a [re]focused life

We’ve been out here for five weeks, now.  Hard to believe, actually.  We’ve been really busy, with work and play, each working 50-60 hours a week the past few weeks, and then finding something fun to do on the weekend.  We’ve made it a goal to find a new place to eat every Saturday and a new place to hike every Sunday.  And with the opportunities we have around here, this can definitely continue through the rest of the summer, and probably next summer as well. 

I’m happy to report that we managed to go 31 days in between gas fill-ups in the car, and that was with several trips down to Draper to IKEA and the soccer stadium.  We plan on taking TRAX to the games from now on, so that should definitely help.  I guess in some ways, moving out here was sort of like giving ourselves a raise, because Adam used to fill up every 10 days or so.  They’ve also begun laying the rails for the trolley/street car that will serve our neighborhood, and I am so excited for that.  That will connect us to the main TRAX system and we will be able to walk or use public transportation for probably 90% of our travels.

I can’t stress enough how much we love our apartment, and how it is such a good fit.  It is so quiet, we never hear our neighbors, except the occasional door opening/closing across the hall.  We get so much light and fresh air, and I guess all of these things could kind of be taken for granted, if not for the apartment that Adam used to have.  It was a dark little hole and we could literally hear the neighbor upstairs use the bathroom, and other private activities. We don’t hear anything now, and we really feel like we have a great little space all to ourselves.  And we have an extra room AND a (surprisingly comfy) sleeper sofa, so I can’t wait for people to come visit us. 

We’ve only had 2 1/2 cloudy days, one day of rain, in the whole time we’ve been here, which definitely reaffirms my previously held belief that May in Salt Lake is PERFECT.  Every time I visited here in May, I always fell in love with the place all over again, although my sister is quick to remind me that it is perfectly unpredictable, as well.  It snowed here in June last year.  Not a major snow event by any means, but still.  Snowflakes.  In June.  So, anything can happen.  I will just keep enjoying my sunshine until then.

The hike we went on yesterday was definitely a challenging one, for me.  Adam is a human mountain goat, so he was hopping, skipping, and jumping from one boulder to another, always having to wait on me.  I wanted to give up, several times, but as always, Adam encouraged me and convinced me to carry on.  We traveled four miles round-trip and climbed (and then descended) 3,000 ft in elevation.  It might not seem like much, but it was basically like climbing stairs for 2.5-3 hours.  The scenery, however, was beautiful, and that definitely helped.  We basically followed a rushing river all the way up the mountain, and the birds were out and singing their songs–when we broke away from the river long enough to hear them.  The waterfall at the top was amazing, and definitely worth the climb.  Then it was down, down, down, which I always find the most difficult part of a hike, especially in areas of loose rocks/sand.  Adam (of course) found me a perfect hiking stick at the top, which I used all the way down, and then took home with us, because it is just the right size for me and helped so much.  (Adam also filled his cargo pockets with litter that he found on the way up and way down.  We both get ticked when we see litter on the trails, so since he had the room to pack stuff out, that’s what he did. Of course, my heart swelled with love. ) 

We saw at least 6 people hiking in Vibrams, and it had never occurred to me that they could/would be used for hiking, but it makes perfect sense.  What better way to get a grip on the rocks and trail than by being almost barefoot?  We also saw several people hiking in sandals/flip flops, and I honestly have no idea how those people made it back down.  Crazy. 

All in all, the first 5 weeks have been great.  I still miss Nashville, sometimes acutely so.  But I really love it here.  I love the life we can have here, the opportunities for adventure/exploring, the ability to cut down our fuel consumption, and the general love for the outdoors shared by so many here.  Salt Lake is so unlike so many “Utah” stereotypes, shattering even my own previously-held beliefs about the state, and VERY different from the small Southern Utah town where I went to high school.  Although you can find stores that sell temple garments and pioneer clothing, more often than not you are confronted with the very liberal and “SLC punk” sides of the city, and it all mashes together to create a very interesting kaleidoscope of humanity.  

I’m having fun, enjoying time with family, and exploring this new place.  I keep thinking about how sad we were (still are, really) about the sale of our little company that we worked for, to the BigFish, but had that not happened, we wouldn’t be here today.  It was a “moment of impact” (to steal a line from The Vow), and it’s hard to really say if life is “better” or “worse” but I do know that it is “different” and different is good.  I’m so happy to experience new places and new things, and I’m thankful for the path my life has taken the past few years.  Sometimes you just have to GO, say yes to things that scare you, and pursue something crazy. 

So far, all this crazy has paid off in spades.  (Whatever that even means.)  I just know it means I fall asleep content (and exhausted), and wake up excited to begin a new day.  That’s always a good thing. 

It has been a BUSY two weeks, so here’s to a little catching up…

So, two weeks ago today, we made a handful of trips to the Goodwill drive through, cleaned up Adam’s apartment, and turned in his keys, grabbed a quick dinner at Jersey Mike’s Subs and had our last Sweet Cece’s fro-yo for a while.  As we left Nashville, I snapped this:

Not a great picture, but at least the moment was captured.  It was GOODBYE beautiful city, and hello long, long road trip.

We were originally going to stop for the night in St. Louis, but when we couldn’t find any hotels available (the NRA was in town… apparently ALL of them), we pressed on, and it is a good thing we did, because we had severe storms and tornado warnings chasing right behind us all night and day through Missouri and Nebraska.  One thing is for sure, we experienced every form and fashion of weather along the way:

After a harrowing last few hours through Wyoming and dropping down into the Utah valley through whiteout conditions, we made it safely to my sister’s house, and had completed our trip in 27.5 hours and for less than $250 dollars total (fuel + food).  We got amazingly good gas mileage, considering how weighed down the car was.  So, that was a bright point for sure.

We slept most of Sunday, our first real day in town, and then tagged along with my sister, her awesome fiance, and their photographer friend while they did their engagement sessions out at Antelope Island State Park.  It’s an island out in the middle of the Great Salt Lake, and as it turns out, it is pretty dang cool:

(Buffalo)

(Getting pictures taken.)

The next week (last week) we got the okay to move into our new place.  We hadn’t actually looked at this building when we were here in March, but knew the neighborhood, although I was still a little nervous to pick a place sight unseen.  We found out that they were installing new flooring the day before our move-in, and when we first walked in the door, I knew I was going to like this new place.

We set up our office in the converted balcony, in front of all that great light.  It took us until 3:00 a.m. Thursday morning, but we were ready for business.

We also did some furniture shopping and picked out this living room set, complete with sleeper sofa:

Friday we celebrated our first SLC weekend with my brother and his wife eating probably the best pizza I’ve ever had at The Pie, followed by an amazing half-baked chocolate cookie topped with ice cream, and our first trip to Epic Brewery.

Saturday was the Wine and Cheese Party at my sister’s house, and I was reminded of 2 of the big reasons for this relocation:

So far, I am/we are enjoying this move.  I think it will prove to be a good one.  We’ve got almost everything within walking distance of the apartment, and great public transportation beyond that.  Our building has a recycling program, raised bed veggie gardens (which I have yet to check out) and even: a rubbish cute in the hallway!

Our building is wonderful (so far), quiet (two feet of concrete between floors will do that for you), and filled with many interesting and diverse neighbors, aged early 20s to the oldest at 93.

We get to enjoy views like this from our windows:

And, we even found our new duck pond, which is a short five-minute walk out our front door:

Last night we did have a bit of a scare when we got our first hard wind/rainstorm and realized that our huge window was leaking rain all over the new floor.  Management came out right away (at almost 11:00 p.m.), brought extra towels, the rain stopped, and today we were even given a bunch of quarters to wash our wet towels with.  The window company is coming out next week to take measurements for a brand new window, so that will soon be fixed and taken care of.  Very thankful for that!

Everything is coming together, little bit by little bit.  We are mostly settled in our new place, and many new adventures await.  Tomorrow, I think we’ll be checking out some consignment stores, in search of the perfect green coffee table, and maybe even a dining set, if we find something cool.

I still miss my Nashville life, of course, but I know this will become home more and more each day.  I’m very excited for this upcoming summer, and I hope that sometime soon we will get to host people here in our new place, and show all of our friends just how cool the West can be.

Last month, Adam and I celebrated our 1-year dating anniversary.  I think I have probably mentioned previously that Adam… was a surprise.  I was not looking to date him, did not “see” him in that way, and in fact, spent most of my free time at work (where we met) ranting about how boys are stupid.  They either lie and break your heart, or they cheat and break your heart, or they are indifferent and break your heart, or they like to play games with your head, or they don’t know what they want, and–you guessed it–break your heart.  I should clarify though, that girls behave this way as well, so it is not a problem specific to the Y chromosome, but nevertheless, that was my attitude, that was my motto in March of 2011: BOYS. ARE. STUPID!  And I expressed exactly that, during a post-Guinness buzz on St. Patrick’s Day of last year, when a group of us from work dined at the local Irish Pub.  I sat next to Adam that day, or rather, he sat next to me, apparently he arranged it that way.  We talked a little then, and in the car on the way back to the office.

“Not all boys are stupid,” he said.  I looked at him, in his pinstripe dress shorts, St. Patrick’s Day shirt, and his cute little Gatsby Cap, and I had to admit that he was right.  I had seen it.  My brother is one of the best guys I know.  My friend Josh, another.

The next week, as I was getting ready to take my lunch, he poked his head around my cubicle and asked, “Do you mind if I come to the duck pond with you?”  Ah, the duck pond.  Just down the hill from our office was this, well, duck pond, for lack of a better descriptor.  A big pond with a fountain, lots of ducks and geese, and a walking path around it.  I had been taking my lunch there for the past month or so, just to get out of the office and get some fresh air.

So, on this particular Monday, Adam went with me.  And we talked as we made laps around the pond, and he protected me from the angry geese.  We did the same for the next two days.  I noticed that all he ate for lunch was a Cliff Bar, so I “accidentally” ordered an extra Soft Taco Supreme to share.

On Wednesday, as we were walking back into the office he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”  It was Wednesday.  I was doing… nothing.  He asked if I would be interested in going on a date with him that evening, and since I already admitted I didn’t have any plans (tricky, that one!) I agreed, and he said he would think of something and get back to me before the end of the day.  I walked back to my desk a little bit stunned/amused, and texted my roommate.

I think I have a date tonight?

He took me to the Nashville Zoo.  I had never been, and admittedly, that was the most fun I have ever had on a date.  We got there at about 4:00, the zoo was only open for another two hours, and by that time nearly everyone had gone home.  We basically had the whole place to ourselves.  As we were leaving, it started raining, and when we walked out into the parking lot, a giant rainbow appeared in the sky.  It was definitely a cool moment.  Adam then asked if I’d like to join him for dinner at our Irish pub, and of course I said yes.  “I get the zoo AND dinner?!?”  (I was a little surprised, because going to the zoo isn’t cheap.  But apparently he wasn’t about to be cheap, either.)

That first date ended up lasting about seven hours, and as much as I told myself to go SLOWWW and proceed with caution, and not rush into anything, we pretty much skipped over casual dating to Relationship Status (Facebook Official!) in just a few weeks.

The more I got to know him, the more I really grew to like (and love) him, and develop a huge level of respect for him.  He has every reason or excuse in this world to be bitter, broken, messed up, and mad at the world.  And yet, he has one of the most open and childlike hearts I’ve ever known.  He is enthusiastic about life and he enjoys–and revels in–the simple things.  He treats me like I am the most amazing woman on this planet, and tells me often that I am.  He doesn’t allow me to speak negatively about myself, much less ever say anything negative to me himself.  He is constantly trying to “check up” on me, to make sure I have everything I need at all times.  (Bringing water to me at my desk, getting a blanket for me when we’re watching TV on the couch, etc.)  I guess the best way to describe it is he is better at anticipating my needs than I am.  He will do whatever it takes (and sometimes that is a lot, on a bad day) to make me smile.

Every night before he goes to sleep, he fluffs my pillow, even though he knows I will probably never use it (I usually work nights).  In an entire year of dating, I have never (not once) had to put the toilet seat down.  (I know that is such a little annoyance, but still.)  When we went out to dinner last week and our biscuits were brought to the table, he got little pats of putter out of the dish and set them in front of my plate first, before helping himself.  Such a teeny, tiny insignificant gesture that most people would not even notice, but to me–it means the world.  I thank him for taking such good care of me, and his reply is always, “I try.”

That’s it, right there.  He tries.  He cares.  It’s amazing what a difference that can make in a relationship, this “caring.”  He is always serving me first, and I try to do the same for him.  That is how it works, right?  We are nerds–and nerdy–together, and it works.  We made a “J” (For his last name) that hangs on a post-it next to the door, that we tap on the way out of the apartment (a la “Friday Night Lights” locker room style).  We frequently indulge in a ritual known as “Snuggleupagus,” which is, simply, snuggle time on the couch.

There isn’t really any part of my life that has gone “to plan,” including this.  I didn’t plan on falling in love with this man, but I did.  Despite my best defenses, and some pretty major emotional roadblocks, and a lot of baggage/hurt I am still working on, that he’s loving me through.

I still have fears, and I still have doubts.  I still worry that one day he will give up on me, too.  That one day he will start slamming doors in my face and will take pleasure in making me cry.  Or I worry that the “newness” will wear off and we’ll just become roommates, and maybe we will.  But I know he’s a fighter.  I trust that, no matter what, he would fight for me–for us.  He and I believe in US, in equal measures.  Neither one of us is over-invested or under-invested, we’re both in.  Together.  A real team.  Whenever I try to drag a reality or concern from my past into our present, he reminds me: This is a new book.  This is OUR book.  Our story.  Our life, together.

It’s scary to make yourself vulnerable in that way, I think, for everyone.  Because we have all been hurt.  We’ve pretty much all had our hearts trampled, and we’ve done our share of trampling as well.  But we still get that choice.  That’s the beauty of this life: Freedom to choose.   We can choose to try.  To believe.  To surrender.  We can pick forgiveness or bitterness.  Accept love or reject love.  To extend grace, or offer judgment.   Smile or frown.  Keep fighting or give up.  Take a risk or stay comfortable.  Chase the unknown or be ruled by fear.

I think I tried pretty hard at times to scare Adam away, with all of my ugliness.  All of my junk that I paraded around in front of him, as if to say: “Let me save you the time: you don’t want this.  You don’t want me.”  And he just kept moving forward, through it all.  He kept loving me.  And gosh, that’s annoying sometimes!  But I got to annoy him right back by doing the same for him.  Loving him through his mess.  And at the end of the day, it isn’t annoying, it’s freeing.

Love is action.  And no, not all boys are stupid.  Thankfully.

Updates:

We had a great time on our vacation in Utah, and it pretty much confirmed what I already suspected: After 12 years gone from the Beehive State, I will once again be living there.   And Adam is going with me, because he is either crazy about me, or just plain crazy.  I will not believe it until we are actually there, and moved in, and going to sleep there and waking up there for more days than a vacation, but it is officially happening.  In 16 days.  My feelings about this move are so, so mixed, but I do feel this is the Right Thing and that my 2 years in Nashville have served their purpose in this season of my life.  It has been so healing, and so beautiful, and so restorative.  I could not have gotten plugged into a better or more loving body of believers, and I LOVE how they love God, by loving each other, this city, and the world.   If I think about it too hard and for too long, I will never budge or move forward at all.  I love this place and it is safe and comfortable to me.  I love the hills, I love the music, I love the city through and through, and most of all: the people.  I love that everyone waves and smiles when I am out walking or running.  The South is a special place.

One of my friends had expressed concern that by moving back to Utah that I was somehow “settling,” I think because of something I said months/years ago, and it really did make me think a good bit.  Here’s what I have concluded on all of that:  Had I gone back to Utah at the end of 2009/beginning of 2010, THAT would have been settling.  It would have been the “scared” thing to do, run home to my family and the friends I have that still live there, and lick my wounds and just… be.  Instead, I prayed and sought God like a crazy woman, hanging to the last tattered threads of the end of my rope, and I believed Him for MORE.  So when “NASHVILLE” was pressed upon my heart, I listened.  It was, and is still, the strangest and scariest and craziest thing I have done in my life.  Move to a city I had never been/did not know a soul?  REALLY?  I am not being facetious when I say that on this day, these two years later, I am still SHOCKED, utterly and completely surprised that I did that.  It was very, very unlike me.

But I opened my heart and my mind and my eyes to possibility, held out my empty arms, and they were filled to overflowing with blessings here.  Has it all been smooth sailing?  Oh, heck no!  When all my work mysteriously dried up and I had that famous (now, to me) $8 dollars in my bank account, when I skated by for several months thanks to the generosity of my grandparents, and the open hands of my very best friends here–that was a difficulty and a humbling that I had never previously faced.  It broke me and it built me.  I can forever testify to God’s great love, His healing, and His provision.  Over and over and over again He has allowed me to trade my deepest sorrows for the greatest joy, the deepest peace, and I pray that it is written so profoundly on my heart, that my heart will not forget.

And now, two years later, I am brought to another fork in the road.  It’s not that I WANT to leave Nashville, but if I stay here, I will miss out on really being a part of my family for more years and years to come.  And right now is just a good time to go, I am (we are) free and able to do so, there’s been some changes in job situations, and a lease is ending, and my sister is getting married this summer, and… and and and and.  I miss my sister.  I miss my brother.  I want to know these people better that they have married/are about to marry.  I want to know their kids, and God willing, someday, I want my kids to know their cousins.  Daily.  Weekly.  Monthly.  Not “once-every-couple-years-on-vacation-ly.”  Honestly, I could probably blame the NBC show, “Parenthood.”  They do life together, and they make it look so lovely.  Even the messy, hard parts.  ESPECIALLY the messy, hard parts.  So yeah, between that show and getting together with my family for my grandpa’s funeral last October, that is what has brought me to this point.

It’s not settling, it’s doing exactly what I did two years ago, exactly what landed me here.  It’s me believing and trusting God for MORE.  It’s me opening my arms and welcoming the blessing of my family back into my life, after 12 years away.  It’s me facing some of my more dysfunctional familial relationships head on and embracing them, and trusting God to (over time) mend the pieces that have been broken, instead of just running all of the time.  I know now, more than ever, that He WILL and DOES restore “what the locusts have eaten.”

This is just the next chapter in my Choose My Own Adventure Life.

This is me, leaping fearlessly.

This is me, daring to love.

There is no other (best) way to do this life.

I don’t know what the deal is with my need/urge to keep coming back to this space and dump out my thoughts, but I’m just going to go with it. That’s what this space is for, right?  To argue with myself in a pretty font and document my neuroses and random facts about my life as it unfolds.  And then in a few months or a year I will get frustrated and delete it all.  Or maybe I’ve learned my lesson about that.  I wrote a “letter” to my nephew on the day he was born that I really, really, really wish had not gotten deleted, because it would have been great for him to have, especially since he’ll never really know me, “mysterious Aunt-person-who-uncle-J-used-to-be-married-to, but who now lives in a faraway place.”

Yesterday I talked to my dad, and he mentioned something about my birthday, and how we should celebrate it while we’re all together.  And then he did the unthinkable and said we COULD celebrate it all together.  As in: me, Adam, my dad, my mom, and my mom’s husband.  Whoa.  It has only taken NINE years for this day to come, but alas, it might actually be happening. That would be a nice birthday present. 

My dad is going to be doing some improvements on his townhome this summer and I’m really (overly) excited at the idea of maybe being there to help him.  I like to paint.  It’s such a normal thing do to–help your dad work on his house, or vice versa, but we’ve never been able to do anything like that together.  So, that’s nice. 

Maybe it is Pinterest wearing off on me (though I’m totally out of the Pinterest loop lately), but I am really looking forward to making a bunch of stuff with my own hands.  I was super excited about building the Tiny House, although that might not come to fruition now (long story, but it would probably make more sense to save money to build/buy a permanent–small–structure at this point in life).  If I were 20 instead of 30, I’d do it for sure.  But I just feel like it’s probably important to end up in a house not on wheels in this decade, if I ever want to think about having/adopting any kids. I am still very determined to do it with as little of a loan/mortgage as possible, maybe building with shipping containers?  I don’t know.  Something to figure out in the distant future.

Anyway.  I got the idea yesterday that I’d really like to build a platform for a bed someday, when settled and it is time to buy a bed.  Just get a mattress and then build a box platform with drawers in it.  Instant storage.  Or, just skip the drawers and utilize the under-platform space as storage with bins and such.  We’ll see.  I’ve just got all of these ideas in my head lately for how I want to set up a house/apartment, in a place where I’m actually going to stay for more than six months.  Since the end of 2009 I have moved: after 4 months, after 10 months, after 6 months, and (if we move in May) after 6 months. 

I just feel so home-y lately.  I really love to cook (although do not so much love meal planning), and I have been enjoying trying new things, and it makes me happy that I have aprons to wear and just the satisfaction that comes from making a good meal.  My mom was asking yesterday if there are any foods that Adam doesn’t like/is allergic to, and I had to laugh.  I told her no, he eats everything, even if it is something he doesn’t like, and then tells you it was the best, most delicious meal ever.  It’s very confusing to me, because I am sure there are things I’ve made that he’s not crazy about, but he just pretends that I’m such a great cook.  Very hard to know what he ACTUALLY likes and what he is just being nice about. 

Okay… I guess that is enough brain-leaking for today.  Lots to do today, starting with several large loads of laundry (we’ve waited two weeks this time to go to the laundromat–eek), and I really want to go for a run today.  I have not ran in almost a YEAR.  A year.  And it shows.  I am in pathetic shape and I am really tired of it.  So, baby steps forward once again. 

Recently, I’ve been exhausted in ways that I never new existed in the Kingdom of Tiredness.  I’ve been the Queen of undersleeping and overworking, and generally wearing myself out, and 12 steps beyond out.  I’ve been taking on so much work that I will literally skip nights of sleep and then it all catches up with me on a random day and I will literally fall asleep in the middle of a conversation (at home, thankfully, not in the middle of Panera or something, but stay tuned).  Last night I fell asleep with my face planted on the arm of the couch, and at 5:00 a.m., that’s where I found my face still planted.  My neck, as best I can tell, did not approve of that decision and is now protesting loudly.

The birds are singing the sun awake on this beautiful morning, and naturally I’ve been consumed by thought, running a sprint marathon around the track inside my head. 

I miss Nashville.  I miss Nashville and I’m not even gone yet.  I miss the community I found here, and the home that felt like no home I’d ever known before.  I miss people.  I miss friends.  And yet, I miss my family, too.  That’s a lot of what is going into this decision to move back to Utah.  After 12 years away (!!!!), it feels like it’s time to go home.  So I can be near my siblings and be an active part in their lives & their (future) kids’ lives.  So they can be a part of mine.  

But I have to know for sure:  Is it His time or My time? 

God did something amazing when He led me here to this crazy beautiful town, this place I had never even seen with my eyes, before He told me to GO.  In 2010, God showed me His love, provision, and redemption, in a way that will impact my life for the rest of my days.  

And then life got busy.  God was still providing–when I had no money, He made apparent to me all the people in my life that are walking around as his hands and feet.  And, after several months of no work, He provided a new job.  Which, incidentally, I began exactly a year ago today. 

As for the past 365 wake ups?  This past year has been a BLUR.  I’ve been so busy and so disconnected.  At first it was just because of the work/exhaustion/bad schedule cycle, but the past few months (well, since October), it’s been ALL of that, plus just trying to leave here as quietly and painlessly as possible.  Exit stage left as the real show happens under the spotlight in center stage. 

Y’all.  I’m REALLY good at disappearing.  Now and always.  But what I’m also really good at is over-thinking.  It is very highly possible that this season is over, and so I’m just dealing with the grieving of that.  Change is hard.  I don’t like it.  There aren’t many of us who do, I’d imagine.

Lately when I’m at church I’ve found myself trying to make a mental bookmark, take a picture not just on Instagram, but with my heart.  I did the same thing at The Ryman on Thursday night.  I breathed in all that energy and history and the wonderful smell of old wood and music, and I tucked it away someplace safe, so that I can take it out someday and smile.

Wednesday night Adam and I are getting on a plane to Utah (well, technically Las Vegas) and my mom is going to drive down from St. George and pick us up.  And then we’re going to spend the next 9 days resting and NOT WORKING, figuring out the What Next of life. 

I am going to be praying like crazy.  If Nashville chapter is done, it’s done.  It will be so hard to leave, but it will be right.  Just like leaving my cozy little nest in Illinois was so hard… but so right.  I had four months there, and hopped out of that nest when I believed I could fly again.  And now, I’ve had two years here, in which I’ve healed and grown and had so many crazy adventures, and so much laughter and so much joy.  

So maybe it is time to fly away home.  Even though a part of my brain is screaming.  Utah is NOT Nashville.  But I’m also not the same person I was when I was 19 and couldn’t put that place in my rear view fast enough.  The same God that lives in my heart, who is Alive in Nashville, is the same God who is alive in Utah, and is the same God who will keep ME alive in Utah.  I have a long and complicated history with that place.   

I still don’t know how I will ever say Thank You to Nashville, though.  Aside from naming my first son Nash and getting a Batman Building tattoo.  (Oh, you think I’m kidding.) 

Money is weird.  We’re not really supposed to talk about it, for fear of being tacky, and yet it is probably the number one thing that most people stress over on any given day/week/month.  One of my goals this year is to become more knowledgeable about my financial situation.  I don’t think I’ve ever been overtly irresponsible with my money, but I can tell you I’ve been bad with my money.  And not because I went out and blew a bunch of money on frivolous things, or charged up a bunch of credit card debt (except for last year, when I didn’t have income for a few months).  My credit limit is small, and I pay off my card every month.  The reason that I’m bad with my money is that I don’t really have a daily grasp on where, exactly, it is going, and I don’t have any concrete rules and plans for making my money work for me, instead of the other way around.  

I recently signed up for a Mint account, loaded in all of my savings/checking/credit info and BAM, it pulled all of my transactions into one neat little column.  Then I was able to categorize everything appropriately and really get a good picture of my finances.  I also made a bunch of other interesting realizations.  Like how the last time I purchased clothing was on November 26th.  And that clothing wasn’t even for me.  It was a quick run to Target to get Adam a new outfit for a wedding we were attending. 

According to Mint, the “average” clothing budget per month is over $200.  Really???  Maybe that is the U.S. average for families or something, because if one person really spent $200/mo on clothes, wouldn’t they run out of closet space?  Or is this why closets are such a big deal on all of the house hunting shows? Regardless, I am well aware that I am totally below the norm on this one.  I don’t like to go shopping.  I don’t have 50 pairs of shoes.  I have 5.  The last outfit I purchased was a year ago, for my job interview.  The last time I bought jeans, I bought them at Goodwill for $7.  They are my favorite jeans I’ve ever owned.  They’re GAP and they were perfectly broken in.  

I think in a lot of ways, the past few years have broken me.  The Divorce, moving to Nashville, re-defining my sense of security, and taking a good hard look at how blessed I am (in comparison to the rest of the world), all of these things have resulted in a fundamental shift in how I view myself and the world (and my finances).  The hardest season of my life–paring my “stuff” down to what fit into my car, living with the reality of $8 in my checking account–has, in turn, produced a huge heart change, and I am so thankful for it. 

I look around and I see a world (or at least a nation) of people gone mad.  We’re consumers consumed with consuming.  It’s insanity.  Although on the flip side, I realize that my little life, to many, is the insane one.  I truly do live a tiny life these days.  I don’t even own a car.  I work from home.  (So that right there eliminates the need for a “work” wardrobe.)  If I’m with friends, I am the least well-dressed one there, by far.  T-shirt and jeans, sweatshirt and jeans, or if I’m feeling FANCY, blouse/jeans or sweater/jeans.  Or cords!  I do have a pair of corduroy pants.

I just. don’t. care. anymore.  Don’t get me wrong–I don’t want to embarrass YOU, my friend, if we are out.  I don’t want you to be ashamed to be seen with me.  I will still be bathed and my clothes will match, don’t you worry.  But in my heart?  I just really don’t care all that much anymore about what it is that is covering my skin.  Life is more than clothes.  

I didn’t always feel this way, though.  I used to subscribe heavily to “retail therapy.”  Heavily.  Once when I got dumped, I drove straight to the mall and spent $400 at The Buckle.  New Doc Martens, check.  New Lucky Jeans, check.  New watch, check.  A bunch of other stuff I didn’t really need, but I was “treating myself” to… check!  I was 19, and the store literally had to CALL MY BANK before they would process my transaction.  I was working full-time and had more than that in my account, so it was approved, and away I went… arms full of bags, heart full of (temporary) satisfaction. 

It’s a sad and scary thing, when you realize the Power of Stuff.  Back in the day, I used to get my hair cut at this really snobby salon in Perrysburg.  A cut and color would run me about $120, and I was doing that about every six weeks for a while.  Then, I’d leave the salon and go to the mall and get a new outfit.  A new haircut and a new outfit = a whole new, happy me.  I was a new woman! 

Except I wasn’t.  The new haircut never looked as good after a day or two, and the new clothes were “old clothes” after a few weeks, and the “new car smell” of life quickly faded, and I was left with the truth: my heart was sad.  I had no joy.  I had no peace.  My self-esteem and self-worth was non-existent.   

Today, my heart is happy and at peace.  I know my worth.  I am anchored by love, on all sides.  Now it’s time for me to implement a little bit of discipline and build on my new foundation.  I need to meet with a financial advisor and get all of my business/tax stuff figured out, and pursue a long-term goal.  My attitude in the past with money was always, “I’ll worry about that when I actually have some.”  I’ve almost always been one step behind, always catching up.  But I can’t keep waiting for “someday,” I can’t keep waiting for my big break or a windfall of cash to fall from the sky.  I am working so hard, right now, and now I am taking a good hard look at where every single penny goes. 

I’ve spent the last year living very much with an “open hands” policy with what I’ve been entrusted with, and how I give, and I fully intend to continue to build my life around this truth:  It’s not mine.  It never was.  I don’t expect your story or his story or her story to look like my story.  We are each blessed with this one beautiful life, and we each have the freedom to choose whatever and whomever we want.  I just know that for me, I need to be very careful to be faithful with the little that I have right now, or I could never trust myself to be faithful with any more.  And I know that the longer I travel this road, the more I learn over and over that simple is good.  It’s not easy; not at first.  In fact, it’s been downright painful.  But is it worth it?  Absolutely. 

Some scattered thoughts:

• It’s been cloudy and raining here so much lately, I feel like I live in the Pacific Northwest.  It even tried to snow over the weekend, but fortunately it didn’t stick.
• I set a new record this week and typed for over 24 hours straight (minus food and bathroom breaks).  I don’t think I will try that again for a while, as the muscles in my forearms are now incredibly sore, all the way up to my elbows.
• ONE WEEK UNTIL VACATION!!  Adam and I have both been working ourselves weary… he to the point of an ER visit last week, and I haven’t been back home to Utah since 2010, so it is a trip long overdue.  I get to show Adam around, introduce him to my family, and eat all my favorite Utah food (Cafe Rio and In-N-Out, for instance. Maybe some fry sauce for good measure.)  Plus, we’ll hopefully get a better feel regarding Salt Lake vs. Southern Utah and where we will be making our new home.
• That said, I get very sad when I think about my time in Nashville coming to an end.  This has been, without a doubt, the best 2 years of my life, the best chapter, and I am SO glad I listened to that little voice I heard telling me to move down here.  I have felt more at home here than I have anywhere or at any time in my whole life, and honestly, I could grow old here sipping on my sweet tea, for sure.  Six months or a year ago, I never would have entertained the idea of leaving this place, but when I think about putting down actual roots and where I/we will grow a family, I know that it will be important to be near family.
• I’m pretty sure I cried a gallon of tears watching this week’s episode of Parenthood.  Love that show so much.
• It’s supposed to be in the 70s tomorrow, but only 45 on Friday, and thus… more scary storms and tornadoes are creeping on the radar again.  All I know is, Adam and I have tickets for NEEDTOBREATHE at The Ryman tomorrow night, so the storms better steer clear of downtown.
• It’s been almost 2 months since I sold my car and I don’t even miss it.  If I didn’t work from home, things would be a lot more difficult, but for the foreseeable future, I don’t see any reason why I would need to get another car.  One of the moving “plans” is to find a small, cheap apartment in a very walkable area of SLC.  Another bonus is that they have a great public transit system.  (Although my sister did accidentally sit in a puddle of pee on TRAX once.)
• It’s 9:22 p.m., and I am beat.  I was hoping to get to bed by 8:00 p.m. tonight but that plan failed, obviously.

Until next time, blogfriends.

It’s been a roller coaster month, friends.  A few more instances of thinking X is going to happen, and then Z happens, instead.  That’s life, though, right?  We can prepare and plan and set our sails for one direction, only to be picked up by a gust of wind and end up pointed in another direction entirely.  Sometimes this is good, sometimes bad, but I still believe there is beauty to be found in all of it, and blessings to be excavated, if willing to view it that way.

It’s been a BUSY time.  It’s been stressful and I have cried a lot, but as always, God has opened doors and made a way through the darkness.  Maybe one of these days I will visit this place and pour out my thoughts regarding these past few weeks, but for now I will just say that it serves as just another landmark in my life of His faithfulness.  And I’ve thought a whole heck of a lot about Love, what it is and what it means, and what that looks like in my life.  This is part of what I came up with, from an email that I was writing, because for some reason my best writing “nuggets” always happen in email form:

…but then there’s the problem of Love.  I’m nothing if not an idiot for Love.  Because love requires an all-out kind of crazy acceptance of what most people would call unacceptable.  Love acknowledges that we are all broken and messed up and we all bring a ton of problems and baggage into our relationships and interactions with other humans.  Love keeps no record of wrongs.  Love doesn’t exist in dollar amounts.  The greater the offense, the greater room there is for grace to abound.  I have a debt that would still be unpaid, if not for Someone who first Loved me.  The Love I am given is without exception to whatever horrible things I’ve done, and it exists without limit. That’s what it all comes down to, right?  We all suck.  But because of Christ we are drowning in an ocean of grace, basking in a radiant love we do not deserve, and could never earn in a million lifetimes of responsibility and “trying to get it right.”

Love is radical.  Grace is radical.  And they both have the power to transform.  Trials grow character and perseverance strengthens faith, and the truth is, most of the time we have no idea why the stories of our lives twist and turn and hurt the way they do.  All we can do is grow, and heal, and LOVE, and trust God with all the mess, knowing that somehow, He will redeem it and use it for His Glory.  I believe, with my whole heart, that redemption is the most beautiful thing we are invited to this side of heaven.  It is God working through us and in us, in the middle of this screwed up world, and all of our sin, and all of our shortcomings and all of our mistakes, and weaving it all in such a way that it shines Light back to heaven, and we become these tiny mirrors, reflecting this beautiful truth out into the world.  Jesus got his hands dirty, jumping into the pit with us and cleaning up all of our muck, and then He rained down His blood on us, cleaning us white as snow.

This is Love:  It is self-sacrificial, and it is purposeful, and it doesn’t fit neatly into a box.  This is the Love that has been lavished on us, and this is the Love to which we are called.

“We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people.” -Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today, we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr.  A man whose Dream transformed our nation.  At its center, his Dream–of love, of equality, of peace, of kindness, of grace… it wasn’t (and isn’t) a NEW dream.  But it was a dream that had somehow been forgotten.  Disregarded and diluted by apathy, shut up and silenced by hate.

I read about and watch news footage or Hollywood depictions of that time, a mere 50 years ago, and wonder–How did we let ourselves believe such lies?  How did we let ourselves believe such atrocities were okay?  Separate seats (or none at all), separate drinking fountains, separate school rooms, separate toilets.  Classifying, dehumanizing, and making inferior one set of people, in order to puff up, inflate, and make Lords of another.  (Also not a new concept.)

I wonder if Dr. King ever felt like giving up.  I wonder if he ever felt overwhelmed by the sheer size and force of the evil he was fighting.  Surely, it must have felt hopeless at times.  When you are fighting so hard for something, it is heartbreaking to look around and see that, for the most part, a lot of people–Good people–don’t care.  Either because it doesn’t “affect them” personally, or because speaking up or acting out would somehow upset the status quo of their social circle, or for whatever reason (personal, financial) it would cause them some level of discomfort.  But still, Dr. King saw all of those people, the apathetic ones, the uncaring ones, even the people who wished to do him harm–he looked them in the eye and pressed forward, believing that Love could truly overcome evil.  Believing the very definition of hope and faith–believing and trusting in things unseen.

Today, I draw great inspiration from Dr. King.  In my own little life, my heart has been so heavy lately, my spirit unsettled.  I know that, to most of my friends (or “friends” on my various social networking sites) that I am probably beginning to get annoying.  I’ve been writing and shouting and linking and trying to draw attention to Charity: Water, to my hope of raising $5,000 in three short months.  (I’m about one-fifth of the way there.)  I’m selling things right and left so that I can try to fill in the gap, if my campaign ends up short.  I don’t know if that is really a purely self-sacrificial thing, or more of a stubbornness on my part.  I am struggling with “control,” over this, because while I want to MAKE this happen, I also know that God has bigger and better plans if I can just let go enough to trust Him in this area.

Sometimes I wonder if race doesn’t still play an important role in why this need (Re: Water Crisis) is so great.  Would the response be any different if a billion white people were suffering around the world, instead of a billion black, brown, and tan people?  Would the campaign draw a larger response if the thirsty child in the Charity: Water photo was blond-haired and blue-eyed?  I don’t know.  I can only speculate and assume… and we all know that assuming doesn’t help anything.  But I believe that if 4,000+ American children died today from a lack of clean water, we’d be rallying to do something about it.

My heart aches in the way that it did when I arrived home after my first missions trip, when I got home from the (literal) garbage dump shacks in Mexico, playing with children who ran barefoot through broken glass and feces, and yet, who had more joy than I had seen in my short lifetime.  When the parents of these children could look me in the eyes and tell me that THEY were the richest people in the world, simply by knowing Jesus.

I came home from that experience and I refused to sleep in my bed for a week.  How was it fair that I had a safe and comfortable home, a roof over my head, and a soft mattress to sleep on each night–AND still have Jesus?  Surely, I was the richest among rich.  I was, and I am.  I also came back from that trip determined not to listen to any secular music, having burned all of my “worldly” CDs, and I was appalled at the thought of “wasting” 2-hours in a movie theater, when that was 2 hours out of my life that could be devoted to a cause more worthwhile.  I know I probably irritated a lot of people during that time, with my newfound self-righteous attitude.  There is a balance in there, somewhere, but such is the curse of living as a believer in this fallen world, right?  I mean, truly, I can look back at my 17-year-old passionate self and roll my eyes, but my attitude was rooted in a broken heart.  I prayed for God to break my heart with the things that break His, and HE DID.  And out of that brokenness, one can do several things.

1.  Nothing.  You can become so overwhelmed and depressed by injustice that it paralyzes you and leaves you useless.  My not sleeping in my comfy bed did NOTHING to help those who go without, albeit if my heart was seemingly in the right place.

2.  Act.  In whatever small way, strive to make a difference in my corner of the world.

3.  Slowly become numbed and indifferent, once back in my comfort zone, in a world so far removed from what moved me.

I think, over the years, I have revolved back and forth between all three of these things.  I think, apart from selling everything and truly going to live among the poor, that I will always struggle with the balance between what I have been entrusted with, and what I am called to give.  Of my money.  Of my time.  It is a challenge I do not wish to take lightly.

I believe that my American generation has been entrusted with more money and more free time than any generation in the history of the world.  And yet, every single day we are enticed by numerous opportunities to squander it all.  Facebook/social media, the internet, video games, mindless television, frivolous shopping, the list goes on and on.  I am as guilty as the next person, I have entertained all of these things and more.  But I am striving so hard to be mindful.

I truly do not wish to be silent.

I do not wish to be still.

I do not want to be a slave to my stuff.

I want the minutes and hours of my life to account for something great.

I want to make a difference.

I want to live in a way that is mindful of the world outside of my four walls.

I do not want to grow weary.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. -Galatians 6:9

I am trusting God to direct my path, because without Him I will only spin in circles.

Tis the gift to be simple, Tis the gift to be free,

Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,

To turn, turn, will be our delight,

Til by turning, turning, we come ’round right.

-old Shaker hymn (Elder Joseph Brackett)

That’s one of the first songs I ever learned to play on the recorder in 4th grade.  And it’s been stuck in my head for a few days, now.

Over the past several weeks and months, I have been doing a lot of thinking as to what this next year is going to hold for my life–at least, as far as the choices I make and the actions I take that I can control part of it, because there is still always that whole “unknown” factor.  I’ve basically resolved that I would like to be nearer to my family, which means moving back out West, and I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time on Realtor.com and Utahhomes.com and the like.

I love looking at houses.  I always have.  I’m drawn to the architecture (I have a crush on 1950s/60s era ranch homes, anything Frank Lloyd Wright, Craftsman style bungalow/tudors, cottages, and cabins).  I guess in some ways, my interests kind of clash with each other.  I like “contemporary” and clean, efficient spaces, and I like the coziness of cottage/cabins, but as opposite as those sometimes may sound or appear to be, they really can go hand in hand.  I love all the “built-ins” that were once incorporated into homes.  Find me a home with built-in bookshelves or other interesting storage solutions/ways to maximize space, and my heart goes pitter-patter.

So, in all of my house-browsing, I resolved that I was now officially “saving up for a down payment.”  I played with the mortgage calculators, and found that wow–now is the time to buy.  Interest rates are at an all-time low of 3-4%.  (When my ex and I bought our house, at the height of the boom in 2003, our interest rate was in the high 7%, with excellent credit.)

Speaking of that, I learned a lot about banks and real estate and stupidity during that home-buying process.  For instance, based on one income alone (because we wanted to be safe in a one income situation), the bank approved us for over $250,000.  I can see how so many people got in trouble and over their head with their mortgages, because had we taken that, or even close to it, we would have been struggling.  I still think of that and shake my head in disbelief.  Because, I’ll be honest–when we first got that quote back, I saw the dollar-signs of possibility in my head, of what kind of house that could be, and I was like, “Aw yeah, cha-ching!  Fancy countertops, here I come!”  I mean, it’s tempting.  It’s tempting to “take that money and run,” so to speak.  Especially when you look around and it appears as though that is what everyone else is doing/has done.

Have you ever noticed, that we all want bigger/better (or at least as nice) homes than our parents have, right when we start out, when often times our parents worked 20-30 years to achieve similar goals?  Our expectations, where housing is concerned, have super-sized along with everything else over the past 1-2 generations.

I probably talk about my grandparents on here a lot, but only because they are the best role models and examples I’ve had in my life.  My (maternal) grandparents have never had a mortgage in their life.  They lived in a tiny apartment above someone’s house at the beginning of their marriage, saved and built one house, lived in it, bought property “in the country,” built a garage (lived in the garage), dug a basement, complete with kitchen (lived in the basement), and then built a very nice house, which they then moved into and raised their family for 30+ years, before downsizing into a smaller house and spending winters in Florida in a fifth-wheel camper that they pull with their truck.

My grandpa worked hard, owned his own business (excavation–made digging his own basement pretty easy, ha), and they have been SUCH an example to me, for many things, but mostly for living a life of frugality.  They had/have money.  And yet, they have always lived below their means (which, surprise, is how they have money, I’m guessing.)  They always take care of their things.  In 1999, when he retired, my grandpa bought his Chevy Silverado and the camper they travel in, and they are still using them to this day–and they look amazing.  Have they needed repairs and upkeep along the way?  Sure.  My grandpa recently replaced all the carpeting in the trailer with new laminate flooring, etc.  You walk into their trailer and it looks like brand new, even though it is 13 years old, and even though many of their friends and travel partners have traded in and upgraded many times over.

They are the most generous, kind, giving people I know, and it is because they have created a life where they can be.  They set goals and attained them.  They set boundaries and kept them.  They can discern between a “want” and a “need.”  They lead a pretty simple lifestyle, and they are able to travel and see the world.

All of this back-story to say: I have really started re-evaluating if I want to take on a home loan this year.  Or next year.  Or at all.

What if I could pay cash for a house?

What if I could be challenged every day to live simply?

What if I wasn’t a slave to our debt culture?

What if that simple financial freedom allowed me the ability to give more (of my money, of my time) and use less (energy, resources)?

What if I built one of these?

Photo Credit: Portland Alternative Dwellings

TINY house!!

I first become aware of the small house/tiny house movement a while back… but I was deeply entrenched in the American Dream and the Jonses and expectations and STUFF.  My 3-bedroom 1500sf house, believe it or not, didn’t seem big enough to me, most of the time.  I had lots of stuff.  And then, as life would have it, 2 years ago I downsized… to what fit in my car.  I moved to Nashville and rented a tiny bedroom for a year:

My Little Room

I became a master at storage solutions and was sort of energized by the challenge of finding new ways to store things and the freedom from the “culture of want,” because I knew quite frankly: I did not have room for anything else.  If I got something new, I would have to give something up.  I spent a LOT of time in that room, and you know what?  I really liked it.  It was cozy.  It was comfy.  It was organized.  I knew where stuff was.  And also?  I spent a lot of time outside of that room: exploring.  I think if you are in a smaller space, the outdoors become your living room (as other people have said).

I don’t know… at this point, I’m not really writing this post for anyone but myself, because I’m trying to organize my thoughts.  I’m debt-free right now, and I know I’d like to stay that way.  I believe it is possible, and I believe if I WERE to do something “CRAZY” like this, now is the time.  I would not plan to stay in TINY house forever, but it would allow me to save more money for my next building project.  A small cabin or cottage.  (Maybe this?)

Ultimately, I believe the “American Dream” is freedom.  Land of the free, right?  I think we’ve lost sight of that along the way somewhere.  I do not NEED a 2500sf house.  At this point, I would have to buy a whole house of stuff to put in that house, and really, that just seems kind of counter-intuitive to me.  (However: It is not my mission to judge anyone in a beautiful, large home. To each his own.)

Is the small house movement/TINY house idea drastic?  YES.  Is it radical?  YES.  Am I crazy for even thinking about it at all?  Probably.  But what if?  What if it was fun?  What if it was freeing?  What if it was possible?  What if I loved it?  (If I hate it, I could just stop and sell it, and not really be out anything.) What if it provided the fodder to write something worthwhile?  (You know, that silly writing bug of mine.)

Life is filled with choices and possibilities and adventures.  And it doesn’t even always come down to one “RIGHT” answer and one “WRONG” answer.  We get the freedom to travel a winding road and mix things up along the way.  I might just soon become the crazy/outcast/whackadoo of my family (and believe me, in my family, that bar is set pretty high).  We’ll see… lots of thinking, prayer, and research to be done.

I suspect I will be blogging more about this as I sort all of this out.  So… yay for that, or ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ, depending on your interest level.

Is it really Monday already?  So sad to see the weekend go; it was a good one.  Adam and I both had Saturday off, which is a rarity that has only happened a few times since April.  We almost didn’t know what to do with ourselves.  We had our typical Saturday breakfast of muffin cake (a tradition Adam started by buying blueberry muffin mix and baking a cake out of it) and coffee, and then we headed off to the park to enjoy the warm, albeit cloudy, January day.

Playing Soccer

We started by kicking the soccer ball around for an hour or two.  It’s a fun way to get exercise that doesn’t really feel like exercise.  We also went for a short run, and I am feeling that today.  Ugh.  It is sad how quickly the ol’ body can get out of shape when all you do is sit at a desk all day and type.  Definitely need to get back into my regular exercise routine.  Especially since all of my jeans have now become “skinny jeans” and they are definitely not supposed to be fitting that way.

I love all the green space in Nashville.  For a city, it doesn’t feel much like a city at all.  By far the best parks system of anywhere I’ve lived.

On Sunday, we got to be a part of an amazing service at Cross Point.  Pete is such a great communicator, and I am so excited for this new series.  Sitting there in the pew yesterday morning, it definitely weighed heavily on my heart that this is going to be the hardest thing to leave in Nashville, if and when we go.  The friends and family that I have made here, and the amount of growing and healing I’ve done here, the way everyone serves and gets involved in the community and around the world: I will miss this so much.  But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Love my church home.

Next, we decided to grab lunch at Burger Up, our favorite local burger joint.  There’s nothing but good to say about Burger Up.  Inspired by Food, Inc., they source all their beef from a local, humane beef ranch, and source their other food and ingredients locally as well.

Menu

They are gourmet burgers, and I don’t even have words to describe how good they are.

Adam's BBQ burger

And the sweet potato fries?  Out of this world good.  They were even delicious re-heated in the microwave last night, and french fries are never good re-heated.  Love, love, love.

Fried Pickle Chips

We tried some fried pickle chips with ranch dressing as an appetizer.  Now I found another food item I look forward to devouring next time we visit.

But my favorite?  Still, always, forever:

Black Bean and Quinoa Burger

I went with my usual, (poorly lit picture, sorry) the Marathon Burger.  Which isn’t a “hamburger” at all, it is (as they put it) quinoa and black bean burger, lettuce, tomato, red onion, and cilantro lime creme fraiche.  I’m not even sure what “creme fraiche” is, except yummy in my tummy.  Now, I’m no vegetarian, but the flavor that comes from this black bean and quinoa burger, grilled up to perfection with the cilantro lime sauce, it is one of the best things I have ever eaten, and I will order it again and again.

The atmosphere is another reason why I love this place so much.  Lots of light and just very charming all around.

Love the big windows

After lunch, we strolled on down the street to Frothy Monkey for some delicious coffee/latte dessert, and then walked a bit more around the area, before heading home.  All in all, it was one of the best Sundays–and weekends–I’ve had in a while.  I’m a little bit sad that the weekend is over–and that my Marathon Burger and sweet potato fries are long gone–but, I’m looking forward to a good week.

I’ll be honest: I’ve been putting off this post for a few weeks or maybe even months now.  I don’t know what to say, because I have so much to say.  There’s an urgency, a passion, and a burden on my heart for this topic lately, and I want to be able to effectively communicate–with all the right words and information–in a way that will move you.  In a way that will inspire you to action.  In a way that will prompt you to join me in this important cause. 

Water.  Fresh, clean water.  You use it and I use it. We drink it, bathe in it, and waste it on a daily basis.  (The typical U.S. American family of four uses 300 to 400 gallons of water every day.)  Water refreshes us after a nice long run, it is necessary to brew our morning coffee, and it goes into the preparation of our food.  We don’t even think about it.  The week that I moved to Nashville was the week after the flood, and the city was still under water restrictions.  I learned a lot that week about how often I use water, and what a bummer it was to do without.  But even then, I still had a case of bottled water in my kitchen.  My laundry and bathing habits were curtailed, but I wasn’t thirsty.  I wasn’t suffering. 

Between 900 million and one BILLION–with a B–people on this planet do not have access to clean water.  Six thousand people will die today, half of them babies and young children, because they do not have access to the most basic necessity for life.  Six thousand people.  That’s the equivalent of 9/11 times two, happening every single day around the world.  Two million people a year.  On top of that, it is estimated that more than 30 million annual water related disease outbreaks could be eliminated, simply by implementing clean water and sanitation.  Hmm.  Go figure.  Apparently if you are not drinking out of a muddy hole that cows and other people use as their toilet, you are less likely to get sick. 

Can I share something with you?  In the past I’ve been a bit of a water snob.  I will go on record right here and tell you that I have a favorite water, and it is Fiji, and it is expensive.  According to Amazon, I could buy a 12 pack of 1.5L bottles for the low, low price of $36.99.  At a little over $3.00 a bottle, that really is a deal, compared to what I’ve paid for those large bottles at the gas station before. 

Let’s just pretend I am a regular Fiji drinker, and I want to buy two cases of water per month.  Twenty-four bottles of tasty, smooth Fiji water will run me about $75/month.  And it will leave me refreshed and feeling good about myself every time I open my fridge and see those beautiful, esthetically designed square bottles.  Mmmmm, this is the good life.  Or, I could drink the filtered, fresh water running directly into my kitchen for a month, and use that $75 to provide roughly 3.5 people access to clean drinking water for the foreseeable future. 

Since I’m on the topic: It’s not just me.  Americans, we love bottled water.  In fact, we drink more bottled water than milk, coffee or beer. (More than coffee OR beer.  I find this fact staggering.)  My grandma often tells me that when bottled water started appearing in the grocery store, right around the time I was born, she was taken aback.  She thought it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever laid eyes on, akin to seeing jars of bottled air on the shelf, between the bread and cereal. 

I’m with my grandma–it was and is ridiculous, but we as Americans spend $21 Billion dollars per year (2011 statistic, up from $15 Billion in 2007) buying bottled water.  Whoa.  We throw over 40 billion plastic water bottles into landfills each year, a waste of over $1 Billion in plastic.  Why do we do this?  Why do we have this thirst for bottled water, when 24% of the bottled water we buy is RE-PACKAGED TAP WATER, bottled by Coca-Cola and PepsiCo.  We are paying them our hard earned dollars to bottle up and re-package essentially the same water we could get by turning on the faucet in our very own house.  Our love and dependence on bottled water highlights much of what is wrong in our society and in our culture today: we are vain, we are lazy, we want instant gratification, and we are entitled brats who think our thirst is more important than your thirst. 

Seem a bit harsh? Well, consider this: The bottled water industry essentially started in France in the 1970s, with Perrier, where it grew to a status symbol.  “The Cool Kids Drink Bottled Water!”  And in America, since we do everything bigger and better than the rest–well, we wanted to become the Coolest Kids EVER.  Congratulations, we’ve succeeded.  Oh, and my precious Fiji water? 

Half of the wholesale cost of Fiji Water is transportation — which is to say, it costs as much to ship Fiji Water across the Pacific Ocean and truck it to warehouses in the United States than it does to extract the water and bottle it.  

 

The Fiji Water plant is a state-of-the-art facility that runs 24 hours a day. That means it requires an uninterrupted supply of electricity, something the local utility structure cannot support. So the factory supplies its own electricity, with three big generators running on diesel fuel. The water may come from “one of the last pristine ecosystems on Earth,” as some of the labels say, but out back of the bottling plant is a less pristine ecosystem veiled with a diesel haze.  Each water bottler has its own version of this oxymoron: that something as pure and clean as water leaves a contrail. – source: Bottled Water – A River of Money (Amazing article! Go read it next.)

Gross.  Even if you are some sort of grinch who couldn’t care less about people on the other side of the world who are dying of disease and thirst, if you even care a little bit about our planet or strive to be green at all, that fact alone should leave a bitter taste in your mouth.  It sure did mine. 

I am currently campaigning for Charity:Water, an amazing organization I’ve mentioned and written about before.  They work hard to bring clean drinking water to people all over the world, and ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT of every donation goes directly to water projects.  They raise separate money to run the business side of their charity, and they even raise money to replenish the fees lost in credit card transactions.  Talk about a commitment to the cause. 

I’ve set a $5,000 goal for March 8th, two days before my 31st birthday.  There is nothing more I want to see realized this year, than to see this campaign succeed, with your help, and provide an entire village–250 people–with clean drinking water, a promise that Charity:Water will back up in the next 18 months, complete with GPS coordinates to the well.  

It’s a new year.  A new year filled with promise and with hope.  We all want to do something great this year, and this is our chance.  Will you consider partnering with me?  I’ve named my campaign, “Spare the Change: Be the Change,” because that is honestly all it takes.  Spare change.  Three dollars, five dollars, every tiny bit helps.  Every tiny bit is not so tiny when it is pooled together to do something GREAT.  If you can’t join me in the months leading up to March, I will not be at all offended, but please think about how you could make an adjustment this year in your own household.  Maybe together everyone could cut out their favorite purchased beverage for a month, and then donate that amount.  Whatever is practical and meaningful for YOU. 

I hope I have opened your eyes to something you wouldn’t have otherwise thought about today.  I hope it gets you thinking, and that your thinking leads to action.  I hope you know that you CAN be the change you wish to see in the world.  I know that together, we can make a difference, and without a whole lot of sacrifice on our part.  It’s a big problem with a simple solution: We just need to want this more, for other people we will never meet, than we want what we want for ourselves.  Yes, there are a lot of “wants,” in that sentence.  We have that luxury.  It is our wants vs. others needs.  It’s jacked up and it needs to change.  

The End.

Hello and Good Morning, 2012!!

Okay, yes, 2012 is technically 4 days old and I am just now acknowledging it.  Yikes.  Good thing it’s a new calendar year and not a living being, dependent on me for sustenance and survival. 

So many things going on right now, so many things to write about!  Perhaps I should start with a postmortem on 2011.

2011:  Oh, 2-0-1-1… you were a hard year.  Nothing close to the way 2009 was a hard year, absolutely not, nothing like that.  And, to be fair, following the mostly amazing year that 2010 was for me, there was quite a lot to live up to.  This was still a good year, a great year, even… but a hard year.  The first few months found me absolutely struggling: broke and in debt with no work prospects, and unsure of where I would lay my head.  February brought a new job and the signing of the lease of the Super Cute and Charming Cottage.  March brought my 30th birthday, long lunch walks at the Duck Pond with this guy from work, who became my actual real-live boyfriend right around St. Patrick’s Day.  April began my schedule change at work, which meant I was stuck at work every single Saturday until at least 7:30, sometimes as late as 9 p.m.  Thus began the period I like to call: The Death of my Social Life.

I spent a lot of the summer training for a new position at work, one that I was very excited about, one that was supposed to start in September,  October 10th, October 17th… and then on October 3rd, our little company was sold to the biggest, baddest shark in our industry, and instead October 17th became my first day at my new new OLD job, self-employed, subcontracting/working from home.  The same one that left me so broke at the beginning of the year.  However, I am pleased to say that November and December were my busiest months of work EVER, and I made a good deal of money.  Enough that I am able to begin 2012 completely out of the debt I was in, with a small amount of savings.  Gotta make hay while the sun is shining, as they say, and I’ve been a haymaking fool.  I took every bit of work I was offered.  I had a huge project the past couple of days that left me working through the night with no sleep, so I’m good for the rest of the week, but yet, still panicking a bit inside because I have no work lined up at the moment.  That’s the fine line I walk.  It’s been busy.  There should and most likely will be work, in the weeks ahead.  But it’s the unknown that scares me. 

I guess that’s my big lesson from 2011: so much of life is unknown.  I made some grand, sweeping declarations about 2011, as we are wont to do, at the beginning of a fresh new year, but honestly?  NOTHING went how I imagined, dreamed, or even planned for.  Not necessarily in a BAD way, just in surprising, unexpected ways that caused everything else to shift and change. 

October brought with it not only the employment upheaval and uncertainty, but also the expiration and/or re-signing of the lease on the Cute and Charming Cottage, that we once called Narnia.  Except Narnia it was not.   As it turns out, kindhearted and grandparent-like landlords, while sweet and good, can also be absentminded and neglectful.  There were a whole list of problems–a week without water, a leaking roof, a water leak inside the wall which resulted in a sizzling power outlet, a back door that doesn’t shut or lock properly/water gushing in the back porch door every time it rains–and not much, if any, resolution to those problems. 

In theory, driving a half-mile of stone lane back to the cottage seemed quaint and quiet and charming, but in reality: dodging the giant potholes became nearly impossible, my car got constantly scratched up from the brush and branches, and at times it could be a little scary back there when an unknown vehicle or unknown person or anything else goes BOOM in the night. 

I ultimately decided that I would not renew my half of the lease, provided that my friend and roommate could find someone else to take over.  It’s fair to say that relations were a bit strained anyhow, and I take 100 percent of the blame for that.  I originally moved in there as a happy, turning-30-year-old, single, and ready for fun roommate adventures.  Instead, Adam invited me to the zoo (literally and figuratively) and everything turned on its head.  I spent more and more time with him, less time at the cottage, to the point where I was basically just paying for a place to sleep a few hours a night. 

November found me shacking up with my boyfriend at his apartment.  With my job situation being what it is (freelance, unpredictable) and his job situation at our old company in a precarious state (read: he really doesn’t know if he will have a job past February/March), and the fact that we were spending all of our free time together anyway, it kind of seemed like a no-brainer.  I know there are people in my life who think this “no-brainer” decision actually means that I have taken leave from my senses in making it, but honestly, I struggled (struggled!) with deciding if moving in with Adam was really the Best Choice, and ultimately, we both decided it was. 

I went over so many things… if I was my friend, would I recommend this choice; if I was my daughter, would I approve, and so on and so forth.  It comes down to this: people can argue as to whether this was the best choice, but I am confident that it really was, for us.  In these uncertain times, we are fairly confident that between the two of us, we should be able to keep the roof over our heads, instead of struggling to make rent on two places.  

In another life, I am confident that we would have been engaged or even married by now.  I know this because marriage and life-long commitment has been Adam’s intention from the very beginning.  He was and is extremely clear about that.  I, however, am the one holding us back. (Not forever, just for now.) There are a myriad of reasons for that, which I will address later (On the blog. In real life, I am addressing them now).

In conclusion: 2011 has left me happy overall, but very, very tired.  I’ve been working my tail off, and I hope to have a lot of work in this first quarter of 2012.  2011 was filled with unexpected surprises (good) and bumps in the road (bad, but surmountable). 

2012 is so unknown for me (and let’s face it: for everyone) that I’m trying not to plan too much, yet also I don’t want to fail to plan.  (“If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.”)  There is a very good chance that by year’s end I could be a.) Living 1500 miles away from here.  b.) Married  c.) None of the above, bewildered, and wondering where my year went. 

I miss my friends (here and everywhere.)  I miss my family.  I hope to achieve a better work:life balance.  And most of all, I want to learn to take each day as it comes.  Tomorrow will care for itself.  Today has enough trouble of its own (Matthew 6).

So, it’s Thanksgiving week.
Today, I am going to talk about my family. We’re a rugged, ragged crew, but… I love us. We’ve had heartaches and blessings, pain and joy, and while we don’t look or function how I would have imagined, this family of mine is a patchwork quilt, sewn and held together by common bonds of love and grace. It’s interesting how we often look for strangers to love, to shower grace upon, when sometimes the greatest needs are right within our own family. Forgiveness is tough. And extending new mercies, in the same way that God does with us, is a chore that I daresay is IMPOSSIBLE without the help of the Holy Spirit. But the end result is nothing short of beautiful, and “just as it should be,” in the way that it takes a pile of brokenness and turns it into redemption.
It took the funeral of my paternal grandfather, earlier this month, to get my dad, sister, brother, and myself all in the same room for the first time in a year. And not because we have any ill will toward each other, but simply because of time and distance and money and all of those things that become barriers as the days and years tick away. A few months ago, as my roommate was embarking an another trip home to Pennsylvania, I was a little bit shocked at the frequency of her trips. She was fortunate in that her parents were flying her home this time, but she regularly makes the drive 4 or more times a year. Meanwhile, I had no idea when I would see my family next, but it definitely wasn’t going to be in this calendar year, and thanks to some recent job uncertainty, probably not in the next calendar year, either. I was thinking 2013 was going to be my next chance to really “get home,” and in this case, “home” = Utah, because it’s where most of my immediate family lives.
I had become a little (or a lot) hardened to this fact. And maybe even a little bit boastful, in a weird way. My roommate was so thankful to get home to her family again, and I was proud in the fact that I didn’t know when I would see my family again, and that was just fine with me, thankyouverymuch. Because that is how I’ve coped with it all of these years. That is how I have made it work. They are there, and I am here (wherever here is, at any given time) and that is just The Way It Is. We can all be tough and muddle through and see each other every 12 to 18 months and just be okay with that. It’s worked quite well for me up until this point.
Until…
Until an awkward side hug with my dad during Taps. Until all of our tears fell and mixed together, watering the ground beneath our feet, the place where the shell of my grandfather now resides. It’s always weird to watch a dad cry. Uncomfortable and wrong and vulnerable and… a whole bunch of words that I don’t have command of, not then and not now. And I thought a lot about my grandpa and my dad, about the two of them, and their relationship, and what it was, and what it wasn’t. I think the saddest goodbyes are the ones where you don’t mourn so much what was, but what was not, and what never will be.
In the days and weeks since, I have done a lot of examining of my own heart and my own life, and all of these relationships with these people that I love. It truly is easy to keep all of them at arm’s (and 1,630 miles) length when I never see them. Ah, but it’s the gathering together again that makes it tough. When we are all in the same room, laughing and crying and breathing the same air. These people that I shared a roof with for 14-18 years of my life. Family. The people who just… get you, and not because they have grown to know you, but because they grew with you. Because they are you. Because they have the same smile, and the same twisted sense of humor. It is in that togetherness that I realize once again, in a heartwarming and heartbreaking way, just how much I miss them.
If nothing else, it is good to be reminded. It’s good to drink in that sweetness that–even amongst years of bitterness–can only be shared with those few people. It’s good to let love wash over all the other junk of this life, and to look at these people with a renewed and refreshed sense of wonder. A new and overwhelming sense of gratitude.
As my grandfather’s life was recounted, most of the tales involved ways in which he almost died, many times over. His crazy antics in a tiny prop plane. His time spent in an oil tanker during WWII. All of his many flirtations with danger. His love of all of the bad food and drink life has to offer. And yet, he spent 91 years on this earth. So many close calls, so many instances that could have ended his life early, but instead, he married, had two sons and five grandchildren, and an undetermined number of future great-grandchildren and beyond.
Sometimes we forget the power of one life . Without him, there would be no us. And without us, there would be no… future wisecracking, mugwump, hippity-hop, smartypants, know-it-all sonofaguns.
I love us. I really do.