Honest, hope is a verb, ramblings, Uncategorized, washington whimsy

But we are here, together.

I’ve been staring at my blank screen for about an hour.

I’ve written three or four different beginnings and deleted them because I had no clue where they were going.

I’ve pulled out my journal and jotted phrases, I’ve pulled from conversations this week that have shaken me and provided me no answers but just the assurance that I’m still going and I’m still here. I’ve pulled from moments of wanting to punch people from their ability to challenge me to my feet.

I don’t think people read my blog for answers.

I think maybe they read it because I flood their newsfeed with links, others read it because they are kind humans, and other read it because hopefully to see if what I am saying is what they are saying too.

I’ve been taking a lot about (or a lot around) God these days.

God and I are currently in a season of life where our relationship doesn’t work the same as it used too. So, we (me) are trying to figure out what it looks like now. In reality I am choosing to believe it’s because it’s deeper than it ever has been.

When I write I try my best to relate to people where they are. I try to use broad terms and illustrations to remind as best I can that we are all human.

I try to make sure that people who read this, be it people who see me on a daily basis or people that have seen me in months or people that have never met me, know that on a basic level, I am always ok.

The ok may be shaken sometimes but it’s always there.

The season/process/chunk of life I’m in right now is definitely a “shaky ok” kind of season. Mainly in terms of my faith, and my relationship with God and my inability to receive beautiful soul-filling words that are currently being said to me.

All the things in my life that used to work aren’t working anymore.

And so, I write for you from the middle.

I write from the middle so that you know that the middle is ok.

That these stories and processes and lives we are a part of creating are good and beautiful even when they feel ugly and hopeless.

I share my stories and my beliefs or lack thereof to show you that we aren’t that different whether you believe in my God or another God or nothing at all.

I don’t know what the answer is for me right now. I chose not to go to church this morning hoping to find some semblance of a response and was met with silence.

But, I know that silence wasn’t actually silence. It was incredibly loud in actuality.

And I say that for this reason: what may feel like silence isn’t. What may feel like the universe or god or whomever isn’t responding isn’t that. There is something there. I swear.

I don’t think people read my blog for answers because I sure as hell don’t have them.

So, whatever you are going through, whatever seems insurmountable, whatever doesn’t seem right or true or hopeful.

Know that you are the thing that is hope.

You are the thing that can get over the mountain.

And maybe, all you need to know, is that we are here, together.


Please, compare.

I will never be her. With her poise and command.

With the fear washed out of her eyes.

I will never be of her structure and frame.

With grace and fluidity in each step.

I will never have her beauty.

Eyes will never second look at me.

I will never be someone’s everything like she is.

I will never be someone’s “I will never be that”
This is a black hole.

One moment of comparison lends to 15 minutes, hours, years of self-doubt and second guessing.

Comparison has started to be a more prevalent fixture rather than passing shadow in my life.

It’s normally not in the frame of reference of looks for me, but other areas of life.

Writing about comparison though as a female feels cliche. When men write about it’s very much like those pictures of celebrities going grocery shopping without make up on in people.

“Celebrities: they are just like us”.

But, when a woman writes about it, it seems like it’s just lost in the white noise of life.

Comparing and categorizing is an issue that’s so prevalent in today’s society.

But I ask the question: how are we supposed to not compare?

We do it everyday.

That apple or this apple, coffee from Starbucks or coffee from Woods, reading labels and comparing prices and fits and pros and cons list.

It’s in our minds and how we view so many things in this world.

So why does it surprise us that is so easy to compare people?

I try to trick myself into thinking I don’t compare myself with other people that often. But even choosing to look up to someone can lead you to comparison.

Turning to comparison can look differently in everyone’s life. It can make some bitter and hateful. Unable to celebrate victories, incapable of seeing joy in their own life.

I will be the first to admit that those things have all appeared in my life.

What I’ve noticed lately is that I choose NOT to hang out with people when I’m feeling extra compar-y inside. I choose to stay away from places where I can see what I am without.

As in I’d not be around the people that cause my mind to go to a place that I don’t like.

Neither options are good; the comparison or the lack of people.

Now, I’m not saying that everyone time I’m with people I am creating a laundry list of what I am lacking-I’m saying that when I’m tired and worn out and burned out it becomes so easy to sink into using other people’s lives as one of those mirrors that show all my flaws.

I’m living in a season right now that has a little more anxiety then normal, more tiredness, feeling less successful. And this makes it so easy for comparison to fill in the holes and gaps in my life for why things don’t feel in place. (It makes it so easy for fear to creep in-but that’s another story).

What I should say right now is a fluffy Jesus statement about comparing and about how I should choose to see myself a certain way blah blah blah and things will come in time yadda yadda.

But, obviously I’m not going to say that.

What I am going to say is this:

I bet you can’t get through the day without comparing SOMETHING: be it an apple, a coffee, a label.

So, when your mind falls into the comparison trap of one human to another- don’t beat yourself up.

Instead, take a deep breath and shake it off. Everything around in this world wants to divide us by comparing ourselves or creating an us and them. Or fill the space of people who feel bad about doing it.

Give comparison space to happen, compare prices, restaurants (like, I’m sorry guys, I won’t ever pick Jalepenos) and the way a shirt fits, but when comparison starts to separate you from yourself; take a moment and see what good it brings. 

If the comparison brings nothing good, don’t fill your life that.

My comparing black holes don’t bring life or good. But, I can tell you, it’s still going to happen.

But, what I am going (try) to do is use comparison to point out my similarities with people. I am going to remember story and hope that I can filter out the comparison that doesn’t bring my soul life.

So please, compare, highlight similarities you have with people to bring you closer to their story. Find common ground to stand on to hear the ways in which you are different. How someone got from point A to point B. Hear the story of how even though you think their nose is perfect, they’ve always struggled with its shape. 

Compare your common ground first.

See what happens.


Just throw the rock.

I’ve been thinking a lot about choices lately. How people make them, how I make them, why I make them. I’ve been creating charts in my brain of how one choice led to another and to another. How something I decided to do 8-9 years ago led me to today. How making one jump off of a cliff led to another and another until you were at the bottom of a chasm and wondered for a second how you got there, then took off in exploration.
I cut my hair today. Got about 4 inches or so cut off. Why? I felt like a change, I felt like I needed a breath of fresh air and the easiest way to do that is to cut my hair. The first time I ever did a drastic cut to my hair was in the beginning of 2008. My friend Jordan had cut my hair a few times and one Sunday afternoon I requested her to just chop it. Take 6-7 inches off. I had never had my hair that short. I had thought because of my size that long hair was the only way I could go. But I decided screw it, I can do what I want- and also I trusted her. 
So I went for it.

So now, every once in awhile I just decided to cut it all, because I made that choice one ago that I will do things that make me happy, and have a fresh short hair do is one of those things. But I do wonder, had I not had a friend who I trusted with my hair would I have made that choice and then kept making it?

It seems so silly, thinking of that choice and how that small thing impacts so many other moments.

I am not saying every choice we makes has a ripple effect. Because not every choice makes a big splash. Whether or not I buy a coffee in the morning doesn’t make a big ripple (unless of course my future husband was buying a coffee at the same time and he was supposed to accidentally spill coffee on me and that’s where our love story begins). I digress. But the big things the choices and decisions that make big splashes matter.

I don’t think we should be afraid of the big splash choices. I don’t think we should be afraid to jump. I think we should lean into the jump if the opportunity arises.

Five years ago I jumped. I had been working at my preschool for five years. And from the prior October on I had a nudging that I was supposed to quit. Move on. Jump.
To what? To where?
I had no clue.

But, five years ago today, I told my preschool director that it would be my last year. That I truly felt God telling me to jump. That I felt like something big was out there for me.

And the ripple effects of that choice led me to Bellingham.

Bellingham was another choice. It was another rock in the water and I am not sure where these ripples will take me. 

Making big splashes isn’t easy. It isn’t without loss or heartbreak. But making those choices is making a choice to grow, to change and to walk into something new.

It’s not about making big choices with abandon and no thought. It’s about choosing to know yourself. It’s about choosing to follow what’s inside you and finding your peace even when it’s scary. It’s not always easy, but it’s not always hard either. For me, five years ago I made a choice to find who I was free from preconceived ideas and job titles. And that has led me to choice upon choice that sometimes look crazy, but in reality are the best I could have made. 

And as a sidenote: if you need someone to tell you to jump. If you need encouragement to make a leap, to take a trip, to quit a job, to follow a dream-come find me. I’m here for you.

What ripples do you want to cause in yourself? 

Let’s throw the rock in and see.


Found: trinkets & unicorns

I bought a new journal about a month ago or so. I didn’t need a new journal, I am nowhere close to finish my current journal. And it has lines.😳

It’s this beautiful tiny journal with a silly story on the front and the back. But as I held it, I knew that lines or not, with even its small amount of pages, it was a journal for me to tell a story in. I could feel it.

It’s still blank. I haven’t written a single word.

I carried it to California this past weekend in hopes that I might pause, that I might unearth a lesson long buried there.

Sunday was a weird day.
I went to church, and then went to the place I used to work to meet up with a lovely family I haven’t seen in a year and a half.

And a heaviness followed me.

When I set foot through the gate I walked through hundreds and hundreds of times the heaviness met me. And as I sat on the benches and looked around the courtyard, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

I got hugs from my Grandma Winnie and went out to lunch with Eric and Cathy and their boys and I had very few words it seems for this year that has put me under.

And I couldn’t verbalized it. For all the words I’ve written and conversations I’ve had and tears I’ve cried, my brain didn’t want to connect.
It was the walk through the neighborhood I used to call home that caused me to realize something, the walk home caused a song lyric to start playing through my brain.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

Leaving Orange County four years ago was the hardest/best decision I have ever made.

That decision spawned another and another and another.

And now I’m in Bellingham.

I’m 31. I’ve essentially worked in the same “industry” for over ten years. I have a full (expired) passport. I have amazing friends here and there and everywhere in between. I have a beautiful unique faith that I build upon daily and I have a pretty good grasp on the person that is Meghan Marie Reeve.

I do my best to show up for my life daily, through joy and laughter and sorrow and tears.

And I still don’t necessarily know what I am looking for.

I’ve found a lot of things in my life so far, and I think I’m up for some more.

We get told to settle a lot. To give up. To stop hoping. To marrying that guy, to stay in the job.

We get told a lot to not jump. To squash the desire for more.

It’s ok to keep looking for more as long as you don’t give up life around you. It’s ok to not have found what your looking for as long as you continually live fully in the present.

Walking down the streets I walked down more times than I can count attempting to shake of the heaviness that was settling, I realized that I am ok with not having found what I am looking for.

16 years ago I found something and chose to follow Christ.

14 years ago I found something and chose to go to Vanguard.

9 years ago I found it and chose to stay.

4 years ago I found it and chose to leave.

And twice since then I’ve chosen to go.

And now here I am. Living my life as fully as I can.

I don’t know what I will find next. I’m growing accustom to the feeling of more.

Please please please, don’t be afraid, as you fully live your life, to let the feeling of more allow you to reach farther than you have, to do more then you thought you could. Be who you are, where you are and there I believe we will once again find something to add to our trove of lessons, victories, and memories. We will find and create stories to nestle in tiny journals and tell our kids.

As I got to the end of this compilation of sentences, a friend of mine popped in my brain.

My favorite Casey Marie.


Casey is one of those humans from my small town that I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve known. It seems like she’s always been in my life.

Casey, this blog and these words are for you. You are a dynamic spitfire, who has come and gone. You’ve won over crowds with your ability to bring them to tears or have them in stitches. You’ve found so many trinkets and unicorns in your life. And you are on the cusp of another.

2017 is for you.

(It’s for you too. And even if you’ve found a long list of things in your life, even if you’re 90. You can still find more of what you are looking for.)


Even (fake) introverts need people.

I currently am living too brain dead and exhausted to do much of anything these days. My compassion and patience and words for the day are pretty much done by 3 pm each week day. I just want to hide in a hole in my room and not come out.

I don’t want to be around a single person ever. 

I spent a majority of my Saturday, in my room, with the door shut. I didn’t attempt to make conversation with people. I said no to plans. I didn’t even check the mail.
And I didn’t feel better.

I woke up this morning before my alarm and my roommate was up, so we decided to go sit at a coffee shop before we went to church.

We didn’t talk about anything earth shaking. Just sat in each other’s space for longer then 15 minutes and doodle and occasionally spoke about random things. And it made everything feel lighter and brighter.

When I took the Meyers Briggs before I went on the world race 4 years ago I tested as an ENFJ. An extrovert.

I laughed. I prefaced every conversation about my Meyers Briggs with “I have literally never tested as an extrovert. Ever.”

I thought this was the most comical thing that I had ever heard. There is no way that I was an extrovert. I was your poster child for introverts.

But, I’ve come to learn that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t that I was introvert. It was that I taught myself not need/depend on/want people in my life. I had spoken myself into introversion. 

Somewhere along the line I had deemed myself a person who got their energy from being alone.

But, in reality, I had just decided that if I needed energy from being around people and none were around or wanted to be around me then I had the ability to get hurt.

I had gotten kind of sick of getting hurt.

Now, I don’t believe that you need a test to tell you who you are, but I do believe that words have power. And when this test told me, that I was an extrovert, I started to see ways that I was.

I love being around small groups of humans, I love coffee dates with friends, or running errands with someone. I like just being around people. My Saturday day of introversion usually includes wandering around downtown and seeing all the regular folks. I’m alone, but I’m not alone.

I do enjoy my alone time, I like cleaning in an empty house, or sitting at a coffee shop by myself to write. 

But I do better at the end of a long day, if I grab a beer with Elizabeth or meet Jonathan at Bob’s or Alyssa at woods. Friday’s feel better when we get drinks and food and toast to a week finished together. Sundays feel more full when Jeremiah, Patty and I go out for brunch or Joanna and I eat truffle fries and Patrick pops out on his break to steal some. 

The yellow house feels like it’s living up to it’s potential when even after a horrendously long day we cram 12 people into our front room for chimichangas and cards against humanity. 

And even though I joke that I want to stay at a hotel when I go to Orange County, I go there to go home–and that’s Tyler and Priscilla’s (and obviously with Krystle spending the night.)

If I truly believed I didn’t need people, I wouldn’t have made 3/4 of the decisions I’ve made in my life.

Something in me knew.

I think I spent a lot of my life, hiding from getting hurt, hiding from people.

Hiding from myself. 

I used being an introvert as an excuse to not be around people to not see myself.

If you are a person who is fact an introvert or a small group extrovert (this is my category) please remember, that you do in fact need people. 

We aren’t meant to do this alone. 

This is what I need to remember these days. 

I’m not meant to do this alone.

And I’m not.

Lesson one was you were meant to take up space.

And lesson two is this:

Trust me, you aren’t alone.  

Your people are out there.

And they need you as much as you need them.


Why I don’t show up

All I’ve wanted to tell people over the past month is to grow the eff up, put on your big girl panties and  show up for your life. It’s a fire that was lit in me by one of the fathers in my life. Commit or be killed. Man up or shut up. Be a grown ass woman and do the damn thing.
But as the words started to come out, my BS monitored started to ding.

I haven’t been listening to my own war cries. 

It’s easy for me to call out the tangible examples of people not showing up. A parent forgetting to pick you up from soccer practice. A friend missing a coffee date.  An online date who chose to up and leave halfway through a drink (yes, that was a thing). 

How would this make you feel?

How did these things make me feel?

Like I didn’t matter. Like my time wasn’t as valuable. That I wasn’t worth it.

Or in the very real situation of a date leaving before they finished a drink–that I wasn’t acceptable. 

The tangible showing up is easy to see. And easy to call out. I have many a speech prepared were I to run into a few certain human beings.

But what about the not showing up that isn’t tangible.

Me and Washington aren’t the best of friends. I haven’t been shy to say this. I haven’t been shy to state that this has been the hardest staying season I’ve ever set foot in. But just because I say it doesn’t mean I’m necessarily working that hard to change.
I know I’m here, I know I am not leaving. Making friends, connections, working full time, making a name for myself in the wacky arena I find myself in, I signed another lease.

But diving in, is another story. 
I haven’t been showing up with my everything. I don’t let people in past a certain fence. I am not allowing strong bridges to be built.

Blunt honesty moment: I am scared of getting hurt, getting left behind, getting pushed to the side.

There is this one moment, etched in my mind, from when I was in fifth grade. I had walked to school by myself and went to go find “my friends” on the playground. Come to find out they were all hiding from me.

I think it was then that I realized needing people, friends, humans in my life was a weakness. A place I could get hurt. So even if I showed up, I had a defense. I had an ability to quarantine my heart off.

But just as physically choosing to not show up to work, or to ditch a friend is painful and effects those around you; choosing to not show up with your whole self for the people around you effects them  and is an action that tells people that you don’t trust them. 

Let me rephrase that: when I don’t show up for those I love, when I choose not to be here, I’m telling them I don’t trust them.

I know that I am too hard on myself, that I show up more often than not.
But I also know that there are fork in the road moments where I can chose to be there in the moment, or not be there at all and somewhere in this last year, it’s been easier to not be there at all. 

I realized this morning that somewhere in the past month I stopped caring. I stopped letting the hard things hit me, the tired things make me tired, because it became too much. I ran out of emotions for 2016.

I stopped showing up because it became easier to avoid the reminders that I was lacking something then to have it hit me in the face daily.

I think that somewhere in this year I got sick of being hurt by things that weren’t even set out to hurt me. 

I feel as if I am full of apologies to my friends, to the people around me whom I’ve maybe caused to feel worthless, useless or unloved.

I’m full of anger at myself for letting it get to this point.

But, I’m also filled with hope for myself. That in the midst, I am still here. 

I’m choosing these days to not let my offenses with myself pile up. I’m choosing not to beat myself up over how horrible a job I’ve done, or when I am unable to get kids to sleep.

That’s my slow way of journeying into showing up. Reflecting. Taking what I need, and moving on.

Choosing to know that when I show up for these humans, they will be there for me.

And knowing that they haven’t given up on me yet.

So, if you need a speech on showing up, I am fully prepared to give it, but in this journey of living wholehearted, this area is a work in progress. I’m ok with that. And I’m thankful for those around me allow it.


even living wholeheartedly takes margaritas.

I want to post so many disclaimers on this blog. I want you to know that I am not tooting my own horn or think in any way shape or form I have it all together. I do want you to know that I am writing the following blog because I’ve realized in the midst of all the things that have felt hard lately, amidst all of the things that have felt hopeless or tiring or have caused me to want to pack up and flee Washington—I have come to realize something:

I am MORE than ok.

I believe for the first time in my life, with some bumps along the way, that I am living wholeheartedly.

“Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. It’s going to bed at night thinking, Yes I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid but that doesn’t change the truth that I am worthy of love and belonging.” (Brene Brown)

I’ve had more times than I’d like to admit over the last year where I haven’t felt enough or worthy or wanted. More times that I’ve wanted to duck out or move or be alone (because good lord COMMUNITY).

Here’s the thing. I haven’t. Yes, once or twice I have ducked out because I needed a break from groups or couples or humans in general. But I used to go to sleep paralyzed with anxiety nightly second guessing everything I did or said. I used to wake up every morning with that same anxiety.

It doesn’t riddle my bones anymore.

There have been seasons where exhaustion and stress have allowed those things to creep in. But, I’ve realized over the past month that right now, in this time of my life, the only person I really have to be enough for is me.

And I think I am.

I was talking to my mom a couple weeks ago, reiterating a conversation I had with my friend Casey, about how it boggles my mind that people want to be my friend, or that I am someone people want around. I don’t say this to belittle myself in the least. I say it because I spent a lot of my life being quiet and shy and sitting alone. I never thought I was capable of making friends. Or that I was capable of being the outgoing one.

It’s not about being those things. It’s about being yourself. And for the first time in my life, I feel I am being myself. Not second guessing (98% of the time), choosing daily many things, not diminishing who I am in any sense. And that changes things.

Growing up we are told to be a good student, a good athlete, a good citizen, a good daughter. We are given parameters on what makes a good human.

But what about what makes a good you?

What if we all chose to, instead of living up to standards of enough-ness, chose to figure out who we were, piece by piece and be those things?

I don’t know all of who I am yet. But I do know a lot for 31.

I’m choosing to believe that I am enough for each day, even though some days I need to cry and battle that truth out with myself or with a sacred circle.

I’m choosing to go into each day and season with the thought that my enough for myself will change and grow.

But, I am also choosing to know it will only be defined by myself and lifted up with kind words from friends and maybe even sometimes tough love from those I trust.

I am choosing to go to bed every night knowing that I did the damn thing, and if I need to change something I will. Even if kids cry and transitions go to chaos and I feel as if I did nothing right, as long as I showed up and put my heart and mind into the day, I am enough and tomorrow is a new day.

I am choosing to live wholeheartedly, knowing that sometimes, it will need a margarita.

So here is my question to you–who are you being enough for?


What’s your brave?

I wrote this blog a year ago as a submission for an online community. Before I could get all the kinks worked out, the website stopped pubkishing. A couple nights ago, I couldn’t sleep so I was perusing through my email and found this tucked into the sent folder.

It’s still true today.

Apparently I’m brave. I don’t really get it.I’ve been thinking about the word brave so much these days because the word has been used by others to describe the changes and life moves I’ve made specifically over the last 4 years. 

But what I’ve come to realize is we cannot measure someone else’s brave.

You can only measure your own.

To be brave is to be vulnerable. To put yourself out there in a way that causes you to give something or even lose something.

It could be physically putting yourself in a situation where you know that you could get hurt. That’s why we call firefighters and policemen brave. But would they consider themselves brave? To them I bet it’s the job, it’s what they do. It’s who they are. They wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t. Some people call missionaries to somewhat dangerous places brave, because they are inserting themselves into a potentially life threatening arena. But to them, it’s just what was inside. It’s not a complete stretch.

Over the last four years I have quit a steady job, gone on a mission trip around the world living out of a backpack, I’ve gone to an intense discipleship program in the south of Spain and then moved to a city I’d never been too, in a new state, into a house I didn’t see before I signed a lease.

So because of all of those things people call me brave.

I can look at that list and pick one, the discipleship program, that was brave. There were instances around the world I deemed brave, but for the most part none of it hit my brave meter. None of those things were outside of who I have found myself to be. To me, it was just my life, it was jumping to the next cliff, already knowing it was there.

Brave is jumping blind, because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt you are supposed to jump.

At the end of February 2009 I did what I deem potentially the bravest thing I have done to date: I stepped into therapy for the first time.

I was in the midst of a season of depression, loss, hurt and I just didn’t know what to do with my hands. So, after a lot of hemming and hawing I made an appointment.

I was absolutely terrified and emotionally wrecked before even stepping into the office. 

Going to therapy was not fitting with who I was at the time, it was asking for help, it was claiming I was not the glue, it was putting myself in a place where I’d be symbolically stripped naked.

And I chose to do it.

The same with going to Spain in 2014, it was brave for me. It was something outside of what I felt capable of doing but I got on the plane anyway

I have my own barometer of what is brave. I know who I am, and what I can do, what I can’t do and what I should do but don’t want too and for me that last place is where my brave lies.

Sitting down with a father figure of mine for the first time was brave and sweat inducing, while standing up in front of 100 kids playing a bad guy was super easy.

We can’t define brave for someone else.

I know my brave and I want to challenge you to know yours and not be afraid to claim it as brave.

Feel no shame in calling yourself brave because it’s something beneath the surface.

What I am saying is that I want us be our own brave.
So, what’s yours?


I don’t like to be lost (a short story)

(When I can’t write, when I can’t make sense of what is going on in my head- I have found that something that helps me is to make it up. To write fiction and see what truth comes out. It’s been a while, but here is a short story that showed up as I let the story come out.)

I like to adventure. To explore.

I like to know exactly where I am going.

I’m good with directions and with knowing which way is north.

I don’t like to be lost.

It was a Saturday. I woke up, made my coffee and stared at the mountains behind my house. They were mountains I climbed on a regular basis, normally by myself, with a fully charged cellphone and trail maps in the back seat of my car.
I don’t like to be lost.

It had been an emotionally charged week. I had a mishap on a project at work, I’d burned my hand, ran out of gas…

Oh yah, and my boyfriend of two years had broken up with me.

And by broken up with me, I mean I ran into him and his other girlfriend at a restaurant.

I ran out of the restaurant before he could say a word.

I don’t like to be lost.

So I packed some snacks, checked the weather, made sure my phone was charged and clicked my dishwasher on before I walked outside to drive up to a familiar place that I had been going to since I was 16.

The drive took the same amount of time that it always does. I parked in the same spot I always do. Threw on my backpack, locked my car and trudged down the same trail.

I knew the map, and the phone and the trail guides were nestled into my backpack, but I also knew I wouldn’t need them. I also knew they wouldn’t help me if I got lost.
I had a feeling the lost was coming. In this town I’d lived in all my life. In the job I’d been in for 12 years, with the friends I had, had since high school.
I’ve fought the lost off for a long time. By always being prepared. By never risking.

And it came anyway. And my maps, and plans and access to google wasn’t going to help it. 

It took me thirty minutes to get the spot I always stopped at. To look at the view that felt like peace.

But I could still feel the lost coming.

I didn’t think the lost was possible here. I didn’t think that feeling of directionless was possible when you knew where you were going.

I knew where I was going. And it was still there. 

I had a feeling it would still be there Monday, when I walked into work and Thursday when I went out for drinks and next Saturday when I stared at the mountains again.

I needed to make a decision. I needed to not be lost anymore.

My backpack buzzed. 
I shoved my hand in the pocket to find my phone knowing that when I pulled it out it would be Declan calling. As he had been, everyday since Wednesday.

I couldn’t answer. I was letting the voicemails pile up. 

They’d make me feel more lost.

Not just from him but from our mutual friends, from his sister. 

Everyone trying to help me not feel lost. 

But it was too late.

I put my backpack back on and retied my shoes to start the trek back to my car. 

The tears were halfway down my face before I even realized I was crying.

I was lost. 

Every plan, every hope, every dream, every vision I had ever had.


A life that was so entwined, now was missing a piece.

And I was lost in the middle of my home.

And I wanted to run. To run fast. To end up somewhere where no one knew me.

To end up somewhere where lost wouldn’t feel so hard.

I’ve heard stories of people getting lost in the woods, or the country, or being in a foreign place and not knowing the language.

But this. Getting in lost when I was in the exact place I knew I was supposed to be?

This isn’t something you tell a story about.

I heard footsteps coming up the path towards me so I quickly wiped my eyes and prepared to give a smile and a wave as I crossed paths with whomever was in front of me.

The minute I was out of hearing, the tears started falling again. 

I made it to my car without anyone seeing me and as I pulled out of the parking lot I had the urge to turn left instead of right.

All of my life I’ve always turned right. Whenever I have met a fork in the road, I choose the right path. The path that won’t cause me to get lost or lose my way.

But, maybe I needed it. Maybe I needed to live in the lost.

My autopilot found me in my driveway. 



My phone buzzed again. I knew it was him. I knew to get myself out of the lost I might need to get more lost.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and reached for my phone.


Honest, Uncategorized, washington whimsy

Starting from scratch

I met a magical whimsy unicorn in October of 2012.

Her name is Betsy Garmon. And she is absolutely wonderful. She’s one of those woman who makes the gritty look lovely. She turns the things that seem torn and broken in your life into art and hope and dreams.

last day of the world race in december 2013

I have learned and continue to learn so much from her. One of the life lessons I learned from her that keeps flashing in neon lights above my head these days is to hold space for myself.

I’ve been told on more then one occasion over the last few months to have grace for myself, to not be so hard on myself, to take care of myself. 

If we want to discuss broken records in my life this is one of them. 

Here’s what it is: I know how to do it. I do. I know how to live well.

I’m not sure though; if I know how to live intentionally. 

A favorite quote of mine is by Mary Anne Radmacher. I saw the words for the first time summer after my junior year in college in a tourist shop in time square on a magnet. My choir was in New York to sing at Carnegie hall and it was my first technical week being the president of the choir. And I was terrified.

I remember reading those words and thinking how lovely they sounded before even knowing what lovely was. I truly believe I wanted to do those things but didn’t have the means to do them.

Now, I believe I have the means, but not the ability.

My whole self is tired these days. I could potentially state that this is the most tired I have ever consistently been in my life.
I’ve been trying to figure out why my receiver has been unable to receive lately. Well,more so than normal. It’s been a struggle. Nothing sticks. And I want them too, more than I can describe. I’ve searched for a reason my walls go up and I haven’t been able to find it.

But what I keep coming back to is eventually if I can’t find a way to hold space for myself how will I continue to do it for others?

We live in a weird world friends. A world that says to look out for yourself, but also tells us to cram as much as possible into our lives and to earn money so we can retire and do nothing. We live in a world that has for the most part lost the art of the kitchen table and breaking bread together.

And if we aren’t going to slow down to eat our food how are we going to slow down to sit in space with ourself? And we aren’t going to do that, then how are we going to live fully alive?
I know that I am not living fully alive these days. I can feel it in my bones. I’ve been a little terrified of the silence and of sitting with God and even sitting with some of my friends.

I don’t like feeling like I don’t have it all together for everyone.

And if I am being real and true, I don’t know if I know how to make these a daily practice. 

I feel as if I am starting from scratch on the taking care of myself. 

And that’s why I’ve wanted to say all these things I’ve said in the last few blogs I’ve written. The depression, the ugly, the hurt, the tired. 

I’m coming to the realization that it’s ok to feel like I’ve already “done this”. Because I haven’t. It feels the same but it’s not.
I don’t have answers, I barely have words. 

But I’m choosing to say the ones I have.

I’m choosing to do things that feel hard.

I’m choosing to sit in silence even when it drives me nuts.

I’m choosing my space.