On a Wedding, Fear, and Second Chances

As I type this, I am staring at a stunning diamond ring, a circle solitaire Tiffany's rock that sparkles like nothing I've seen. And it is still somewhat surreal...

Two weeks ago I got engaged to the man of my dreams. I say that not to sound like the protagonist of a lame romance novel, but because it is actually true for me. He asked me to be his wife during the best dinner of my life, which capped off the best day of my life, and the best part of it all is that I was completely surprised. As you can see for yourself here.

I can honestly say I've never been happier. I realize these moments are, and will forever be, some of the highest highs in my journey. I've been relishing them and thanking God for all of this goodness I get to experience, and for the man I get to marry. My life wasn't always so sweet and satisfying, which I realize makes my joy that much deeper.

But with this joy has come some unexpected pain. I've spent the past 10 days solo (Vic is away for work), and I've had a lot of space to reflect and write. It's been an exciting, yet surprisingly difficult, time as I think ahead to the wedding and all that it symbolizes.

You see, I've done this before. This is not my first wedding, this is not my first marriage. And I have felt and am working through a spectrum of unexpected emotions, from shame and guilt to grief and fear.

Shame because suddenly I see myself as the girl who was married, divorced, and engaged again by age 30. Does anyone else see me through that lens? Maybe. But that's irrelevant. This is my life; not theirs. It's my path and my story to make. My goal the past 2 years has been to rise from the ashes and live boldly and authentically, to listen to the truth I know to be real, and to aim to care less about others' perceptions. Do I miss the mark on these goals? Absolutely. But now I know how to speak truth to these lies when they rear their heads.

A niggling guilt, as if I'm betraying my first promise to forever, even though that has been put to bed—for me, this is the strangest of all of my recent reactions. I see people's Facebook brags about hitting the 5- or 7- or 13-year mark with their spouses, and I've felt this pang of guilt, as if I am less of a human because I couldn't cut it. 

Grief—because I'm reliving the memories of 22-year-old me planning a wedding and expecting it to be the first day of the rest of her life. I'm once again mourning the loss of innocence because I'm being confronted with it. And that's OK. Those are real memories attached to real emotions. I'm learning to make myself feel what I feel, sit in these moments, and then move on—even when all I want to do is distract my mind and dull my emotions.

And fear. I was convinced 8 years ago that I would be married forever. I had no doubts, no second thoughts. So much changed through the years: How do I know the same won't happen  again? How can I guarantee a lifetime of healthful, growing, committed, loyal, loving marriage? Well, I can't. But I can choose to fully embrace the goodness and love in my life today. I can choose faith above fear. Faith in my man, and who I know him to be. Faith in our relationship and what I know to be real. And faith in myself—the power I've reclaimed, and the new-found understanding that happiness is mine to take.

Because even as planning a wedding and preparing for marriage brings my past to the forefront, everything about my current relationship is different and new: I’ve experienced daily life with him, loved him fully and been loved back. I’m living the reality of my dreams—dreams I didn’t envision until I was an adult and knew who I truly was and what I really needed in my partner in life, my teammate. This time it’s not about the wedding—the event I fantasized of for years as a kid. It’s about the marriage. It’s about the days I get to spend with him, the lifetime I will live with him.
 
This time I just feel lucky. I’m so proud to be his girl; I can’t wait to be his wife. And I am grateful for this second chance, relieved that I chose faith over fear every step of the way. So I will continue to do so. 'Til death do us part. Amen.

The Other Woman

Last weekend I saw The Other Woman. It was quite amusing and often hilarious (in my opinion). Of course much of the humor was over the top, but I expected this. What I did not expect, however, was the beautiful depiction of the power of female friendship in the midst of a life-changing crisis. I was holding back tears during one scene when the wife came to terms with her husband’s betrayal, and her best friend sat by her side, holding her hand as she accepted the unacceptable. Sometimes the silent presence of a friend is the sweetest salve to unexplainable pain.

All week I’ve been thinking about my “other women.” One in particular contributed to the deepest pain I’ve experienced in my 30 years. Whether intentional or not, she was part of a series of actions that changed the course of my life forever. I wonder if she knows that. I wonder if she cares. I wonder if she gave one thought to me, or if she was blinded to my existence altogether. I used to think about her quite often, first with anger, then with pity. Today my thoughts could best be described as “dumbfounded.” And that goes for all the mistresses out there.

I know every relationship is different, every situation unique. I do my best not to cast judgment on anyone for the choices she makes because I prefer others show me the same respect. And I’m not singling out women because I have more grace for men; rather, I have higher standards for the female gender.

Ladies, we’re on the same team. We’re in this thing together. Relationships are hard work, love is a battlefield, men can simultaneously be annoyingly simple and absurdly confusing. The friendships we strike and the support we provide one another is powerful. Please, let’s put each other first. Let’s think beyond ourselves. Those intoxicating emotions telling you a taken man is fair game? They are not sustainable. That scenario you’ve rationalized as supposedly “different” in an attempt to free yourself from guilt? It’s not. You are playing with fire; back the fuck off. This road leads to pain—and rarely does he get a share of that grief. It’s usually the shes who are left betrayed and broken. Both shes.

Thankfully there’s another side to the “other women” coin. It’s the women in my life who have stood by me through unspeakable grief. Women who cried with me, listened to endless rants and emotional vomiting, and helped me to laugh in the midst of it all. These ladies depicted loyalty in moments when trust was an empty, meaningless concept. These friendships are one of the greatest reasons I am proud to be a woman.

Ladies, let’s stay on this side, together. Let’s look out for each other by honoring the boundaries in play. Let’s uphold loyalty above lust and show each other the respect we deserve. Let’s love fairly and love fully—we are worth it.

Water Consumption and Happiness

As I was paying my (higher than usual) water bill last month, I took a quick look at my H2O consumption during the past year. And the above graph posted on my online account made me laugh out loud.

If this were a scientific study, my hypothesis would be: My water consumption directly correlates with my level of happiness.

The first few months of 2013 were dire, friends. (What the hell was I doing in January? Not showering or washing my clothes?) There was a gradual growth of agua intake mid-year as I gained a new beau, followed by an impressive spike in December and January as I hosted a few parties and many out-of-town guests.

Moral of the story: I like where these bars are going. And I want to keep that trajectory alive. (So come on over and take a shower!) ;)

One Good Man

"This is precious love, precious love
No I can't let it go
It's this precious love
And it's teaching me everything I need to know
This is precious love, it's precious love
No I can't get enough
Oh I'm down on my knees
Begging you please
Gimme some more of that stuff."

(The following is not for the "love Grinches" out there—you've been forewarned.)

I had a carefully crafted vision of what my new life as a single woman would look like. I figured I would live in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment that I could barely afford; join Match.com and go out on a bunch of terrible first dates with a variety of questionable guys (at least I'd get some free dinners and great stories!); and consume vast amounts of wine by myself while watching soul-killing trash TV such as Real Housewives of Something Or Other and The Bachelor.

But something (someone) happened, and I decided to course correct—to give this unexpected turn of events a real shot and allow myself to live in and savor the moment.

I met a boy, and he turned my whole world upside down.

Even as I write this blog post, I feel like I am outside of myself, watching someone else embrace days full of sweet affection, light-hearted romance, and Xes and Os (yes, sometimes even written in text messages). The former me would have made fun of the PDA, the shared love ballads, the sitting on the same side of the restaurant booth (it was a big table). She was a disenchanted cynic, so I don't blame her much. But I'm glad she made room for the new me—who feels more like the "real" Ann, the girl I yearned to be.

Now the  walls that I built in my heart—gradually constructed throughout the years for protection and survival—have been knocked down, and new light and life is coursing through my veins.

Now love songs actually make sense to me, as if I have finally been let in on a big secret that I never understood. James Morrison, Michael Buble', Ray LaMontagne? I can't get enough.

Now each month, holiday, and season feels fresh and raw, like I am discovering it for the first time.

Now the sky is bluer, the grass greener, and the air crisper. Just kidding! (Kind of.)

Perhaps what I'm experiencing is quite normal for much of humanity. It must be, since many poems and stories are written about it, songs sung to express it, and movies made to depict it. But it's new to me, and I'm relishing every moment.

And the simplest, daily moments are the ones that make me feel most full and rich and lucky: receiving thoughtful text messages from him throughout the day, running for miles beside him (or slightly behind him at times), meeting him for a cold beer after work, spending hours on a lazy Saturday watching a Newsroom marathon with him, holding his hand while walking through Target, seeing his handsome face and killer smile after a long day (and getting those butterflies each time).

I feel like God has blessed me with these experiences, and is showcasing the beauty and goodness of love and healthy relationship through them—and at a time when I am ready and able to appreciate and suck the life out of them.

At the same time, I'm not so far gone that I fail to see the whole picture: that the honeymoon period in any relationship—romantic or otherwise—brings exciting emotions that are not fully sustainable. But even looking beyond fleeting feelings, I realize what I have standing in front of me.

He is kind, generous, thoughtful, patient, sincere, honest, helpful, and gracious. He is ambitious, hard-working, disciplined, innovative, clever, trustworthy, and creative. He is handsome, smart, funny, witty, silly, supportive, affectionate, loyal, and loving.

He is one good man. And I am so lucky, so happy, to be his girl.

Thirty and Thriving

When I was a kid, age 30 sounded old. I figured I'd be married with at least 2 kids by the time I hit my third decade.

Well, I'm not married, and I have no kids. But I'm not old. In fact, I feel young, healthy, and happier than I've been in years. Turning 29 was more difficult than this historically depressing birthday—probably because a year ago discontentment and inner turmoil were constants in my life.

So much has changed in just 12 months. I feel like a different woman—more grounded, strong, and courageous; less anxious, indecisive, and uncertain. I have found my voice, I know who I am, and I am learning how to be present in every moment—those full of pain, and those full of pleasure.

If this is what "growing up" is all about (at least for me), I'm ecstatic to say good-bye to my 20s. There were many good moments, and those years paved the way for who I am today, but truthfully, it can only get better from here.

Last weekend my closest family members and friends from my past and present—spanning each decade of my life—joined me to celebrate this rite of passage. Their ongoing loyalty, support, encouragement, "interventions," and love have kept me sane and centered. I feel completely undeserving, yet incredibly grateful for the people who have been and are in my corner. As I have been reflecting on where I am at age 30, I realize that not everyone is as lucky as I to have such rich relationships, and I thank God for the goodness I have known through the depth of my community.

 

I have also realized that life is about the moments. And how one chooses to react to circumstances both within and outside of her control in each of these moments is what makes her who she is. We ALL have choices, big and small.

 

You can choose to get up at 6 a.m. and run in sub-30-degree weather to train for an upcoming race, rather than stay under your toasty comforter and snooze for an hour. (Honestly, I'm not always sure which is the better choice.) :)

You can choose to go after the challenging job opening at your workplace rather than remain bored and stagnant in your current position.

You can choose to let go of a destructive, one-sided relationship that you clung to for far too long because of foolish loyalty and fear.

While in the past year I have made a couple of momentous and life-changing choices, I know that I have only just begun. I want my 30s to be a decade of continued growth, during which I gain greater confidence in me, and live with more intentional generosity, thoughtfulness, and love for others.  

Because regardless of your age, you can learn new things, achieve new heights, and evolve into  a different (better) version of yourself. For me—my God, my "people," and my own realized power have gotten me here. And there's so much more to come.

I can't wait.

Divorce

I recently participated in a webinar for work on the topic of positivity. Research shows that an individual's happiness is tied to three factors: 50% to one's family of origin/genetics/upbringing, 10% to one's collective life experiences, and 40% to one's personal choices.

My family is pretty great, and I had a very happy childhood.

For the most part, my life experiences have been positive, enriching, and trauma-free.

But I was pretty damn unhappy for far too long. And I finally...very gradually...realized that I have choices.

If you've followed this blog for any length of time, I'm sure you could read between the lines. In addition to my personal writing, this space existed for me to process my thoughts, emotions, and experiences when "the separation" began. I kept so much of my daily reality closed off, both to protect my privacy and as a means of survival, so publishing bits and pieces of it all publicly provided a sense of relief. While the posts have ebbed and flowed (and halted during the past few months) as I've been adjusting to some pretty major life changes, I finally feel ready to "say it like it is." To stake claim to my reality, and emerge from the shadows of ambiguity.

I got a divorce.

Certainly this is not the future I envisioned for myself when I said my vows at the ripe old age of 22. That girl would have told 29-year-old me she was crazy if she were warned of such an outcome. But I have no regrets. All of my life experiences and decisions have led me to where I am now, and it's a beautiful place. A difficult place some days, but a good one. For years I grieved, prayed, hoped, agonized, and finally...let go.

Today when I think about my marriage - the history, memories, good moments, and ugly times - I feel sad. It has been a gradual process to grieve the death of a relationship. And I'm not sure if that sense of "wistfulness" will ever disappear. The degree of sadness will, with time, but perhaps not entirely.

Today I am at peace. I am happy. The future is bright. And so is my present reality—and that's what really matters.

It's My Time

"After The Storm," Mumford & Sons

And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.

And I won't die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and man so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

That time has come.

Mile 26

Oh, hi.

Recently I compared this stage of my life's journey to a marathon and said I was at the 18th mile. Well, I think I just hit mile 26. 

It only took me seven months.

I've got 0.2 to go, folks. 

And they may take another seven months.

In my experience, the last .2 miles seem like the longest leg of a race. You can see the finish line, are surrounded by hundreds of screaming bystanders, and feel relief flood your body as you begin to taste the victory of completion.

But your legs ache. Your throat is parched. Your stomach is churning. Your sweat-soaked clothes are rubbing and reeking in the worst ways. Oh, and you have salt face. 

You just ran 26 miles. Why does the final .2 feel interminable?

Because you're so close...you're almost there. Those words become your repetitive mantra. You hold your head up high, remind yourself of the strength and stamina that got you safely to where you are, and put one foot in front of the other.

And before you know it, you're crossing the finish line. In all of your hard-fought, long-suffering, well-earned, beautiful glory.

Therapy

Hi, my name is Ann, and I am a therapy junkie.

:)

Don't worry - I haven't reached a What About Bob? level of dependence, and don't plan to. But I have logged quite a few hours on the shrink couch within the past year. (Thank God for good health insurance.)

I know everyone has her own opinion of counseling. On one extreme, some people are fanatics who consider weekly sessions religious experiences and their therapist their spiritual guide. On the other are those who write off counseling as a self-help crutch for the weak, or necessary only for those with "real problems." (Or perhaps they're just scared to confront their personal demons.) Today I lean more toward the former than the latter, which wasn't always the case.

I grew up attending church regularly, at least twice a week when accounting for small group Bible studies or youth group. Going to a Christian college only doubled my church/chapel/small group quota each week. And then marrying a youth pastor perhaps tripled it. (I think I ODed on church.)

Although today I am not a church-goer, I still believe in the power of community that healthy churches can create. For me, one of my favorite aspects of church was the connections I made with other people when we shared honestly about our lives and took the risk to be vulnerable about what was really going on in our heads and hearts. Unfortunately, I think such authenticity isn't easy to find in many church communities. Too often fear of raw doubt and real questions stands in the way, and pat, cure-all answers from Scripture take the place of active listening and empathy. 

And thankfully, in the absence of church community, I have maintained and developed friendships that are my lifeblood and provide some of the truest community I have known.

But in my experience, church - and even my dearest friends - can't quite touch me the way an hour of rigorous personal examination guided by an objective, insightful third party does. It can't move me the way questioning long-held beliefs about myself and the world around me, unveiling misconstrued assumptions, and slowly transforming old behaviors and patterns of thinking can...and has. Truthfully, individual counseling has helped me to become a more mature, healthy, and whole version of myself. 

It's OK, you can be skeptical. I was, too. When my counselor invited me to join a women's support group, I nearly laughed. "Me? In a support group? Aren't those for addicts and abuse victims?" I thought. As If I am better than they. (I'm not.) Despite my pride, curiosity got the better of me, and I went for it. And I went back again. And I'm going to keep going.

Because it's nice to know that I'm not alone. It's inspiring to talk to three other women with a variety of life experiences and personal struggles, again led by the questions and outside perspective of a caring and trained individual. It's encouraging to know that although we're each very different, and our baggage comes in different shapes and sizes, we're joined simply by our humanity: the desire to love and to be loved, to know lasting joy, and to suck the life out of life...and not allow ourselves to get in the way of realizing the achieved moments of those pursuits.

We all have our issues, rocks in a bucket that we carry around with us throughout our days. We can blame these on our tramautic childhood, failed relationship(s), or unfulfilled career dreams. Most likely circumstances beyond our control have added some weight to that collective baggage. But I've learned that it's what I decide to do with my "stuff" and how I choose to live through it and beyond it that will make me or break me. 

Counseling has been a "make me" experience. So for now, I'm sticking with it.

How about you - thoughts on counseling? Good experiences? Bad?

(By the way, if you need a good therapist, let me know.)

On Turning 29

I turned 29 three months ago. So this post is a little delayed. It's been sitting in my draft box for weeks, and I'm finally taking the time to get my thoughts on "paper." Get excited. ;)

Your 20s are a decade when you're "finding yourself" - finishing school and entering the real world, figuring out who you are and what you want to do with your life, and discovering what it means to be an adult. And in the midst of all of that uncertainty and change, you still feel young and invincible, as if you've got all the time in the world. You're enjoying the freedom of living life for yourself, carving out a little piece of the world that you call your own. You're beginning to make decent money and buy nice things and take fun trips with friends. You feel healthy, energetic, and carefree.

And then you turn 29.

At least that's what happened to me. I know 30 is traditionally a tough birthday for most. But I had my "I never thought I would be this old" epiphany on December 7, 2012, when I realized this is the last year in my coveted 20s, the last year it is socially acceptable for me not to have my shit together.

Suddenly I feel old. Because the older I get, the more my life seems to unravel a bit at the seams. At times I feel like I'm living life in reverse when compared to my peers, and then I get a bit panicked. But I have to remind myself that this is my life. I have to own every decision and step I've made along the way because those choices and moments have made me who I am today. It's all about the journey. And I'm really starting to get that.

So this journey continues, and days and weeks and months go by, and all of the sudden I'm 29. If I told 15-year-old Ann where I'd be at 29, she may have laughed in disbelief. Twenty-two-year-old me would probably say, "Get your shit together." Ha. She was so young and naive.

And that's when I not only feel older (as in I have more wrinkles and my skin is losing its luster and I get a hangover after three beers older), but I feel wiser. When I compare who I am today to who I was five years ago, I see a marked maturity, a shifting perspective, and a crossing of the threshold into adulthood. With this rite of passage comes some dashed dreams, a loss of innocence and idealism, and the mourning of the end of an era. But there also comes a fresh and seasoned view of the world and people and a deeper understanding of the beauty of both grief and joy, pain and hope.

Because I'm beginning to realize that as difficult as it is to say good-bye to my 20s (clearly I need 12 months to do this), I think I'm gonna love my 30s. I already feel more comfortable than I ever have in my own skin, I know who I am and what I want out of life, and I don't care (as much) what other people think of me. I also better understand my strengths, and equally my limitations. And I'm OK with both. I can "own" those characteristics and be honest with myself - and others - about them.

So as traumatic as it was to turn the big 2-9, I'm beginning to dig this getting older thing. I may have been in bed before 10 p.m. Saturday night, and St. Party's Day weekend no less (to my credit, I did run a half marathon that morning), but I wanted to feel good the next day, and not hungover and useless...

...Wow, I'm old...

...But also so much wiser. :)

New PR!

I'm ending this blogging hiatus and bringing a little something "lighter" to the table than some of my posts of late. I've written about running several times before on this little online space. I chronicled my first race four years ago, and more recently shared how much I appreciate my running community. Yesterday I set a new milestone in my running "career." I finished my third half marathon and PRed (by less than a minute, but I'll take it!). So 1:56:08 is the time to beat.

 

The DC Rock and Roll Half was less than stellar, in my opinion. It was fun to run through the city, but the race was disorganized and understaffed from start to finish. We waited in 15 minute lines for gear check and more than 30 for porta potties. This put us at the back of the pack, in the last corral, which was 10 corrals behind where I was supposed to start. I had trained for this race and was hoping to PR, so dodging and weaving the entire 13.1 miles was not ideal. Also less than ideal were the water stations, where often runners were forced to fill their own dixie cups or wait in small lines to get those coveted few sips. But every race has its unforeseen circumstances, so no excuses! :) I felt like I gave it my all, and my legs are aching today, which is confirmation of that.

 

 

And just as much as I love to run, I love my "running friends." In fact, I don't think I would keep racing without them. I'm a loner when it comes to running, but racing is a whole other ballgame. It's opened me up to a community of people who motivate and inspire me to set goals and keep training. And beyond that, these people have added such joy and cherished memories to my life.

And these are the moments that make up the good life: a memorable race, dear friends, and a cold beer (even though Mich Ultra is not real beer).

Cheers!

When the Fight Is Gone

"Love; it will not betray you
 Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
 Be more like the man you were made to be.
 There is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be."

—"Sigh No More," Mumford and Sons

Does such love exist? I've felt some pretty awful pain recently and have seen some of my dearest friends hurt deeply as well. I just feel so utterly disappointed in the human race. And  I wonder if there is anyone who is truly righteous, upstanding, and good...or who at least makes intentional choices toward that end. Even Crosby on Parenthood (Season 2) couldn't keep himself from the ultimate act of betrayal. (I know the show isn't real life and the characters aren't real people...)

Yet when I hear this song, my heart soars because I believe in love. I always have, and I hope I always do. And I desire to know love that liberates me to be who I was made to be. To love how I was made to love. I understand that real love isn't an emotion; it's a commitment, a choice. I get that it takes work, and sometimes that work is hard.

But should it be this hard? I feel like I've fought a good fight. I think I've loved well. For so long I didn't really allow myself to consider surrendering. I thought I would stick with it no matter the cost. Yet something in my heart severed along the way. And now I'm conflicted, and I'm scared. And I'm so fucking tired.

I've always been a loyal person, maybe to a fault; making decisions that put my needs and wants first took a backseat for a long time. During the past six months I've come to know myself again—"adult Ann," and what she wants out of life...and love. So where do I go from here? I (think) I know what will make me happy. And I'm quite weary of fighting for that happiness in places where I may never find it.

I feel like I have so much love to give. And I just want to be free to give it.

Living in the Gray

Ten weeks ago I was living in the now. Today I'm living in the gray. Well "now" is "gray," so maybe it's all the same.

I grew up seeing the world in black and white. Maybe all kids do, but I think my robust church-going and Bible-reading youth especially instilled in me a comfortable association with rules and the "right and wrong" ways to live. My Type A, perfectionistic personality also contributed to my embracing a life lived inside my own carefully constructed box.

I realized this week that recently I've stepped out of that box, discarded some of my longstanding rules, and said good-bye to the certainty and safety of a black-and-white existence. This has nothing to do with my moral code and little to do with my faith. Instead, it's about how I think about life today and in the future.

Perhaps this is another part of growing up. As a youth, you have this vision of what your life is going to look like, where you'll be in 10 years, what job you'll hold, when you'll get married, at what age you'll have kids, and so forth. But then inevitably you realize those dreams and all of that idealism and your picture-perfect perspective is not real life. And that safe box of predictability and contentment cracks...or shatters.

I think this happens to all of us as we gain life experience and human wisdom. But for me, this box-shattering and black-and-white blending is about accepting that I do not know what the future holds, and coming to terms with the discomfort that creates within me. Some days I'm content with not knowing, not having a plan. Some days I'm so uncomfortable with the absence of certainty that I either obsess or disengage—neither of which are constructive.

I continue to realize how far my people pleasing nature reaches. Not until I allow myself to be influenced by others' opinions or questions do I begin to think that I should feel a particular way, or that I should be charting a a specific course of action. Even if I feel a peace in the process, I am easily swayed by your voice.

And that enrages me about myself.

Because your voice will always be there. But this is my journey, not yours. Your box may be intact, but don't try to fit me within your lines, please. You may have a lot of unanswered questions, appropriate concerns, and well-meaning opinions, but please keep this in mind: I, and I alone, have to answer for my own happiness. I have to chart my own course. To you, it might be simple—it might be black and white.

But me? I'm living in the gray. And I'm OK.

Forgiveness, Part 2

I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.

Recently I wrote a post about it. I believe this was a genuine experience and that I knew real forgiveness in that moment—and beyond. But lately, I've begun to ask new questions and really search my heart.

One question I've considered: Can true forgiveness occur in the absence of change? Can one really forgive another unless that person who wronged her shows remorse and evidence of change? 10 weeks ago, I chose forgiveness without seeing change, knowing if change had or was going to occur, or even understanding how exactly I had been wronged. I simply knew that I was full of anger, hurt, hatred, and bitterness. I knew it was destructive to allow those feelings and emotions to fester. I knew they would choke me out, and I wanted freedom from it all.

So is that "selfish forgiveness?" Did I forgive because I wanted to be free from my own pain, because I hoped that in choosing to surrender my malice, I would move forward toward peace? Maybe I wasn't really loving another person well in that moment, but trying to love myself better? Or maybe both. Perhaps you can't remove one from the other...

Last weekend Joel and I talked about forgiveness. He shared his belief that change is required for real forgiveness to be extended. He thinks often true forgiveness is mistaken for a mere "letting go" of the pain one feels because time and distance eventually bring peace. While I understand his perspective, I (currently) don't agree. I think a person can forgive another without condition. I don't think it's easy by any means, nor do I think it happens often. But I do think it's possible, and I'd like to think that I chose such forgiveness last summer.

However, today I don't feel so free in my forgiveness. Right now something is holding me back from really, truly letting go. Maybe forgiveness, like love, is an ongoing choice—an action that you choose to walk out on a daily basis, rather than a momentary feeling, or an epiphany of sorts.

Is anyone out there a forgiveness guru? :) Or just have some experience or insight to contribute? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

The 18th Mile

I feel like I'm running a marathon. And I'm (slowly) passing the 18th mile marker.

I used to roll my eyes when people would talk about "trials and tribulations" (usually in religious circles), as if life were so difficult and unbearable. I would think, "Buck up! It's really not that bad. Get over it. Life is grand! Be positive...blah, blah blah." Clearly I had never faced a real trial of any kind.

I've always been generally aware of how good my life has been, of how easy a road I've traveled through my 28 years. I used to think that I was due for a circumstance or situation to knock me off of my pedestal where I was living high and happy above the masses, with no real cares or concerns or hardships. But I thought that scenario would be something of a physical nature—like cancer or a major car accident (my mind is so optimistic, no?).

Well recently my life took a turn, and I fell flat on my face at the bottom of the damn pedestal. I'm happy to say that my cardiovascular and respiratory systems are still intact, although my nervous system has taken quite a beating... 

However, as much as life is hard, life is also very good. Which is why I feel like I'm running a marathon.

The past 3 months have felt like a 26.2-mile trekk to a yet-unseen finish line. I've enjoyed some exteme highs—moments when the endorphins are coursing through my veins, my breathing is steady, I'm mentally in the zone, my body is buzzing with adrenaline, and I feel as if I could run forever. And then there have been some pretty awful lows—times when I'm not sure I can take another step, when every muscle in my body is cramping and my IT band is throbbing, when I feel nauseous and defeated and wonder why the hell I ever started running.

But that's when the endurance kicks in. That's when I muster up the little strength I have left, tap into the encouragement from those slogging beside me and the energy of those cheering from the sidelines, and ultimately, seek the source of divine strength to keep...on...running.

So. I think I'm at mile 18. I'm getting quite tired. And I'm realizing there's a good chunk of this race left to go, which makes me feel even more exhausted mentally. But I'm over halfway there...in fact, I'm almost three-quarters of the way to the finish line. I'm just not sure what's waiting for me on the other side...

I'll let you know once I get there.

The Art of the Walk

Running is my first love. Has been since I was a freshman in high school who ran the 1600-meter track event and finished in last place every single meet. (To this day being on an outdoor track evokes feelings of pure dread.) So while I quickly realized 14 years ago that speed isn't my thing (have you seen the length of my legs?) I discovered that this little body can keep moving for a while. And that's where I thrive—in the distance.

While running will always have my heart, lately I've discovered a newfound appreciation for the art of the walk. I used to view walking as an activity for the elderly, the injured, or the breast cancer aware. But these days I've enjoyed walking for walking's sake. I may not be working up a sweat or burning a maximum amount of calories or feeling that pure euphoria that running provides, but walking has a few perks that running—and most other forms of exercise—do not.

1. Real reflection. I have used many a run to pray and think and talk to myself (and even scream and cry), but I have yet to master steadfast and deep reflection while on a run. For me, running allows a spurt of ephiphanies, quick revelations, and bursts of cognitive and emotional release. On the other hand, walking provides the space to relax my mind. I can practice deep breathing. I can release pent-up energy and anxiety through movement while simultaneously exploring the thoughts and feelings I am experiencing in that moment. There are no breaks in my meditative flow because of a particularly steep hill, belabored breathing, or a cramp in my piriformis (seriously, what is with that?) After most walks, I find myself dashing to my journal to record the fruit of my reflections.

2. Sensory engagement. I like to think that I'm very in tune with my senses. I've been told that I have a keen sense of smell (not always a good thing). Eating is one of my favorite things to do (really). I relish in the beauty of nature and the sights and sounds it spins. And touch is my love language (hold me!). I find that walking engages each of my senses separately, yet simultaneously. I can focus on breathing in the crisp fall air and listening to the leaves crunch under my feet. I can feel the sun shining on my face and hear the children playing down the street. And I can taste the pumpkin bread waiting for me on my kitchen counter (OK, that was a stretch). But there truly is something spiritual that happens to me when I walk and allow my senses to soar.

3. Social time. Last weekend I went on two walks that were especially meaningful. The first was with my dad, and the second with my parents and brother. Conversation flourished. Laughs ensued. Questions were asked and thoughts provoked. To me, regular physical movement is essential for a positive mood, productivity, and overall well-being. I am also a social person and thrive when spending quality time with the people I love (and like). So put those two together, and I am at my best.

Maybe I'm just getting older and lame. Or maybe I'm getting older and wiser. (Or maybe both.) But I'm not a walking hater anymore. It has its place, and lately it's been very good to me.

Living in the Now

Three years ago I wrote this post.

Yesterday I took the same walk to the same marina, sat on the same dock, and looked at the same trees. In a few weeks their leaves will be a rainbow of reds, oranges, and yellows.

While I have fond memories of that young 25-year-old version of me, she seems a little unfamiliar now, and very distant. She's naive and innocent, trusting and full of anticipation.

One thing I've been learning lately is how to live in the present. I'm a planner, and deft at trying to control my future. I'm also given to frequent bouts of nostalgia for the good times had. But this month, instead of fixating on the past or worrying about the future, I'm going to live in the now. I'm going to take life one day at a time, and give each day my all. I'm going to enjoy the people I see, the places I go, and the happenings I experience today. (For once) I'm not planning ahead, and I'm committing to very little that will occur beyond this week. I'm not thinking about Thanksgiving or Christmas...hell, I'm not even concerned with Halloween. The holidays will come - and go - in their time.

This is not an easy way for me to live, but I'm finding greater freedom in this perspective. I'm focusing on personal growth, which requires me to create space in new ways. I'm learning to say no, to unapologetically speak my mind, and to be nothing less than honest.

So today is new, and I am different, and that is OK. In fact, it's good. One thing that hasn't changed, however, is my life's purpose, which I realized has remained the same regardless of the year or season or month. This goal has guided my yesterdays, will lead my tomorrows, and is my reason for living today. As 25-year-old me said years ago:

"I realized that my purpose in this ever-changing life is to simply join Him in glorifying Himself. To love Him and love others with wild abandon. THAT feels so fulfilling, so satisfying, so right."

What I'm Learning Lately

Life looks and feels much better after a good night's sleep. (Conversely, everything looks and feels much worse after a scant two hours of sleep.)

Sunshine makes everything better, too.

Oh, and a little diphenhydramine never hurt anyone.

I actually have the ability to lose my appetite. (I used to think my love for food would never allow this phenomenon.)

But farro is still so yummy. It's the "new quinoa"...at least in my pantry.

I can make decisions...and stick with them.

Having a job to go to every day is a sweet, welcome blessing. Having a job that I enjoy is a bonus.

Post-Labor Day traffic in Northern Virginia is the worst. (Where did all of these people come from?)

Facebook is evil.

I love to run. It is my sanity.

My parents are the best. Their love for me is as Christlike as mortal love can be.

Scripture is my daily bread. (Psalms 27, 29, and 30 are current meditations.)

This too shall pass.

God is worthy of my praise always, regardless of my circumstances or feelings.

He makes beautiful things out of the dust. He makes beautiful things out of us.

What are you learning lately?

On Doing What I Want

Some people have no problem saying "no." Or saying "yes." They do what they want.

Some people can't say "no." Or they say what they think others want them to say, and then back out at the last minute because they're overcommitted. I've fallen into this category before.

Some people weigh every decision they have to make with the utmost care, afraid to make a choice that will offend or anger someone, but very aware of their true feelings on the matter, which (often) may directly oppose the assumed expectations of the other(s). I fall into this category every day of my life. Welcome to my head; it's a scary place to be.

It's no secret that I'm a people pleaser. Always have been, always will be. I'm also a perfectionist. In kindergarten I still remember an incorrectly circled picture on a worksheet—the only answer I got wrong all year. Yes, I'm aware that I have "issues."

And I'm controlling, but this is something I'm working on. (I believe people can change, and I've seen some measurable progress in myself in this area.) My favorite person to control is me. I'm fantastic at controlling what I eat and drink, how much I exercise, and how meticulously clean I keep my house. The problem is, it takes a lot of mental and physical energy and time to be controlling. So when people pose requests that don't fit within my well-planned weekly routine or perfectly crafted daily schedule, an internal dialogue ensues in which I must decide between saying "yes" to my own carefully calculated desires, comforts, and needs or saying "yes" to the other person whom I so desperately want to please. (Again, welcome to my head.)

(I realize that if I have children, I will receive a crash course on letting go of personal control. Hopefully I will not project said control onto my kids. But let's be honest, they'll probably be in therapy for years.)

Usually I maintain a decent balance of doing what other people ask/expect of me, and doing what I want. Sometimes I ignore what I want in place of pleasing others. Rarely do I say "no" to someone in lieu of making myself happy...until recently.

Lately, I've felt like doing whatever the hell I want. And I'm not caring what others think—as much. It's a weird feeling, I must admit. A new phenomenon. And I think I'm gonna roll with it for now...

No, I don't want to go to the movies with you, even though that would make you happy. Instead, I want to sit on my couch with a glass of wine and read my Marian Keyes novel. No, I don't want to run that race for the third year in a row. I don't care that we'll wear glow-in-the-dark tutus and do post-run tequila shots, or that it will be "such a blast!" No, I can't travel out of town that weekend. It just won't work for me, my impending freelance project deadline, or my wallet.

Maybe I'm merely feeling a bit antisocial these days, and this mood shall pass. Maybe I'm making wise choices and protecting my time, my finances, and my "margins." Maybe these are all just lame cop-outs, and I really need to get out of my comfort zone, stop being self-indulgent, and start saying "yes." But for now, I really don't care. I'm gonna do what I want and will try not to make excuses.

How He Loves Us

How He Loves has been on repeat for the past few weeks because a dear friend sent me a surprise care package that contained a mixed CD with 13 life-giving songs (as well as Scripture and chocolate, also life-giving. :)). She knows what I need and she knows what I like. Fifteen years of friendship will do that.

As I was driving to visit my family in Pennsylvania last weekend, belting out the lyrics and buzzing from my Starbuck's grande bold, I had a moment of incredible clarity and overwhelming thankfulness about how I have tangibly experienced God's love in my life during the past few weeks—through relationship.

You see, I have the best family and friends. Truly, the best. They are full of sincere generosity, intentional thoughtfulness, undying compassion, and abundant wisdom. I do not deserve them. I thank God for showing me His love in small, huge, sweet, extravagant, and powerful ways through them.

She calls me every day just to talk. To check in. To hear my voice and so I can hear hers. To tell me what she ate for lunch, share stories about her crazy co-workers, and update me on her thriving social life. She is my soul sister. :)

One friend recently lent her "jack-of-all-trades" hubby not once, but three times, to offer his expertise with some house issues. She texts me regularly to share the moments that comprise daily living.

Another stopped by on a random weeknight with supplies for rossinis. We camped out on my couch and talked all night long—about good sweat sessions, about the tough stuff life relentlessly throws at us, about love.

She offers her home—mere miles from our office—as a place to crash after a night out, when my A/C was busted, or "just because." We've shared many a pepperoni/banana pepper/crispy shallot pizza and bottle of Chianti and never run short of conversation or laughter.

Last weekend I spent an evening with these two, whom I've known since I was 13. They are some of the wisest women in my life, know me better than most people, and never fail to make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

My sister, one of the busiest women I know, used her weekend off (she only gets one or two a month) to drive through the armpit of the DMV and visit me. We enjoyed two beautiful days of sweet, quality sister time. She is my rock, she is my inspiration, she is part of me.

Although I am nearly 30, my parents continue to be steadfast, nurturing, provisional forces in my life. It's like I know everything will be OK after hearing their voices say "Annie" or "Punk." They are my safe haven, my home. I can be utterly real and honest with them knowing they will listen and love me no matter what, but also tell me the hard truth and ask me the tough questions.

To me these friendships are gifts from a God who allows me to experience his goodness through relationship. I am at a loss for words when I catch a glimpse of understanding about how much he loves me and how rich my life is because of these people.

Thank you.