Camping at the Kern River

The last weekend of March TJ and I headed up to the Sequoia National Forest to camp along the Kern River with some friends of ours. Most of the time these kinds of adventures happen with old friends from various seasons of life, or as an organized group outing, or because of regularly being the North Face, Patagonia clad outdoorsy types.

This was none of the above.

Our excursion was with some of our old and current baristas at Peet's Coffee, who have become dear friends of ours, and a couple of their friends. The idea of camping had been thrown around for awhile, and although TJ and I had anticipated being the ones to plan it...eventually...hopefully...we hadn't and they did.

A few of us that went have camped quite a bit. For the others, it was a highly anticipated event, complete with a Facebook invite page that was updated on the daily. This wasn't going to be any old camping trip, this was going to be an outdoor adventure for the history books.

And it was.

But not because we got in bear fights or caught fish with our hands or peaked a mountain or lived off of one can of beans and two squares of toilet paper the whole time. It is going down in the history books because it was simple and beautiful and based on cultivating relationships and memories...organically.

Things that some of us had done many times before, were new and exciting for others. This was a reminder that even the smallest things from a different perspective can again be filled with wonder. Building campfires, creating a rain shelter, making dinner over a flame, perhaps even peeing in the bushes.

Things that some of us had done many times before, with a new group of people became an opportunity to encourage one another, lend a helping hand, look out and care for the others. It was team building of sorts, but with no purpose other than being aware of the risks we were taking and desiring to help one another along.

We might have been the last group of people that someone would have put together, but we all found a bond through getting out of our comfort zones and daily routine to greet the outdoors, and I am really happy we did.

I thought it before, but am convinced of it now: Coffee brings people together.

Lessons in Making the Bed

You should be proud of me because I made the bed this morning. In fact, this is the second day in a row that I made the bed. High fives and back pats all around!

When I was little I didn't make the bed very often, if ever. It felt like a waste of my time and my day. I take a long time to get ready and to ensure that I have everything I need, so all of my energy is dedicated to simply getting out the door clothed and being semi-prepared.

(One time in middle school my parents wrote a note excusing my tardiness because I left my shoes on the roof of the car. We quickly drove to school, since I am often, okay fine, always, late. The shoes flew off. We drove 15 minutes to school. I arrived at school with no shoes. We drove back home and I surprisingly found my shoes in the street in tact. Then we drove 15 minutes back to school. I handed them my extremely odd and hardly excusable note. My dog ate my homework? Nope. I just can't get my life together.)

There always seems to be better things to do than making my bed.

My roommates in college happened to be incredibly gracious (or maybe avoided confrontation) because they rarely, if ever, said anything about my bed, or my mess. I would pile everything onto my bed so it was off the floor during the day. At night, I would pull it off and shove it along the border of my bed to not take up too much space. The next day, repeat procedure.

At some point in the last week or two, I must have grown up a little bit. I realize that in starting my day by making the bed, I am setting myself up to get things done, to make progress, to challenge myself, to achieve goals (or at least attempt to). I mean, if I actually made my bed this morning, then I must be destined for greatness!

Then if my day feels like a waste, I find myself exhausted, and I feel incredibly defeated, I can at least walk into my room, look at my bed, and be reminded that I'm not a complete failure.

Because after 29 years, I have started to make the bed, and even that can be considered a victory.

It's only been 2 days though, and tomorrow I might fall into my old pattern of an unkempt sleeping space. But for today, I get to crawl into a neatly wrapped bed with a down comforter, slightly dirty sheets, and pillow shams. Nothing beats crawling into bed when you get to turn the covers down.

And that can only happen if the bed is actually made.

A Band of Misfits

Recently I feel like a misfit. I don't really feel like I belong most places I go.

I think that I am confident enough (or learned enough acting skills from Mr. Bowden in the Wilson High School Theater Department) to pretend like I should be where I am, but internally it's a struggle.

Stereotypes and labeling are funny things. It makes sense why they exist--they are usually true, right?

Wrong. Well, kind of wrong.

They are sweeping generalizations of groups of people or things, and often times they seem accurate because a majority of those people or things fit into the categories we form. So in that sense, they appear truthful.

But I don't know that they actually are.

I think stereotypes and labels can become an excuse for us to not try and understand the depth and complexities of the people and things around us. If almost immediately we can place someone or something in a category, then we assume we know enough about them and can feel okay relating in generalities. This means solving their problems with simple answers. This means forming opinions about them or the situation based on what we think we know of them, instead of really getting to know them.

In other words, judging people instead of listening and understanding them. (Listening and understanding does not have to mean agreeing or supporting. Listening and understanding means trying to be loving and caring.)

Maybe that is why I feel like a misfit. From different people and in different places I am categorized as a lot of different things. I feel judged for a lot of different things. But I don't feel like myself within any of those definitions.

It's not that I mind them terribly (although some I do). It's that I am having a hard enough time figuring out who I am (again and again and again) and I don't think any one of those labels encompasses who I want to be or how I want to be defined.

I don't have a solution for this. Except maybe that ultimately I want to be known as Lindsey. My name encompassing the whole of who I am as an individual.

I am not my job (or lack thereof), my successes, my failures, my fears. I am not my relationships, my preferences, my roles. Sure those could be used to describe things about me, but they are not me.

I am my story. I am being created and renewed daily. If you desire to know me, listen to me. Journey with me. Celebrate life and grieve hardship with me. Remove your preconceived thoughts about me and give yourself (and me) space and freedom to discover the core of who I am together.

And I will try my very best to do the same for you, because you deserve it. We deserve it.

Truth be told, we are all just a bunch of misfits trying to find a place in the world. Trying to belong and be "normal" to blend in, or to not be "normal" to not blend in. (Which, as a sidenote, is still a form of trying to blend in anyway with all of the other non-normal, non-blender-inners.)

Each of our lives would be a pretty entertaining sitcom. Like TJ always says, "People are just funny." (Don't believe me? Take some time to people watch today. There is a reason it is a popular pastime.)

Think about our quirks, our idiosyncracies, our bizarre habits. No one really fits anywhere because what is normal anyway? Yet that is exactly why we fit. We are all misfits, so let's love one another for who we are.

Maybe today we should practice letting go of the stereoptypes and labels we give ourselves and others. Instead of fitting people into predetermined boxes, let's take some time to listen and observe, to see past the generalities and open our hearts to the misfits around us.

You never know, that misfit could very well be me. Or you.

Or a glimpse of God...and we just might overgeneralize away an interaction with the divine.

The Doctor calls it FOMO

I called the doctor and the doctor said, "FOMO. That's the problem."

Then I want to cuss.

FOMO (n.): A condition in which a person is unable to make a decision due to the Fear Of Missing Out on other opportunities or experiences.

I've got a bad case of FOMO. It is debilitating. Sometimes it takes me over an hour to get out of bed in the morning because my mind is racing trying to figure out the best way to use my time for the day, as time ironically slips by while I do absolutely nothing.

Questions like, "What should we do tonight?" "Where should we eat?" "What are you going to order?" get my heart racing and anxiety sets in. Don't even get me started on questions that actually matter.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

You better be ready to catch me because I'm going to faint, right about...now.

Here is the thing, I think life is really valuable. I think each minute and moment is incredibly precious and should be focused on things that matter. Even if I have to run an errand or spend time on something that seems lame, like cleaning the toilet, I try hard to find meaning in it. Even a smile at the grouchy DMV employee could make a difference in their day. Family coming home to a clean, shiny, non-smelly toilet definitely makes a difference in their day too. Definitely.

It is so important to me that my life has purpose and is not wasted, that I see a thousand things I could do, or causes to rally behind, or jobs that I would love, or creative outlets I want to learn, or places I would like to travel, or people that I desire to invest in or have invest in me, that I wind up not doing any of them.

If I give my time to this, than I can't do that, and then what would happen?! What if I like that more and end up hating this?

TJ can get so frustrated with me and my FOMO. He calls it out constantly, and understandably so. I have this bad habit of researching things for hours to ensure that I found what is the best of the best and really get the full experience and don't miss out on anything.

Before I had a smartphone, TJ had an iPhone (he would...he's just that cool). We would be driving to explore somewhere and there I was in the passenger seat with his tiny computer filled with possibilities frantically yelping, googling, and mapping the best things to do, see, and eat.

I wouldn't look out the window.

I wouldn't talk to TJ.

I wouldn't hear the music playing.

I wouldn't enjoy the journey.

If I would've just been along for the ride. If I would've settled in for the adventure. If then, maybe I wouldn't be afraid of missing out because I would be present and engaged with the now.

I don't really have any control even if I did make all of the best decisions and do all of the things I wanted. Anything can happen at any time and make the journey harder, easier, funner (yes, I just said funner), or crazier.

Life is unpredicatable. But isn't that exactly what makes it an adventure?

All that we have is right now. So maybe I should get off my computer and start making some decisions. I know they won't all be perfect (breathe, Lindsey...breathe) but they will keep me alive.

And I think that is what I want most of all.

Longing to Live + Not Choosing Fog

Today I feel alive.

It seems like little things are what remind me how to feel this way. One moment of being present. One moment of being grateful. One moment of being aware. One moment of being gracious. One moment of being. If you blink you will miss them.

They really aren't that significant, unless you let them be.

Deep inside each of us is a longing to live. Losing touch of that longing seems to happen when we feel like we have messed up too much or we are too messed up or too many messed up things have happened to us. The longing seems to slowly disappear and it feels as if we are sitting alone in a blurry, indecipherable fog. Up is down, left is right, and all that we feel is dizzy and confused.

In this season, more than anything I long to long to live, but I have made a lot of excuses not to. I have been sitting alone in the fog.

As time goes on, as I process and listen and talk and wait, I am realizing something very transformational (and a little scary): Getting out of the fog is a choice that I have to make. Yes, I am justified in my pain. Yes, I need people around me. Yes, utilizing resources is imperative. Yes, God is great enough to sit with me and guide me out. But I have a responsibility in all of these things to choose the truth or choose to remain in the fog becoming increasingly suffocated by its thickness.

If I want that longing to live, I have to choose to live.

It will be (and has been) slow, but I am choosing it more often than not. Not much in this season has changed for me, I still live at home with my parents, my sister, and my husband. I still don't know what I am going to do with my life. I still really don't know what I am most passionate about or where my strengths and gifts will best be used and shared. I still don't have much money or much freedom.

But I do have a choice.

I have a choice to be present. I have a choice to be grateful. I have choice to be aware. I have a choice to be gracious. I have a choice to be.

I don't want to blink and miss out on life.

I want to let one moment at a time be significant and to remind me what it feels to be alive.

Today TJ and I went for a hike in the snow as gentle flakes fell from the sky. It was quiet. It was hard work. It was beautiful. It was cold. It was a breath of fresh air. It was my choice today to live and a reminder to choose that longing.

Gently, from one moment to the next. When we look back we will see each moment strung together and understand just then that indeed, we have lived.

Death by Comparison

I am better than ___________________________ but not as great as _____________________________.

One of the biggest problems TJ and I have is that I always (don't use absolutes, Lindsey), I mean often compare myself to him.

For any of you that know us both, you might think that is slightly ridiculous. When talking to us both, right away you would notice that we are different and have our own personal awkward quirks. Typically I'm louder and he is more quiet. I talk more and he is content hanging out and observing. Our individual characteristics are both valuable, just different.

How can two people that are so different be compared?

Great question. Thank you for asking.

TJ and I like to do a lot of the same things. We are both creative, pretty hilarious (in my opinion), active, have a love for life and people and adventure. Obviously, this is the short list of how great we are.

A lot of the things that I feel like define me as fun, unique, and even...cool...TJ does too. Some of these things we both happened to do separately before we met. If I have to be honest, there are some things that he introduced to me. But practically everything cool we do can be attributed to me, obviously.

They are very significant things too. Things that really matter in life like surfing, snowboarding, music, random adventures, coffee, cooking, design, throwing a great party, and how to be from Southern California.

As our relationship grows, I find that TJ does everything that I introduced to him better than me. EVERYTHING. (There I go on the absolutes again, but I mean, it's true; it is everything). He snowboards faster, trys bigger jumps, rides switch and beats me down the hill. He can really sing and actually (kind of) plays the guitar. He wants to go out surfing every morning instead of staying in bed for some extra winks. TJ is better than me in the things we do together. Not to mention, he has always been more fashionable and good-looking.

I have lost my identity. No joke. I feel like I can't be defined as the strong, fun, awesome, life-of-the-party woman that I am because next to me is a strong, fun, awesome, life-of-the-party guy that seems to do it better.

When TJ gets excited about something, I don't. I want to be different, and if he beats me to being excited, than I can't be because than people around us will think that I am just doing it to be like him. Only one-person excitement allowed.

When TJ compliments my surfing, I can't accept it because I ride a long board and it is so much easier to surf on a long board than him on his shortboard. He is just trying to be nice and make me feel okay about not actually surfing.

When TJ suggests that we go on a fun day adventure and plans it, I hesitantly go along. I didn't think of it. Clearly, I am not as fun as he is.

Rather than being confident in who I am and recognizing the joy of sharing in these experiences with TJ, I have allowed comparison to literally kill me. I want so badly to be special and unique that being married to someone who actually likes to do almost all of the same things as me becomes a threat instead of something to be celebrated.

My loss.

TJ isn't the only one I compare myself to. I compare myself to you too. You are better at a lot of things. You probably have more stability than me and are better looking. You are aware of your issues and are working through them so well. You have found a career you love or something to work toward that really "makes your heart sing" like my mom always says. You currently are somewhere I am not, doing things that I want to do but can't, with the world at your fingertips. It is all working out for you. I know it is. I can tell because you have the best instagram photos and actually know how to use twitter.

All I want is to be perfect and everyone else in the world is threatening that. By being who you are, I compare myself to you. You remind me of what I am not doing right and how I am missing the mark or that I can't be unique since we are both doing the exact same thing or that my creative party idea is not that creative at all. (Thank you pinterest for giving away every creative idea in the entire world. Ugh.)

I know. It is pathetic. But I also have a hunch that I am not the only one doing the comparing.

The reality is (if you so choose to believe, and it is a choice) that nobody is perfect and every person is unique. Stepping out of the comparison game is liberating. It is the exact step I need to take to actually believing the truth about me. Not defining myself by what I do, but, aw yes, who I am.

Choosing not to compare ourselves to each other takes the focus off of me and places it on you. It gives us permission to see that we are all on this broken journey together, all trying to figure it out. Together we are better versions of ourselves.

Besides,

“Perfection is shallow, unreal, and fatally uninteresting.” ―Anne Lamott

You're not perfect and neither am I, so what are we trying to compare? Instead let's be truth-tellers, adventurers and supporters on this journey. Let's together see what each of us has to offer and celebrate it. Let's together see how each of us need to grow and challenge ourselves, and lovingly, gently, graciously do so. Let's together live fully and stop robbing ourselves of missing out on today by comparing what we don't have.

The last thing I want to be is shallow, unreal, and fatally uninteresting.

And as a public apology to TJ: I'm sorry for not letting you be as awesome as you are. I guess I'll just start having to be awesomer...

Costumes + Criticism

I used to blaze my own trail decorated in costumes whistling the song of the week that got my feet a-dancin' and my heart a-singin'. My creative mind would take me everywhere. I would look for any chance to use my imagination to tell stories to others and to myself, inviting my friends and family on the journey.

I don't think I did it to deny reality, but to enhance it. Growing up a pastor's daughter, and only-child, there were quite a few things that I didn't really learn about or have to face or understand until I was older. My friends were almost all informed about dating and popular music and fashion. I'm not saying that my sunflower leggings and matching oversized sweatshirt weren't fashionable, but with that bob haircut, thick plastic glasses and glorious braces I can say I maybe wasn't the coolest kid on the block.

When people around me talked about "the butterfly" and "tootsie roll" I played along like I knew, because I did know. Insects and candy. Duh.

Here's the thing, it wasn't really because I was that sheltered. I wasn't. (Okay maybe I was a little bit, but hear me out). I went to public school my whole life in Long Beach. Snoop Dogg. I mean Snoop Lion. Enough said. Also, my parents did an amazing job teaching me about everything that kids around me talked about. I just didn't care very much so kind of let it go in one ear and out the other.

It was more fun playing and imagining and creating in the beautiful place where dreams come true and you really can do anything.

Then I started to grow up. I started having to pay attention to things I should know about because remaining naïve wasn't an option any longer. I started to have a desire to see the world for what it is: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I found myself hungry for more. So I learned and wrestled and grew and listened and observed. Life and people have a lot to listen to and learn from. I still keep trying to listen better and learn more.

But it has made me critical.

Feeling the brokenness of the world and seeing its injustices can do that.

The little imaginative costumed whistling girl has still always been with me and shown her face as I've grown up. Sadly, not as much as I want. The critical me looks longingly at the playful me desiring for her to show herself once more.

Walking in critical shoes can be very good, recognizing how multifaceted everything in the world is, using wisdom and discernment in each endeavor and relationship. Choosing (or at least attempting) to be a part of the solution rather than the problem. Walking in critical shoes can be very bad, recognizing how multifaceted everything in the world is, carrying a burden far too great for any one person that can end up being a joy-stealer and life-killer.

I have forgotten how to walk in the balance. I have forgotten how to walk.

Critical shoes have stopped my feet from moving. I can always find something wrong with something or someone. When I do, instead of giving something or someone a shot, I just don't.

Being older doesn't have to be an either/or. Although it seems like a lot of people (myself included) prefer to land more closely to either criticism or naïvety. Being older should be and. Criticism and naïvety.

Criticism to continue encouraging learning, listening, and doing with intention.

Naïvety to continue imagining, hoping, seeing, and believing something better.

I think it is time to dust off my costume box once more. It is time to walk and play.

"What good is livin' a life you've been given,

if all you do is stand in one place?" -Lord Huron, Ends of the Earth

Who Cares?

I think everyone cares too much. I know I do. I can pretend like I don't care, but I do. I want you to like me. I want you to think that I am exciting and worth every second of your time. I want to do something with my life that makes you go, "WHOA!"

But then I just don't do anything. Why? Because I care.

I care so much about what you think of me that it inhibits me from letting go and simply living free. It is kind of twisted, I know. The chains of expectations, whether real or assumed, started just on my wrists but have moved to my ankles, wrapped around my entire body, and I'm afraid to say they are starting to grip my heart as well. And all because I care too much.

This is exactly how bad it has gotten:

Finally I started this blog. For me. I think subconciously I hoped it would be a way for me to break away a little bit from caring what people think by going for it--even if negative comments come my way. (We can't escape criticism or rejection, so this is my first feeble attempt at doing something that will surely receive that and push me to face it).

Back to how bad my caring has become. Last night I had this crazy person conversation with TJ, telling him that I felt a little weird after the fact looking at my facebook status telling people about this blog. My status said:

TJ has told me for a long, long, long, long time to blog. Not a "Teej + Linz" blog, but one where I just write. And so I am. Not really for anyone, but for me.

TJ: Why do you feel weird?

Me: Because I'm worried about coming across as a person who is using facebook as a way to get affirmation or attention since I said, "I am blogging for me" but then publicizing it.

TJ: Are you trying to do that?

Me: No, I don't think so? Maybe? I don't know.

TJ: Well, who cares?

FREEDOM. Even if just for a moment.

Who cares?

So much inside of me wants to burst. I'm struggling within these chains and needing to break free. For too long have I let expectations rule over me and I can't do it anymore. This is my life, no one elses. If I don't do with it what I think God is calling me to, then I am living selfishly.

We are designed to be connected to each other. To be broken together and to be made whole together. If I spend my life caring too much about what you think, it could be the very thing that keeps me from something exciting, new, fun, beautiful, true, and meaningful. If we all spend our lives caring too much what everyone thinks we will find ourselves pretty lonely, and who wants to be lonely? Even the most introverted of people need people.

Today I'm going to try not to care. And of all days, today that is really difficult. I'm sitting at The Mix in Costa Mesa, the Mecca of hipsterdom and coffee (thus my draw here) surrounded by beautiful, cool people. Then I'm going to the offices of Sevenly where one of my dearest friends, Christina (Mia) just landed her dream job. Another place filled with creative minds, skinny jeans, beards on beards on beards, chalkboards, rainbows, unicorns and a fake deer mounted on the wall. I already know as much as I have angst in being in these spaces I am drawn there and want people to think that I belong there too.

I have a big zit above my lip and am wearing a drab colored high school outfit (nothing seemed to be cool enough so I'm trying for the "whatever" look). I have to wear sneakers because my foot is strained and needs support (How old am I?). I think it's getting hot out and I'm in a sweater. Bad idea. Just not my best of days.

But you know what? Confidence speaks louder than all of that. Shattering expectations and living freely is bigger and more impressionable than that.

I've realized that most of the time caring too much about me keeps me from caring about you. And that's not okay.

So, here I come world! Zit and all. At least I left my grandma shoes at home. I'm saving those if my foot gets worse...

(And if you see me today, maybe try not to stare at the zit. The caring thing is a journey and like I said before, I know that I still care a little bit. Okay, a lotta bit.)

YES!

A week and a half ago I attended the Storyline Conference in San Diego. The past year, the past two years, the past three years, the past...okay well, life, has been hard. Not the kind that belongs on an evening special or could solicit donations, but the kind that seems to be made up of a lot of expectations and a lot of loss within them.

Don't get me wrong, of course life has been beautiful as well. The little moments seeing things and being with people have overflowed my heart. In general though, my default is to operate out of pain, disappointment, and criticism. Where has that gotten me? Not very far.

Just because I risk something and am rejected doesn't mean that the experience wasn't worth it. I learn something. I grow. I actually move.

I was reminded of this at the conference. To tell a good story, the main character must endure conflict and overcome it. Not pretend like it never happened, but face it, wrestle with it, work through it, and eventually move beyond it. Not to ignore it or pretend like it never happened, but allow it to be woven into the fabric of the narrative making it richer, more authentic, and truly inspirational.

It is time that I find my rhythm of a meaningful life. I don't know what that looks like, I just know I need to make changes and take steps in a direction. Here I am, taking a risk, and hoping to find that life offers me an enthusiastic, "YES!"