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.

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.

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. :)

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.

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?

Forgiveness

Guess what I did yesterday?

I WENT TO CHURCH.

I haven't been to a church since Christmas Eve...wait, no, I don't think I went to church last Christmas. I was too tired after baking dozens of Kris Kringles and drinking glasses of red wine. Both of which, by the way, are very spiritual experiences. (I'm not kidding.) And last Easter I was walking the streets of NYC with the fam, so I didn't go then, either. So I can't even call myself a ChrEaster Christian! (Good.)

In the spirit of setting personal goals, doing things for myself, and ridding my life of anxiety, during the next few weeks I'm church shopping. Just to try it on for size again, so to speak. And yesterday I was a Presbo for a day! Er, an hour.

I went to a local PCUSA church. Growing up in Pentecostal/Evangelical church circles, I must say that the worship at this church was a little tame. And I even attended the "contemporary" service! There were no raised hands, no closed eyes, no waving flags (thank God for that). But a few of the songs were good and meaty, with words I could recite with conviction and lyrics I could sing heartily to my God. And that's really what worship is all about for me. (Although I'm definitely an expressive one...just not into the flags, is all.)

After "meet and greet" time (does anyone else inwardly groan when told to greet your neighbor?), the pastor delivered his sermon. And something funny happened. I had one of "those" experiences, when the pastor's message was exactly what I needed to hear. I've heard about such experiences from others before, but I can't recall if they've ever truly happened to me. But yesterday, it was so powerful, personal, and poignant (those could be the three points of a sermon—bonus for alliteration!) that I was in tears. Some may call it coincidence that I chose this church to attend on this Sunday at this time and heard this message, but I call it divine.

He talked about forgiveness. He is in the middle of a series on The Lord's Prayer and unpacked verse 12 of Matthew 6: "Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors."

He talked about both sides of forgiveness. First, for the one who feels he is carrying a burden because he has wronged another.

Second, for the one who feels she is carrying a burden because she has been wronged. That's me, I thought.

The concepts are simple, really, the truth is plain: Unforgiveness causes bitterness, resentment, and malice to grow in your heart. Forgiveness is about freeing yourself from hurt, anger, and pain as much as it's about extending grace to another. God wants both—freedom for you, and grace for the other.

As the pastor expounded on this passage, I felt my heart open, hungry to hear and receive these simple truths. And the rage simmering right below the surface, the malice threatening to choke me out, the bitterness sour in my mouth, and the gnawing hurt burrowing deeper and deeper in my heart...slowly, I felt a sweet release from it all. This revelation spread like a quiet peace through my soul: I have a choice to forgive, and regardless of the choices others make, I can walk above the anger and pain and malice in grace and forgiveness and peace. This doesn't mean I allow others to continue to take advantage of me or ignore their toxicity in my life, but it does mean—as so very difficult as it is—that I allow myself to forgive.

I know forgiveness is incredibly foundational to faith. But for me, that's the beauty of Christ: seemingly simple truths that are life-changingly profound. Yesterday, today, and forever.

Farewell, Facebook

I'm on Day 11 of a little Facebook break. I never had a "goal date" in mind, but I'm tentatively planning on six weeks. It might extend into more, or I may cut it short. We'll see.

Yesterday I "cheated." Since I stopped logging on to my account, I've received two emails from Facebook alerting me to a slew of notifications and a flourish of activity that I am "missing." It's like the Facebook gods are trying to convince me that my world isn't complete without knowing what John Doe thinks about Romney's VP selection, or what Jane Smith's baby bump looks like six months (excuse me, 24 weeks) in. So while laying in bed last night, I decided to clear my notifications to get Zuckerberg's crones off my back. And naturally, I didn't stop there. I spent a couple of minutes scrolling through my Facebook feed on my phone. (Next I need to take a break from that damn smartphone.)

Although I felt a little guilty after indulging my curiousity, I'm glad I did. I've learned a lot about myself, my friendships, and my social life from the past 11 days coupled with that brief re-encounter with "The Facebook."

I don't miss it. I thought I would have "Facebook withdrawals" and experience very intense urges every day to log on. So far, I have not. In fact, at times I've actually forgotten that Facebook exists. How liberating! 

The world goes on. It really does. You can survive, and even thrive, in a Facebook-free world. And a lot more people do than you think.

It's not real. The status updates, pictures, and postcards (those are the worst) do not a true life make. People choose their online identity by these posts, and often their Facebook persona is not their real self.

If it's that important, I'll find out eventually. Last night my activity stream told me that one of my favorite people from college is 16 weeks pregnant. I was thrilled for her. And a little sad that I didn't know this exciting news on Monday morning at 9 a.m. when she alerted the rest of her social network. But I realized that I would eventually have found out. One of my other college friends would have shared the news with me in a real conversation, in a natural environment. Like we did in 2004.

It feeds false perceptions and unhealthy anxiety. If I don't know about your latest beach trip with your friends, then I don't know. If I do know because Facebook is telling me so, I might a) feel rejected and neglected because I wasn't invited, b) feel depressed because I have no vacations coming up and will be sitting behind a desk for the foreseeable future, and/or c) feel jealous of your life, relationships, and model bikini body as portrayed by your mobile uploads.

My real relationships remain strong. I  have talked to one of my best friends every day on the phone since my Facebook "fast." I have also talked to both of my parents more the past 11 days than I have in years, probably. This could be due to a number of different factors, but I have realized that I will stay closely connected to the people in my life who really matter. In fact, our interactions will probably grow even more meaningful as we share our daily happenings, discuss our political opinions, and disclose our ongoing emotions through frequent texts, regular emails and calls, and occasional visits.

So a Facebook-free life is a good life. And please hear me - I am not judging anyone who is a Facebook fanatic. I have no intention of swearing off the social network forever. But just like the periodic sugar or booze fast, this Facebook break has been so cleansing for me.

Oh, and if you get engaged, find out you're pregnant, or score a new job, please let me know asap. ;)

Life is Hard

I was with my mom this past weekend, driving to visit Gam, my grandma. I said, after an anxiety-stricken deep breath, "Life is hard."

She answered: "Yes. Yes it is. I was thinking recently about how inadequately parents prepare their children for this reality. Because life is hard."

The truth is, even as terribly hard as my life is right now, even as I struggle and ache and hurt and grieve and question and wonder and doubt and fear, even as my anxiety levels threaten to consume me and my nerves feel frayed to a point of no return, even as exhaustion - whole-person exhaustion - has become a way of existing, life is still good. I have friends who would do anthing for me. Who text and call and email and ask the tough questions because they really, truly love me. I have a family that is not just beside me, but holding me up, lifting my arms, supporting my head, being the proverbial shoulder to lean - and cry - on.

I have a job that I like to get up in the morning to do, that provides above and beyond what I need to survive. I have health, and hobbies that promote health: a love for exercise and desire to cook nutritious, comforting food. I have a house that I love, that makes me feel safe and warm (or cool), that enables home-cooked meals, book-reading and wine-drinking, and sweet nights of sleep.

And I have a faith...a faith in a God who is bigger than I am. Who feels distant at times, whom I may drift from quite often, whom I doubt and question and don't really get. But who makes me feel hopeful, who makes me feel whole. Who really does provide peace that passes understanding. Last night that peace was more than enough to soothe my nerves, to calm my soul, to lull me to sleep...and I didn't even need a Xanax.

Yes, life is hard. But life is so, so good.