When the best adventure is the settling

People have a habit of telling us to never, never, never settle. As if to settle is to fail. Sometimes, I think this is really good advice, but, as is such the case with almost all advice, it's not exactly a one-size-fits-all diagnosis for life.

Sometimes, settling is good. Sometimes, it's necessary.

The past few years of my life have been the epitome of adventure. I graduated university. I moved. I got a job. I quit my job. I moved again. I met a man. I traveled around a country so grand it sometimes didn't feel real. I moved and traveled more and more and then, I got married and moved yet again. And finally (finally) things started to settle.

But then something strange happened: I started to feel like I was doing something wrong. Like I was somehow wasting my opportunity to live as a full-fledged adventurer. And the more I looked at the perfect highlight reels of Instagram and Facebook and the blogosphere and the more people I met who had just come to Australia, still fresh in the tourist state of mind, the more inadequate my own life felt.

How absurd!
 
How absurd that I would think this life of mine, that was so carefully and generously crafted for me, that allowed me to live and work in Australia, that allowed me to marry a man far beyond my wildest dreams, that allowed me to feel deeply, in-my-bones, at home, could somehow be not adventurous enough. And that was when I realized that the collective they, who keep demanding I never, never, never settle, were wrong.

Sometimes, settling is good. Sometimes, it's the best kind of adventure.

For nearly two years, my life felt like one giant transition. Nothing felt steady or substantial, and very few things felt like real life, whatever that means. But over the past few weeks, with visas being approved and jobs being provided and business ventures moving forward, life has felt more regular. More normal. I'd be lying if I said I never envy the vagabond lifestyle. But I'd be lying even more if I said this settlement isn't the adventure for which my heart has been aching.

Hopefully with the coming of cooler weather and the more regular schedules, we'll be able to venture out a bit more. No matter how often or how far out of our suburb of cafes and sights we venture, though, I'm glad to be here. I'm glad to have settled, even if it means my weekend trips are fewer, my social media feeds less extravagant, and my day-to-day grind more typical. To have the opportunity to settle, after all this time? What an adventure.

What's your adventure looking like these days?

On the usefulness of flowers

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted a home filled with flowers. And for a long time, I thought that it made me high-maintenance (which isn't always necessarily a bad thing and most of the time is an excuse for partners to be lazy and selfish, but that's a whole other can of worms), so I tried to pinpoint what it was about flowers that seemed to speak, as it were, my language. To see if I could fix my obsession.

Is it because my dad would go into our garden regularly and cut fresh flowers to put on my mom's desk? Is it because in high school, when he knew I was having a rough week, he would surprise me with bouquets at the kitchen table? Is it because the most popular girls in school always had flowers delivered to their desks on Valentine's Day, from secret and sometimes not-so-secret admirers?

See, the more I thought about it, the more it felt like everything about me adds up to flowers on the windowsill, the kitchen counters, the bedside table. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my insatiable desire to have a home filled with flowers is not so much about flowers symbolizing feminine normalcy as it is about flowers bringing life to a place.

I know some people think that flowers are pointless, that it's counter-productive to essentially kill something for the purpose of making something else prettier, but I'm not so sure. I see flowers and I think about life, in all its stages. I think about walks through parks and gardens and down to the neighborhood grocery store. I think about brightening that which is somber with that which is brilliant. I think that creating an indoors that incorporates the outdoors is not only nice, but that it is also purposeful, because we are creating spaces that allow us to breathe more deeply.

There are three bunches of flowers in our apartment right now; one fake, a leftover decoration from our wedding, the other two gifts from Stephen. When I see them, I don't just see romance and pursuit and all the too-cheesy things we so often associate with flowers. I see myself, reflected in each petal, full of life, flourishing and blossoming and sometimes, for a day or two, wilting.

Flowers are more than just tokens of appreciation. They're tokens of life. So I'm giving myself over, wholeheartedly, to this wish for a home filled with flowers. Because I want our home to always, always, always be filled with life.

On the weight and lightness of life

In life, we spend a lot of time weighing.

We weigh ourselves on standard scales, and then we weigh our worth by means of that number. But I've noticed that we seem to weigh everything else, too. We weigh our lives by the size of the diamonds in our jewelry, by the amount of belongings in our homes, by our homes themselves. We weigh our lives by our friends, sometimes by their character but far too often, by how their lives and the weights within them stack up against our own. And far too often, we want to be sure that our lives weigh more.

In a world that is constantly pushing us (and by us I mean mostly women) to weigh less, we are strangely obsessed with having lives that are heavy. As if weight, the lightness of us or the heaviness of our stuff, is somehow indicative of identity.

Prospective partners have to have a certain amount of money, a certain set of traits, a certain level of aspiration. Our friends have to be similar enough that it's comfortable but different enough that it's interesting. We're supposed to be both trendy and individual, successful and selfless.

But truth be told, I think our lives would be more full (not necessarily easier, though the two are often confused) if they were lighter. If we unpacked our lives a little bit and allow ourselves to drop some of the weight. Because it was never about the weight.

I don't mean to say, lose weight and do it quickly. I mean to say, it was never supposed to be about the weight. I mean to say we spend our whole lives weighing, comparing, and trying desperately to figure out the best way to build higher and higher when, maybe, we'd be better served simply living. I mean to say all this focus on the weight of life takes away from the lightness of it. I believe, wholeheartedly and unashamedly, that our lives are meant to be elegant. That very few things we carry with us are actually necessary or beneficial, and that weight comes off most easily when we aren't guilted about keeping it.

Our worth is not measured in weight. Our worth is not measured by what a scale says, whether it's for our bodies or our jewelry or a cultural scale of comparison to the person across the table. There is freedom in choosing to cast off weight, or in keeping it, if keeping it can be done with the admittance that it doesn't make one's worth larger.

By what things are you weighing your life? And how great, or small, is the weight of them, really?

Cup of joe

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you all my favorite things about being a newlyed. How the turning of my husband in our bed, early every morning, gently shakes me from sleep. How the door opening each afternoon as he arrives home from work makes me giddy. How the simplicity of vinyls playing while we cook dinner together seems far more exciting than anything I ever did as a single woman.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you that I'm not reading this month as much as I should be, but the book is still good.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you that I've been practicing my hand-lettering and have found it to be totally thrilling. I'd tell you how refreshing it is to know that I am good at something new, to see a far-fetched hobby come into fruition.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you how I'm longing for picture frames. I'd tell you that the last final touches of this first round of new-home-decorating are almost complete, if only we could find picture frames to hang our favorite captures. I'd tell you that this process of settling and nesting has been a lesson in patience and contentment and boy, am I thankful for it.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you my plans for this space over this still new year. I'd tell you my ideas for monthly posts and new series and I'd tell you how excited I am to put new shape to this blog, even if it remains laregly unnoticed.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd speak quietly, because I have lost my voice this week. I'd tell you that I'm enjoying sitting in my own silence and appreciating this month of stillness, because come March, my work rights will come through and life will be far busier than it is these days.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I would thank you for sitting and listening, and I would ask with great interest, what's new with you?

How are you taking your coffee this morning, and what sorts of conversations are you having? 

2014 || What I've loved, what I've lost, + what I've learned

The end of a year is always a funny time. We use it as a means to measure success or lack, almost as if it's a literal pinpoint on the maps of our lives - a place from which to take off, a standard from which to grow, a thing from which to be released into some other thing that we expect to always hold more.

The new year.

The other thing that is supposed to sharpen our resolve, refine us into people so much better than the ones we were a mere 24 hours before. The elusive place that keeps all our dreams and plans safe for us until we arrive, sometimes bruised, sometimes beaten, almost always not quite ready, and not quite sure how we got there. This is the magic of New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, and this particular year, I'm ready and willing and glad that the waiting is over.

I entered 2014 as a girlfriend, an au pair, hardly able to center pictures posted on this space and writing with much less diligence. I made promises to myself to read more, to explore more, and the be more open to the world. This New Year's Eve, I'm a wife, currently unemployed due to the status of my visa but looking ahead to career opportunities for which, for the first time in my short but full life, I'm excited. I'm well on my way to residing permanently in Australia, and living in an apartment that has both my husband's and my name on its lease. This blog has grown into a small piece of my heart, unpopular in the grand scheme of the Internet, but special nonetheless. I read at least a dozen new books this year, and though I barely travelled, I found that my glass always seemed to be overflowing.

I count myself successful, but not because of these few, insignificant accolades. I count myself successful because this year gave me valuable, irreplaceable lessons that will not stay behind. I learned to find beauty in the world by seeing beauty in myself, and I learned to see beauty in myself without being told that it's there. I learned that dazzling words aren't always better than simple ones. I learned that things I used to see as weaknesses in my life are, in fact, great strengths. I learned that thinking you know things is different than really knowing things. I learned that I know more than I think and less than I ought to. I learned that the content of my character, the facets of my person, the worth of my identity are nowhere to be found on social media. I learned that I'm passionate and disciplined and ready. And I learned that the things that I've loved and the things that I've lost are all wrapped up in the things that I've learned.

Here's to 2014, the year that saw me refined far more than easy resolutions would have, the year that ushered me in with love and is ushering me out with nothing less, the year that was both everything I wanted and not quite what I expected, the year that was easy and impossible, the year that I saw God like never before. The year that I am ready to leave.

2015, we're ready for you. Ready, and willing, and not waiting.

What did you learn this year?

Cup of joe

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you about the lovely Thai restaurant where I ate lunch yesterday, a farewell treat as I leave my internship/volunteer position with IJM Australia.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you how excited I am to be almost married to this man of mine. I'd tell you that as much as I've talked about my fast approaching nuptials in the past three months, the fact that the joyous day is now only 25 days away has me giddy.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you the count down to seeing my parents and friends in the States is down to less than seven days, and I can't wait.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you how overwhelming it is to set up home in a new place, when not all your belongings are in the same country. I'd tell you that I love the shopping and the decorating and the organising, but I love even more the idea that someday soon, it will all be finished.

If you were to sit down with me for coffee today, I'd tell you that I have a photoshoot scheduled for Sunday, to promote Dressember, and that I'm simultaneously terrified and excited for what this campaign can hold.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you that I haven't quite finished my book for the month yet, but I'm working on it.

If you were to sit down with me for a cup of coffee today, I'd tell you that I think sometimes it's just as important to linger on the small, seemingly insignificant things as it is to examine the larger things in life, and that maybe this could be a regular thing.

Cutting slack

In middle school, I was invited to a friend's house for a birthday party. One of the gifts she received was a popular computer game. I remember being particularly excited when her parents said we could all take turns playing it, because my family had yet to get our first home computer. I was so excited, in fact, that I pulled out the classic guests go first routine so that I could play sooner.

At school the following Monday, my friend ignored me. I asked if she was mad at me, to which a go-between informed me that my antics at her party had hurt her feelings. I was utterly devastated (and unaware) that I had hurt her. Apparently, in my inability to articulate myself clearly, my excitement that she had gotten such a cool gift had turned into selfishness.

That girl and I ended up at different high schools, different universities, and lost touch. I saw her a few times before moving to Australia and we exchanged pleasantries, each thrilled for what the other had accomplished and glad for the opportunity to catch up. But I still had this itch to apologize again for that one time at her birthday party when I wasn't nice. She might not remember it, for all I know. But in truth, whenever I think about her, I think about that.

Silly, right?

I think we all have a little of this in us, though. Not just a tendency to what if, but also a tendency to think our mistakes have ruined everything. It's almost as if we'd rather look for reasons to hate ourselves than see easily all the ways in which we are loveable.

As my time as an au pair comes to a close, I find myself replaying moments and days over and over again. I wonder how I could have done things differently, more graciously, better. But why? Truth be told, I've had a fulfilling year. I worked hard and successfully. I grew up a little. I found a lot of joy I'd been hiding from myself. And all the little mistakes have taken little away from this experience, oftentimes even adding something I might have otherwise missed.

So let's just let them go.

Remembering

I think we’re all born with a song. There's this thing in all of us, right from the start, that's an intensely important part of our existence. It shapes us, helps us experience the world, sets us apart. It flavors our passions and choices, from the literature we choose to the places we make our homes.

Somewhere along the way, though, our songs get lost in the industrialization of life. We start thinking we have to sing for somebody or something else. Our songs become career-focused or finance-focused or relationship-focused and the idea of having the ability to sing inwards, just for yourself, feels wrong.

But one day, after you've stopped singing and can barely remember what it even sounds like, finally, finally, finally, someone builds an alley and puts up a birdcage and reminds you to hear your song. And you find yourself thinking, How ridiculous, to think this song wasn't enough.

On being in transition

The past year and a half has been one of the least predictable. It has seen me both stumbling and steady, and it has seen me both wandering and unwavering. And now, everything is about to change again.

I think it’s altogether natural, and not necessarily conducive to a specific age, to be in a place of not knowing. Of knowing what’s come before, but not being confident of what’s coming next. There are the days that are thunderous and gloomy, days that need both coffee and naps (and for some reason, they seem to be in short supply), days that remind you of what’s lying underneath the familiar. But then there are the days that are startlingly encouraging, days that need neither coffee nor naps (although you’ll take both anyway), days that remind you that the whole of life is uncertainty wrapped in comfort. 

And every season, every circumstance, holds both.

I’m not sure of what’s next, what exists beyond au pairing and interning and Australia-ing. But I know that it will be more than okay, that life is not actually a map of what is supposed to happen, but rather simply what is. My perspective has changed, and I think more often than not, that’s the biggest change we face. 

I will find a job. I will find a place to live. I will find that more things are familiar than I’d anticipated, and I will grieve the things lost in between. I will find that the change itself wasn’t the scary part; I just couldn’t see it clearly. And then, before I know it, everything will change again.

Ready?

Valentine's Day and my two cents

There are always plenty of opinions floating around the media this time of year. Whether it's better to be single or in a relationship, whether you should celebrate or not, whether the whole idea of Valentine's Day is a corrupt, commercialized waste, and articles about the actual history of the day, to name a few. With so much stuff in our faces, it can be hard to decide how we should feel, let along how we actually feel.

Here are my two cents (since you asked for it).

Valentine's Day is, in the eyes of social media and popular culture, a lot like beauty. There's been a lot of talk about it, especially in the past several years. But it's basically a lose/lose situation, because people don't typically talk about the fact that you can't absolutely quantify things like beauty and holidays. When we talk about how beauty is on the inside and we need to teach young girls to care about more than just makeup, we neglect to remind them that it's perfectly acceptable for them to care about how they look. It's 100% okay for little girls to want to be princesses or moms, instead of scientists and doctors. And it's fine if they want to be both. We forget to tell them that feminism doesn't necessarily mean they can't embrace femininity, and we forget to tell them that it goes both ways. When I read letters from parents to their daughters and sons about their future spouses or how to properly date, we forget to assure them that being single won't mean they're incomplete. In all this talk on all the things we can be, it ends up feeling a lot more like of list of things we can't.

I have a man in my life that I adore, and I chose to spend my Valentine's Day apart from him, celebrating with a dear friend of mine instead. It doesn't mean I hate Valentine's Day or that I think I'm better than couples giving and receiving romantic gifts. It just means that this time around, my celebration with a friend is more pressing than a dinner date that I'm supposed to have. But if I'd chosen to make plans with my gentleman, it wouldn't have made me any less of a woman.

Here's the thing: If you like Valentine's Day, celebrate it, even if you're single. And if you don't like it and all the things that it arguably implies, let the day pass. It's just a day. And while it's definitively true that love, all kinds, can be celebrated any day of the year, it's just as true that it's nice to set aside a special day for it. Because it's nice. And just like your decision to wear dresses over jeans or heels over sneakers doesn't give you the expertise to comment on the woman or manhood of any other person, neither does your affinity, or lack thereof, for this day give you the privilege to scoff those who feel differently.

The world is a big, big place, but it somehow manages to feel really small. There will be more voices in it than you could ever imagine, and there's not much we can do to change them. Today, though, you can choose to which voices you're listening, and you can choose what voice you're sending out.

This is water

This week, something popped up on my Facebook news feed that caught my attention. It was a link to something on Upworthy, a website filled with emotionally charged videos and articles pointed at bringing out the best in people. Things that make you think or laugh or cry or wonder. This video in particular is a speech, made into a video, given by David Foster Wallace at Kenyon College, nearly 10 years ago. The point was to wake up a group of soon-to-be-graduates and help them realize that while "the real world" is a place for which we're all reaching, it's also a place where many of us fall flat on our faces. And we fall flat because we aren't well prepared. Life, up into our mid-twenties, teaches us a plethora of lessons, ranging from when to not take a joke too far to how to appropriately conduct yourself in a job interview, but all of these things create this idealistic "adult world," where, once you're out of school, your life becomes whatever it is meant to become. But let's be honest...that's not how it works. Life is tough, whether you're in school or working a 9-5 or backpacking across Europe, and whether your life is good or not depends much more heavily on your perspective than your circumstance.

It made me think, long and hard, about my own life. I was incredibly blessed to have parents who taught me to be humble and considerate. I was incredibly blessed to be part of a university department with four professors whose collective wisdom is absolutely mind-boggling. I've learned a lot about how little I actually know, and how that doesn't diminish my value in society. I've learned that the world isn't my playground, because it belongs to and was created for so much more than my own desires. I've learned that what I want is a lot different than what I need, and if I'm too focused on the former, my version of the latter will always be skewed. Being an au pair is hard. When a child decides that "Please go get dressed for school" means "Throw a water balloon at your sister" or when at 10:00 at night, you realize you forgot to make lunches, so that's an extra 20 minutes of your morning or when the laundry won't fold itself and nobody likes green beans and you start to see yourself in those kids just enough that you wonder how your parents didn't go insane. But this has still been, hands down, the most monumental five months of my life. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

It isn't because my job is perfect. All jobs have benefits and downsides, and if all you're looking for is the perfect job, you'll probably end up quite disappointed, time and time again. It's because I wake up and am glad to be in Oz. I am glad to be part of this family. I am glad that I have a strong community and excellent friendships and a kind gentleman. And sometimes, I get frustrated too easily and I have to remind myself, this is life. This is not just about me.

We forget that the world doesn't revolve around us. We forget that the traffic jam isn't out to annoy just us or the delayed flight isn't ruining only our holiday travels. We make mountains out of mole-hills far more easily than we celebrate the little things, and in doing so, we seriously discredit the greatness of our existence. Get this: Your whole life is overflow. The world doesn't owe you anything, and unless you work really really really hard, your big dreams will rarely come to fruition. I'm not saying minimize your potential or want less for yourself. I'm just saying the only things you'll achieve are the things you're willing to suffer for. The things you're actually grateful for. The things you can truly step away from and realize aren't about you, but about things beyond you. The world is bigger. You are a part (an important part, to be sure), but not the whole. So be a part worth having.

Here is the video that reminded me I'm not a clueless fish. I know where I am. I know what's around me. And I have the freedom to choose how I react to every situation in my life. Maybe growing up doesn't happen when you get a diploma or buy your first suit or have a steady income. Maybe it starts when you're confident that your life won't happen when you've reached some proverbial destination. It started when you were born. This is it.

On family and the holiday season

Today, I dropped my mom off at the airport and we said a tearful till next time. She arrived in Sydney last weekend and we spent this week exploring and catching up. I was glad to have some good, old-fashioned Mama advice (not that it's been lacking, but there's just something about face-to-face that's better, you know?). She came loaded with Christmas presents and some of my favorite treats from home; I sent her home with gifts for my family and for her. To name a few adventures, we strolled on the beaches, fed and petted kangaroos and koalas, and wandered through gardens designed to imitate other countries. We drank over-priced lattes while she listened to my heart about work, relationships, and where I want to go from here. She helped me draw up a new budget for my finances, and I was so grateful to have a mother who is still willing to help me and build me up. My host family cooked us a beautiful dinner for her birthday, which is in two days, and also let us cook them an American Thanksgiving. I had the whole week off, thanks to a wonderful host family and grandparents, and really, it couldn't have come at a better time.

The holidays are right around the corner. So getting to spend some time with my mom was fantastic. There's a space in my life, no matter how dreamy Oz is, that's family shaped, and there are so often moments or experiences that I wish I could share with my parents and brother. Having Mom here was amazing, and I know that as great as the holidays will be, it'll be a little tough being apart this year. But I think what's hardest is coming to terms with all the things I've left behind for the time being. I've been putting a lot of thought and effort into what a temporary or permanent relocation to Australia would look like, and it's sort of daunting to look back home and see, truly, what it means to leave.

Moving on means everyone else moves on as well. And as you grow up, so does everyone else. And as much as you want that hometown to always be the same as when you left, it won't be. So this holiday season, as much as it is exploration and new opportunities, is bittersweet. Bittersweet because it's summer, not winter. Because it's a new family and new friends and new traditions, which are all lovely, but are not mine. Because it's the start of a new year and a new country, and I have close to no idea where I'll be living in the next 12 months. But I also know who I am and where I want to be headed, and I'm blessed enough to have family that will support me and love me through it, no matter the cost or the distance.

So to my mom, happy almost birthday and thank you so very much for coming to see me. It was a joy showing you my life here, and now more than ever, I am certain that being your daughter is an honor, to say the least. You are the most incredible woman and have given me everything I need to find joy wherever I am, and I cannot thank you enough for being my mama. And to my dad, thanks for sharing her with me. I'm not sure what this next year will hold for me, but I know I will carry you both with me, and that is a comfort like no other.

Here's to seasons that bring comfort and joy, in the new and the old, alike. To family, biological and otherwise. To life, whatever season you're in.

In other news, Olivia just turned 8 and Lachlan has a new set of words to learn, so things are quite exciting in the nanny world.

Seasons

Our lives, generally, are ruled by cycles. What's trendy, what's next, what's new. Recently, though, I've realized more than ever how much of our lives are ruled by the cycles that come with seasons. We associate certain times of the year with certain feelings and expectations, from fashion to tradition. It's a tender familiarity that makes even the most hectic of days a little more survivable. We always know what's coming, even if it's months down the road.

Moving to the other side of the world changes that. As November comes to a close, I find myself ready for chilly nights and hot cider. I long for weather reports that promise snow even though I know it's not likely. I want long socks and warm soups and miserably cold Christmas tree shopping. Instead, I'm getting a tan (Except the past two weeks which have been cool enough to convince me the hemispheres are merging). And it's made me wonder how much of my favorite things became my favorite things because of what I've grown to associate them with? Is Christmas only Christmas when your breath freezes in front of you?

The past few months have been a whirlwind, and I have enjoyed every second of this not-looking-back season. I'm learning to move forward by pushing forward. I've learned that a daily grind can be a beautiful thing, if you have the right perspective. And now, the desire to look back creeps up again. As the end of the year looms and brings a multitude of changes with it, I have to remember to look forward. To enjoy this hot Christmas and learn from it. Where I was one Christmas ago was different in a million ways, and it's a season I do not want to have again. So maybe the change in the weather is exactly what I need.

Beaches and ice cream and outdoor movies sound like the perfect way to send out this year, don't you think?

On taking ownership

There's a lot to be learned. We spend years in school, being trained not only in specific disciplines but also in the discipline of learning. We grow up being taught to know. And while there are seasons where we'd rather not do homework or get up early for school, I would venture that for most of us, there comes a time when we see the benefits of gleaning. Learning becomes a treasure, whether it's in the classroom, from our parents or peers or employers, or a by-product of being a person. And while there are countless lessons that I consider invaluable (use cash instead of your card, give without expectation, see your own worth, etc) one of the best lessons I've learned is how to take ownership.

There are plenty of things of which I enjoy taking ownership. Plenty of things of which I excel at taking ownership. But the more I do life with people, the more I begin to see shortcomings in this areas as well. I can take ownership of my job and its responsibilities and my attitude and my growing friendships and my time here and the effort it takes to make my time here more permanent. But I realize more and more that I rarely take ownership of my feelings. I don't talk about them. I shy away from them at all costs. I avoid them.

But what's the fun in that? I'm learning this week, by the grace of God and His hand on my life, to take ownership of the way I feel about certain things and certain people, and to believe that this ownership will do nothing but cultivate more health for my heart. And this means finding a balance between not caring what anyone else thinks while still being considerate. Not always an easy task, but if I can move to Oz, I think I can do pretty much anything.

When the seasons change, things happen. For most of my friends and family, that change is bringing autumn; a coolness that's felt not just in the air but also the soul. Comfort, found in warm food and cozy sweaters. Everything starts to smell a little different. But here, it's spring. So instead, everything is waking up. Everything is blooming and discovering and the warmth stays in your cheeks a little too long. It's a season for something new.

The myth of fresh-starts

At the beginning of this year, it became clear that I needed a fresh start. It brought me into a season of singleness, into a new job, into a new country. It brought me countless new friendships and adventures and the sort of self-discoveries and awareness about which people dream. This fresh start for which I fought so valiantly and steadfastly brought me more than I ever imagined, but beyond those things, it brought me a nugget of truth that I wasn't sure I wanted. There's no such thing as a fresh start.

Sure, we can move to a new country and take a new job and completely rebuild our community, but the fact remains that all those things we want a fresh start from will still be with us. Those things shape us, they change us radically, and we can't escape them. Our pasts are part of us, even as we move beyond them, and in carrying the weight of all the places we've been and people we've met, it's almost laughable to believe we'll somehow be able to throw them off and have a fresh start.

I came here needing a change, needing something more. But I also came trying to outrun something that had become part of me. Not just something that had happened, but something that had built a new part of me. Something that had become part of my story and my journey and any destination I find. So why did I think I'd be able to get rid of it?

This weekend, I went to see Romeo and Juliet at the Sydney Opera House with a friend of mine. The show was spellbinding and the company quite nice, and we spent the afternoon talking about life - where we've been and where we're going. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, he said something to me, and the gist of it was that this past part of me that I try to avoid has had an impact on how some people see me. And it wrecked my heart in the best kind of way. The I-really-need-to-deal-with-this kind of way, mixed with who-cares-what-anyone-else-says kind of way and I saw in myself a strength I didn't know I had. A strength to say my fresh start isn't just around the corner. It just isn't, and the sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to revel in the glory of where I am and how I got here. The sooner I stop chasing it, the sooner I'll be able to claim every nitty gritty part of my baggage and stop wondering if it will change things. Of course it will change things. But that's absolutely okay.

So here's to admitting that fresh starts are usually nowhere to be found, and maybe it's better that way. Maybe instead of trying to release the hurts and struggles of our who-we-weres, we should cling to them a little more tightly, allowing them to create in us glorious, tender hearts that are strong enough to come out of the storm better than we were before.

Who we were doesn't have to define who we are or who we will be. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing for who we were to have a little say in the matter.

Details

A lot of what I post here is vague. Things I'm learning and growing in, bits and pieces of things I'm struggling to push past, glimpses of Oz, but for the most part, what I write is lacking in the details. Here are some.

Last week and this upcoming week are different that usual because the kids I look after are on holiday from school. Last week started in Brisbane and is now coming to a close with a long-awaited Skype call with my sweet parents. My friend Grace and I flew to Brisbane on Saturday and spent a long weekend exploring the city and beaches, all while couch surfing with an awesome couple. Saturday night found us eating tacos and burritos in the city, followed by tiramisu ice cream and a walk by the river that runs through the city. It was spectacular, and though the day of travel left us unbelievably tired, it was so good. On Sunday we got to experience Hillsong Brisbane. What a blessing, to be part of a church that reaches so many parts of the world. We spent the afternoon wandering through more of the city and enjoyed homemade Mexican, brownies, and the movie Australia with the couple hosting us. On Monday, we traveled to the Gold Coast and spent the day at Surfer's Paradise, where I fell asleep and got a little too much sun. That evening, we were able to not only see kangaroos in the wild, but also eat delicious kangaroo steak. It was incredibly tender and well-flavored and I loved it. For our last adventure, on Tuesday morning, we toured the brewery where Queensland's state beer is brewed before flying back to Sydney. And funnily enough, on our flight we met an Australian who happens to be an Atlanta Braves fan.

I arrived home to my host mom and kids, plus the first au pair they had and my host mom's mom, both of whom were visiting for the week. Jella (pronounced Yell-ah) worked for the Kowals roughly four years ago, and it's been really cool to hear her stories of the kids and see the relationship she still has with them, after all this time. It reminds me that even though I'm a temporary installment in this home, I can have a lasting impression on this family, if I choose my words and actions wisely and if I am deliberately loving and kind. At the end of the day, I find myself wanting to retreat to my room and enjoy moments of peace, but I'm learning that I need to step out a little bit more, even just for an extra half hour, and be more than just a nanny.

On Friday, my host family went to Canberra for the weekend to visit a family friend, so I had the house to myself. It was weirdly quiet, and while I enjoyed it for about five minutes, I found myself wanting to fill the space. So, I went to one of the Northern beaches with a group of friends on Saturday. The weather was close to perfect, although the water was unforgivably cold, and we had a blast sunbathing, tossing a frisbee, frolicking in the waves (let's be real, I barely dipped my toes in), and eating chicken burgers before heading home.

Watching the kids for a whole day, without the break of having them at school, is a totally different ball game. This upcoming week will surely present its challenges, but I'm excited to take them on. It gives me an awesome opportunity to know these kids beyond schedules and assignments and just enjoy the people they are. Not to mention with the beautiful weather, we have every reason to spend our time outside. The mantra is Anything you throw at me, I can take.

Anything you throw at me, I can take.

One of the many gorgeous views in Brisbane

The Fourex Brewery

What happens when you get a really good gift

This week, I got a present from a dear friend of mine. She sent me a journal. It doesn't sound like that extravagant of a gift, but if you know me, you know it was right on the money. Not to mention that the detail of this one, how it speaks to exactly where I am, was incredible. I stood holding it in my hands, passing it from one to the other, totally moved by how well she knows my heart, totally enamored with the feel of the paper and string and aroma of that which is my own personal flavor of perfection, and wept.

When you get a really good gift, you're reminded of what gifts you bring to the world.

It set me on fire for the rest of the week. I immediately started using it, writing down lists I found significant and moments that churned up something in my heart, and I encouraged a new friend to draw something in it. I have carried it with me everywhere. It's a really good gift.

It followed me this week on an amazing adventure. For the first time since college, I stayed up till past 4 o'clock in the morning. I drove somewhere completely new and played board games and made new friends and allowed someone to catch my eye and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt and my eyes brimmed. I wrote down moments where I felt absolute clarity and moments where I felt entirely too much. And finally, I slipped that journal back into its hiding place so I could wander through rows and rows of merchandise being sold at a market that opens so early we simply didn't go to sleep. And I didn't even think about this blog.

Glory. I didn't even think about what to write here. I just thought about my life and the beauty of this season. I thought about what I'm really, truly feeling. I thought about where I'm headed and how, for the first time, I feel like where I'm going is where I want to be going. I thought about my heart and the strength the Lord has placed in it. I thought about my friendships back home and how I cannot wait to see those people again. And I thought deeply about the relationships I'm cultivating here and how absolutely stunned I am by their greatness. I thought about God. His Hand on my life.

It's a really good gift. And it spurred me on to a really good week. And so it continues. 

 

When things don't go as planned, and being a "twenty-something"

Tonight I got lost. I was planning on going to a small group at 7:30. Instead, I drove around until 8:00 and upon finding the right apartment complex, couldn't find the right room and ended up driving home at 8:30, unable to contact anyone. I was frustrated.

See, it's hard enough moving to a new country and making new friends. I've done those two things. Now the new struggle is figuring out how to manage new friends while maintaining old friendships and having not a clue where anything is in this city. I get lost weekly. Sometimes bi-weekly. Sometimes twice a day, if I'm really lucky. As much as I love it here, as much as I feel at home and am confident this move was the best decision I could have made for myself, life has a way of throwing those dreaded curve balls that catch me off guard and fill me with fear and doubt. Like getting lost.

I have a choice. I can either let the frustrations that come with the weight of a move to Australia overcome me, or I can step out in faith and believe that this season is twice as rewarding as it is challenging. I can believe that this season is enriching me in ways I both see clearly and will never understand. I can sit in my car and choke back tears because, yet again, I couldn't get somewhere and nobody called to see where I was. Or I can let it go, laugh about how good I am at going nowhere, and realize that my friends here don't treat me like my friends back in the States did for two very legitimate reasons: They don't know me as well, and they aren't the same people.

On top of this, I've been reading a lot lately about the challenges of being a "twenty-something." There seem to be two sides. There are those of us who are out of school, living sort of on the cusp of everything. Some days we feel like we're waiting for real life to start and other day we realize we're living the dream. We have the time to be open to any opportunity or call. Then there are those of us who are newly married, starting "real" jobs, and beginning to see what stability tastes like. And whatever side we're on, we want the other. If we're on the fringe, we want the marriage (or at least a relationship) and the stable job and better income and new apartment or house or car or whatever. But if we have that, we want the freedom that comes with singleness, from being able to go wherever you want to being able to do whatever you want. And we all feel like we're the only ones struggling through it.

Here's what's up. Neither of those seasons is better than the other, and until we come to terms with this, we won't be happy with what we have. I long for the day when I'll be a wife, when I'll have a steadier income and my own car and place to live. I long for the day when I figure out what I want to be "when I grow up." But I love where I am now. I love having a job with flexible hours that supplies me with a place to live, a means of transportation, and a community. I love being able to spend my free time with whoever I want, being able to explore or sit at home, if I feel like it. I love everything about this season, even the things that momentarily upset me or make me wonder what in the world I'm doing. I love how this time in my life is shaping me. Guess what? If I had gotten married or started a different job, I would not be being shaped the way I am. Because everything about this season, from my singleness to my adventurousness, is both preparing me for what's next and allowing me to enjoy what's now. This season is not what I expected, but it is wonderful all the same. There's no such thing (within reason, let's not get crazy) as a bad season; there are just seasons, and they are as beneficial or detrimental as we make them to be.

I choose to make this one beneficial. And because this season will be beneficial to me and glorifying  to God, so will my next season. Whatever it may be.

Let's talk about abundance

Overflowing fullness. An extremely plentiful or oversufficient quantity or supply. Wealth. 

Among all the issues I have with society, one of the biggest is beauty. Body image. Self-worth. And in particular, in regards to women and girls. Our society puts so much pressure on beauty that it starts to create this weird dichotomy, that by saying beauty is subjective and looks aren't where we should place our greatest values, we make it wrong for women to be beautiful. It's as if we're so caught up in teaching girls that it isn't about how they look (which is true) that we forget to remind them that beauty and vanity are not the same thing. And that it's perfectly healthy to embrace femininity and beauty. Let me be clear. I believe that outward beauty if fleeting. I believe that my worth is not based on how I look or dress, but my character. I believe that my image and identity have very little to do with my physical being. I believe that real men see past the superficial. I believe that real men crave women with more to them than a pretty face. I believe real men want women to more fully understand and appreciate themselves. I believe that men like that exist. But I also believe that it's okay for women to desire beauty. But let's be real about it. Beauty is strength. It is kindness. It is a gentle and honest modesty that grows from within and consequently shines outwardly. I struggle with these things daily, but I believe them just the same.

There are so many cultures in our world. So many systems of belief, ideas about life, categories for people to try and fit. But one thing all these cultures seem to have in common is the idea of having an abundance. Having more than enough, by whatever means. I say there's more to this idea.

I say we are the abundance.

I say I not only live in a spectacularly beautiful place, but I came from one as well. Whether it's Georgia or West Pymble, the States or Australia, my world is beautiful. And I say that I carry that beauty with me. It spills out from my heart and creates abundance wherever I go. So maybe it isn't these places that are magnificent. Maybe it's me, maybe it's us, instead. Maybe it's the Love and Truth and Glory I hold in my soul. And maybe it isn't a bad thing to venture to say that I make my life beautiful. We are so beautiful that it cannot be contained in our bodies and has to bubble out of us and into the places where we experience life.

I carry beauty, because I am carried. I am an abundance, because I have been given an abundance. And there is nothing wrong with taking ownership of these things.

East coast sun sets

 

I've heard a lot of people say that they don't like overcast or rainy days because they feel as if they're trapped in a box. I think that's natural, in some ways, to feel a little more closed off when we can't see the immensity of what's above us. But I think it's also a little ridiculous, like we somehow forget that the sky is still blue. It's as if we believe the clouds haven't just covered the sky; they've occupied it completely. They haven't. It's the same sky, just hidden under a different blanket.

Perhaps the same can be said of East coast sun sets. We think they won't be as glorious because since they aren't on the West, you don't actually see the sun. But the sun sets, regardless of where we're standing, and it is just as magnificent.

Here's the thing about life: there will always be a place that seems better than wherever you are. Richer, fuller, a greener patch of proverbial grass, if you will. 

But the grass isn't greener on the other side. It's greener where you water it.