I love telling stories. I don’t do it because I want to enlighten neurons in your brain or to slowly waste my breath that just filters in and out of my lungs but I tell stories because I want to relate. That’s my way of relating to everyone I come into contact with.
“Oh, you went to the beach last Saturday? How was it? Oh great! Yeah, I love the beach, this one time when I went…”
That’s me. I hope it doesn’t sound boastful or like I don’t want to hear your memories and good times but when it comes to me I just randomly spew my knowledge through my experience. I’m a doer, I learn by doing, and if I want to help I try to let you know what I went through to also share in on the same key note of understanding.
That’s why I want to cram my life with weird, adventurous details so I can learn. Life is boring if you’re not learning or putting yourself through the rigors that God sets out for you. I feel like that’s why we can’t escape difficult situations. They shape us, like little rolls of dough– but that’s another tangent for another cloudy day.
Go create stories, share them, and don’t let anyone tell you your stories aren’t worthy for telling.
I wouldn’t mind going camping on the beach sometime. Just building a big fire, watching the sun set as the chill comes on. I want to do a lot of things but other things just keep getting in the way, tripping me up and creating anxiety and fear. Listen, I’m in a constant state of anxiousness and I know that probably means I’m not putting my trust in the Lord but I don’t know how to turn it off. I don’t know how I’m suppose to feel. There have been times when I feel peace, that everything will be/is okay but those moments pale in comparison to the lies I’m probably telling myself. I know they’re lies but it’s almost like I’m trying to look for hope in them. It’s almost like I’ve got my head screwed on wrong and I’m looking in the opposite direction. I maybe walking in the right direction but it’s like my eyes aren’t quite looking to where I need to be looking.
I think I need to learn to be honest and tell myself what I want…
I just want a fun, adventurous, weird life. I want stories to tell my hopeful, one day soon, children. I want to experience life to fill my heart and also understand what it truly means to be love. I think achieving that really means being honest. Either with yourself or with friends, husbands, wives, who ever. That anxiety and fear maybe lies but truth is trust and love, and I know I really need to work on it.
So it seems this year is full of wanderlust for me. My coworkers girlfriend is headed out on trips of a lifetime, hopping from one country to another, plus my coworker is headed to Asia too. My boss is headed to Sweden. Another coworker is in Europe right now and every day I see Instagram blowing up my phone (and mind) with destinations I only dream about going to.Recently I decided to give up on the idea of teaching ESL. Yeah, it would be a sure fire way to travel and getting paid for it but every time I apply to a job it either doesn’t work out or I chicken out. Ever since I was a kid I always found travel fascinating. My Dad use to country hop for jobs before settling down and one of my earliest memories was asking him if he had been to a certain place and if so to tell me what it was like. Travel has always been my goal, but fear and apprehension slips in right when I believe I could actually do it. Fear gets in my way a lot. I’ve always wanted to be a person who packs up and jets off spontaneously but when I look at that realistically I don’t truly believe anyone just packs a bag and spends $1,000 on an airplane ticket sporadically. There’s a lot of planning that goes into it. I mean, I’m sure people do just go and figure it out on the way but as I’ve grown I’ve learned I’m not that person- no matter how much I want to be. I like planning. I like researching and siking myself up for what essentially still the unknown, but fear isn’t allowed in those siking up moments. It’s forgotten. I’m to focused on excitement. So why let fear in any time? Why can’t I just pretend I’m siking myself up all the time? You know what that’s really called? Hope. Hope for a better to be. Hope for what is to come. Put your hope in what God can give you, because He can give you a truly awesome trip.
So where’s my next destination? I have no idea. I’d love for it to be England again but who knows. I’m just hoping it’ll be amazing.
So it’s been a while… I’m still alive and I will survive. As of late I feel like I’m on the struggle bus and what does one do when they’re driving the bus? She writes! No, my eyes are not on the road at this very moment but on a computer screen screaming “WHY ME!”
To be honest I knew this season of struggle was on its way. I felt really calm a month ago, like right before a storm hits. You can smell it in the air, the wind is blowing, and on the horizon you see a huge, impending, formidable storm coming for you.
School is going well, yet it feels unchallenging. Work is extremely slow and I don’t know where I’m going to next. I’ve fallen for the lie that I look like Sloth from the Goonies. I’m constantly worried about my family, and the Lord and I seem to be drifting apart… When Jesus stood on water during the storm He didn’t say “hey, look at that cloud over there! It looks like your life because you failed.” He said “Take courage. I am here. Come and stand out here with me.” And yet, in this moment in my life I keep allowing the storm to get in the way. I’m bending over the side of the boat going “What? I can’t here you. Hey, look at that cloud!”I wake up every morning believing God is gonna scrub me of this sinful thinking but the truth is is that it’s up to me to get up and decide it’s gonna be a good day. He does get me up, and he pushes me here and there but he allows me to choose. He sent Jesus to let me know He’s got my back, to not forget, and to always keep my eyes on Him- to jump out in that storm. To keep my faith. To hold firmly and never let go.
So I’ve woken up today and I decide that.
He won’t get rid of my struggles like a quick snap of the fingers but He’ll stand by me through them all. Maybe I just need to grab some courage from within my life preserver and jump. I might fall in the water but I know how to swim to Him. He won’t let the sharks get me.
My lips keep quivering. It’s like they want to say something but my voice isn’t ready. They’ve been doing this for some time and I’m just lost for words.
Today has made me realize how much I miss the people… My people, whom I hold close to my heart. I had a stunning conversation with my best friend and we came to the conclusion of what I believe is holding me back from a lot of things in life. It’s funny how ideas can just drop into your lap after so many painstaking years it has been of trying to figure yourself out.
I’m afraid of commitment. There I said it.
I’m in fear of it, and ya know what? It makes me so much more interested to conquer it, now that I can define it. Life gets a little easier once you find out more about yourself. It nice to be able to hatch little eggs of knowledge then fry them up in a pan and eat them for breakfast. It helps me understand what I can handle and what I want to subdue.
Here you go, Lord, here’s my fear. Take it.
So I’m about to go into work with all the weirdos (kind of an odd compliment this side of my brain) and angry eccentrics I work with, and my tea is brewing hot and steamy. It’s gonna sound terrible but I’m ready for the holiday season to end. Gosh, I really want it done… Frenzy mixed with stress and a touch of anxiety (make that a bucket) doesn’t sit well with me. “I just want the new year to begin so I can start a new me.” Is what I’m thinking, but to be honest that’s bogus. I can start now.
Why not? What’s holding me back? Surely not some guy.
What I hope this year will be full of are beginnings. Of guitar practices, of fly fishing adventures, of more rock climbing- throw in a dude ranch retreat in there too… It’ll set me off on the road to my masters so I can be like all the teachers who once shaped me. It’ll be about embracing my loving heart and being the eccentric weirdo I somehow shaped myself into. I love that part of me. The odd, colorful maverick.
I might be single to but where ever this ship is sailing it don’t need a captain of the crew. While the world wants to console and even out the two halves of my broken heart I actually would like to glue them back together, jaggedness and all. With tape, gorilla glue, plaster, whatever. Embrace what I have for now.
Tea in my tummy, love in my heart, and so far a good outlook on this Monday morning.
I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I love to work. The harder the better.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I hate waking up after the said hard day when my back feels like it’s broken and my feet have been replaced by open nerve endings and I can’t seem to place them anywhere. I hate that- but when I think back onto the hard day and what I’ve accomplished I feel good. I feel beautiful even. Strong.
I think maybe that’s why I like to go on hiking trips and camp. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I don’t mind getting sweaty. But I love when I can wash away the grime and dried sweat and just be able to relish in what I’ve possibly done for the day. It feels good. Especially now in the season (working retail during the holidays) where I can make someones day with helping them choose a gift or even finding that said gift, or just going the extra mile for them.
I might regret later all that I’m saying in this post but for right now, I’m excited for rest, I’m excited for nourishing myself and I’m excited for what I’ve come to learn.
Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
I wish I had a picture of her. She was wearing this vibrant yellow skirt and a floral top with a thatched floral yellow purse. Her name was Wilma. She was 84 and the most eclectic older woman I’ve ever met. I learned her whole history within the 30 minutes talking to her today. I learned she had cancer. I learned her husband died 9 years ago, and that she calls herself a hillbilly. I also learned that she was so unafraid to be herself.
It was awesome.
I want to be like that. I guess it may come with age-the older you get the cooler you become. The less you care about what people think. I also imagine you have more stories to tell too. Her bottom middle teeth were missing but she lit up every time she spoke about her family. How amazing it must be to just be who you want to be and say whatever. Thank God for Wilma.