When I was growing up in Florida I used to sit on my parents’ back porch and watch the afternoon showers roll in. First the sky would darken; the humid, stale air would give way to a cool breeze. The wind would pick up a little bit, kicking around the previous day’s lawn clippings. A few drops of rain would fall after that, and then water fell from the sky in sheets so thick I couldn’t make out the trees ten feet away.
The sound rattled in my chest. I watched the rain and thought of absolutely nothing. It was blissful. The day had been so dreadfully humid and then, minutes after thinking that the weather could not possibly get any more awful, there was a reprieve.
I feel like I’m being prepared for a change.
For some reason I thought the story above was a perfect representation of everything going on in my life. I know I’m still at the beginning part—perhaps the very beginning part, perhaps the part where I’m all pissed about the weather without realizing it’s about to rain—but I am as sure as anything that everything that has happened to me and to Jason is happening for a reason that is bigger than ourselves.
It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up a Bible on a day that wasn’t Sunday. I haven’t prayed for direction, purpose, or peace in months. I was content with not sharing my fears and dreams because addressing them, naming them, seemed messy and like such work and I could not be bothered.
I ate.
Instead of nourishing myself with good, wholesome foods, I quelled anxiety and depression with sugar. I found comfort in french fries and ice cream. I ate because I was bored, because my soul was starved, because that’s just what I did.
I distracted myself.
I watched so much stinking TV. I reread books instead of learning something new. I talked to friends and read the internet because being alone with my thoughts and feelings was unacceptable.
For a long time I wasn’t bothered by it. I lived my life without any real direction or desire to better myself. I loved God but wasn’t in pursuit of an authentic relationship, not because I didn’t feel like he couldn’t handle my shit, but because I was afraid that I couldn’t. Coming face to face with everything that I had been bottling up was scary, so I hid in some cookies and watched mindless sitcoms until I could handle things.
I am not better for it.
Every step forward I’ve made has been undone by my own inability to understand that I am worth it. I did a Whole30 and felt great and then allowed a piece of news to unravel me. I felt confident in our decision to adopt until the doubt crept in and swallowed me whole. I have been too reliant on myself to fill in the blanks instead of allowing on the Author of my life to march before me and make my path straight.
You know what true friendship is? The first time you toot in front of her and you get kind of embarrassed and she says “Eh.”
After I farted she told me a story of how her son got poop on a cracker.
Moral of story: if you’re going to float an air biscuit in front of anyone, make sure she’s a runner with a toddler. No bodily functions phase those types of people.
Other moral of story: don’t eat dairy if you know it makes you gassy, regardless of whether or not it’s on delicious (and free) pizza.
Sometimes I feel like everything is out of control.
Then I think “Derr. Everything is out of your control, Self.”
I guess, in the grand scheme of things, everything is out of my control.
The little things feel out of my control, too.
My hair, for instance.
I’m in the process of growing it out. I’ve always wanted long, flowy hair.
Right now my hair is a mess of layers and my bangs are in my eyes, not quite long enough to tuck behind my ears and too short to fall effortlessly to the side, regardless of much I blow dry and straighten.
This morning I was fighting with my hair, threatening to just bobby pin it up and out of my face so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
I almost cried because of my bangs.
It wasn’t about the bangs.
Of course it wasn’t.
It was about adoption and how we haven’t even started the process and I feel overwhelmed by it. It was about how open-ended it seemed because we don’t have a timeline because we can’t set up a timeline because Jason has to finish school first and even after he finishes school we have to save money and we can’t save money right now because we have to pay for college and why is adoption is expensive. It was about how Jason and I are officially the only one of our close friends that aren’t pregnant and/or parents and it’s isolating and I hate it and this wasn’t how my life was supposed to be and why why why.
I’m usually very happy and optimistic.
I’m a very laid-back, “only you can choose your attitude” type of person. And I believe those things. I cannot choose my circumstances, but I can choose my attitude towards those circumstances.
In order to break through to having peace about a situation, there is often a muddy, murky mess to wade through first. The emotions are big and scary and regardless of how much I want them to be shiny and easy, this is going to get a bit messy, I think.
Danielle’s wedding is best summed up in pictures.
Garrett’s wedding is best summed up in words. (If you want to see some pictures, check out the wedding’s Instagram feed.)
I only cried once during the ceremony, while I was walking down the aisle with Jason as part of the wedding party. I took one look at my brother standing there, ready to get married, and promptly lost my shit. If Jason hadn’t been holding on to me I would have just sat right down in the dirt and cried out of sheer happiness.
When I left Florida Garrett was 21 years old, full of piss and vinegar with a penchant for beer drinking. He stood up there on his wedding day in a dark grey suit and I hardly recognized him. He was a man ready to get married; he was sure about her. I felt a surge of pride when I saw him and I so desperately wanted to give him a hug. Instead I wiped the tears off my cheeks and remembered to smile.
His eyes welled when she walked towards him. He looked like he wanted to run to her, to swoop her up and carry her towards the officiant just to speed the process along. They exchanged their vows–the two of them were so full of emotion that the air was thick with it–and when it was over they were husband and wife, just like that.
Both weddings were special to me for completely different reasons. Danielle has been one of my bestest best friends since I was 15 years old. It was a reunion and a party and there was lots of fun and silliness and shots and dancing. Garrett’s wedding was sacred in a way that I was not familiar with; he added another member to our family on Saturday, and I felt nothing but joy.
Yesterday for breakfast I had coffee (with coconut milk) and oatmeal. Oatmeal is not Whole30 (coughcoughgrainscough) but, when faced with the choice between absolutely nothing in my stomach for four hours or oatmeal, I went with the oatmeal. The other option was banana bread. Or starvation.
I thought we had more hard boiled eggs but there was only one. The level of disappointment I felt to learn we were out of eggs was a little bit crazy, actually. Disproportionate to the situation, I think. Because I nearly cried.
Over the past few weeks eggs have been my safeguard against hunger. They make any bit of leftovers more substantial. One night Jason and I had no meat taken out for dinner so I scrambled some eggs, sauteed some asparagus, and said, “If you have eggs, you have a meal.”
I was standing at the fridge, a mere 10 minutes before I had to leave, with only one hardboiled egg to my name. I ate it, of course, and then drove through the coffee stand to get some oatmeal. There wasn’t time for anything else.
I felt okay after the oatmeal. Kind of jittery (because of the high that breaking the rules brings?), but no other symptoms were detected.
ANYHOOZLE.
Today will consist of going to the gym, grocery shopping, dog park, and doing the laundry because FLORIDA VACATION IN SIX DAYS WOOOHOOO!! and all of our laundry is in various states of clean in every corner of our bedroom.
We are adults. How does it get this way? Ugh.
I’ve been writing online since I was in the tenth grade.
That’s…
tenth, eleventh, twelfth, freshman, sophomore, junior, move to Oregon, get married, husband gets cancer, one year cancer free, buy a house, get a dog. TWELVE YEARS.
*falls over dead*
It is engrained in my daily life at this point. I don’t know how to live a life without a blog.
That strikes me as terribly sad.
I’m going to go have experiences without writing about them for the first time in a very long time.
Writing about my life isn’t what validates me.
I don’t know what I’ll do.
Read my Bible more.
Floss my teeth on a daily basis.
Maybe get tired of not sharing and come back and write.
Maybe here.
Maybe not.
I need life off of the computer screen for a while.
I will still tweet and instagram.
But no more blogging.
Not for now, at least.
