to the fearless person I once was. And that feeling has continued to grow inside of me. I’ve started doing some things to get me back there, but there’s definitely still a long ways to go.

Much like reading, writing is an escape from real life. Whether you mean it to be or not. When you read, you can transport yourself into the shoes of the characters and pretend to be in their life, rather than your own. Writing is the same, except to an even higher degree because not only do you see the story exactly as it is meant to be seen (rather than as your interpretation of what someone else dictates you to see) but you also get to control EVERYTHING. What people look like. What they do. What they say. What the overall outcome of their actions are. You get to determine everything. And if you don’t like how something pans out, all you have to do is hit delete a few times and type something new to change it. It’s great. Unrealistic when compared to reality. But great. As a result, it’s so easy to just check out of your own life and create (and live in) an alternate reality for a while. And while that sounds appealing at times, it’s easy. It’s easy to write about who you with you were, the things you wish you were doing, the kind of life you wish you were living. Much easier than actually going out and making yourself into that person and doing those things.

As someone who has never had many close friends and has struggled to make friends at all for most of my adult life, it’s easy to spend all of my spare time at home lost in writing where I can create my own friends to accompany the character modeled after who I want to be (Does that make me sound like I belong in a looney bin?). But is that really what I want? Not really. I mean, it’s great at times, and for a little while, but I don’t really want to just sit around and lose myself in an alternate reality. I want to go out there and create my own reality. Live life. Live it fearlessly. And live it in a way that the characters in the books I read and write would with they lived in my reality instead of the other way around.

I vowed in the middle of tax season when it was all I could do to make sure I ate something occasionally and got enough sleep to survive justonemoreday, that this summer was going to be my summer of adventure. That I was going to go places. Do things. Weekly.

So far I’ve been off to a slow start on my summer of adventure. Because: adult responsibility and dogs who are accident prone and need staples annually. But I’ve got some weekend get-a-ways and other things on my calendar that are HAPPENING that I’m really excited about and some more ideas that have been tossed around that I’m hoping fall into place. And I’m just plain excited about it all. Giddy even. And the more I add to my calendar, the more I want to pile more on top of it. To keep the momentum going. To keep pushing myself further outside of my comfort zone and into fearlessness. To not be hindered by “buts” and “what if’s” but instead be looking toward the “what nexts”. To go out and make new friends and just love living and the people who happen to be experiencing those moments with me, whether I actually know them or whether they are just strangers who happen to be in the same place at the same time.

Do you have something you’ve always wanted to do? Somewhere you’ve always wanted to go but no one has wanted to do it/go with you? Just need a break from life and need someone to go on an adventure with? Sign me up. Let’s do it together. I’ve got room for lots more adventure. It’s summer. It’s time to stop hiding from life and live it. Fully. Fearlessly.

“Wait, wait, wait. So, where does that leave you in regards to the initial question in this blogpost, Kayla?”

Honestly? Still at the fork in the road…

The Outsider

I’ve been, what you could consider an outsider, in many things throughout my life. In fact, I’ve probably been an outsider looking in, more often than I’ve been on the inside looking out. Actually, I’m not sure I can think of a time that I’ve ever been an insider.

               Being an outsider has always had a negative connotation to it. You’re outside of the group. Outside of the trends. Outside of the societal norm. Any nobody ever wants to be an outsider. The Bible would have you believe that being an outsider is a good thing. Jesus was definitely an outsider – at least from the perspective of society in Bible times. He didn’t fit the mold. He wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms everywhere he went. We’re called to be like Jesus, which means we should be striving to be the outsiders. To be the ones in the trenches and the battlefields, right along with the other outsiders. But let me tell you something. Being okay with being an outsider is hard to accept when we live in a world where people are constantly clawing their way to being ‘in’. Where being part of the ‘in crowd’ is the goal. Where being the one comfortably sitting in your mansion on the hill and staring out at the people below seems to be the way success is measured.

               Despite the fact that I’ve almost always found myself on the outside, I wouldn’t say that I’ve grown comfortable there. I still craving being inside. Why? I’m honestly not really sure. Other than I think it’s in my nature. Just like it’s probably in everyone’s nature. And while I’ve always been an outsider. I’ve also always been in good company. Which makes it seem not so bad. Being in a band of outsiders is more bearable than being alone.

               For the first time in a long time. Well, maybe ever, actually, I was put in a situation where I sure I would feel like a true outsider. The kind that doesn’t find itself part of a group. It wasn’t a major, life altering situation that I found myself out side of. But it didn’t matter. It was still terrifying.

               I have a friend. And I would say that if anyone has come close to mastering the art of embracing the position of outsider, it’s her. She has told me before that she struggles to find where she ‘fits’ in life sometimes, but she. lives. life. And she lives it hard. She doesn’t let anything stop her or get in her way and she kicks fear aside like it’s an old worn out tennis shoe. She inspires me to be brave and fearless because she is brave and fearless. So when she invited me to lunch at her aunt and uncles with her extended family, completely on a whim, it made it impossible for me to say no.

               I was terrified. I would be a true outsider – the only non-family at a family gathering. How weird would that be? Did her aunt and uncle even know she invited me? Would they want me there? I had been peer pressured by her brother, her cousins, and even her grandma to go, but I can never tell if people in these situations truly mean it or if it’s just the ‘nice’ thing to do. With a little bit of resistance and veins filled with fear, I gave in and went. A true outsider. There wasn’t a group of us this time. There was everyone who was family. And then there was me.

               But, you guys. I quickly found out that I wasn’t an outsider. Not to them. They ushered me in, sat me down at the family table and talked to me like I belonged there. Somehow, some way, they snuck me in some back door that I didn’t even know existed and turned me straight from outsider to insider.

               While I had grown to know my friend’s extended family a little bit, I wouldn’t say I knew them well. Yet they welcomed me and view the extra mouth to feed as a blessing rather than a burden. When her uncle greeted me at the door, he said “I’m glad you came. A friend of family is family too.” At first, I thought ‘Well that’s a nice thing to say’. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he truly meant it.

               That’s when I realized that to an outsider, this might have looked like a gathering of family that shares a bloodline. But really, it wasn’t. It was a gathering of family that supersedes bloodlines. God’s family. And in His family, there are no outsiders. Even though Jesus was thought to be an outsider, the reality is that he was the ultimate insider. You don’t get more ‘inside’ than he was. It’s just that a lot of people weren’t looking inside the right window to know that.

               Sometimes I think maybe that’s the problem of outsiders everywhere. They (We) spend too much time focusing on how to get into the front door of society’s mansion that they (we) don’t even notice that the back door to God’s mansion is wide open. Sometimes it takes family of friends to sneak you in that back door to remind you that it’s there. And that you’re not an outsider. At least not where it really matters. Because outsiders in God’s family, aren’t really outsiders at all.  

…like, really real.

               If you follow me at all on social media (I’m guessing you do if you’re reading this). Then you have probably seen my “self-care” posts that show themselves on occasion. Now, before I continue, I’m guessing that I can probably draw a line right down the middle of everyone who just read that. One side is screaming “YEEESSSSS!” and the other is rolling their eyes and thinking “self-care, blah, blah, blah” with a shout out to maybe a few people out there who are thinking “huh? Self-care? What’s that?”

But let me tell you something, the ones that are screaming “YEEESSSSS!”? Those are the ones who’ve got it figured out. If I’m being 100% honest with you, I used to be in the group that would be rolling their eyes. You think “self-care is such a scam” until one day, you find yourself at home on your lunch break crying/hyperventilating on your closet and/or bathroom floor because suddenly everything that’s happening is just “too much” and all you can think is “there must be a better way to deal with this.” There is, my friends, there is.

I recently read an article that a friend shared on Facebook that talked about self-care – clearly from the stand point of an eye-roller. And the article mostly talked about how self-care wouldn’t be necessary if the people sitting in their bubble baths would stop ignoring their responsibilities and build a life that they don’t need to escape from. And while I agree – to an extent – I also think whoever wrote the article totally missed the mark.

Is it important to fulfill your responsibilities and not ignore them? Yes. Is it important to build a life that you’re proud of? Yes. Does it mean that if you participate in self-care that you are failing at both of those? No. In fact, I think it is precisely the people who are doing the first two things that so vitally need the third.

As stated previously, I have always been responsible. I’ve never smoked a cigarette (or anything else). I didn’t drink until I was 21, and I still have never been “drunk”, no sex until marriage (TMI?), I’ve never quit a job without having something else lined up. I was married by the age of 21 to a man I love with a dog that’s like a spoiled child. I was a business owner by age 23. I had a mortgage on a house on 5 acres of land by the age of 25 and was debt free (with the exception of aforementioned mortgage) before 30. I have a job that I’ve been at for 5 years and still love to go to (almost) every day. I do a monthly budget AND a monthly meal plan every month. Sounds like I’ve build a life I can be proud of, right? And that according to whoever wrote the article, I should have no need for self-care, right? Wrong.  

A lot of that has happened exactly how you would expect. From hard work and determination. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a good thing. And I’m proud of it. But somewhere along the way, “responsibility” became more important than “me”. I haven’t been on a full out vacation in 8 years. Have I traveled? Yes. But it’s been to business conferences. I haven’t actually taken even a single day off from work in 8 years (except for weekends and holidays) that wasn’t either because I was sick or doing “business owner” things. Why? Because my brain tells me that it’s not “responsible” to just take a day off and sit at home and do nothing. And that it’s not “responsible” to be spending money on things like vacations when you could be paying off your mortgage or saving for retirement, right? Also wrong. But I have a hard time convincing myself of that.

Enter: Self-care.

Self-care means different things to different people. And, honestly, sometimes it means different things to the same person depending on the day. What does it mean for me? It’s a reminder to do something that isn’t necessarily the responsible thing. Does it mean that I am going to go off the deep end and throw all of my responsibilities out the window, never to be dealt with again? No. That would probably send me to the loony bin. Self-care can easily be found in the “little things”. “Responsibility” says that you should do the dishes right away but “self-care” says the dishes will still be there in an hour (or tomorrow) so if you want to sit and read a book for little while, do it. “Responsibility” says that you shouldn’t buy the premade cookies, because you can make your own for much cheaper. But “self-care” says that you don’t have the time/energy to make your own, so just buy the premade cookies. “Responsibility” says that you shouldn’t do things like snow-tubing because you might break your leg which not only would be a major pain when it comes to hobbling around, but also expensive. But still, “self-care” says that broken bones heal and that’s what insurance and HSA’s are for.

Let’s be honest. Adulting? Not nearly as much fun as I had anticipated it would be. But I’ve discovered it’s largely because of what I’ve trained myself to believe. That adults must always choose the most responsible/safe/cost effective option in every situation. But I’m finally learning that that’s just not true. And that I need to stop and ask myself “what do I want to do?” And I need to ask myself every day. Because if I don’t, I fall right back into forgetting that I can choose something other than the most responsible option.

Don’t take being an adult too seriously because it will drag you down. Choose to do the things that maybe aren’t expected. Choose to do the things that a younger, carefree version of yourself would have done without thinking twice. Choose the things that will make you a happier person. Because the happier you are, the more of a difference you are likely to make in the lives of others. And that’s what really matters. Not whether or not there’s dishes on the counter or the floors have been vacuumed. Not how many days you’ve worked without a day off. Not the kind of car you have parked in the driveway or how many square feet your house is.

It’s how many rides you give in that car and how many people you invite into those square feet. But you can’t do that if you can’t get off of your closet/bathroom floor so if taking a 5 minute break from your day and eating a brownie (regardless of how ‘unhealthy’ they are) will keep you from that, then I say take 10 minutes and eat 2! (Kidding.) (Kind of.) Taking a 5 minute break from your responsibilities isn’t going ruin your life. Unless, of course, your current responsibility is putting out an actual fire. In which case you may want take your brownie to go and call the fire department between bites. J

Take the break. Eat the brownie. Choose self-care. And choose it daily. 

Let's just be real...

              So, I accidentally wrote a novel. Which I feel like requires more explanation than I originally intended to give so here it is in a nutshell. If this is the first you’re hearing about it, don’t feel bad or left out. I think the number of people I have intentionally flat out told is right around five. There may be a few more who stumbled across things that I have said that gave them the pieces they needed to put it together themselves.

               How do you “accidentally” write a novel you ask? Well, I was reading for a friend who is pursuing authordom and since I have an overactive imagination, I thought, “I wonder what would happen if I just wrote down some of the things that float around in my head.” So, I did, and within the matter of a couple days, I was about ¼ of the way through my first novel. Since it’s not within my nature to not finish something I start, I had to finish it. And I did. Whether or not it’s actually any good remains to be determined. I have sent it to my friend who will hopefully be able to help me determine that.  Whether or not I will do anything more with it even if she tells me it’s the best book she’s ever read also remains to be determined. I never wanted to write a book. I never wanted to be an author. It just kind of happened. So the likelihood that it will just hang out on my computer for ever and ever with nothing ever being done with it is very likely.

               That being said, since I have sent it to my friend I am now calling it “off limits” for me to do anything more with it until she’s finished reading it and given me feedback which is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated. Apparently when you spend five months thinking about what you’re writing and the characters in your book, you become a little bit attached to them in a way that makes quitting cold turkey rather difficult. I tried to throw myself right into “Project #2” (a second novel) that also started accidentally as a result of “Project #1” and already has a fairly significant start to it that happened during some writers’ block on “Project #1” but then quickly got left by the wayside when the writers’ block disappeared. I’m hoping that a little bit of semi-related but not really THAT related writing will help ease my mind out of my first novel and give me the “transition” that I need to force my brain to think of other things so hopefully in the near future I can dive into my second.

               So what does all of this have to do with getting real? Well, writing is honestly like therapy and I don’t even mean just the “good” parts of therapy where you leave feeling all happy and wonderful and like everything is going to be okay. In some ways it’s kind of the ugly part of therapy too. You know, the parts where you realize what landed you in therapy in the first place and it makes you wonder how in the world you got there.

I’m not sure if it’s like this for everyone or just for me, but what I found throughout this process is that who I am, who I was and who I want to be, somehow finds its way into at least one of the characters in my book – usually more than one. And throughout the process of basically recreating myself as a fictional character, I have discovered that I have changed – a lot – from who I used to be. Now, a lot of people who are my age and make that realization about themselves would probably be glad that they aren’t who they used to be. Because a lot of people who are younger than me aren’t really making the best decisions (it’s part of being a teenager/young adult, right?). But not me. Anyone who had known me for the majority of my life will tell you that I was always fairly responsible and well-behaved.

But do you want to know what else I was? Fearless. And I’m not talking just about the “Let’s go do something dangerous and hope we don’t die.” kind of way. Although I was probably that too. I’m talking about when it came to relationships. There was a fairly brief time in my life that I was completely fearless when it came to relationships. I was comfortable with who I was. I wasn’t afraid. I would talk to anyone, regardless of whether or not I knew them. And not only would I talk to them, but I was genuine about who I was all the time. What someone might think of me didn’t scare me. And honestly, some of the most authentic, unconventional friendships I have experienced stemmed from that time in my life. I found myself becoming friends with people who I never in a million years thought I would be friends with. Because they were people who I never pictured myself being on the same playing field with – because they were “better” than me. And somehow we became friends anyway and I’m not just talking “Facebook friends” – like actual, legitimate, I can tell them everything about everything and they tell me everything about everything, friends.

But then something happened. Something that completely changed who I was. My fearlessness disappeared because it came back to bite me in the rear, or at least in the eyes of a teenager. There were some people – people who I thought were my friends (not my authentic, unconventional friends, but some less authentic, but still unconventional friends) – that started making fun of me. The worst part was, that they were more or less doing it right to my face (via a nickname that had more meaning than I knew about it) and I didn’t even notice – which I’m sure only made it even more fun for them. When I finally realized the meaning behind the nickname, it changed me. It made me less confident in who I was as a person, and suddenly that teenager that was fearlessly friendly to everyone became a little bit closed off out of fear.

Ironically, the authentic, unconventional friends who, in my mind, had every reason to join in on the fun (because they were “better” than me by high school standards), didn’t. But, still those friendships fell by the wayside and no longer exist. Now I can’t help but wonder if It’s because I pushed them away. Out of fear. Fear that they would hear what others were saying and run in the other direction, not wanting to be friends with the girl that everyone was making fun of.

For about 10 years now, I have been progressively moving backward from who that girl was. The girl that used to thrive around people – strangers or friends – and talk to everyone is gone. The girl who tried to be everyone’s friend is gone. The girl who was unashamed to be herself is gone. The girl who was authentic is gone. The girl who was fearless is gone. Somewhere along the line, she was replaced with someone who tries to avoid people – especially people she knows – at all costs. Someone who tries to keep conversation to a minimum. Someone who doesn’t make much of an effort to get to know new people. Someone who is too filled with fear to be who she was meant to be. And to be authentic. And to be fearless. And somehow that fear just became a part of who I am. Now, 10 years later, I am looking back and realizing that I was so happy with who I was back then because of my fearlessness. Because I was unashamed and not afraid to be authentic.

Even if my friend is the only person who ever reads my novel and I never do anything more with it. It was worth the hours upon hours of work that I put in it because it gave me the desire to become fearless again. I’ve gotten over what took my fearlessness in the first place. I have been “over it” for a while. I don’t know if the people who said what they said even remember saying it, but I’m still “Facebook friends” with them and I’ve seen how much they’ve changed since that time too and I’m confident that if they do remember or were reminded that they would feel badly about it. It was high school. And while it seemed like a big deal at the time, in retrospect, it wasn’t that big of a deal and I’ve already let it affect me for longer than it should have. The hard part is going to be undoing 10 years’ worth of regression to get back to being the fearless, authentic person that I was before. But maybe with this writing therapy thing I’ve got going on I can get there.