It Takes Two

What surprised you this year?

I started going to networking events this summer as a way to not only to meet potential professional contacts, but as a way to get out and and be around people if the majority of my friends were busy. They're definitely a great way to make connections, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's to always be open to the possibilities.

I can't remember who initiated the conversation; it was one of those things where we both saw each other at the same time (albeit walking in different directions) and just started talking. He was a year or two older than I and had gone to school in the city. I discovered that we both shared a liking for adventure and going out and doing things (as opposed to binge-watching Netflix all the time). He was independent and well-traveled, and was close to his family.

He asked for my number by the end of the night, and the best way to describe it was like finding twenty bucks in a washing machine. I'll call him Adam, as he looked more like one than his actual given name. We went out for drinks soon after, and being with him was a breath of fresh air, especially in light of what else was going on at the time. I was definitely attracted to his personality, but there was something about him that was both mature and sexy. He had his own place and was very ambitious.To cap it off, he pursued me, complimented me, and overall made it clear that he was interested.

I might have been getting ahead of myself, but it felt good to be wanted by a man. A man who wasn't a kid. Or at least that's how it felt when I was around him.

But then things took an unexpected turn; we were supposed to go put on what would have been our third or fourth date, and he never confirmed with me what was going on. I didn't hear from him for almost a week, and what he told me that he would explain the details, that call never came either. From then on, communication was sporadic, and I had to literally keep my phone on all the time because if I missed a call or a text, I could never reach him after the fact. I sensed that it had little to do with me, but that didn't stop the insecurities from coming out in full force. The last time we'd gotten together in person, I'd shared a little bit about some difficult experiences in my life, though kept it very-surface level. Let's just say he responded in a way that made me wish I'd hadn't said anything at all, and I occasionally wondered if that had something to do with the void in conversation.

By the time we actually got in touch again, I was very anxious and didn't want him to see me in such a state. It had been about three weeks since we'd last seen each other, but I needed to calm down first. I asked him if he wanted to touch base after Labor Day, but never received a response. We haven't spoken since, and while there are times where I've wanted to reach out, I didn't want to waste my energy on chasing him. It would have just been out of loneliness. 

I was sad at first, partly because of it being over, but mostly because of how it ended. I realized how much I hate being left, or not being the one to have the last word in a situation like this. It was like getting a carrot dangled in front of my face, only to have it taken away a short time later. 

Yet, meeting and getting to know him wasn't for nothing; for once, I was truly able to stand firm in the truth that I am NOT responsible for others' actions, choices, or opinions about me. 

I won't deny the possibility of influence, but in any kind of relationship, both parties are completely capable of being honest with one another. Whatever his reasoning, he should have been able to come to me about it, even if something had changed at that point. We hadn't really defined what we both wanted, and because of that there might have been assumptions on both sides. And maybe it was one of those things where because you haven't spend that much time together, it's easier to just stop talking. 

When that happens, it sure as hell hurts. But the best thing to do is to thank God for the experience and for what it taught me, and to hold onto that perspective.

I certainly can't depend on people to give me peace or closure when this stuff happens, but I do understand now that I need communication with the other person in order for a relationship to work. Regardless of where we're at, that doesn't change the fact that we're human. We might not owe each anything early on, but if he can't recognize that I'm human (whether that be emotionally or sexually), than that's not a man that I want to be with. 

If there's one thing it comes down to, it's this: 

It might sound selfish or conceited, but I stand by it. I can't blame myself anymore, and I won't. I know what I want, but I also know what I need.

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An Adventure For Champions

Do you have a favorite picture that you took this year? What was the story behind it?

My alarm went off at three o'clock in the morning, and I boarded a train by five. Every passenger was like herded cattle, where all the seats were taken up and I had to brace myself up against a wall in order to stay standing. The train ended up making only three stops afterward due to nearing capacity, so I made it to the city a lot quicker than expected. Right away I knew that this was one of the few days that Chicago collectively woke up before dawn. And being that this was my first time at any sort of sports-related championship celebration, I knew I had to be somewhat cautious. My mom had spent the days beforehand fretting about my safety, in which I reassured her that I had bopped around enough to where I had some idea of what I was doing. After meeting my friend inside the train station, we began making our way through the already-crowded streets toward another's apartment. 

"You look like a woman on a mission!" She was referring to the determined look on my face.  

"Well, it's not every day we get to see the Blackhawks raise the Stanley Cup!"

 Granted this was the third time in six years, but not until now was I motivated enough to stand among thousands and cheer for it. The parade would take place first and then follow with a rally shortly after (we would only attend the second part because we had highly coveted tickets for it). Regardless, I felt like a little kid at Christmas, and was determined to be there even if danger was a possibility.

By the time we made it into the stadium a little before noon, both the temperature and humidity had risen a bit, and I was a little bit desperate for water. I'd chosen to forgo alcohol for safety purposes, and because I wanted to experience this with a clear head. I can't remember how long we waited for it to actually start, but we did pass the time with people watching and eating french fries. 

It didn't take long for the atmosphere to electrify, so much that at one point I simultaneously had goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes. It wasn't just about winning or history; it was about being surrounded by well over thousands of people who rooted for and were passionate about the same team. Not to mention we were all crazy enough to be here in the first place. 

I felt happy. Alive. Absolutely alive is the only way to really describe it. And I knew right than and there that it was something I would always savor.

Call me a fair-weather fan or bandwaggoner, though I only avoided watching the playoffs because I get way too anxious. I'd like to think of it in the sense that sometimes you don't appreciate something until you open your eyes and really look at it. 

I was beyond exhausted by the time I got home, but couldn't even take a nap because of the excitement and adrenaline. I'm fortunate to have been able to experience something as incredible as that, particularly in the midst of such a crazy summer. 

My grandfather and I now have tradition of watching the games together (and yelling at the TV a lot). It's one of those little things that make me light up. It's competitive, it's aggressive, but it's also something that I can share with people that I care about. 

And that's the best adventure of all. 

When Lists Become Prayers

I have never been a huge fan of lists unless they involve groceries. I'm not one to use a variety sticky notes trying to keep track of everything that I need to do or a calendar of events, though perhaps I should. However, there are two kinds of lists that have become sacred to me; ones that I keep tucked away in my journal, and only speak of when asked.

During my last semester of school,  my therapist and I spent several sessions discussing what I wanted, specifically in a romantic relationship. She suggested coming up with at least six non-negotiables, something that I'd never given much thought to up until that point. I'd been told quite often that my expectations were too high, so I usually kept it at "I want a guy who is nice" (high school), and "I want a guy who is nice and will take me out on the weekends" (college). But I wasn't a child anymore, and if I wanted to find love, it was necessary to not just decide what I wanted, but what I needed as well. It felt refreshing to not only narrow down the important deal breakers, but to proclaim them on paper. Each time I buy a new journal I write them down again on the last few pages, even though by now they're pretty much stuck in my head. I probably should keep them posted on my bathroom mirror, especially in moments of loneliness where my values can easily take a backseat, or I feel like buying into the "twenty-something free-bird" mentality.

I've keep gratitude lists on and off since I was a teenager, but couldn't stay disciplined enough to do it every day. Sometimes the concept seems like one of those happy-go-lucky fads, a band-aid to put on when desperate to ignore reality. Yet, I've picked it back up again recently; instead of waiting until the end of the day and looking back, I record thankfulness as I experience it. I focus on the small, mundane things that don't seem worth being grateful for, but it helps me to recognize the beauty right in front of me as opposed to looking too far ahead or around me. For anyone who has read Ann Voskamp's 1,000 Gifts, it's very similar to her practice. I also took a bit of guiding from Soul Keeping, which my church did a series on about a year ago. 

Translating these practices to a communion with God is a work in progress. When I have my quiet time each morning, I experience the self-pressure to say things a certain way, to make sure that I balance gratitude with what is on my heart. Sometimes I cry when giving thanks, understanding at that moment how much I've been blessed with. 

And in terms of praying about relationships, that can be a tough one. I have moments where I almost don't know what to say, let alone how to say it. I toggle between praying about a person I have yet to meet, and wondering if I've already met him but the timing isn't quite right. More than anything, I don't pray about it often because I don't want to become obsessed or stressed over it. I don't want to use love is a bargaining chip (i.e. Lord if you give me an affection man, I won't curse like a sailor ever again!)

In my faith journey, I've been told that God created us so that He knows our words and thoughts, even before we say them. Realistically, there's no need to pray out loud if I don't feel moved to do so. I'm still getting used to the whole pray-like-you're-talking-to-a-friend formula. 

I think lists are like prayers because they often get to the heart of things, the bare bones of what we want and need. In hindsight, that's what God wants when we pray to him; no embellishments, no ancient language or ritual. Just what is. 

It seems very silly; almost as silly as saying, "and please let the Bears/Blackhawks/Hawkeyes/Cubs win, AMEN!!" But if that's how God made me, than why not welcome the cheesiness? Who says sacred can't be light-hearted and almost humorous?

Writing that stuff down (length aside) is a way of remembering. I want to look back. I want to remember. For the memories, no matter how painful, are the ultimate prayers. 

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The Word(s) I Didn't Expect

Reverb: The time of year where I sit down for the next month or so, reflecting on the past year and manifesting what's next. Part of me is already feeling raw and exposed enough as it is, but this writing exercise has become a tradition that I don't plan on backing out of any time soon. Some of the prompts will be of my own devise, while others will come from other hosting websites. 

A number of people are now opting out of New Years Resolutions, and instead meditating on one word or theme for the year. Looking back, what was yours for 2015?

As I typed out a final reflection for the current year, my mind kept coming back to the concept of hope. Hope for all things made new, for the past to die away, and for the possibilities to come. I experienced it in waves: when I finally found work, Mom and sister moving into a new house, and meeting some pretty great people inside and out of my comfort zone. But there were times when hope seemed superficial, a buzzword coated in cliches for what I could not guarantee to actually happen. It felt shallow, as though I was chasing after something I could never quite catch (which from a certain perspective, I was). 

The more appropriate word would have been emotional. 

Good Lord, 2015 was quite an emotional year. A year filled with a few big changes that were a long time coming, including my parents finally going their separate ways. I was literally on a pendulum of feelings, literally hitting everything on the spectrum from complete and utter happiness to all out rage. I found joy in the little things, the every day and mundane. It was my way of focusing on the here and now, rather than get all worked up about what may or may not happen eventually.

And of course I was sad that a part of my life was coming to an end, even if it was unhealthy and dysfunctional in the grand scheme of things. I had to come to terms with the nature of certain dynamics, that some relationships might not be what I so desperately wished and prayed for since I first became aware of it. 

Yet, the more obvious factor, anger, was actually a misconception. I was more pissed at the way things were being handled, as opposed to what was actually happening. I couldn't be genuinely honest without someone making comparisons as to who was suffering more, or completely invalidating what I had seen and heard for so many years. And when I can't communicate what I'm feeling, I start lashing out and become resentful. It will build until I'm literally on the verge of taking somebody's head off.

It all was very much a disguise for helplessness. It was one thing to not have any kind of control, but to have very little influence was a different story entirely. It seemed like nothing I did or said mattered, and eventually resign myself to the fact that this was a train wreck in which I couldn't get away from. 

But I've learned a lot from it, having become more aware of how I express myself, communicate, and ultimately relate to others. And that is what I call progress. 

On the outside, it's not particularly monumental. However, I have battled with my sense of self-worth for close to thirteen years, and I am finally in a place where I've comfortable with the way that God made me: 

I am an expressive person, and it's literally impossible to hide it. Whether I'm in a good mood or a bad mood, most people that know me well enough can tell. 

I'm a sensitive, and toughening up is not in my vocabulary. Yes, some things will initially hurt at first, but I try to be an advocate for letting it out and then letting it go. When you name something, you give it less power over your mind and over your life.

I am a deep feeler; love, pain, everything. As uncomfortable as it is to feel like an outsider to both my peers and dear ones, I'm grateful for it. I consider it a gift to feel, as we now live in a culture that continually glorifies busyness and keeping it casual. It's scary as hell and kind of weird, but I'm leaning into it...slowly. 

There's so much more to discuss and expand on, but I'll save for that for the coming days. For now, I welcome this journey with open arms, and I give thanks for all that join me.

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Standing In The Season

We’re on the cusp of the holiday season, and I admit that I feel apprehensive about it. This time last year, I struggled with getting into the spirit of togetherness; I was still job searching and adjusting to “the adult life” as it is sometimes called. Add in the grief over what was happening my family, and no amount of Michael Buble, cinnamon candles, or cookies could get me out of the funk. The circumstances are somewhat different this year and the changing waters have begun to calm, but I’m still not sure how to approach it.

 How do I embrace the possibility of feeling strange and awkward without slipping into depression?

 How do I find joy in this season of anticipation, without forcing or sugarcoating anything?

It’s not sadness or excitement, but rather a “blahh” ambivalence that normally doesn’t hit me until January. I’ve noticed that with summer, there’s more risk-taking with an “anything can happen” mentality attached to it. Autumn brings the change of colors, and I always experience a sense of closeness and intimacy, as there is a lot of nostalgia involved. I enjoy winter up until Christmas, and then afterward get cranky because of the bleary skies and not having the motivation to get out as much. (Do we even have spring anymore??)

As far as why I’m feeling that way sooner rather than later, I don’t know exactly. My best guess at the moment is because of how intense this year has been, which I’ll reflect more on in the coming weeks. I want to connect, to be around people and be involved, but lately it has become rather overwhelming and a little bit scary. I’ve opened myself up in a lot of different ways to where by now I’ve been rubbed a little bit raw. I’m glad for it, but simultaneously I’m also tempted to put up walls, if only to allow myself to breathe for a minute.

I imagine that I’m not the only one either.

Many of us are tired; tired of feeling sad, angry, divided, and flat out down and out. We know there are reasons to rejoice and celebrate, but it can be difficult to do that in the midst of all the recent horrors and realities that have begun to set in. We know that life is beautiful and that God is good, but we want to feel it in our bones and in our souls. We want to live, and we want to feel alive.

But how does one achieve that in light of tragedy, or reminders of what is and what isn’t? Is there a way to lean completely into one emotion without fully denying the others?

I don’t have a concrete answer, as this isn’t a one size fits all kind of thing. I am starting my gratitude lists up again in my journal, and am writing every chance I can get. I’m trying to focus on literally taking each day as it comes, balancing the desire to go with the flow while still being intentional about putting plans and ideas into action. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned from the likes of Christmas Vacation or The Holiday, it’s to embrace the craziness and chaos instead of trying orchestrate a perfect anything. My life has always been somewhat unconventional, and it’s about damn time that I accept it. I can savor the joyous moments and soldier through the uncomfortable, knowing that it just comes with the territory of changes and new chapters and not knowing where the pieces will fall.

It’s not complicated, but I can’t pretend that it doesn’t feel that way sometimes. This is mostly because I am afraid; afraid of getting my hopes too high, of missing out, and saying or doing the wrong thing. It’s normal to be conscientious, but to practically walk on eggshells is an entirely different story. I am not responsible for other people’s opinions, and neither are you.

While it’s definitely getting cold outside, that’s not to say I should feel the same way in my heart. I don’t have a plan, and I’m not going to predict what may or may not happen. If they say merry is what you make it, then I’ll make mine as tangible, memorable, and as stress and worry-free as possible.

Let go, and Let God.

What Shame Looks Like

What Shame Looks Like

She approaches like a ghost, and without warning

Beginning in the head

And settling in the heart

A five letter word; starting with S

And ending with E

She can cripple your spirit

And bring you to your knees

She’s a follower of perfectionism

A mirror image, perhaps

Screaming loudly whenever mistakes are made

Whispering stories and confabulations that carry on

Weeks, months, years

Try for an entire lifetime

The reason for walls and defenses

A raging, haggard, bitch

Bearing wretched gifts of unnecessary burden

That I am not strong enough

That I am not caring enough

That I do not love enough

I am less, because I operate differently

And differences should be banished, rather than celebrated

I grow tired of her clawing at my back

Her voice, cackling in my thoughts

For stumbling when it’s normal to stumble

And being only human

I miss the freedom that comes with confidence

And the courage to fully live

I name her shame

For denying the truth only gives her power

I name her

Because MY truth is stronger than her lies

THE truth

That I am a human being and a Child of God

No explanation or justification needed

I name her

Because I do not follow or answer to her

And though is not a once and done victory

It’s definitely a start

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Music Monday

Break On Me-Keith Urban
-One of my new absolute favorites; not just by him, but also in general. I'm thankful for the people in my life that allow me to do this.

Hold Me Up-Conrad Sewell

Drink You Away-Justin Timberlake and Chris Stapleton 
-If JT ever collaborates with anyone on a country song, I will be one happy lady!

Lay it All on Me-Rudimental and Ed Sheeran

Smoke Break-Carrie Underwood
-A reminder the underneath certain labels, professions, or beliefs...we're all human here.

Have a great week!!

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