[3] The Sunday Collections: Middle Space

It has been a centering kind of season, and sometimes centering isn't fun because it makes me pull in the bleeding edges and deal with issues I've been ignoring or justifying for too long. Not everything that is ultimately for the best feels good at the time, though. 

It seems as though I'm always, forever sitting in a middle space. I'm neither here nor there. Always going, never quite arriving. I'm at the point, now, in my middle space where the novelty has worn off a bit, the end is just foggy enough to be out of reach, and I'm feeling the rut beginning to form. I hate that rut. It is the routine, the repetitive work. What I've noticed about myself is that I usually dive into new things with intensity, and then the shine wears off and I'm looking for the next thing. This is a habit that scares me, a bit. I'm trying to train myself out of it. I don't want to spend my life addicted to running over the next hill while never actually leaving behind work of substance. 

We're all building something, I think. We're building careers, families, relationships, our stories. My question to myself is: what grounds me enough to push through that boring, dusty middle space? Personally, I've discovered that I need to be creating things. Rather than always chasing the newness out there, I can create new things here and now to keep the restlessness at bay. When I'm craving a change of scenery and it is not the right place or time to leave, I need to look at where I stand from a different angle. 

The other thing is comparison. It is easy to glance over into the lives of other people and convince myself that they have better problems, more freedom, or a nicer life in general, and maybe, if I tried something new, I'd get there too. See, that type of thinking is dangerous, especially if it propels me to drift around, taking on projects and signing up for things that don't fit who I am because I'm trying to find the magic life. It is especially dangerous if it makes me a chronic "leaver," ever unfinished and never truly satisfied. I know I'll never build anything strong if I keep disappearing before the end.

Part of why I have this urge to leave before the end is because I hate endings. Denouements are painful and final and sometimes I'd rather skip across to new beginnings without the nasty "end" part. There's something healthy about allowing a season to finish, though. Some of us drag out our seasons on purpose so the end will never come. Some of us avoid endings by trying to evade them. Either way, closure sometimes hurts and it is important to acknowledge that. It is good to say good-bye at the right time. Sometimes it might not be our choice to say good-bye, but it is essential to learn how to work through this, even if it might be very painful.

It is Sunday. In a way, this is a day of beginnings and endings. It starts a week and signals the end of last week. It is a day that I use to reflect and it is a day I use to look forward. I think that this practice subtly helps ground me, as well. It shows me that last week had purpose and beauty and lessons, and so will this week. It is the sigh of relief and a spark of possibility wrapped into one day. 

This is the ebb and flow of life's rhythm. 

.007 Codes

A lot of life is like trying to break a code. We're all trying to make things fit, trying to make things add up, trying to unhook what works and what doesn't and assemble our own little theories and philosophies according to personal experience. Sometimes we come across people who blast us with pointed opinions, or people who offer deep truths, and you can bet that something in their story taught them that. Something about it fits into their code and offers an explanation or clarity to them.

I'm not good at math, but some days I'd like a solid formula or two for life. Relationships, for instance: they are tricky, sometimes, with few concrete, overarching rules because relationships deal with two different people coming from two different stories with two different codes of life. If there were pre-set formulas to use in particular situations, there would be a lot less music in this world, fewer books, less art in general. Art helps us work through the code. It offers a sense of: "hey- I feel that too!" or "I understand" and it is all a journey of connecting pieces and lessons learned the hard way into a mosaic of healing and direction.

I think that community is sometimes a gathering of people who have certain matching aspects of their life codes. Some people, for example, cook or bake for therapy and this is why we have cooking clubs and cooking blogs and cookbooks and Pinterest boards dedicated to food. It is a way of gathering people who know that this is something that offers meaning and expression and a way to connect. It adds value to their life, and therefore it is part of their personal formula. Their code includes cooking because, for them, it has to. It is an essential, soul-filling practice that colours in one of those empty spots in life. When something fits into your code in that way, it means that it is important on a deep level. It means that this makes you a better person and that this gives you a sense of your purpose. This happens with book clubs and farmers and Engineering professors. We all operate according to our different codes. We're all attempting to understand the world with the interests and talents and spaces and relationships that have been given to us.

This is the best thing that I have learned in University so far: my way is not the only way and that isn't a bad thing. University is a garden of people, a zoo of ideas and opinions and my own have opened and shaken here. University is, in a sense, a really expensive way of becoming yourself through encounters with other people and their codes of life. Sometime you stumble upon a gem in someone else's code and it helps you understand something in your own code that didn't work before. This can happen in a lecture or late-night chats over pizza or overhearing a stranger's conversation. I don't think that University is the only way or the best way to grow into yourself, necessarily, but it is one way and, since I've been here, I appreciate how it has shaped me.

Although I discovered this whole code metaphor in University, I really think that this can be applied anywhere in life. We learn as much as we allow ourselves to learn. Some of us are more diligent or creative in solving our codes than others. I think that ignoring the code, or pieces of it, can lead to dissatisfaction and restlessness. It can happen when you get stuck on a formula that makes sense for other people, but just doesn't work for you. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by all of those blank spaces in your code, and it can seem too hard to draw meaning from it all. Your code can be daunting, possibly because of the potential for you to make a mistake, or maybe you just don't know where to start. Instead of exploring potential answers, we can sometimes latch onto certain things that offer escape or the illusion of meaning for us. These things can eventually look like addiction or chasing approval or constructing a false identity because figuring out the real one is scary.

We assemble our codes through art and community and science and personal experience. Sometimes we have to find it through a risk or a move or just by stopping and noticing. We solve the code by asking questions of ourselves and of others or maybe opening ourselves to new experiences and new ideas. Some mornings we wake up and just know that something is wrong on a fundamental level; something in our code needs to change and that is allowed to happen. You are allowed to make a mistake, to do a little guess and check, to admit that you were wrong about something important. You are allowed to acknowledge that your perspective is shifting or that you are growing up and it is time to change something that used to work but just can't anymore.

To work on the code, you have to take all the aspects of yourself into account: personality, abilities, interests, beliefs, relationships, talents, health, and fill in those blanks with truth and what lines up best with who you are. Solving the code is a journey of discovering what makes you whole and purposeful and then living as close to that version of yourself as you possibly can. The important part is the journey, the growth. The adventure of solving the code is what teaches you. It offers clues and metaphors and stories to collect and examine. Assembling it all is like a scavenger hunt of discovering your potential and purpose and how you aren't the most important thing that ever happened to the world, but maybe you can add a little colour or hope to your corner of it.

Call the code your life philosophy or mission statement or value system, but we all have one. It is the individual vision and unique combination of practices and priorities and principles that construct our "self" and, in turn, how that "self" interacts with others and engages with life. This code is dynamic and flexible through different seasons, but it is grounding and important to think about. I know that part of my code right now includes writing, stretching myself, talking to people even when I don't always feel like it, praying, drawing healthy boundaries, and staying present.

What are the practices, priorities and principles that are important to the code for your season right now? What is on your list of things that you need to remember to focus on, fill with, grow in, or learn from? What is the mantra or theme or pattern growing out of the place that you are living in at this time? What is your personal code?

.006 Defamiliarization {Or: Why I am Withdrawing from University}

When I dove back into school this September, I was expecting the transition to be smooth and easy. I thought I would pick up where I left off in first year, except this time I'd go to bed earlier and manage my time more effectively and eat more salad. I wanted to have a quiet semester: no spotlight, no major life decisions, no pressure. The healthiest thing, I thought, would be to live at a mature, steady pace for the next few months with intentional focus and direction.

That's what I thought.

In reality, rather than gaining healthy habits, I found myself walking around with a sense of aimlessness and feeling a little bit sick all the time. I played the piano for two hours a day, went on extended walks or runs, took pictures, made abstract sketches, wrote vignettes and bad poetry, and more: all on top of the other work my six courses gave me. It felt wrong, like something was constricted or cramped up and all of those extra things were my attempt at gasping for air or massaging out a tight spot.

Generally not one to make impulsive decisions based on a whim or emotion, I thought it was a phase. It would pass, I told myself. It had to. Despite this attempt at a positive mentality, however, I would still go to class and wonder what on earth I was doing there. I'd try to slide it away, hoping that this season would end quickly and that I'd start feeling fulfilled by my studies. September was almost over when an acquaintance asked me how school was going and I answered with a blunt: "I hate it," which took her slightly aback and surprised me even more.

At some point I started thinking about dropping out. I'd talked about it before, jokingly, but suddenly I began thinking about it seriously. I, the one who competed for grades, the one who followed the rules, was contemplating dropping out. This forced me to look at the situation and ask myself some honest questions: ones that, frankly, I really did not want to ask.

The next week of my life looked mostly like me having extended conversations about life with some very wise people and sketching out some other possible life plans. After much contemplation, I decided not to drop out. It seemed like the logical conclusion and the safest plan. I told those wise people not to let me talk about dropping out anymore. I wanted to stop shifting my allegiance and changing my mind. I wanted to stick to my decisions.

Essentially, this didn't work out for very long.

The reality is that trying to become someone you are not will almost always come up short, somehow. My massage therapist originally went to school to be an Engineer. I asked her how she went through all those years of school to become something she knew she wasn't. She told me that, somehow, you always end up coming back to what you were made to be. It might happen very late in life, the realization, or you might catch it early and turn things around, but eventually you'll explore, whether in thought or in deed, in hobby or in occupation, the person you were created to be. You'll come back to yourself: your story may just unfold in a more unconventional way.

Once I finally made the decision to withdraw, I fully committed. I cut ties, cancelled interviews, officially withdrew, wrote a proposal, and backed out of a contract. It was a huge hassle and it hurt at times, but every step felt closer to freedom and my motivation slowly returned.

My time at this University is coming to an end. My plans (and most of my back-up plans) include returning to school in September, studying the one thing I probably should have been studying this whole time, but I wouldn't allow myself to pursue (which is another discussion entirely). This means, though, that I have a huge empty space between now and September that did not exist before. I have some ideas of how it will be filled, and they mostly include people and writing and art and work. Beyond that, I don't know. It all feels terribly risky and irresponsible, but there's a freedom attached to it and doors continue to open for me, unwarranted.

There's a term we use in English Criticism called "defamiliarization." Essentially it is the idea that one of literature's functions is to show us a truth that exists unseen by revealing it from a different angle. It means that it usually takes something to knock us out of our "familiarized" state, out of our numbness, to shift us into a teachable posture. That's how I'm thinking about this space, this season. I'm in a defamiliarized state and I'm trusting that I'll grow more into the person I actually am as I take a few risks and learn old truths from new places.

.005 Watch for the Signs

I've noticed a pattern forming in my life, lately. It is one of those rhythms that forms subtly and seems to reflect my head space. It has to do with direction. I was scrolling through recent pictures that I've taken on my phone, and I noticed that there is a distinct theme of "going" threaded through them all. Tunnels, stairs, doors; they are all side-glances. They are all a motion from here to there.

One of my English profs constantly says: "watch for the signs!" Watch for the signs. Trace the repetition. Catch the hints. I'm seeing this principle carving itself into my daily life. If I'm reading the signs correctly, I'm in a phase of "going." I'm in one of those dynamic seasons where change and opposition seems to flare up with every step.

One of these changes is that I've decided to withdraw from University for a time. From December till September, I'll have a haze of empty space to fill and some days that is exciting, some days it is intimidating. I want to fill it well, educate myself outside of the classroom, use the freedom to reflect and to try some new things and to work. I want it to be a place of re-assembling and of laying low. I want to use it to prepare and to stretch and to catch my breath.

I'm always going. Moving and change and I are old friends. Now I'm cutting a huge hole of open, semi-stable time into the next year, which is something I've never done before. It is a little uncomfortable, to be honest, and I've been reflecting on it in quieter moments. This weekend I spontaneously took a bus home and during the trip, the middle ground, I thought about this motif of journey.

I love transformation. I love to push myself to do more, to make mistakes and learn from them. I love looking over my shoulder at where I've been. I'm always attempting to become someone better. That is usually a good, healthy thing. But what happens when I look up and notice that the space I'm in is not where I should be?

We're all on a journey of transformation, of becoming. Sometimes, however, this journey is not an exploration. Sometimes it resembles running away more than anything. There are pieces of ourselves that can be uncomfortable and scary. These are the things we know about ourselves, but would rather avoid. We'd rather stuff away this dream or this talent or this issue that we know exists within us but for whatever reason it comes wrapped in fear or hurt or insecurity. Maybe we're supposed to be running toward these things, pursuing healing or an edging open of ourselves, but instead we're running in the opposite direction and calling that our "journey."

These are the signs. Right now I'm closing doors and taking a new path. I'm changing directions and I think that is ok. It is ok to pause and check the map and be honest about the fact that you might be trying to follow a trail that isn't going to lead to the destination you thought it would. It is ok to take a break, re-evaluate, and chart a slightly new course.

Sometimes we grow out of our spaces. Sometimes we're trying to squeeze ourselves into a place we don't fit. Sometimes we place expectations on ourselves and need to be honest and admit that we'll never measure up to that constructed ideal in our heads. Sometimes we're just blindly blazing forward out of fear or a binding tunnel vision. What path are you actually on? Do you need to change directions?

Watch for the signs.

.004 Sometimes Making the Decision is the Hardest Part

I'm standing on the edge of a new threshold right now; the kind of place that knits fear and possibility together and smudges expectations. My future direction, the one I had so clearly laid out in my mind, has warped once again. I'm in a messy place full of decisions and I spend so much time wondering if I will do the right thing.

My sense of adventure and my sense of fear is split right down the middle right now. I'm taking a crazy step forward. I'm taking a calculated risk that could return great reward, but the road to that place looks tangled and ambiguous from this point of view.

I'm reminded again that I fear what I don't know, or what I think I can't do, and I wonder how often I've allowed this fear to govern me and cinch me into a place that was comfortable, but not necessarily right, or vice versa. There are many places that might not necessarily be noticeably damaging for us to live in, but it may not be the best place: the one we thrive in, the one where we are challenged and stretched and embraced and alive in.

In this place, I'm realizing that deviation and sketching out a new, and perhaps unconventional, path for myself is daunting.

Am I making the right choice?

Will I regret this?

Regret. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't often deviate from the norm because I'm ducking away from potential regret. I cringe away from mistakes. They are uncomfortable. They uncover weakness and often force me to admit I was wrong. Past mistakes have a way of sneaking into everyday thoughts like a constant hum in the background, and sometimes they rise up and pinch.

What I'm learning here in the process of making decisions is this: everything leading up to the decision is often the most exhausting part. Flopping between "should I?" and "shouldn't I?" is mentally exhausting. I catch myself in the tension of whether to listen to my head or my heart. I run in circles with my thoughts, trying to uncover the "magic" solution.

Sometimes all of that back and forth confusion is a sign that you just need to make a decision. You might need to go to a quiet place and and get really honest, or sleep on it overnight, and then ask yourself "what do I really want on a deep, real level, even if I know it is hard or crazy or unpopular?" or "is all of this back and forth just fear?" You might actually know what the "right" decision is, but you may not be admitting it to yourself because finality is weighty and commitment is just scary sometimes.

What if you regret it?

Sometimes it seems easier to stay in that place of back and forth because you're afraid of making the decision. You're afraid that going ahead and taking the step might be the wrong thing to do when, really, the restlessness you are choosing to live in is the very signal you've been praying for. It is the sign that is telling you that this is the wrong spot. You've grown out of it. You're restless because you aren't content here.

Maybe it is a sign that you need to make the very decision you thought you would never seriously consider.

Maybe it is a sign that you just need to make a decision and stick with it.

I often find that when I brush up against uncomfortable situations or issues or choices in my life (especially if they come up repeatedly) it is almost as if God points and says "ok- we're going there. I didn't make you to shrink away in fear."

That could mean staying where you are or diving into a completely new space. That could mean taking responsibility or handing responsibility over to someone else. That could mean dusting off an old dream or saying no to a new one. That could mean sticking it out or it could mean letting it rest. That could mean saying yes or it could mean saying no.

Sometimes the road to the decision is the most difficult part but the actual decision, even if it seems like the hardest way, might surprise you with freedom and beauty and possibility. It might offer blessing in the last place you expect to find it. Yes, it might be hard. You might wake up with huge questions and a wave of fear might roll over you from time to time. It might even seem like the "wrong" decision sometimes. However, there is a long, scenic road ahead and someday the knots will be kneaded out. Someday you'll look over your shoulder and notice the difference between here and there and, perhaps, you may even feel grateful for the journey.

The Pinch Space

After an extended writing hiatus, I've finally returned to this space a few months older and maybe (debatably) a little wiser. Summer had its own lessons to teach me, and they may slide their way into this place when I've had the time and distance to untangle it all.

Right now I'm standing on the threshold of a new season: that vaguely foggy, uncomfortable middle gap that collects time and I always get a little restless in this place. I'd rather not let go of the old seasons I walk though. I'm the one who, once that ship has sailed, stands on the dock and watches until it disappears beyond the horizon and then I wait a little longer still, just in case a wave might raise it up for one last glimpse. In this case, I'm shifting from summer and work back into university for my second year.

It might be the period of life I'm in, but I'm a bit of a nomad. I feel as though I'm always living out of a suitcase, flipping between homes and cultures and communities and as much as I love it, the uprooting never fails to pinch, somehow. That pinch, though, is becoming more familiar and less scary as our paths cross more frequently. It is almost an acquaintance to me at this point. We meet again.

I guess I appreciate that pinch, in a way. It reminds me to be thankful for what I've been blessed with in the seasons passed, and it forces me to look ahead with a sense of adventure and a perspective of possibility.

I've also found a bit of a rhythm, or a strategy, if you will, for surviving the transitional period:

• In my world, there is nothing that spinach can't fix: Or kale. Or pears. Or peppers. Essentially: eat as healthy as possible. I want to eat all the ice cream in the world when I feel a bit adrift, and sometimes I do, but I know that I feel infinitely better when I eat healthy and take care of myself. That is just motherly advice from me to you.

• Resting space: I'm beginning to see this middle space as more of a gift and an opportunity to reflect and gather myself before diving into my next season. As chaotic as it may be, I take it as a chance to fill myself in small ways. I listen to really good music, pray, read my favourite books, write, bake, etc.

• Look foreword: Personally, I always need a goal or a challenge in life to work toward, or my motivation and demeanour will flatline. The pinch space is always a place where I set some new goals, pick out some new things to get excited about, dream a little. I always pray about these things, but part of the process usually involves lists and Pinterest, on occasion.

• Talk: Sometimes an honest conversation or two with a wise person can be the most healing medicine. Conversation has a way of kneading out little fears or insecurities I didn't even know I carried, and speaking those into open air, to another person with doubts and worries just as human as my own, has a habit of dissolving their weightiness. Tea also helps this process.

• Debrief: I try to extract as much meaning out of life as I can. When a season ends, I usually look back on it and try to nail down what I learned, how I grew, or mistakes I made. I also try to carry that gained experience into my next phase of life in order to apply it in a new context. The pinch space is where I sort out some of those lessons and ask questions about myself, life, God, relationships. Some questions have answers and some remain open ended. Those open ended kind are the ones I carry with me into the next season to view in a different light, and they are often the questions that shape me the most.

Rather than idle time, I'm learning to view the pinch space as a bridge or a connection. It is a gift I can use to collect myself, to transition into a new season with a clearer vision of where I came from and where I am going. It is a season in itself, and it can teach me and shape me and possibly heal me as well, if I allow it to. I'm learning to use it, to say thank-you for it, and to appreciate the unlikely gifts it can give me.

Thank goodness for the pinch space.

Steps

Seven years ago, a very normal incident sparked a series of events that threw me into one of the craziest, richest journeys I've ever walked and blew the dust off of a faith that was beginning to grow stale.

I met one of my best friends while walking home from school one day. I didn't know her very well yet, but we struck up a conversation, which led to the topic of God, and I found myself inviting her to church the following Sunday. I wasn't aware of it then, but that moment was a catalyst launching me into an adventure of faith. She came to church with me that Sunday, and a hundred Sundays after. She just didn't stop coming and I had the privilege of being with her when she accepted Jesus about a year later. This past weekend (six years later) we went to a Christian youth conference for our fifth time, except we went as leaders rather than youth. The transformation is stunning: now my friend is pouring into the lives of youth, telling them about living for Jesus and ministering and serving and worshiping; not because she now has a perfect life, but because she has hope and a healing heart.

As we led together, I was struck by the richness of this friendship and all the intense pain and crazy laughter we've experienced together as we've both learned how to follow Jesus: she, as a brand new Christian, and I, as a pastor's kid redefining how and why I believed and carried out my faith. We have so many strange and beautiful and God-filled stories, and what we've experienced could probably fill a book but what strikes me, what humbles me, is that I could have missed it all.

I could have ignored the prompting to invite her to church. I could have swept the invitation under the rug of my fear or hesitation but by God's grace I didn't. That one small risk led to a dozen more and it built a relationship, which grew two faiths in completely different ways. The effects have reverberated across the miles that separate us and through the years till now. So much fruit and blessing has come from one blip of a moment. One tiny act of obedience altered everything.

Sometimes a small step is all that is needed to drastically shake up our lives and push us into a better version of ourselves. Sometimes the best way to see Jesus is to take a risk and lean in and trust hard. It probably won't be smooth or easy. My friend didn't become a Christian the next day; it was a year before she accepted Christ. In fact, much of our relationship has consisted of wrestling with hard questions, and walking through many experiences of heart-wrenching pain, but I think, through it all, we taught each other how to press into God, how to let Him be sovereign, and how to experience a mysterious joy in difficult circumstances.

Take a small step in faith, and it might bring clarity to some of the foggy edges in our lives. It might involve sacrifice, but it might also produce rich blessing. It might answer some of our most difficult questions and leave us with harder ones. It might stretch us, but it might also propel us to continue on. We might be glossing over our fullest life because we're being tugged back into fear or tunnel vision or a list of rules. Dare to take a step and follow a prompting and watch what tumbles out of that. It could be that behind the risk, tucked under the unknown, a shower of blessing is waiting to be unleashed.

Autonomy

I'm trying to think of what has been on my mind in all the leftover space. To be honest, I haven't been hashing through any grand or lofty issues. Sometimes I just get very quiet and contemplative and content with the present moment. That has been happening a lot lately. I've just been appreciating life and where I am right now, soaking in time, praying quiet prayers, and generally flying under the radar. I really love flying under the radar: not in the sense that I am underestimating myself, but in the sense that I know myself, I'm secure in where I am and where I'm going, and I like having ambiguous areas in my life that only I know about. 

A steady theme in my life this year has been the idea of becoming autonomous- not relying on anyone else or anything else for my identity, yet being part of a community and loving it well. I'm so prone to dive in and latch on to places, ideas, people, and when the time comes to move on, the rip is anything but clean. I leave kicking and screaming and finding hollow places in myself that I try to cover will all these external things. Not anymore. I've brushed up against that elusive balance between independence and interdependence. We all need people and places and seasons, but not as saviours. 

I wrote the above over a month ago. As the end of first year approached, I began reflecting on the past eight months more often, in quieter moments. It's funny how little memories remain impressed in my mind. They seemed so insignificant at the time, but really those little moments were mini turning points, pulling and twisting me into change and a new perspective. Looking back, I was so right. I'm done school now. I've said good bye and, somehow, I'm not very sad. Of course, I know I'll be going back next year but the old me would have tried to hold on to little pieces of this past year, attempting to preserve them. Now I've come to realize that good friends, good places, good experiences are a gift to be enjoyed and thankful for. There are always endings, but there are always beginnings, too. Life ahead is full and promising.

I remember one night, in the middle of winter, I was in my room, wrapped in a blanket, and suddenly I had this clear thought: "Christy, what do you actually want?" It wasn't a selfish question. I had been frustrated with myself and cloudy areas in my life that didn't seem to be working out in a very clean or ideal way. When that question dropped in my mind, I was reminded that I was drifting toward a very problematic path of living in a way that seemed "right" because it was the direction that I perceived most other people to be walking. However, when I thought about it truthfully, I realized that it didn't fit with who I was at the time. I was trying to shuffle myself into a "norm" rather than being honest and making decisions for myself.

That moment released a dozen others just like it over the next few months. Surprisingly, staying true to myself and the direction I knew that God was guiding me in allowed me to love others in a more free and accepting way. I think it made me more secure in myself. It's a strange paradox: focus on yourself, and you will be freed to live for others. I've been trying to unravel it for a while because it can be so easily misinterpreted or misunderstood, but it is something essential that I had been missing for so long.

It might be the difference between people pleasing and loving people. I think before I would have said that I was "living for others," but really I was trying to bend into the person I thought they wanted me to be. That isn't helpful for anyone. Rather, maybe this paradox should look more like: know yourself, and you will be freed to love others. If I were to nail down one part of me that changed the most this year, that would be it. Know yourself, love others.

For me, this "knowing myself" part meant allowing myself to own opinions and speak them. It meant exploring who I am as an artist and understanding who I am not. It meant balancing time spent with people and time alone. It meant figuring out a new rhythm of prayer and listening to God. It meant staying healthy mentally, physically, and emotionally. This is only the beginning of my personal list. There are so many things that tangle and cross to converge within us as humans, and it is the untangling and massaging out the knots that teaches us who we are, one lesson at a time.

Autonomy. It's something I didn't know I needed to grow in until it happened. I'm seeing now how being a Christian is a lifelong journey. I am constantly being taught and changed by God and it is always intriguing to me how God is going to grow me next. It is such an adventure, and it never fails to challenge me, perplex me, and bless me in hundreds of different ways. Like I said, endings always trail into beginnings. Life ahead is full and promising.

The One I Didn't Want to Post

I didn't want to post this. There is nothing scandalous here, no deep, dark secrets, but being vulnerable in a public space is just rough, sometimes. Often I'll learn things about myself and it turns into a post and I just kind of pray, "God? Couldn't you teach me about some kind of world issue or.... I don't know, something else that isn't so personal!? Couldn't this be a bit less like a journal?" But no, this is what it is.

As a little update, I've been keeping up my weekly pilgrimages to the mall to pray. I keep the fact that I do this pretty quiet in "real life," because I love having this space in my week totally carved out and secret. I've had so many interesting encounters and experiences on these outings, and it is a rhythm that has enhanced my life, and my relationship with God, so much since first semester. it is amazing how simply taking the time to show up and pray expectantly, or just sitting in silence, has opened my eyes and my heart. It has been a way to intentionally refocus, and it has been so, so worth it.

I've changed so much over these past two semesters of school. One of the prayers I pray most often is: "God, what needs to change in me now?" I find that those prayers are always answered in the most interesting and startling ways.

That essay I wrote about? The issue was less about the content and topic of the essay, and more about what it sparked in me. I'm finished it now, but I've been thinking hard about all of this, grappling with this passion I have for writing and where I want to take it from here. I say I'm grappling with it because, really, it has been a point of contention with myself for as long as I can remember.

Writing is what makes me fundamentally myself. Words on the page expose my most truthful self, something that can't be expressed in any other way. On the other hand, I've always wished that I had a different gift. I've tried to store this one away, hide it, downplay it, pretend that it isn't mine. I've been frustrated that writing isn't a necessarily "performable" talent (like dancing or singing), I've kicked back against the honesty that writing forces me up against every time.

When I think of who I am, the first two words I would use to describe myself would be "writer" and "introvert," both parts of myself that I've wanted to change countless times as I've grown up. I've always had this strange wish to be a logical, extraverted person and not this quiet, creative personality that I've been given. I remember, as a very young girl, retreating to my closet to write among stacks and stacks of papers; half finished ideas, stories, letters. I hid it all. Even now, I equate writing with hiding to some extent.

Hiding. Flying under the radar. I've been a bit of a wallflower all my life because it is the most comfortable place for me to be. I prefer to stand away from the spotlight. My idea of a good time mostly consists of activities that can be done alone. That is my niche. However, as a Christian, being alone all the time isn't what I've been called to do. I've also been given this intense love for people, and I've been learning to balance my natural tendency to retreat and this calling to love people.

So- writing. It is uncomfortable. It is gritty. It is also one of the most fulfilling parts of my life. Just as I haven't been called to hide away, I have also not been called to stifle my gifts or hoard them selfishly. That is why I share my writing. It is not something that I want to do, exactly. I'm not here to impress anyone or imply that I have all the answers. This is what I have been given, though, and every time I have used this gift, I've been blessed in countless ways. I'm reminded of the parable of the talents in the Bible, the one where the servant buries the treasure his master gives him rather than putting it to use. That is not who I want to be.

This year, praying about what needs to change, I've grown into myself more than ever. I've begun to embrace this creativity, my writing, my opinions. I'm trying to hide less and settle more into what I've been given.

This is where I stand now, at the edge, batting questions back and forth and peering through keyholes in search of answers. I'm constantly being pushed into uncomfortable corners of honesty and truthfulness, and I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm learning balance and autonomy and wisdom. I'm learning to accept the gifts I've been given and use them well. I'm learning that change is an ongoing process and that when I ask, I will receive. When I press in and really seek, I will find. I might not find what I thought I wanted, but that is the beauty of it all. There are so many unexpected gifts in so many unexpected places.

So, Who Will You Be?

It's university and I'm eighteen years old and attempting to construct some plan my future, but I'm caught in a tension. The dilemma is whether I should do what I want to do, what I think I should do, or if there is any difference at all between those two questions. I say that I want to make the right decision to get myself a good job, but since when did I ever care that much about getting a "good" job? That's already a signal to me that I'm trying to hide something from myself.

The problem right now is that I'm only half doing what I want- the other half is doing something that I want to do too, but for completely different reasons. It feels a little bit wrong. The tension is whether I want a degree in business, which I hate, or a degree in english, which I love. There are many other variables to this issue (trust me), but this is the basic core of it.

The question that keeps circling in my head is: "are you just taking business so that you sound smarter?" I think that I might be walking right back into my old habits without even realizing it. I might be back to wishing that I was the logical math genius rather than this complicated, creative personality that I've been given. Is it because I always want the quick answers and rather, I am the one who must explore, uncover and experience things the hard way before realizing what I knew all along? That is what makes me myself, and I do love it, but I also think that I am wishing myself, pushing myself, into a mold that doesn't quite fit me. I can slip into it and wear it, but it doesn't flatter who I really am or highlight my best qualities. I'm not my best self here.

The reason this is risky- switching programs- is not because I'm so worried about my future career path. I trust that that will unfold somehow. That's not the point. The risk is that I feel like I'm about to let that elusive math and logic "self" beat me again. This means that I'm letting go of an ideal, trusting a lot (and giving up a job that might sound "smarter").

I have to trust that God did not create me to be naturally systematic and logical for a reason. There is a reason why I've been gifted with this specific skill set and why this is my true passion.
I was walking to make an appointment with my academic advisor to talk about switching my program when suddenly I felt like I had put it off long enough. I needed to sit under this tree right now and write, for heaven's sake.

Because something great might come from this; and how can I give up english for business? I'll go further doing what I love than cinching myself into something I hate, something I know I'll never really excel at. Maybe quitting business isn't allowing it to trump me at all- maybe it is saving myself, freeing myself. Maybe it's allowing myself space and energy to invest into doing what I love. I'd rather fight later for english and a job in that field than fight right now for an economics grade that I don't even care about.

So, true to my usual self, nothing ever happens in any kind of conventional way for me. Nothing is very linear in my life. I think, though, that at some point honesty has to take over. I have to be willing to risk doing what I love for the sake of my sanity and my calling. I can't fight the truth forever.

Becoming

I've always wanted to be older.

Part of this stems from my personality, I think. I've always been a bit of an old soul; quiet and thoughtful, reading books I barely understood because I was too young and always sitting in on adult conversations just to listen. When I was younger, I had a picture in my mind of who I wanted to be when I was eighteen. It was a blend of all the best parts of the people I admired and what I thought I wanted to become. I naively assumed that simply growing older would change me into that person; I thought I would achieve it with maturity.

Now that I am eighteen, I'm thinking of that image, that girl I was supposed to become, and she seems so foreign and untouchable to me. If I had tried to become her, I would have compromised who I am at the core of myself. I wouldn't be myself anymore, and something about that doesn't appeal to me because I actually like who I am becoming. It's a subtle development and yes, I have flaws, but I realized that I'd rather become more of myself than turn into a bad imitation of a fabricated image. It was a mental shift: focusing on who I am and how to develop that rather than focusing on who I am not and how to obtain it.

In a little over a month, my time as a high school student will quietly close. Lately I've been thinking back over these past four years, drawing up old memories and wondering what I would have done differently. I hated most of high school, but this past year has been so different and I'm discovering why. At the beginning of the year, I knew I wanted to end well. Previously, school had been a place of tension manifesting between me and myself. It was a battle ground in which I subconsciously set impossible expectations and failed to live up to them, lending to a subconscious feeling of failure (because a 100% average is an unrealistic goal that, now, I am not ashamed that I never achieved). I wouldn't think of judging others by their GPA, but somehow I didn't escape my own criticism.

With a subtle shift in focus, this has become one of the best years of school so far. I slowly gave myself permission to be genuine, lowered my expectations a little, intentionally tried to focus on other people and, in exchange, I gained personal freedom, achieved the same GPA without all the pressure, and had so much more fun. I love setting goals, but only goals that are attainable and in keeping with who I am and who I want to become. At the beginning of first semester, I prayed about very specific areas of school and life that I knew I wanted to change and I've been surprised and blessed to watch them take on a new dimension and depth to me. It was a process: I didn't wake up one day completely changed and I'm still not completely changed, but it's a healthier way of living.

Now I am finally the age I always wanted to be and it seems silly now, because it's just an age. It will fade away like all the others and my spirit, the core of who I am, will be the same. I can't change that. I interact with elderly people on a regular basis, and many of them will lament to me about growing old. In some, though, I can see a youthful spirit shining through their eyes, the energy that vibrates within, and I tell them that they are only as old as their spirit feels.

I should listen to my own advice.