Honest, washington whimsy

the long game

I am 31 and have no damn clue what I want to be when I grow up.(And I’ve also discovered I’m way too much of an NF to figure out a tangible life job.)

I’ve been in the early childhood world for about ten years and I’ve acquired so many different skills like the ability to communicate with parents and educators, the ability to be have immense amounts of patience. My leadership style has grown and changed. My capability to read a room helped me as the bible teacher at RFKC. 

And obviously I now have the ability to put 14 one year olds to sleep in under thirty minutes ( RIP teacher Meg and teacher Victoria nap time show).

But, that’s not what I want to be when I grow up. I’m thankful for the jobs I have held, and currently have that have caused me to grow and change as a person, but I’m not sure where this all leads me.

Last week, while curled up on my friend Tiffany’s couch, she asked me what the dream job was. 
Ha.

Can I get paid for writing and sitting and listening to people and then telling them their potential?

Because, one of the other skills that I’ve realized I hold is seeing who someone actually is even when they don’t see it. Adults, teenagers and of course, the tiny humans.

(Though most of the time it comes out in the form of “man up or shut up” or reciting the “but was he a man?” dialogue from the mindy project )

Rewind to the past few months in the two year old room.

Two year olds mean business. And I have a few that are more than a handful. 

I was on the phone with a parent a couple weeks ago telling her about something her tiny human did that day that caused teacher Meg to have a heart attack and she began apologizing for the fact that her tiny human is a handful and is always the one to be the first to test the boundaries.

I stopped her apologizing as quickly as it began.

I could easily see her becoming defeated, so, I said that said tiny human wasn’t a handful (and I will never confirm or deny if this is true), but to think about how when the tiny human is older, they will be able to take risks, and push the boundaries. 

She responded that I was thinking positive.

But I mean, what would happen if we looked at tiny humans like that? Saw the things that may look like not great life choices and find ways to turn them positive and frame them in that way. What would happened even if we looked at teenagers, adults like that? What would that change?

I’ve been watching a lot of Girl Meets World lately. (Sidenote if you are caught up PLEASE CALL ME BECAUSE I HAVE FEELINGS).

On GMW they have a lot of lessons and life wisdom and warm fuzzies and a handful of mentions of the “long game”. The long game is just how it sounds. Being in it not for the immediate results but for what will happen at the end. 
I have kids that I had in day camp that are out of college. I have preschoolers that are in junior high and high school. You don’t work in early education for the short game. Sometimes you get those immediate gratifying moments. But for the most part, you have to just know that at the foundation you are and were apart of that tiny humans life. I may never know what happened with them, but I will know that I will live in a little piece of their present in the future.

I want to live whatever I am doing in the long game. Be it working with tiny humans, or writing or sitting across from people or being in leadership or maybe one day being a wife and a mom. 

Living in the long game is being present with who you are today knowing that it will be apart of who you are tomorrow.  Living in the long game is taking care of yourself and your heart and soul and being so that ten years from now when something comes into your being you are prepared for it. 

I’m 31 and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

But I’m choosing (attempting) to be present and honest and living with my whole heart. Because it’s for today, tomorrow, next week and next year. It’s for Bellingham now. It’s for Bellingham later and wherever else I find myself.  I’m choosing to live my life using the pieces of life I’m given and wrapping them into gifts I can give.

I’m living in the long game. 

washington whimsy

A mishmash on showing up

I have been writing a lot about showing up on my Facebook and via Instagram. Wanna know why?

Because writing inspirational captions about why we need to show up each day is much easier then writing a 400 + word blog.

Because it’s hard.

I think I have been doing an ok job at showing up in daily life. I have good days and bad days and all those in between but for the most part I feel capable of walking into a situation and figuring out how to be present.

I don’t like to write about things when I am in the middle of them or when I don’t have a response or when I don’t understand why this or that is happening. I am still figuring out fully why showing up is so hard for me to talk about.

And today was definitely one of those days.

But it’s near the end of today and I think I can fully and truly say that today it was not the greatest.

Today was a day chalk full of memories and phone calls and pain. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I shed a few tears on my way to work. (I shed a few tears at work.)

But I knew, that if I crawled into a hole, if I ignored everything, if I sunk into myself, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone around me. Because I chose to put on my big girl panties and jump into my life, so I was going to do it.

That doesn’t mean it can’t be hard or I can’t have emotions or break. 

Showing up isn’t about being perfect. Showing up is about being present in that moment, with those people, in that situation. It’s about being where you are.

That’s something I have struggled with for a long time. Being present where I am. Not waiting for the next thing, or the next event but choosing today each day. I think that’s why this season of life has been difficult. There isn’t a next thing, or an event. 

I am here.

That’s it.

So, today, after all was said and done, I knew I needed to write more then a caption or status. I needed to admit that it’s hard. That it’s a battle. And that showing up isn’t really a physical thing. It’s mental. Emotional. Bigger then just actually being there.

Showing up is choosing to think of yourself and others at the same time.

We show up for ourselves and then because we show up for ourselves we are more capable to show up for others.

So, please. Don’t just physically be somewhere. Choose to BE there. It isn’t easy. We won’t always get it 100% right. But if we do it, daily, a change will come.

Let’s bring change, shall we?

Honest, Spain g42

lovely, once more

I don’t like writing things out by hand. It feels as if the words that I place on paper have more power and emotion behind them then the words that I type out.

I don’t know why.

I just know that it is scarier for me.

It is scarier for me to place things handwritten in a journal.

It is scarier for me to place HURT in a journal.

There is so much pain involved in placing phrases and story in my own hand, phrases that hurt parts of my soul.

My journal is sacred. It’s filled with notes from class, quotes from books that impact and lovely musings.

It is where I separate the light from the dark. It is where I should be able to be vulnerable.

But here in this moment I want nothing to do with vulnerability.

I don’t want to fill my journal with words and phrases.

It is terrifying

It terrifies me so much that I bought watercolors to paint the pages in my journal and make them beautiful so I would WANT to write in them. To entice me to place words inside its covers.

I have another blog started on another blank page.

It’s about one of the reasons I am at G42.

A reason I never talk about.

I was going to explain it.

Because in all honesty I just want it to go away.

But while in conversation with one of my precious people in the haven and warmth of her home I realized I still hurt.

I still feel ugly in those things.

As the women who are influential in my life always say tears and anger are a map.

My tears showed me a lot today.

And it’s tough. I’m sitting here on the floor trying to even eek out a sentence in regards to all that’s in my head. All the beginnings of sentences I began in conversation with my dear friend.

I guess I want to encourage myself and in turn encourage you to write the ugly things. I’m writing mine on beautiful painted pages in my journal. I’m surrounding things I deem ugly with beauty.

I think it’s wonderful that I live in a world where ugly things are made lovely so often.

And that’s what I want to strive to do. Show people what they deem ugly in their story and show how they can create out of it beauty

That’s what I’ll be doing in my journal. Sentence by sentence, line by line, I’m going to paint pictures with my words and make the things that aren’t lovely, lovely once more.