On being forceably severed....

One of the worst feelings is being cut off. From people, places, things...it just kind of sucks. And maybe it's not actually BEING cut off, but FEELING cut off. I'm someone that likes, even needs, to feel connected at all times. I haven't watched the morning news in several days and that's starting to get to me. I like knowing what's going on around me and in the world. I've even been known to check my email while camping. Yes, I'm THAT person. I can shut technology down for a little while, but we're talking a couple hours or so. I can't shut down for days or weeks at a time.

I like having noise around me. Music, television, that kind of stuff. White noise, really. It keeps me from feeling alone, keeps me from getting lonely.

So when I feel cut off, I start to panic a little. I know it's probably best for me, to be honest. A little down time from life and noise never killed anyone (at least, not anyone I know). I have a friend who takes down time every now and again, killing music in her car and house just so she can be alone with her thoughts without distraction. I've never been able to do that. I've never even been able to fathom it. Being distracted from my life and my problems is something I've become accustomed to. It's how I've learned to survive.

When I was working full time and going to school nearly full time, I started to freak out a little...to the point that I almost gave up on school (for what would have been the fourth time). During dinner with a friend, she said to me, "Never stop to think about how crazy what you're doing is...you'll probably kill yourself." The last part, I assure you, was hyperbole. But it's how I coped with the craziness. I just kept distracting myself from how insane my life was getting and eventually I managed not only to survive it, but successfully complete my mission. And when I finally stopped long enough to really think about how crazy my life had been for the last several years, I ended up getting as sick as I've been in probably 10 years. My mom said, "Hey, you got quite a few good years out of your body, never really getting sick...maybe you needed to shut down."

And while my mother may have been correct (I'm fairly certain she was), I really don't like the idea of being cut off or shutting down when it's not on my own terms. I hate it, in fact. But reality sets in from time to time and that's just what happens. Situations and circumstances get the best of me and being cut off is a necessary evil. It sucks, there's no denying that. I guess I just wish I could figure things out without having to forcefully be alone with my thoughts and problems.

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On keeping things regular....

WARNING: Jesus post ahead.

Because I am a creature of habit, there are things that happen every day and every week in my life, typically without fail. I have the same routine every morning...wake up, check the news, jump in the shower, put on makeup and clothes, comb my hair, drink my coffee, blowdry my hair, head to work...all that good stuff.

Most Wednesdays, I play games with some friends. Every other Thursday, I get a manicure. These are just some of the things that have become regular occurrences for me...things that I know I get to do, that I can count on being there.

But there's one thing that's on my weekly list of "things to do" that, even if I don't make it every week, is the most dependable thing on my list.

I go to church on Sunday.

It's something I've done since I was in utero, I'm sure. Growing up, I often dreaded waking up early on Sunday and putting on nice clothes. Jeans were never allowed at church. Always had to wear slacks or dresses. As I got older, and continue to get older, going to church has become not something I have to do, but something I get to do. I'm a part of something when I'm there. I feel connected to many of the people there. It's a place where I feel safe, where my opinions and struggles matter. There is an overwhleming sense of community when I'm at church...and being in community is incredibly important to me. I may disagree with or get annoyed at things from time to time, but maybe that's part of it's beauty.

There are weeks I wake up and simply cannot fathom getting out of bed and dragging myself to church. I feel like I miss something when I'm not there, but I'm also realizing that being in communion with myself and my surroundings is worship, too. But fairly typically, I do everything I can to get to church every Sunday at 9am to sit next to my parents and enjoy being with like-minded people who care about me.

Church is a place I intend to take my own children someday, maybe even forcefully (as was sometimes the case in my own childhood). I want and need for my children to understand that regardless of how much their parents and friends say they love them, they are covered in the unending grace, mercy, and love of Jesus. I want them to know that their mistakes and failures and shortcomings do not define who they are, because they are, first and foremost, children of God...and nothing matters more than that.

Even at the ripe old age of 31, I am coming to understand that, apart from the grace, mercy, and love of Jesus, I am incapable of experiencing joy and peace. I've said it before: anyone can find happiness and contentment. But true joy and peace? That's something that I have only ever found when I find myself wrapped in the love of Jesus.

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On stopping to smell the roses....

A little more than ten years ago, I was living in Minnesota and generally hating life. So to help myself make it through some really rough days, weeks, and months, I started writing down things that made me happy. I called them Simple Pleasures. My best friend would help me from time to time...she came up with "standing on a dock and looking around." We discovered that Simple Pleasure on a choir tour during the fall of that awful year.

The list eventually got so long, I had to take it to the computer and type it out. It filled an entire page in a rather small font.

I found and read through that list the other night. There are things on there I had completely forgotten about (crunching, flashlight prayers, canoeing...) and things that I currently hate (Fall, cold weather) and things that will remain a Simple Pleasure till the day I die (fun pens, reading books I have no intention of buying, looking at Christmas lights).

I found myself crying a couple times, reading all those forgotten things. Sometimes it's nice to get a reminder of things that used to make me happy, even if I don't particularly care for those things now. It makes me think it's okay to change, to grow, to develop. I can't remember a time when I ever like Fall, but apparently I did at some point or I wouldn't have written it down.

Many of the things on that list probably wouldn't cross my mind now...like The Northern Lights. I'm just not in a place where that's a regular occurrence so I never think of how happy they make me. I do wonder though: if I were to create a 30-year-old Simple Pleasures list, what would make this list now?

Belly laughter. Hearing a baby giggle. Feeling appreciated. Proving myself wrong just when I need it. Accomplishing a goal, even if it took over ten years to do it. Bottomless mimosas. Creating a beautiful meal. Centerpieces. Knowing I'm really good at what I do. Buying cheese and meat fresh from the deli. Long, hot showers for no reason. Farmer's markets. Anticipation of the exciting and unknown. Someone telling me I'm brave. New tattoos. Eating hummus in excess. Cracking open a bottle of wine. Pizza, brownies, and champagne - all at the same meal. Believing in romantic comedies. My signature. Pampering myself because I can...and should.

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On states of mind and being....

I am a firm believer in the Sacred Space.

I think we all need one.

A place to be at peace. A place to be alone with thoughts and feelings, no matter what they are.

For a long time, I've always considered the Sacred Space to be somewhere in my house. I love setting up the bedroom to be a place of ease and contentment. Somewhere I can go to release and relax. A place that's calm, void of noise, clutter, distraction...unless I decide to put any of that in my Space. I'm a big fan of using natural light, colors, and candles to help move along my Space. Art often helps.

I wonder, though, what someone else thinks of when I say "Sacred Space." After all, it's a place in the world that's supposed to induce not happiness, but joy; not contentment, but peace. I have a lot of friends that would much prefer to be outside than inside, so creating a Space inside probably doesn't make any sense. Maybe it's an early morning walk on a beach, with no one else around, simply enjoying a beautiful sunrise and smiling to yourself for no reason other than it's a good morning. Maybe it's a hike though those gorgeous Rocky Mountains, quieting one's thoughts for long enough to hear nature's symphony. Maybe it's a walk to the park across the street, sitting in fresh grass, reading a book and listening to the sounds of frisbee and volleyball.

And Sacred Spaces, they're allowed to evolve. They should change. I don't know what her Sacred Space used to be, but I'd place bets that my best friend's current Space (or one of them, anyway) is the lack of distance between her and her nursing son. No matter where she is or how she's feeling, there is a peace that falls over her, watching that sweet boy take hold of her.

Maybe a Sacred Space isn't so much a physical place as it is a state of being. There's a deep sense of calm when I wake up in the morning, feeling rested and alive. Nothing quite compares to that. There is a sacredness in feeling accomplishment, in knowing you survived something, in watching something you created come to life (music, art, babies, whatever).

So my Sacred Space will probably continue to be my bedroom, but it's probably worth trying out some different Spaces from time to time.

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On the cost of joy....

Indulgence is kind of a funny thing, isn't it? It seems to have such hedonistic connotations associated with it. When I think of indulgence, I often think of over-spending or over-eating...things like that. I wonder, though, if that's just my childish view of indulgence seeping into my adult mind.

When I was a kid, there was nothing better than indulging in a giant bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup. I could really be okay with eating a tub of ice cream every now and then. The same went for hot dogs cooked over a campfire. I once at something like five hot dogs then ran around playing tag for an hour followed by several s'mores. The end result was nothing short of digestive pyrotechnics, the likes of which kept me from eating another hot dog until I was well into my 20s.

As a teenager, I loved indulging in clothing. I never really had anything super expensive (save my cheerleading uniform), but I loved buying clothes. At some point, and I really have no idea why, I owned a Hanson t-shirt. WTF? Mostly, I just loved clothes. I had yet to discover my underlying passion for shoes.

In my early 20s, indulgence became wildly hedonistic. I drank and ate and danced in extreme ways. I indulged in much of the "underworld" of Denver (if you can even call it that...Denver is a pretty tame city, as far as that goes, but what did I know?). I did things I'm not proud of, but man, did it feel good at the time. It was indulgent on so many levels.

But as I get older, as each year passes, my ideas of indulgence are changing...markedly. I still love to eat a good meal, but I'd rather enjoy it, savor it, take it slowly. Clothes are still something I enjoy, but I'd much rather save for five years for a great pair of heels than spend $800 over five years on 40 pairs of shoes that'll crap out in a year.

So what defines indulgence for me now? Being able to pay someone else to clean my house. Taking an afternoon nap during a football game. Long, hot showers after work for no reason other than that I felt like taking a shower. Spending an evening with my best friends laughing and playing games. Reading a book, cover to cover, in one day...things that cost me nothing, but that pay back in dividends the likes of which Wall Street will never see.

It seems that the older I get the more intentional, even calculating, I become with my indulgences. As a grown-up, I understand and appreciate money in ways I couldn't have when I was younger. I don't have to spend money to indulge (a lesson I wish I'd have learned about 15 years ago)...indulgence is so much more than that. At this juncture, it's about finding peace and laughter, even joy, in whatever I see, whatever I do, wherever I go.

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On time standing still....

There are plenty of things that happen in my life that just take way too long. Things like waiting in line at the grocery store. Or getting my meal after I've ordered at certain restaurants. Or driving from place X to place Y (I'd much rather fly). But maybe the thing that takes much longer than it ever should is the time between now and whenever my next vacation comes around.

It seems the less time there is between now and vacation, the longer time seems to take. If I don't have a vacation planned, time just trucks right along at a normal pace while I wish away time, trying to figure out where to go next. But once the vacation is planned, time inevitably begins to slow down.

Like the time we went to Paris. The trip was decided on in December and booked by February...but the trip didn't happen until June. Good Lord. February and March were okay, in the time department. Plenty to keep busy with (buying a house and what not), but by the time April and May rolled around, I felt like I was swimming through cement most days. Time couldn't possibly go by more slowly.

Or so I thought.

The week before the flight to Paris was, without question, the SLOWEST WEEK EVER! Eight hours took eight days to pass. I couldn't do anything to make it go faster. Nothing! It's painful, waiting for something exciting to happen, isn't it? And just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, the unimaginable happened.

Time slowed down. Again.

If I thought the days leading up to vacation were bad, I was in no way prepared to deal with the mere hours prior to take-off. I honestly did not think time could slow down any further. Yet it did. Sigh. And then, of course, once we landed in Paris time sped right back up again. One solid week flew by and I wondered how in the world we'd ever see all the things we needed to see! We managed pretty well, but by the end, it all sort of felt like a dream.

That's how vacations seem to go for me. It's a dream-like state of affairs. Whatever vacation I take next, I'm sure that trance-y feeling will make an appearance. I'm sure the hours before my next flight will be tragically long. But still...I want a vacation.

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On living up to my own expectations....

I've been doing a lot of introspection lately. Part of it stems from an article I read while having trash magazine/Emmy's/dinner time with a friend over the weekend. I read a lot of interesting, thought-provoking articles, but most of them come from the likes of The New Yorker and Vanity Fair. It isn't very often that I read regular, ol' girly mags. But I found an article about having a five-year plan in place and I was hooked. You know why.

I've spent the better portion of my life comparing myself to other people and trying to keep up with my friends, in a myriad of ways. Jobs, life, athletics, stuff...you name it, I've tried to keep up. It's exhausting! I don't know if you've ever tried it, but I certainly don't recommend it. It's how I've gotten into a lot of shenanigans in my life. The problem with trying to keep up with other people's expectations is that they're OTHER PEOPLE'S EXPECTATIONS. Everyone has their own path, their own things they want or need to do.

I have a few friends who are ladder-climbers. They want the absolute most out of a job they can possibly get. They work hard (and they play hard) and they know exactly how to get what they want out of a job, out of a career. I used to think I wanted that. But I'm coming to realize it's not really in my nature to do that. Climbing the corporate ladder can be pretty cut-throat. It should be, honestly. It shouldn't be all THAT easy to get ahead. You should have to work for it. I just don't have it in me to do that. I don't have that kind of energy. I don't know if I ever did. But I tried for a long time to convince myself I did.

So instead of trying to do what I think other people want or expect me to do, I'm going to try to do things that make me happy. Anytime I think about what makes me happy, the first thing that comes to my head is traveling. If there's nothing more you can know about me, know that I love to travel.

My current list includes the following: Bahamas, Lake Louise, Greece, London, Italy, Southern France, and Monaco.

I also really really love baking and cooking. In talking with a gal-pal the other night, she phrased it best: "You [and another person X in her life] like baking just so other people can enjoy it." Well, ain't that the truth. I told her she better plan on being chubby this fall/winter because I fully intend to do bake a metric ton of cookies, pies, cakes, etc. It's going to be madness. And I expect that everyone in my life will indulge in said baked goods. I'm also going to perfect a butternut squash soup this fall, if it kills me (and it might).

I'm going to try to make a better habit out of doing things that make me happy. Reading, walking my dogs, yoga (which involves breathing peace in, breathing worry out), cooking/baking, watching stand-up comedy, working on wedding stuff. Maybe I'll even learn how to make some jewelry.

How have I not thought about any of this before now?!

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