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…