There Is No Formula To This.

The voices.

You know the voices.

We all do.

Your Career:

“Hurry up and get promoted.”

“Make more money.”

“You are moving too slowly and it’s embarrassing, people are watching.”

“Look at your peer who is the same age and thriving. Why can’t you be more like them? Why aren’t you more successful?”

Society (Sometimes)/ Your Body, as a Female (Other Times):

“Hurry up and find your life partner and have a baby or two, PLEASE.”

“You know you are running out of time and before you know it, it will be too late.”

Recently, I have watched several dear friends of mine sit in a whole lot of pain because they are wrapped up in these voices.

They have listened too hard for too long.

They feel stuck in their career and are afraid to make the next move or don’t even know what the next move is, which can feel even more scary.

They move away and then move back and then away again, and feel absolutely, completely restless. (I can relate to this… Nashville and its “exploding growth” and “thriving business community” annoys me most days… it’s a complicated relationship, 8 years and counting).

They have gone on really shitty dates with too many strangers, and they are beyond emotionally exhausted.

They want to be having babies, but can’t.

You know what I want to tell these voices most days?

Shut.

UP.

I want to redefine 30.

I want to redefine being a woman in the year 2018.

I want to redefine me.

In my own, authentic way.

And please know, I am no expert at this.

I am no “preaching to the choir” kind of girl.

This stuff is hard.

And those voices are loud.

Lord knows, I stayed in a relationship for far too long, thinking I was on the way to getting all of the external crowns of “achievement”, all of the noise to finally shut those voices up.

Engagement.

Marriage.

Children.

And I was trying so hard to create something out of something that was… not.

I was trying to make a circle a square, y’all.

And it just didn’t work.

Did I feel like I failed at first when we ended it?

Yes.

Did I feel shame?

Yes.

Was I angry at myself?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

(A thousand times, yes).

But then there came this:
Grace.

SO much grace.

Grace for myself to heal at my own pace.

Grace to forgive myself and others, even if that comes in baby steps.

Grace to “get back to work” when I was emotionally ready and mentally able to actually focus, and some days that is there and some days it’s just not.

Grace when my words feel sloppy- when I have to keep beginning the same story again and again or my voice trails off because I am not making any sense and I mumble things like,  “Wait, that’s not how that goes..” or, “Does that make sense?”

Grace to start dating again and then to find humor in the awkwardness of it all, and then, to share stories with girlfriends on my couch in my living room as we laugh and drink wine and feel human.

Grace when I find someone new I kind of even like but then have to answer some of his questions with fading eyes and a, “Can we talk about that later..?”

(Pacing myself).

Grace for my mistakes because I know they will come- they always do.

Grace to decorate my house when I am in the mood- I can’t force that stuff, ya know.

Grace to cook slowly.

Grace to make a mess in my kitchen because those meals taste better, we all know that.

And the best part?

It is totally mine.

My grace.

For me.

Because I know that I need it.

And sometimes that’s the only Truth that I know for sure.

The kind of grace when you watch a two and half year old refuse to be helped when she is getting out of the car and her foot just never seems to hit the floor but her level of focus is out of this world. Or when the same two and a half year old is trying to put on her jacket so you can finally leave the house and you are already running late and of course, the tiny baby jacket is upside down, inside out and her right elbow is rotating at an extremely slow, pathetic pace. But again, she is determined and she is growing up just like the rest of us, and is proud of her growth. So proud.

Sometimes we need to ease into the slowness of our growth.

“There is no formula to this,” I told my friend a while back over the phone. She was going through the same thing at the same time as me, (a breakup). I imagine it was something kind of like having a friend share the same exact month of your pregnancy. (I don’t know anything about this, but I am guessing that would be a small pocket of comfort and strength when you want to complain about your weight changing or share stories of nausea or sleep deprivation).

And then there’s this--

What does grace feel like?

Grace feels like finally taking off a heavy, heavy backpack for the first time after a long and boring day of school, a day full of bright fluorescent lights, oily, acne-covered faces, uncomfortable desks and way too much homework. You forget you were even wearing the damn thing but as soon as you take it off, you feel your spine open up like a flower at the top of spring.

Grace feels soft.

It feels like forgiveness.

It feels like space.

So much space.

The best kind.

My Confession.

I save too much.

Old scrappy letters.

Half written reminders.

Chicken scratch on folded over post-it notes that have lost their sticky backside.

I save all my old journals.

Photos of people I no longer see or care about.

I save tools that I don’t know the name of, all the left-over clutter that Curt left behind.

I might need it some day, I tell myself.

Maybe it will keep me from spending more money, I offer.

I save clothes that remind me of something or someone that I’m not ready to let go of.

I save voicemails and birthday cards.

I save crafty slips of paper and broken jewelry because you never know when you might get the urge to make stuff.

I save students’ writing from years prior.

I save every single screw and nail that I find because I never seem to have the right kind when I actually need it.

I save every ounce of cardboard and paper and plastic, and when my recycling overflows, I drive it somewhere to drop off, like a mom in a school carpool line.

I save breath mints.

I save pens.

My car is a pen graveyard.

I save time.

I save money.

I grew up learning I had to “be saved”.

It’s the saving I’m good at.

Too good at.

But letting go?

I am still learning.

I Bought Them Anyway.

A writing prompt yesterday..

"Tell the story of something you are wearing"....

I was in Costa Rica last February.

I stayed an extra day for the beach after a yoga trip.

I was leaving and I was sad about that.

But then, 

I saw these pants.

They were overpriced and I knew it and I hated it.

And…

I bought them anyway.

The girls in the store smiled, and said,

“Ahhh muy bonita!”

I agreed.

The whole day I bought overpriced things, and it just stung a little.

I knew it would happen: 

I was stuck in an airport all day.

I had no choice.

I got hungry.

But these pants.

They reminded me of my time in Costa Rica.

The real me, 

in most ways.

They had a yellow background tint like the sun I missed SO so much when my shoulders were drenched in the nothing-but-gray-colored skies of the Forever Winter of Nashville.

And this gray had eaten me away inside.

To be honest, I think I was more stagnant, unstable, uprooted, unkind, lonely, sticky, and depressed then, than I wanted to admit.

And these pants offered me color, lightness, a lift from heavy stress and heavy thoughts.

Of course I changed into them right away.

To be Held.

Patches of sun and shade alternate space on the grass like quadrants on a quilt.

Or neighbors, who kindly but deliberately stop mowing the grass when they reach the border of what’s yours and theirs.

It’s summer, but it feels pleasant in the shade.

My shoes are off, and I’m in my hammock.

Just finished reading old writing samples in my journal, feeling relaxed, grateful.

A Sunday morning at Centennial Park.

Just me and my quadrants of sun and shade.

Light, dark.

Warm, cool.

Do you ever like to pretend you are the only one moving and alive in the whole world, just for a moment?

I think that is one of the best feelings sometimes.

Everything is still, peaceful, quiet,

Like you are floating in the air, right beside the moon.

I’ve been swimming a few times this summer at night, all by myself.

This is one of those times for me.

Just me and the moon.

The moonlight, my only light.

I come out of the water and I am cold for a second, but then I go back under to swim and I am warm.

Light, dark.

Warm, cool.

Nature always seems to hold me somehow.

Hearts Heavy, Lungs Full.

One week without yoga and I find myself conducting odd neck stretches and spinal twists in my tiny Ecuadorian bus seat.

Last night we witnessed the most amazing dance performance of 2 people,

1 man and 1 woman.

Both small in body, but fearless in strength and expression.

They were completely covered head-to-toe in cloud-white clothing with a third of their face from their eyes to the top of their mouths hidden behind a mesh layer.

We never locked eyes.

Their breath was perfectly in sync and the actual sound of each of their inhales and exhales was very much a part of the piece.

It was incredibly human: so authentic, believable, raw.

The kind of performance you don’t totally understand, but you don’t need to.

“Get out of your head,” art demands.

“Feel with your heart.

Experience her mystery.”

It’s funny- just one week without yoga and almost more than anything else- I miss that.

Being in a room full of that sound:

Intentional breath.

I miss having my breath be perfectly in sync with a room full of strangers.

Hearts heavy,

Lungs full.

I miss rising on the inhale,

And folding on the exhale.

So I do what I can,

This hour on a beautiful, magical bus ride through a deep sea of green.

Nearly everyone around me is asleep.

My twists get deeper.

I am having fun.