living well.

There are moments that stop you and you are flooded with an instant replay of what has happened that lead you to right where you are right now. 

I'm a very nostalgic person in general. I like listening to music that takes me back to a very specific moment or time and reliving it. I love laughing until it hurts as stories are retold. But, those moments that you slam into- those are the best. 

I've had a few of them lately. 

I just got back from a trip for work where they honor the top performers in my company. It's pretty amazing that I've been invited on that trip two years in a row. There's a ceremony where you get up in front of everyone and they announce why you're awesome. I don't know what reasons they justified for my presence there. All I know is my heart stopped when I heard the loudest cheer when my name was called and then everything stopped as the movie of the last year of my life played. And, I smiled as time came back to the present.

Last year, I was shy and overwhelmed to be surrounded by all of these people who have inspired me and I felt humbled. Too humbled. Like I didn't belong. This year, they knew me in a genuine way and I was part of the fold. 

It was a tough year. That's no secret. I've struggled in ways I hadn't in a long time. My confidence was shaken. I lost my way as I pushed myself forward on a really uncertain path. 

I've met a lot of people on the way to today, but there was only one who stayed constantly behind me as she nudged me forward and occasionally guided me when I couldn't see anything in front of me. 

I gave her a hug and thanked her for the last year. For her push and support. She apparently watched the same movie I did as I walked across that stage and a tear started to form in her eye as she expressed pride in my transformation. "And, by the way," she said. "You look amazing. You look better than I've ever seen you. More confident. Happy." 

And, she's right. It's amazing what happiness can do. No diet or skincare regimen can do what happiness can do for a person. It brings lightness and glowing light. The calm spot inside of a storm that's still brewing. 

I don't exactly welcome depression or struggle, but I've had enough bouts with it to know it is kind of necessary. A sign that something's just not right and it's time to figure it out. There's always time to wallow in it, but at some point you've got to come out from your hiding spot and fight your way to home base. There's that vulnerability again as you're totally exposed. You have to spend some time in the dark to truly be able to see the light. 

By no means is everything in my life exactly how I want it to be. I don't know that I ever want that for myself. I want to constantly evolve. I want to always want better. That was the promise I made to myself this year. That I was just going to focus on being better. Every day. In whatever way I could. Some days have been better than others, but they've all gotten me here. 

That same night I was asked what I thought got me there and I just said without pause "I never gave up." I think she was looking for a more tactical response, but that's the right answer. 

In my college bedroom, I had a song lyric written on my window: 

"Despair could ravage you if you turn your head around 

to look down the path that's lead you here, cause what can you change?

You're a vessel now floating down the waterways.

You can take your rudder and aim your ship,

just don't bother with the things left in your wake.

And you walk across the stage, take a bow, hear the applause,

and as the curtain falls, just know you did it all

the best that you knew how and you can hear them cheering now.

So let a smile out and show your teeth cause you know you lived it well."

That. That was 10 years ago. And, it's today. I'm doing it the best that I know how. I'm doing better. I'm doing well. 

finding my way back.

Last month I kind of ran away for a minute. I'd been in Houston for the longest stretch of time since I moved here and needed to catch my breath. I was tired of being "new." Of having to introduce myself on an almost daily basis. Of no one really knowing me. So I fled to New Orleans to surround myself with my oldest friends in an old city.
I had just started the process of being open I was telling you about. I had just gotten burned. I was internally fighting the shut down. Literal burn out. Time out.
As my plane took off from Houston, I took advantage of my window seat and my breath was kind of taken away as I looked down on this huge city I now call home. It's mine. I live here. As it got smaller and I got closer to the stars, I felt bigger. I felt better.
I arrived in the early hours of the morning and was greeted by one of those friends. One that had at one point gotten closer to me than almost anyone. None of it was physical, but I do believe that anywhere it went, it's always been with me. And, it felt like home, too.
So, I was reminded of who I am to people who matter most, when I needed it most. But, I was also able to see who I am now.
So, I came back ready. Ready to be home. Ready to live here.
That night I went to see Father John Misty alone. I like doing that now. I just let go. It was like church. The air conditioner was out and every one was pouring sweat as we sang and had our moment. As I walked down the creaky stairs and got my first hit of fresh air, a smile stretched across my face as I applauded myself for this life I'm finally building.
Since then, I can't even begin to retell all of the amazing things that have begun showing up in my life. How much I've laughed or smiled or gotten weak in the knees or felt or hoped or lived. Those are the things that happen in a moment. Those things are comfort. They're home. A string of affirmations. Subtle taps on the shoulder to say, "There you go, you're doing just fine, sister" as I shove myself out into my life.
When you ask for things, it's amazing when they start to show up. You just have to lift your head up and live to see them as they approach. Sometimes you have to get up in the clouds to see just how big your life is. I'll bet you find it in the last place you look.

oh, she's open.

Vulnerability has been something I've been trying to figure out for a long time now. I've been told I'm too independent as if it's a bad thing (it's not). I did shut myself down though, for a while, which wasn't always a good thing. I'd start to open up a little and, most of the time, get a little burned. Back to lock down I'd go. 

But, here's the thing, that burn I was so damn scared of, has this ability to start a fire and it can ignite so many bigger things. 

I've taken some risks this year in pretty much every aspect of my life and, the best part is, it hasn't been scary. There have been burns and scrapes and bruises (there's always bruises), but they go away and I'm still here and always better for them even the ones that have left scars. Lessons learned and I keep the fire burning and move on. 

The thing is, when you're open, you're living. Letting all the good, the bad and the ugly in. But, the powerful part that I wasn't grasping is that I get to choose what stays and what goes. I choose to let all of it make me better. 

I want all of the things. I want a full life. I want to light fires. But the thing about fires is that it has to have air to breathe. It's a living thing. And it has to be done out in the open. 

I'm finding that the safest place to be is the one where you just put it all out there. Throw it all in and just let it happen. It takes courage and fearlessness and humbleness and the the first step to all of those things is, wait for it, vulnerability. 

My boss has been telling me for the last year if you're not uncomfortable something is wrong. The last time I saw her, I told her I've been very uncomfortable and she gave me a hug and told me how proud she was. That's just it. They don't call it growing pains for no reason. 

So, I'll stay out here. I'll keep opening windows and leave the door unlocked. Rubbing sticks together to keep the fire going. After all, when there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire, right?