A Selfish Confession

I have felt extremely selfish lately.

I was sharing with a friend of mine that because of the season that I am in and coming out of that I feel like I am taking (x100) from the people around me. For almost a year, I have sought out those that I am closest to, seeking their comfort, encouragement, sanity checks, life, wisdom, and love. In all honesty, I don't know how I would have gotten through this journey without each of them. It has been a wild ride, but knowing that at every turn someone would be there to to keep journeying with me was the strongest source of hope and motivation to keep going.

My friend graciously offered that those things have completely been reciprocated from myself back to them. That is hard to believe, knowing the lack of energy and excitement I have had; knowing that I have done much more of the talking and processing; knowing that safe community has never felt more necessary than right now. However, it was a very gracious thought.

Here's the thing, I am not the only going through whirlwind stuff right now.

My friend Christina (affectionately known as "Mia") told me yesterday, "This whole season is just so weird. This whole life thing is just so weird. Ugh."

Yes. Yes, it is.

And since I am not the only one going through things, and since I feel extremely selfish lately, I leave you with a note of gratitude, a small offering of moving toward selflessness once more. Hoping and needing to care for more than my small little world, remembering that life must be knowingly reciprocated.

Dear Friends,

Thank you. You have reminded me that life can still be lived in the midst of excruciating pain, both physical and emotional. You have shown me how to never give up, even when the rug is completely swept out from underneath you. You have stayed close, asking hard questions, engaging in and carrying my burdens with no hesitation, with no limit. You have pointed me to truth, to what is beautiful in the world, to hope. You have allowed me to be fully myself, the brokenness, the questioning, the struggling, and then kept believing in me.

I see in you, who I want to be.

So I set my aim high. To love people, to taste life, to shed the cloak of me, and awaken the heart of we. To forgive and to feel, to choose humility and service over self-promotion and affirmation. Also, to say, "no" and to care for myself, especially when not doing so could bring harm to those around me. To operate out of my true self, of who I have been created to be, rejecting the lies of perfectionism and acknowledging my woundedness, yet choosing to continue growing.

I see in you, glimpses of the Kingdom to come.

And I pray, that hand in hand we carry on, for you, for me, and especially for a world in need of experiencing the transformation of community at the table.

With all of my love and gratitude,

Lindsey

The 25 Minute Drive on Repeat

I have had the most ridiculous day.

I got a little over 7 hours of sleep, but stayed in bed longer hoping for a few more winks. That didn't happen. I'm also pretty sure I woke up at a terrible point in my sleep cycle.

My brain is foggy as a result.

Today I am wearing a pirate outfit. I convinced myself that this certain pair of gypsy pants looked good on me, and since they were ridiculously on sale, how could I resist? Well, pair black gypsy pants and a orangish-red striped tank, complete with an anchor on the button for all to see, "AAARRR matey!" A pirate's life for me. I thought I could pull it off. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Either way, I'm definitely faking confidence in it.

Late morning I finally got around to deciding what to do with my day: go to a creative coffee shop, work on some job applications, catch up on some emails, and be inspired and invigorated by having other similar creatives around me too. Plus, my pirate outfit almost makes me look cool enough to fit the vibe. Noticeable, but not obnoxious.

I hop in the car, drive 25 minutes to Portola Coffee Lab and find parking in the nosebleed section. If you recall from a previous post, this is a hipster mecca and it is always packed.

Unusual things happen in the nosebleed section. People think they can get away with more since there is less foot and car traffic. They do things like, leaving their car parked overnight hoping no one will notice and that the towing sign is just a suggestive fear tactic. Or they do things like screeching their way too expensive car into a spot, throwing it in park, and in a "the house is on fire" type of panic start making out in the front seat while the car idles. For 30 minutes. Barely stopping to breathe.

So, that happened.

Why was I around long enough to know what was going on and how long it lasted, you may be wondering? Oh right, that's because as soon as I could peel my eyes away from "get a room", I realized I forgot my wallet and was scrounging every corner of the car for money to buy coffee and stay awhile.

$2.38 doesn't cut it at a craft coffee shop, leaving me with one option if I wanted to get caffeine in my system to wake up my foggy brain enough to work: drive 25 minutes back home.

I learned from my travels around the world, pee when you have a chance. Since I faced another long journey before there would be a toilet available, I ran in and used the bathroom (without buying anything...shhhhh).

At this point, I'm pretty frustrated with all that happened, but try to make the best of the wasted day. I decide to go to a coffee shop closer to home within walking distance. I've had enough of parking by the abandoned cars and crazy makeout sessions.

Heading out the door, I go to grab my stuff from the car and realize that my sunglasses have vanished.

Or, I left them by the bathroom. The bathroom that is 25 minutes away.

Oh yes. Indeed this is true. Another u-turn and I find myself sitting at Portola by 2:15pm, at least having found my sunglasses by the bathroom like I suspected. It is two hours later than when I wanted to be here, with no time left to apply for jobs, but just the right amount of time for a blog. A complaining blog, because today has been ridiculous.

Don't worry, at least I remembered my wallet this time. I also got a fantastic iced latte. And just as assumed, it is busy in here, but to my surprise the hipsters have come and gone. Now the clientele are suited adults with their end of the day business meetings and the grandmas that finally got here for their one big outing of the day.

I wish someone would have told me. Now my pirate outfit really looks strange. I should have worn jeans and a t-shirt.

Ugh. Life is so unpredictable.

But, enough about me. How are you doing today?

Celebrate Today

I believe that life is worth celebrating.

Part of this could be attributed to growing up as an only child, the only grandchild on my mom's side, and the youngest and only girl of 3 grandchildren on my dad's side. It is safe to say that most holidays revolved around me. With a small family, I was the child that got most of the attention during any sort of celebrations. So I suppose, why wouldn't I believe celebrations are important?

I remember when I was in elementary school and my grandparents would watch me while my parents worked. One time I walked into their home after school on an average day and waiting for me on the counter was a shiny silver Nordstrom box. Inside was an adorable shorts and tank onesie with jungle animals on it and buttons up the front. Yes, I did just call it adorable.

For Halloween in 2nd grade I dressed up as a girl from the 50's complete with a poodle skirt handmade by my mom, my grandma's scarf tied in my hair, and my grandpa picking me up from school in his baby blue, 1957, immaculately restored Thunderbird convertible to wow my friends and to make me feel like a real deal sock-hop gal. (This same car was featured in a photo shoot with Drew Barrymore in Vogue magazine and had its very own agent. You can get autographs at Carsland.)

My parents have always found the smallest ways to make each moment special. Eating a homemade breakfast as a family each morning and spending time connecting before the busyness of the day. Fresh cut flowers from my mom's garden appearing on my dresser just because it was Monday. Themed birthday parties. Writing notes to say, "I love you." Making the most dreadful of chores into a game, tricking me into doing them, and actually having fun in the process. Well, kind of having fun. I still don't look forward to cleaning my room. Ever.

I know people that don't make a very big deal about things in life. A birthday is just another wrinkle on the forehead. Work is just a means of survival. People come and go, plus deep relationships are a lot of work. Having expectations leads to disappoinment, so better to not care.

How sad.

There is enough pain in the world. There is enough reason to remain in the shadows of life without creating even more excuses to hide away. Complacency is the death of life.

Believe me when I say I know that it is easier to not care. It is easier to sit back and let things happen as a bystander, watching numbly as minutes, hours, days, years pass. It feels safe.

But safety is never guaranteed.

So then, why not engage? Why not celebrate? What is there to lose?

I have a terrible memory, you can ask anyone close to me. It's not that I don't want to remember things, I just can't. I really hate it. But you know what is interesting? I do remember the moments growing up where we were celebrating someone, something, some special occasion. They have been imprinted on my mind and heart because I learned from a young age that the moments that were important enough to celebrate must be important enough to remember.

Life is happening all around us. I have to tell myself this daily. Blink and we will miss it. Celebrate and we will engage it.

It is in the small things. Wearing tutus at 5:30am while doing chores on the farm. Smiling at strangers just because. Little surpises to brigthen someone's day. Taking a walk. Calling an old friend. Stopping to smell the roses. Seriously, stop next time.

I believe that life is worth celebrating.

I believe that life is asking us to celebrate it.

So, go. Close your computer. Turn off your tv. Leave your phone at home. Celebrate. I don't know how many days you have, but you do have today. What're you going to do with it?

Stuffy + Trying

I'm sick.

I have a stuffy nose that is contemplating turning into a rushing river of liquid down my face, but the floodgates are still (barely) holding back. My brain is foggy and my eyes are tired. It hurts a little to swallow and I don't have much of an appetite.

It seemed like a good idea to sleep in, but then I couldn't really so laid in bed an hour blankly staring at my phone. It seemed like a good idea to finally try Naturewell to get some cold-pressed juice and a pitaya bowl to boost the immune system, so I did expecting an instant miracle. (If you consider going to the bathroom a dozen times a miracle, than it has done the job.) It seemed like a good idea to ride my bike to get out of the house to work on lingering job applications, but the foggy brain has taken over.

So I decided to write a blog instead. Not necessarily about anything profound or honestly that interesting, but just a day in the life of a sick Lindsey.

Here's the punchline: Today I have tried within the means that I am able.

Sure, I could have tried harder, but at least I tried. At the end of today I can look back and see that even though they were only the littlest of things, I did them, rather than giving up or giving in.

In this place of life where I am pursuing and then waiting, hurting and then healing, always unsure of what the next day will bring, not giving up or giving in is a huge victory for me. Trying is a big victory for me.

It means that I am not allowing my outside circumstances and the unfairness that (I feel like) has been handed to me rule my life. It means that I am going for it, some days slower and more difficult than others, but I am standing. I am fighting. I am trying.

Hopefully by tomorrow I can try a little bit harder with a clear nose, a clear brain, clear eyes, and a clear heart.

For today I need a box of tissue, lots of water, a hug, and rest.

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...