In Life and In Death

Today marks my dad's 59th birthday. There is a lot of life that has been in lived in those years and he has the stories and the smile lines and the scars and the gray hair (white hair?) to prove it. If you wonder where my sense of adventure came from, you can look to Larry Joe. In all of who he is, he is a "Yes!" person.

Papa has said yes to climbing mountains, running marathons, riding motorcycles, and water skiing and snow skiing, singing loudly, traveling the world, and to swimming even if the water is a little too cold. This has caused others (my mom) a little bit of stress, the occasional unexpected medical bill (hardcore sledding will do that to you), and an occasional pull back on the reins. Generally, if there is a chance to take a risk, to try something new, or make an ordinary day extraordinary, Papa will do it. He says, "Yes!" and more than anything, it has been the very thing that has brought our family a sense of adventure, plenty of stories to tell, laughter and seeing meaningful moments unfold unexpectedly.

One of the most impressionable yeses has been Papa's willingness and commitment to say yes to people and to dedicate his life to serving and loving them well. As he sees the people in his life, he commits to them and he cares for them and he deeply loves them. You see it in his eyes, and feel it when he hugs you, and know it when he cries with you and makes space for you. It is a large heart that he has protected in his chest, and I find it an honor to be a recipient of its most wonderful gifts.

Today also marks the tragic death of a student from our SPU community. She was killed in a car accident driving back with another SPU student from spending time in North Dakota at the Standing Rock protest. Although I did not know her well, I do know the influence that she had on the SPU community, and her willingness to stand against injustice, love people well, and bring joy to those who had the privilege of interacting with her. She may have only had a little over 21 years, but she, too, was a "Yes!" person. There is a lot of life in those 21 years, and that life has made a forever impression on the hearts and lives of countless people.

In life we are faced with choices every day that will forever make an impact on the lives of others, whether or not we realize it. In death we leave behind our stories that tell of our choices and their impact. We are all connected to one another and we must realize that in this interconnectedness there is a responsibility to see those around us, to listen well to others, to speak out against injustices, to give and to live and to offer compassion, and to never, ever, ever, stop learning from the stories being told in life and in death.

As I celebrate Papa today on his birthday, and as I reflect on the passing of Erin, I find myself sitting quietly, feeling my beating heart and with each breath hearing a gentle whisper: "Say yes, Lindsey. Say yes."

The Privilege of Silence

...

I learned a hard lesson last fall.

My silence has caused pain.

My complacency has bred injustice.

My privilege has blinded my eyes and heart in ways I could have never realized if I had not chosen

to pay attention, to listen, to look, and to learn.

This is not about my goodness or thoughtfulness.

This is not about me, at least not in those ways.

Not today.

Hopefully not ever.

This is an acknowledgement that I am part of the problem and if I do not do anything or say anything and stand in solidarity, may I be damned.

Do you hear the weeping?

Does it break your heart?

People are losing their lives.

LOSING THEIR LIVES.

For what?

The color of their skin.

I enjoyed a nice cup of tea this afternoon, reading updates about these tragedies in the comfort of my apartment on the top floor of a building nestled into an all too familiar Pleasantville-esque neighborhood.

Then what?

Keep scrolling through to something more "entertaining", something to distract and push the story to the back of my mind? Makes justifications for injustice?

Either way, there are no repercussions for me.

Or I can

stop

and let it sink in.

Another

human

life

gone.

How long, O Lord?

How long?

Say their names.

See their faces.

Alton Sterling.

Philando Castile.

May this very darkest of nights break into dawn.

Grounding

The on-call phone rang at 2:30am and I jerked awake, my heart racing and adrenaline pumping. Per usual, I had no idea what is on the other end. Anything from a stubbed toe to suicidal ideation. As one of the first few times of being on-call by myself, I was anything but calm.

In my strange state, I attempted to sound casual and alert.

"A student is currently having a panic attack that has lasted for about the last 15-20 minutes. An officer is present, but you are requested to continue supporting the student. It is in a hall."

"I'll be right over."

It was pouring rain and a literal and metaphorical cloud hung dark and low. Quietly I step into the room with the officer and the student. The OSS officer leaves shortly after I begin speaking with the student while she searches for breath and her eyes are frantic for a sense of calm. She indicates that she is concerned about waking her roommate up, so we shuffle down toward the study room to continue waiting for this unwelcome visitor to find its way along from her.

Never having faced a panic attic before, I do what first comes to mind, calmly asking questions of the student. Stressors, strained relationships, personal pressure, unrealistic expectations, transitioning from the safety of home.

After 20 more minutes the breathing becomes lighter. A welcome break for us both.

Then with the force of a dam breaking, another panic attack rises within her. I see her holding back tears and I offer all that I know to say gently and quietly.

"It's going to be okay. Deep breaths."

On repeat.

She clutches tightly to the blanket wrapped around her body and I hear her hushed voice.

"I see the rain against the window. I see the light in the hallway. I feel the blanket against my skin. I hear my breath and I hear the rain. I smell the air in this room."

She sees me empathetically observing her.

"My psychologist taught me this whenever I have a panic attack. It brings me to the present and helps me focus on what is here and now instead of my anxieties and worries."

Grounding.

I've since learned that this is a simple, yet very effective way to lean into calmness and quiet, even in the most anxious of moments.

Grounding.

Pulling my head out of the clouds, out of the past, out of the future, and refocusing it on the here and now; the present moment.

I was driving today and a song that I forgot about came onto my "2016 Goodness" playlist on Spotify. Almost immediately my eyes welled up and I was feeling for the first time in a long time.

Feelings rushed over me, engulfing me, and instead of attempting to push them away, I breathed and let them be.

I don't know where they came from, but I welcomed them as an old friend enthusiastically greets another they haven't seen in years.

It has felt like years since feelings have felt just this way. There has been so much numbing and ignoring and masking just to survive each day, that sometimes I wondered if I had forgotten to authentically feel.

If you know me, you know that there is no way that this is actually true; but there have been moments that scared and confused me to reach that place in my thoughts, wondering where my heart had gone, causing anxiousness to rise.

Grounding.

While listening to the song on repeat, I was reminded of the moment with the student, and the simple profundity of what she said, leading me to identify my personal lack of grounding the past few years.

In grounding, there is an acute awareness of the present moment. The sight, the breath, the movement, the sounds, the smells, the tastes.

Emotions and calmness co-existing in the madness of the heart and mind as I bring myself back to here and now.

It's good to see you old friend.

It's good to feel you.

Let's not let so much time pass; and in this moment, let's remain present together, for this moment is all that we have.

If you haven't watched the music video for the song, I encourage it, if you are looking for a gentle nudge to be present and to feel. It encompasses grounding through experiencing, adventuring, natural beauty, and relationship.

A Tribute to the Women

Women hold up half the sky. --Mao Zedong

For a long time I have considered the impact of the people in my life and how their influence has shaped me in ways that I could have never inspired within myself.

Now I am an adult, I am a woman, and I am confident and comfortable with myself, I am creative and compassionate, caring and brave. It is not out of pride that I share this with you, but out of utter humility and gratitude. For the attributes that I possess are not as much a reflection of myself, but a reflection of those that have known me, poured into me, and have boldly paved the way of what it means to be a woman. Today, on this Mother's Day weekend, I take a moment to pause and say thank you.

In the past year, some of my closest friends have become new parents. I have watched two of my dearest girlfriends each carry their child for 9 months and have the miracle of giving birth to healthy and beautiful boys. I have watched them navigate some of the hardest moments of their lives. I have watched them sacrifice and struggle and love and nurture and learn and give and give and give. In their early story of motherhood, they have inspired an even deeper belief in the beauty and power of being a woman.

Three years ago, I met a mother who quickly became a dear and committed friend. I have watched her fiercely love and care for her toddler despite many moments where it would have been easier to give in and give up. In the midst of a long season of transition, grief, pain, and heartache, she keeps pressing forward, into the broken spaces and offering all that she has to her friends, her family, and her little gal.

Just over five years ago when I got married, I was given the gift of another mother, in the form of a bold and strong woman that has given and sacrificed to show her family her deep commitment and love, overcoming unbelievable obstacles and pain. She lives authentically, with a keen awareness of those on the margins and a heart of care. I look at her and am in awe to also be a recipient of her goodness.

And then there is Deb Walkemeyer, a force to be reckoned with, encompassing the wholeness of beauty to the core of her being. If you only knew her full story. If you could see all that she has faced, even the promise of losing her life twice, and then see where she is now. My mother is unashamed of who she is. My mother is confident, and comfortable with herself. My mother is creative and compassionate, caring and brave. Sound familiar?

You see, this Mother's Day as I think about these mothers around me, I realize that what makes them such incredible mothers is that they are incredible women.

All of the power and all of the tenderness coinciding in the being of these women...and not just these women, but so many others that I have had the privilege of knowing and having relationships.

I don't understand why and I don't understand how, but I have been surrounded by so many brilliant, brave, beautiful women.

Women who chase their dreams and live into their deepest passions, even when people have told them that it isn't possible or it isn't acceptable.

Women who, despite daily physical pain choose to live fully and press on in their journey in hope of wellness.

Women who open their arms and the doors of their home to remind everyone that there can always be space for one more in the aiga (family) and sacrificially share all that they have to do so.

Women who speak truth and fight against injustice, even when their story is filled with enduring injustice against them simply by the color of their skin.

Women who wake up in the morning and say yes to the day and getting out of bed, although combatting overwhelming depression that attempts to keep them down.

Women who continue to choose to love deeply and believe in hope, after being taken advantage of or abused.

Women that are writing a different story with their lives than the destructive lies and manipulative messages that tell us we are second class citizens, that our worth is in our physical appearance, that femininity looks only one way, and that we are not brave enough or strong enough to do certain things just because we are women.

I tell you that there are too many women in my life that have proven that women really do hold up half the sky. I can stand confidently in my own womanhood, believing and speaking good things about myself, because since the very day I was born, I had a phenomenal woman teaching me how. And that woman, my amazing mother, has taught me the importance of building a strong community to face the messiness and joys of life, thus the many women around me over all of the years.

To the women I know, thank you. There are not words to express my gratitude and the significance you have on my life and the lives of so many others.

To mama, thank you. For I have watched you hold the sky for 31 years, and I hope that I can be just a small reflection of the woman you are.

Today may we celebrate the mothers, may we celebrate the women, that hold the sky with their feet rooted on earth, making the world better and more beautiful by being exactly who they are: phenomenal women.

Taking in the Lilacs

(Disclaimer: I am my mother's daughter, and if I didn't know flowers enough to be aware that these are tulips, not lilacs, there is a small chance I may be disowned from the Queen of Gardening, herself. The title may seem misleading, but it is connected at some point in this post...or at least I hope.)

It is spring. IT IS SPRING. We made it through winter and now bask in the glory of spring. Thank God that this year April showers are not here and bringing May flowers. This year winter showers have brought April flowers and the gray finally has broken into full days of sunshine. Just last week Seattle was much more enjoyable than California with 77 degree weather while down South endured (actually, more like enjoyed and needed) the storms that swept through.

Why in the world am I giving you an update on the weather? If you had to survive this past winter in the PNW with the record amount of rainfall and a never-changing gloomy sky, you might understand the overwhelming joy of stepping into the glorious warmth of the sunlight and allowing it to kiss your face and remind you that, indeed, you are still alive (and indeed, your skin looks sickly).

Of course, you can't predict the weather. Although we are distinctly in a seasonal transition, it doesn't mean the sun is out all day long, or the clouds are completely gone. It is still, very much, the Northwest and in the blink of an eye, your sunshine turns to cold rain.

These past couple of weeks more than ever I have realized the importance of seizing opportunities as they present themselves.

One of the best parts of my job is having the privilege of journeying alongside my students throughout the entirety of the academic year. Like it or not, the students that I supervise get to (have to) spend at least an hour a week with me. Part of our time revolves around their job functions. Most of our time revolves around their lives. How are you doing? How are you caring for yourself? What do you need? Where do you want to be and how do you get there?

From observing almost 2 years of students in this capacity I am recognizing that the spaces where my students grow the most are when they identify what it is they need or want, and then go for it.

The problem is that it's not that easy. Pressures from anywhere and everywhere push in against hearts and minds. "You're not good enough. You're not smart enough. You've messed up and can't recover. You're not brave. You're too tired. It's too hard. You don't have time. You're fine."

Pressure turned to excuses rooted in fear.

That's where I have been. Last time I sat here and blogged I was laughing at the irony of sitting in a similar physical space, in a similar mental space, hoping and believing I would change, and realizing in that span of time, not one thing had shifted. I also have realized that I sure am full of excuses.

It felt wrong to sit back down and blog until I let go of some of the pressure and moved beyond excuses...well at least some of them, anyway.

The magic of spring in the Northwest is in the flowers. Practically year-round we get to enjoy the glorious green of the thousands of trees and mountains and plants and parks that surround Seattle. It is magnificent.

But then, spring.

One morning I woke up and it was as if a confetti popper exploded everywhere. Cherry reds and soft pinks and sunset oranges and snowy whites and fire yellows and shades of purple you couldn't even dream of sprinkled the ever enduring green turning heads and warming hearts simply by being.

It is not to be missed, but can easily be overlooked if someone isn't paying close enough attention.

Did you know that lilacs only bloom once a year for an average of two weeks?

While on a one-on-one (or a fun-on-one, as I like to call them) with one of my RAs, John, he pointed this out to me. The sun was out (or at least attempting) and coffee was on our minds. As we got out of the car, John made a beeline for the lilacs. His face fully pressed into the bush, he took long inhales to immerse himself in the precious fragrance of the blooms. I joined him.

Walking back to the car John was by my side for a minute until I heard him say, "I can't miss it!" There he was, taking a detour to be one with the lilacs yet again. I laughed at him out of endearment and amusement; and then I joined him, naturally.

There are only two weeks to bask in the scent of the lilacs.

John went for it.

And so did I.

I told you I didn't feel comfortable blogging again until I actually followed through on my commitment to make some changes that I've been hemming and hawing about since last November.

Step one: find a counselor and make an appointment.

Check.

I'm not sure what step two is, but that's okay. I've known about step one for a long while and kept ignoring it.

TJ keeps traveling a lot for work, leaving me with quite a bit of free time. It has been important that I utilize time for myself, doing things that bring me life and keep me grounded. This past week he has been in California once more, and I got sick. I kind of had to choose me in this time in order to rest and recover. My feet love me because I took care of my ogre toes and got a pedicure. I took a bath. I got a book from the library and have been reading. Every day the sun has come out, I have been in it, even if just for a few minutes. I've gone on walks and sat by the water and I found a counselor and now I've blogged.

The time has come to take in the lilacs and I'm all in. Well, at least trying to be. Hopefully I don't discover a pollen allergy or get stung by a bee in the process.

Actually, even if I do, it will be worth it. There are only two weeks, and I would hate to miss them.

Preferences

Guess what? It is 2016. You read that right. Two zero one six. 10 days into the New Year. Crazy.

November 2, 2015 I was sitting in Starbucks telling my three faithful readers readers (thanks Teej and parents) that I talked about feeling sassy and ready to put on my big girl shoes and start walking.

Guess what else? I am literally sitting in almost the exact same spot the last time that I blogged.

I drove to the Starbucks Roastery (aka the Starbucks that tried really hard to make a hip coffee experience with a more expensive twist, but gets me every time) to get out of the apartment and blog. It is spacious and I figured I could bank on being an anonymous face in the usual crowd of tourists among the 'bucks fanfare.

Believe me when I tell you that I very infrequently go to Starbucks, even as a Seattle local. I don't love Starbucks and my "preferences", as I like to call them, have become more, ahem, refined. Although, if actions speak louder than words than you should not actually believe me. Why? Because this is my second time at Starbucks in one day, and round two was completely my own choice.

Having looked back on what I wrote a couple of months ago, I'm beginning to wonder if you should believe anything I say, truthfully. For over a month I've been thinking a lot about how life requires work and seeing evidence of that all around. My hope was to write out some motivational and approachable thoughts on all of us working for the things that matter most. I had stories to share about different people I see modeling that in truly incredible ways. The phrase "digging my heels in" was going to be incorporated. I could feel it in my creative mulling.

Here I sit at my computer reading my past blog, coming to terms with the fact that I haven't put the work in the way that I aspired to in November. Talk about a blow to the ego. Lots of talk, but no action. At least not in the ways that I know I need.

And the kicker? My job is to support and direct people on a daily basis. I listen carefully, ask thought provoking questions, and offer advice on how they can become more holistically healthy and grounded while riding the roller coaster of life. When it comes to putting things into action for myself, well, apparently that isn't a thing.

Honestly, it is kind of laughable and extremely ironic. If that isn't a wake up call, I'm not sure what is exactly. At least I have a sense of humor about it all.

So, then, what have I learned about how things that are worth it require hard work? Blowing hot air isn't helpful unless there is a balloon attached to the basket to get it lifted into the air and going somewhere.

If I don't get a balloon quick, my basket will be staying at Starbucks, and that isn't really something that I, ahem, prefer.

Walking in Sassy Shoes

I'm feeling really sassy today, but I have no one to take it out on since I am sitting alone in Starbucks nowhere near anyone I know waiting for our car to get a 2 years too late car detail. It's a funny thing to say that I feel sassy. It's even funnier to say that I really like it.

The last few months have been, well, the best way to say it is, full of surprises; thus, exhausting. I could sit here and tell you all about the craziness that has made up my life since August. We would be here for awhile, though, and I don't want to ruin people's days or come home to find that you have all gathered to throw me a pity party.

(Although, I never say no to a good party. Does a pity party constitute as a good party? Probably not.)

Now it's time to move on. It's time to face the things that have undoubtedly been difficult and disappointing. It's time to call things what they are and identify what affect they have had on my life, but then to do something about it.

Have you ever read that verse about being quick to complain, quick to criticize, and slow to change? Yeah, me neither. But I am a saint at living it out.

I am so good at making excuses that at times I can't differentiate between feelings that are valid, and ones that push me to avoid changing and learning and growing. It's easier to be vulnerable and identify that I am a little crazy and that I have been a little hurt and to openly talk about it with people than to put on my big kid shoes and take a step to do something to move beyond it. It's not avoidance if you can identify it, right?

Wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

Also, I'm perfect. So there's that. Most of the things that I am feeling come from other people or outside influences, and couldn't possibly come from within myself. Just in case you were wondering.

Today I guess I am just kind of done feeling tired and I'm just kind of done feeling sad. In the words of the teenagers these days: I can't. I just can't. I can't even.

I won't.

I know that my feelings are valid and that my experiences have been really painful and have most definitely shaped who I am. BUT, what is it that I am doing with all of that? I don't want to be sad and hurt and disappointed and frustrated forever.

What I want now is wholeness, healing, joy.

And some sass. It kind of makes me feel alive.

Anybody have some big kids shoes I can borrow? Or better yet, that I can have? It's time to start walking.

See you there, I hope. If I make it, let's throw a party. If I don't, be patient, but not too patient, or I'll start throwing out excuses again...and we can all see how far that has gotten me...from sadness to sass.

The Quiet and Reminders from the West

It's quiet in the way that I most enjoy. The quiet where there is a feeling of settledness, even when it is interrupted by the buzzing of a bee, the chirping of the birds, the pawing and clawing of the adorable (and somewhat obnoxious) kitten, and even the clicking of the keys as I type. The quiet when nothing is expected and there is no place to be other than exactly where I sit.

My blog and I have not spent much time together the past 9 months. I could say that it was the busyness of a new (and very demanding in the best of ways) job, or that I haven't been quite sure what to write. I often have thoughts I could share here, but sometimes I don't think they are worthy of typing out for the world to read. Not necessarily because I care what people think (but let's be honest, I definitely care what you think), but because they would have felt more forced than free flowing. That kind of writing doesn't feel worth it to me. That kind of writing feels like a burden and expectation instead of a space for people to connect over similar life experiences, pain, awkwardness, humor and beautiful moments.

Now there is thunder in the distance. It is rolling over itself in an attempt to reach our little weekend house in the woods faster than it knows how. At moments it returns to silence and the rustling of the trees is heard as the wind sweeps through the branches.

As a part of my job, I am given 2 months off in the summer. It has taken me 3 days short of starting up again to finally feel quiet and calm. It has taken me exactly 9 months (to the day) to sit down and write again. There couldn't me a more perfect moment to do so, and I am seizing the opportunity.

I have so many stories to tell you since last time.

I could introduce you to my first Resident Advisor staff. The students I worked with that challenged me, held me accountable, struggled and persevered, at times could barely put up with each other and at other times would work as an incredible team, changed (literally and figuratively), and taught me so much up to the very end of the school year.

I also want you to know about the people that I work with professionally who are an absolute gift. It is not every day that I get to come to the table with a group that is very different than me but just as committed (if not more) to guiding, supporting, and serving students holistically. It is not every day that work becomes integrated into daily life and professional relationships transition into invaluable friendships. It is not every day that my paid work is meaningful and literally life changing.

There are stories of our closest friends that are all willing to endure through difficult transitions, waiting, jobs, health, insecurities, among many other things, into places of thriving. I have watched them go through the cycle a few times, and though it can be disheartening and uncertain, they have proven their resiliency and desire to press on knowing that there is more. I have watched them demonstrate balancing delicately between lightness and heaviness reminding me that really both coexist together.

I could spend time sharing about my immediate family and the exciting opportunities that have fallen in their laps to lead and serve, and the ways in which they want to keep facing fears and continue to learn and overcome obstacles. Or I could tell you about my extended family and what a joy it has been to live closer to some of them, being able to participate and celebrate with each, even if just for an afternoon or evening, and always with great food and drinks.

Then there are the amazing summer adventures with Teej traveling internationally and exploring locally with dear friends. We entertained, played, talked, sunbathed, boated, ate, laughed, cried, and laughed some more. As I have been telling people that have asked, it has been relaxing, but not restful.

The story that I really want to share with you is one that came as a surprise and a necessary reminder this summer.

In the middle of the California desert, in a small western themed town that had been used as a movie set, I ran into an old college acquaintance, named Mark Moore, more commonly referred to as, "Colorado Klumpf". TJ and I went to Pappy + Harriet's in Pioneertown to listen to one of our new favorite bands, The Deslondes. We watched the first two sets they played and as we waited for the third set to start, we stood outside grieving that we missed out on their amazing smoked meats for dinner. We had In-n-Out on the drive, which we never regretted until that moment. I heard my name from across the way, and Mark walked up to us from the table he had been sitting with his girlfriend, Ingrid, and her family.

For those of you who know Mark, there couldn't be a more appropriate place to randomly run into him than the middle of nowhere, in a western themed town, where he and his girlfriend wanted to show her family a good dinner, in a one-of-a-kind spot, 2 hours from Los Angeles. They had come for the food and we had come for the music. Yet clearly we were missing out on the food.

The story is too long and too magical to share the details of how the rest of the evening unfolded. I will say, it involved missing the last set of music from hanging out with Mark, Ingrid and her family, followed by all of us being given a private acoustic show from a couple of guys in the band under the stars after laughing and sharing stories together.

I hadn't seen Mark in 5 years and in college we didn't know each other well. As we were standing there briefly catching up over the usual adult questions of where we work, what we're up to, etc., Mark says to me, "Yeah, you're in Seattle now right? I read it on your blog."

I couldn't believe that Mark had read my blog or even known about it. "Yes! We are, actually. Did you see my blog on facebook?" "No, we aren't friends on facebook. I actually don't know how I saw it, but I like it. You're a really good writer."

That was it. That is the story I wanted to tell you. One tiny comment from an acquaintance that I have virtually (literally) no connection with thinks that I am a good writer and happened to offhandedly mention it. In that moment I knew that I needed to find a time to write again because it is something important for me to do for myself, despite what people may think or if people might read.

Mark has no idea the significance his comment had, bringing me back here, to reflect on the time that has passed and what each moment, each story, each person over the past months has embedded on my heart.

The sun is peaking through the trees now and everything is completely still. I am incredibly grateful for this gift of silence, the smell of dry forest, and of course, the reacquaintance with an old friend.

Waiting on Calm Waters

Why does time move so fast? I've been 30 for over 2 months and there are only 3 weeks left of the Fall Quarter for my students. I'm still trying to figure out my job and we still have one of our rooms filled with things to make our living space feel like home, but they remain hidden away. There are so many things that feel undone and so much that has happened and I can't really figure out my place in it or how to get grounded.

Here's the thing, for the first time in years, things can finally settle down. I've been tossed around at the mercy of my environment like agitated silt in the bottom of a pond. That's not to say I haven't been trying to peacefully find my way to the bottom of the water once more. It's that I am realizing settling takes time and patience waiting for the water to find its calm once more and murky water to become clear as density works its course.

Even in this new place, I am finding that my environment has remained more chaotic than I had imagined. The waters continue to churn. The silt continues to flurry beneath the surface.

And as I swirl around in the middle of it, I understand.

Maybe I have found where I should be for this season. Maybe there are lots of certainties in areas that had previously been filled with question marks. Maybe there is the thrill of new places to explore and unknown adventures ahead. Maybe there are opportunities to learn and grow and be challenged in ways that I have never experienced before.

There are other things within me that had been pushed aside for a few years in order to simply keep treading the tumultuous waters. With (at least some) assurance of my home, my job, my location, I find those things making a resurgence.

It has been a long time since I have felt the pressure of my perfectionsism and people pleasing and fear of failure significantly affecting the way that I live and relate and work and play. Yet, here it is, in full force.

And it is exhausting.

I forgot how powerful those pressures can be. I sincerely thought I had been managing them better. For the first couple of months in my job, I didn't know what was happening and blamed it on other things. As of the last couple of weeks, I started to get it.

The patterns that had helped me to make it through the past few years won't help the waters to calm, but that is how I have been operating. It isn't working, but why?

Why?

Now is the time for letting go. I have to face what is in my heart, the fears and the brokenness. I need to call them what they are and make space for new patterns that challenge me to face reality and to grow.

I have been the one agitating the water and I want to stop. Just as it takes work to tread, it takes work to calmly float. Floating is the kind of work that needs to be done. Gently enjoying the refreshing of the water while allowing the silt to settle beneath me. Grounded.

With deep breaths and quiet spaces. With an open heart and humble listening ears. I stop. I wait. I be.

What better calm than to be the fullness of what the Creator had in mind.

#PSL Season

It is officially fall. And it isn't just because Starbucks is now offering #PSL (that is pumpkin spiced latte, in case you were wondering). Besides, Starbucks is never a good indicator of the seasons since they start serving Christmas drinks before summer is even over.

This is the first time in a long time that I have noticed an abrupt transition in the seasons. I had previously been experiencing the ultimate endless summer with hot weather hitting Southern California in April. Arriving in Seattle, not much had changed with the day we moved in to our apartment being 85 degrees. Other than a couple of cloudy days over the past 2 months, the weather has been gorgeous and we have thoroughly taken advantage of it.

I know all of you Washingtonians may find this silly, but TJ and I have gotten a little tired of the gorgeous weather, him more than me. He kept dreaming of rain and the coziness of being inside on a cool autumn day.

Then he left for 2 weeks on a work trip to the sweltering heat that has swept Southern California. 91 degrees at the beach? Absurd. That is the absolute antithesis of fall. At least you can get your #PSL iced, am I right?.

Then while he was away, I woke up one morning and everything in Seattle seemed different. It was as if someone had quickly changed scenes overnight. I opened my eyes to find colorful crunchy leaves on the trees and falling to the ground, crisp, cool air with cloudy skies and occasional, sleepy rain. All of the students returned to campus, finally, and Trader Joe's, in good form, put out pumpkins and pumpkin products in the appropriate season, after the official Autumnal Equinox.

And something just has felt right.

There is a reason people in Southern California wear scarves, boots, and winter coats when it is 68 degrees out. As much as people may love the sun, people desire for there to be change, interruptions, or maybe better put, rhythms.

Don't get me wrong, I love Southern California and the neverending beautiful weather. I really do enjoy my iced #PSL in August and pulling out my winter gear to go outside on a hot, November day. But I also had the privilege of traveling to see family during the holidays in other places, or being in more seasonal weather throughout the year on trips with my parents. I unintentionally had small glimpses of what winter with snow is and how spring rain really does bring new growth from the ground and on trees.

There was always a deep appreciation for the beauty of my home, and there always will be. However, I also have welcomed seeing the world from another perspective, and now I have the opportunity of living in it as well.

For this time in my life, I really like it.

Visibily seeing and tangibly experiencing the cycles within nature affords me the opportunity to connect with differing rhythms and seasons in my own life. There is a time and a purpose for everything under heaven, we are told, and from my own experiences I can confirm that. I might not know why or for how long something will be. I might not understand it, but I can rely on things eventually changing. This is not without struggle or participation. A tree doesn't grow by itself. There are numerous factors contributing to how it flourishes.

Yet with each new season brings a reminder to engage in the rhythms around me as they are. To look to the sunrises and sunsets as indicators of when to slow down or do more. To listen for the gentle trickling of the rain to remind me of refreshing. To breathe in the fresh crisp air making me grateful to be alive.

Within seasons we are provided a chance to give ourselves grace with our ever-changing lives, as we see nature modeling for us the beauty of letting go and trusting that come spring, all the leaves that may have fallen to the ground will grow back in splendor once more.

Now having a chance to experience the fullness of summer, autumn, winter, and spring, I hope that I pay better attention to the whispers of the rhythms, enjoying each for what it brings forth and learning to see value in each.

For right now, I am grateful for the fall, and I look forward to TJ being back to enjoy it with me as well, most likely with coffee in hand, but maybe not a #PSL.