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.

On Belonging, 30, and Riding Trains

The past month I have been thinking about belonging. What does it mean to be a part of something larger and how should I actively participate in that?

In our very long drawn out place of transition, it was more survival that was on my mind rather than belonging. I knew in that season that there were people whom I belonged with and that with those people my belonging was not something to be earned, but previously existed from years of navigating life together--family and friends at home in Long Beach.

As a side, it is interesting to me that if there are just one or two places where I have felt like I belonged during a time of survival, it has been enough to keep me grounded and somewhat sane, even if I haven't felt like I belonged everywhere else.

Being in Seattle, I find myself and my thoughts shifting, opening up dusty (and sometimes locked) boxes in my heart, realizing more with each day that I am safe and that it is time to pull them out again. I want to belong here, with these people, in this place, and to feel like my contribution is welcome.

And I think I am actually ready to jump off and dive in completely.

My diving is actually really ugly. TJ tries to give me pointers every time, and every time my knees bend and it results in an almost belly flop. Even knowing that the dive won't be anything worth looking at, other than for amusement's sake, I still try to go for it because at the end I will be in the water, and in the water I am the most happy.

This is what I have to keep reminding myself of in a new job, new city, new relationships, new home, new obstacles, and new conflicts:

You have been waiting a long time to dive in, Lindsey. This is the moment and the water is beckoning.

Tomorrow I turn 30. I feel so young and so old all at the same time. It is funny to me that everyone in their 30's tells me it is better than their 20's.

For the past few months as 30 got closer, this was a comfort to me. Until, of course, I started thinking about it more and realizing that it is very possible that those in their 30's are also trying to make themselves feel better with that comment.

Even if that is the case, I do hope it is true. I've been holding on to that the past year, and hate to be disappointed. I'm counting on you 30...no pressure.

Since I was young, I have had an unusual love for trains. It could be attributed to asking for a train set one Christmas, and never getting it. Or the association of trains with my childhood during Christmas--the train that would twist and turn through the snow in the Christmas village on my grandparents white grand piano, or that much of "White Christmas" happened on trains.

Whatever it is, it is has been tucked in my heart as a dream to travel by train. To participate in a piece of history while seeing the places that only trains and those on them can have access to.

As I have approached turning 30, I have felt this sense of urgency to not waste time, to do things I have always wanted and to stop making excuses for not doing them. TJ has been the best in holding me accountable to this, and even planning some of them for me as surprise adventures.

This past weekend, as part of my actual birthday present, I went on a train. Twice.

TJ wins.

I was completely surprised and seriously acting like a kid the whole time, jumping around, obessively waving at anyone we went past telling TJ each time, "You see TJ? Everyone loves trains. Wave! It will make them happy."

People waved back. I was ecstatic.

And I got to thinking about belonging again. People want to be about something. Maybe more than actually feeling that strongly about things, it is that we want to participate in what is greater than just our individual selves. There are beliefs that we hold on to tighter than others, and interests that vary, but in the deepest, quiet places, we want to belong.

As I enter into a new decade, I hold this idea gently in front of me. How can I be one who invites those in my sphere of influence to belong? Not just to belong, but to thrive, exactly as they are created growing into a more whole version of themselves. Where will I go to find belonging and to thrive?

I have lived quite a bit of life, but there is much more to experience. I want to look back on my 30's and to be thankful for the risks that I took, the ugly dives, and the (sometimes) annoying waves I've given to those along the way. Taking those risks means that I am swimming in the deep, blue waters and riding the train through the secret beauty that can only be discovered by jumping off or hopping on.

But it doesn't stop with me. It is about extending the invitation to you. We are in this together, and we belong.

The Open Road

Tomorrow marks the start to a new chapter, an exciting season that has me bubbling over with joy and so much hope for what is ahead. When I wrote my blog post about loss the beginning of June, I was sitting in a coffee shop in Tacoma, Washingon the day before heading into Downtown Seattle for a job interview.

Let me be more specific, I was flown up by Seattle Pacific University as 1 of 2 finalists for a Residence Life Coordinator position (more commonly known as Resident Director, same job, fancier name). The whole process was a struggle for me for some reason, with each stage convincingly directing my emotions to be prepared to not be hired. Every time I got an email requesting more information, a phone interview, and then to be a finalist I was blown away. I figured being able to have a free flight to Seattle to see friends and family over a weekend, was an achievement in itself, not believing that I would actually receive a job offer with the way everything else has gone over the past almost 10 months.

The day went really well, and although SPU felt different than other schools I was familiar with, there was something refreshing about the environment and the staff and students I met that day. There was an authenticity that I appreciated and a willingness to acknowledge that the journey of shaping student life at the school is continuously in process and will be done together with humility and wisdom. It felt as if who I am and what I can offer would fit in with the movement of the university, and is really appreciated in this job role. Finishing the day eating an incredible dinner with part of the Residence Life staff at Stoneburner a hip restaurant in Ballard was the cherry on top.

Being in Seattle always feels comfortable and inviting. Having been born there and spending summers visiting family and my childhood friend Rachel, it has remained a place that also feels like home. On this trip to interview, it felt even more normal to be there. TJ was able to join me for part of the time, and with every close friend and family member we saw, there was overwhelming support, prayer, encouragement, and belief in us, and specifically in me.

Yet still, getting my hopes up wasn't an option, even after all of that.

10 long days later, I got a phone call that changed everything. They wanted to offer me the position. I refrained from asking if it was a prank call, and decided to wait for the email with all of the of paperwork to prove the validity of what I was hearing on the phone from the Director of Residence Life.

Reading some paperwork here, a signature there, and just like that our lives were headed a new direction (or in my mind, headed a direction).

It's been about a month and a half since that call, and tomorrow we pull away from beautiful Southern California gently closing the door behind us on this painful, transformative, and yet gracious season. Despite everything TJ and I have experienced, we have been met with so much love and support from those around us here. Being near my immediate family and our closest friends once again, having them speak and minister truth, hope, and kindness has been our lifeline in the midst of it all. I can't say thank you enough. We can't say thank you enough.

This time we leave Long Beach it feels like a different transition than before. Some of our friends have also made or are making transitions of their own to different parts of the country, or even out of the country. Some of our friends are staying in Southern California. With all of them, we do not know when we will see them again. There is not a time we will be back here next, and most likely our holidays will be spent in the Northwest. Luckily, my family comes through Seattle fairly often, meaning we will see them more regularly.

Thnking of starting over in a new physical location with a job that I am passionate about has been surreal. TJ and I meet this opportunity and adventure with joy and gratitude for God's care and grace in every step. We are thrilled.

However, I also am feeling a sense of sadness in once again leaving our community. Some of us have shared in meals, grieving, celebrations, breakups, marriages, multiple life changes, birthdays, trips, and living out fullness of life and brokenness in the most beautiful of ways. It hasn't been without its struggles, but to have traveled for so many years with people is difficult to leave behind. Others of us have shared life less frequently, but still so obviously marked with authenticity, love, and joy.

To each and every one of you who so generously loves TJ and I, who have prayed for us, cared for, and supported us in every way, thank you. All of you have been a tangible expression of the love of Christ in our lives, no matter how our paths crossed.

Looking back, especially reflecting on all of the treasured moments we have had since being here, saying goodbye isn't easy.

Looking ahead, excited for change and the unknown, feeling like this past season of loss truly is the seed of new life for us, we greet tomorrow with anticipation and expectation.

Looking inward, grateful for the gentleness with which I have been held by God and each of you, and the ways that I have been changed by these life experiences, I reach my heart out once more, both vulnerable and strong.

24 hours. See you soon Seattle. I believe you will be good to us.

As a sidenote: The following two songs off of the "YES!" album by Jason Mraz have been the soundtrack to my feelings in this transition. Also, interesting to me (in a really-not-that-important-but-still-kind-of-cool-sort-of-way) is that the title of the album is the title of my very first blog post this past March, exclamation point and all. Here is to saying, "YES!"

It's So Hard To Say Goodbye to Yesterday

3 Things

Attitude Adjustment

During this in between season of figuring out what is next and living at home with my parents and sister, I haven't had to wake up at a particular time for awhile. TJ, on the other hand, usually wakes up at 6:10am, 5 minutes before his alarm goes off, because he is usually anxious about oversleeping. He tries to be at his office early enough to get a lot of work done before the day gets filled with meetings and unexpected tasks. I try to get out of the house everyday.

Since my wake up time is, ahem, slightly later, TJ and I have this little thing we do to at least see each other before he leaves for the day. At the last possible moment before he walks out the door he gently squeezes my arm to wake me up just enough to kiss me goodbye and tell me that he loves me. (Insert cheesy "awwww" here).

Yesterday morning before he headed out, TJ sat next to me on the bed, squeezed my arm gently, but instead of leaning in for a kiss, he looked straight ahead. I finally noticed this once I could get my eyes open, about 7 minutes later.

TJ: Are you still mad at me?

Me: What? What do you mean?

TJ: You were mad at me last night before we went to bed. Are you still?

Me: I was? Why?

TJ: I don't really remember. No real reason I think.

Me: Oh. Well...I guess not? No? I don't think so?

Then barely a kiss, and off to work. Although confused, I had no trouble falling back asleep immediately. It is a gift, I must say.

We met up for lunch later and I asked TJ about the night before and being mad, sincerely not remembering what had happened. He told me that I had been really upset and fell asleep not talking to him. Conveniently, I didn't recall any of that exchange. Inconveniently, TJ was affected by it.

You know what I get so tired of? All of the quotes about having a good attitude: "Only you can choose your attitude!" "If you can't change your circumstances, change your attitude." "PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) makes the day!" "Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference."

Why do I get tired of them? Because they are true, and because they are engrained in my mind, on repeat. (I had to have a lot of "attitude adjustments" growing up where I was reminded of these quotes often).

Sometimes I would rather be cranky, have a bad temper, and be completely unreasonable. Sometimes I want to be mad at TJ just because. Hearing the quiet, wise, encouraging voices in the back of my mind telling me how I can choose to change the present situation into something much more enjoyable by simply having a better attitude just further frustrates me. Holding firmly to my stubborn nature, I push humility to the side, stand with my arms crossed over my chest, chin slightly tilted up, stomping my foot, and let my heart beat faster and stronger in defiance to choosing a better, more restorative ending to the situation.

To be clear, there are seasons of life where there are a multitude of factors contributing to one's emotions, and those are not to be treated lightly, with a little bandage of "change your attitude". That isn't what I am talking about here. What I am referring to, however, are the moments when, at least for myself, I am a terrible person to be around and I knowingly choose to remain that way. You see, to admit that I am the one with a bad attitude would mean that I have to admit to my pride, and I think that is what I hate the most.

I can think of at least 10 examples off the top of my head the past few years where I really missed out on enjoying people, places, and experiences because of my attitude, because of my pride. As I sit here and write this, I have to ask myself, "Is it worth it?"

I really don't think so.

I don't want to start my mornings forgetting I had been angry the night before, and seeing the sadness in TJ's eyes reminding me that choosing that bad attitude for no real reason actually hurt him. He doesn't deserve that.

And truthfully, I want my morning kiss with a smile.

Living in Crazytown

Sometimes I feel like I am living in Crazytown.

Where is Crazytown you ask? Aw yes, Crazytown is a too often frequented place in my mind.

I find myself entering into Crazytown at the least expected moments. Everything in a day is normal, uneventful, nothing to write home about. And then I remember the text I sent to a friend and that they haven't responded yet.

My mind starts going a million miles an hour.

It's already been 23 minutes. They must be mad at me. I must have said something that rubbed them the wrong way. My friend has a lot going on and I need to be sensitive to that. Did I sound too pushy? I know I do that sometimes. I mean, I really want to hang out, but I don't want to expect it. But I do want to make it clear that it's what I want. Is that manipulative? Am I a manipulative person? Should I have added emoji to make it seem more friendly and less controlling?

Oh no. I should reread the text.

I was trying to be controlling. I am controlling, and it's so engrained in me that I do it without thinking! I'm the worst. This friendship is over, unless I do something quick. I've got it! I'll send a 6 paragraph text explaining why I didn't put an exclamation point at the end with the smiling poop emoji to lighten it up so it didn't seem manipulative. It also proves that I am self-aware, recognizing my issues and being willing to directly communicate about them. Next time we see each other in person, I can explain the 6 paragraphs more thoroughly. With my active listening skills, I also can be sensitive and listen carefully to how my non-manipulative, manipulative text affected my friend.

Wait a minute. Is that too much? Maybe. I don't know? Ugh, I am so indecisive.

23 minutes and 42 seconds.

VIBRATE.

"I'd love to hang out! Can't wait :) So glad you text. See you this weekend!"

Sigh of relief.

I knew everything was fine, I was just....checking. I mean, I know this person really well and have shared life with them for a long time. We both know each other's imperfections, struggles, deepest hurts, and real-life issues. Because of that I am hyperaware. Because I care. Because I love them.

But I am a perfectionist. Recovering. Well, kind of.

Out my perfectionism, with the knowledge of my relationships, in my care for those people in my life, I want more than anything to say things that demonstrate I have listened, I know them, and I am sensitive to that...perfectly. That even in our broken and messy conversations about life, I can perfectly handle it.

I want to be perfectly messy. Most of the time, I try to be perfectly messy. Thus, I live in Crazytown.

Crazytown is the place where my need for perfectionism meets my desire to be real and authentic. More than anything, I want to be able to relate to people, being present with them in every season of life, knowing them and still truly loving them. Subconciously more than that, I want people to like me because I have proved my authenticity and that it is obvious I am better at it than others. Perfect, per se.

That puts me in the fast lane to Crazytown, and slowly, (semi) patiently, I am able to identify that quick pedal-to-the-metal mind game and hit the brakes, pulling the car over into reality.

Yesterday I had the privilege of spending the day with the sister of one of my dearest friends, showing her some of the most enjoyable parts of Los Angeles. Since we each had some background on one another, immediately we were engaged in deep conversations about life, and this season of pain in particular, for each of us. It was beautiful and so very refreshing to quickly experience that with a new aquaintance. Moments like that remind me of why I love being authentic and sharing full life, the peaks and the valleys, with the people around me.

At the end of the day, we said our good-byes with at least 3 wonderful hugs to express what our words were lacking. As I drove home, I headed to Crazytown, worrying if the few words I expressed at the end conveyed enough of the enjoyment and fulfillment that I had experienced with her. All I wanted was for her to know that I loved it. ALL of it.

But I hadn't expressed it perfectly. Or so I thought.

This morning her sister, my dear friend, text me telling me everything that her sister had said about me. It was all that I had hoped to communicate the night before, and assumed I hadn't.

Crazytown wasn't real life. Crazytown stripped me of basking in all that I find pleasure and meaning in: authentic relationships that demonstrate a selfless and life-giving love.

Luckily for me, Crazytown only lasted while I slept, and I was jerked awake, back to reality, to hang a U-turn just in time to see what is truth and that perfectionism, proved once again, is terribly overrated. As is Crazytown.

Loss-Colored Glasses

As if anyone is surprised, a lot can happen in a day. It has been exactly 26 since I last blogged, and yes, that means 26 days of up and down, the only constant being change. Thank you Heraclitus for declaring that philosophical truth.

More than just the past 26 days, this chapter in my life has been marked by ebb and flow. Stepping and waiting, then waiting some more. Hoping and disappointment. Hurting and healing. Chaos and rest.

Over the past week or two I have been reflecting on this ebb and flow in my own life, and within my relationship with TJ.

More than anything, it feels like since TJ and I have been together, and especially since being married, we have experienced an incredible amount of loss.

Three weeks after she was in our wedding, one of our dearest friends and life adventurers died suddenly. The elation of being newly married was quickly replaced with an unexplainable grief and sense of emptiness.

The next June, my grandma died. We had been expecting it for some time, but it didn't remove the loss that our entire family felt. My grandma was almost always the one who brought us together around things that really matter in life, like sharing moments around the table with an amazing home-cooked meal, simply being present with each other.

At the same time I transitioned jobs. I was eager to help reshape and build something that was floundering, but it ended up having to be done mostly alone. It was difficult to feel like I was really meeting my potential.

The next year, my grandpa passed away. It felt like he had been gone for a long time, having had a stroke unexpectedly in the middle of recovering from a heart surgery. In an instant his world was turned upside down and he often was discouraged by his inability to talk, walk, drive, and engage people they way he had in the past. You see, Grandpa was the life of the party. He was exuberant, creative, and generous. He would sing and whistle Sinatra or old showtunes most of the day. He loved people and people loved him, even when his antics instigated eye rolling.

Two months later I lost my job due to lack of finances. I began looking again, trying to find something that allowed for me to be in a place where I could thrive and make a difference. I was up for a job, one of two final candidates. I wasn't hired.

TJ and I then had a chance to move and help start a ministry on a farm with some friends in Northern California. It was a lot of work, as anyone who knows something about farming or living in community or ministry. Try putting all three of those together. We did it though, and for the time that we were there it was rich with new experiences and new friendships and new growth that can only happen when you put your heart and energy into something that requires a lot of risk, and even more faith.

Our time at the farm was slated to last a minimum of 2 years. With anything that is a first try, it didn't pan out the way any of us on the farm anticipated, which is difficult, and also expected. It is the reality of risk-taking and I firmly believe it was worth it.

However, it did not change the fact that moving back to Southern California only 7 months after we had transitioned to the farm felt like a loss.

As much as I want control over my life and circumstances, change occurs and plans are interrupted. Repeatedly. Daily. By the minute.

Since being back, we have lived with my (incredibly generous) parents and sister, throwing off the rhythm that they had in their home. The three of them would tell you that they do love our version of the Brady Bunch, with the 5 of us in the house, but we also all know that us being there has significantly impacted their routines and norms.

TJ and I have not had our own space to create a home since November 2012. That has been a place of loss for us. We love creating safe spaces for authentic relationships to be built by welcoming people into our home and sharing meals and life together. Not having the freedom to do that for so long feels as if a part of who we are is missing.

TJ and I have waited for almost 9 months since being back from the farm to find a job that would be something I love. A job that would reignite the excitement and passion for living wholly and encouraging others to do so as well. Getting a job is so hard for anyone right now. Getting a job that I want feels impossible. Résumé after résumé after interview after interview after making it to the final round multiple times, but still not being hired.

Every small amount of hope mustered seems crushed by (what feels like) loss after loss.

We are tired. We are discouraged. We are waiting. Waiting for this season of loss to shift into something more.

Yet as I have been reflecting, I think that slowly it is, and even possibly has been for some time.

With loss-colored glasses, naturally we would view the past few years from those lenses. And that is okay, because loss truly has been a deep mark of our relationship and marriage. In no way am I dismissing our pain and heavy heartedness.

Yet as I have been reflecting, I realize that a life marked with loss has the potential to be a life marked by overwhelming gain.

Seeing our journey in hindsight, some of the most cherished moments and people, the most authentic growth, wholeness, fullness of living, best adventures and engrained memories has come from our season of loss.

The pain of the losses has been incredibly real, even crippling. The gain from the losses has been incredibly rich, even healing.

I am realizing, you see, that life grows from death, but it is a process that requires time, patience, and perseverance.

Ask a gardener. They will tell you. And they will share the fruit of their labor with you as well, once it is ready.

The Locker Room

TJ and I have started working out during his lunch break. We've gone twice already! Two days in a row you ask? Absolutely not. Twice in two weeks.

Nothing makes you feel more in shape than still being sore from the last workout that was literally, two weeks prior. We're proud of ourselves, though! Okay, I wouldn't say proud, but I would say we're not not proud of ourselves. We went to the gym and did stuff! We could have easily stood around pretending to look for a machine we wanted to use and then leave not having really done anything. (If you ever go to the gym and feel too overwhelmed to work out, but feel weird walking in to walk out 5 minutes later, take a few laps, pretend to be looking for something you want to do, then splash a little water on your face and clothes in key sweat areas before leaving. It fools them everytime.)

Still having a buildup of lactic acid in our muscles from two weeks before is the worst reminder of how unfit we are. We can barely get our butts to the gym, and when we finally do, we're too sore to do all that we want. We workout sore to be even more sore and to have even a less promising workout next time we find ourselves at the gym, which at this rate will be in another month. Or ten.

Something that I have grown to love from the five times I have gone to the gym in my "adult" life is the women's locker room. Weird, I know.

As a teenager, the locker room has got to be one of the absolute worst and most intimidating places ever. You don't have a choice whether or not you want to change into your PE clothes, you have to change. Or fail for the day. Unless of course you have an ingrown toenail...all year long...that just won't heal and the excuse note from your mom doctor conveniently has no expiration date. That never happened to me, sadly? Luckily?

The locker room means everyone seeing each other in just their bras and underoos, or less. In middle school this translates as seeing who has gone through puberty, and who hasn't. In other words, the girls that felt very confident and womanly in their padded bras and lacy underwear, and those that still wore the little under tanktops with scallopped straps and white flower patterned panties from a Hanes 6-pack. Every possible physical insecurity that you have as a tween turning teen is exposed, and everyone is looking at only you. Probably not really, but it feels like it.

The social ranking is more solidified in that dreadful, drab, dirty place. Who wears Walmart and who wears PINK (Victoria's Secret that appeals to tweens. Unnecessary). Who is skinny and who might be considered roly poly. Who knows to shave their legs and armpits, and who is completely clueless that shaving is a "thing" until a boy in 8th grade tells you your legs are hairy when you wear shorts one day. (No that didn't happen to me. No, I'm not scarred. No, I didn't go home and shave that weekend.)

All of that to say, things have changed in my fauxdult life. I now, truly, have an affinity for the locker room. The trauma experienced in days of old has disappeared.

Something must shift as people get older and become (hopefully) more comfortable in their skin. The locker room is no longer a place of our most exposed vulnerabilities, but an in-between space. Its only purpose is to get us from one place to another. From the gym to the shower. From the pool to our towels. From work Lindsey***** to workout Lindsey.

As an in-between space, it feels less intimidating. Women feel the freedom to stand around naked, especially the older women. Some older women even choose to bathe in the middle aisle of the shower stalls with their doors open shooting the breeze and sharing shampoo, leaving as little as 3 inches for anyone else to squeeze past them and their wrinkly confidence to access the other showers. (Yes, this happened to me, two weeks ago, during the first lunchtime gym session with TJ).

Honestly, I love it. I love it all. The different ages, the diversity, the shapes and sizes, and especially the lack of inhibition. It seems like one of the few places in the world where a group of strangers can be in the same room and be fully themselves. Literally. It doesn't get more real than standing naked in a room of strangers.

In a culture that places such high value on physical appearance from fashion, fitness, and appeal, it is refreshing to be in the locker room with women much older, more wrinkly, and less fit than myself that demonstrate how fleeting those things are. In the comfort of their skin, they just be.

It is a reminder that there is nothing to prove and beauty can be found in each one of us, our vulnerabilities, quirks, and folds. It is a reminder of what actually matters: the people behind the façade of a physical appearance.

It is a reminder to simply be, especially in relationship with others; maybe even bathing in the middle aisle of the shower stalls shooting the breeze and sharing shampoo.

*I still am currently not working. This is figurative.