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.