Honest, hope is a verb

Avocado toast to help me see

I’ve had a busy life the last few weeks (months, years) and yesterday I officiated my second wedding and it was a beautiful ceremony and celebration of two people who love each other an incredible amount.

I can’t tell you the last time I took a moment to write on a Sunday.

My phone is filled with so many notifications of messages and emails and my brain is filled with dates and things I’m supposed to be at and trips I want to take and deadlines and everything in between.
But, today as my body finally allowed me to sleep in a little (8 am) and I decided to save some adulting for tomorrow, I feel a little blurry.

(And, I feel a little stuck- but that’s another story for another day)

Part of that is physically blurry. I sat down in front of my computer screen and adjusted the brightness and moved my body so I wasn’t in the sunlight and I still had to squint to see my screen.

(Katie-shark says I’m tired–she’s probably not wrong)

Even now my vision is coming a little more in to focus, it’s still a little blurry on the outside- but I think that’s a lot more internal.
Have you ever had that happen?
You’re moving and grooving and stressing and even enjoying life but at the end of the day you sit and everything feels a little blurry.
You can’t quite focus and even though you just want to sit and watch a movie that even seems like too much?
You want to dream but that takes too much space.

I want to create but none of my words feel hopeful.
They just feel blurry.

I’m trying to decide what I need to see again.

I think one of the things I need to do is take some advice from my college choir director (but maybe re-frame it a bit), Joni used to always encourage us to choose joy. It didn’t mean you had to be happy all the time or couldn’t have bad days- but it meant to me, to choose good. Choose to see it, feel it, walk in it.

I think that one of the things I need to do is choose joy.

I need to choose what brings me joy, who brings me joy and moments that fill my heart (such as the avocado toast I just devoured and letting my body sleep in).
To me choosing joy is saving my adulting for tomorrow and going to laugh with friends for a couple hours.

To me choosing joy is what is going to save my blurred eyesight.
It’s what’s going to help me cultivate hope.

It’s not about avoiding things that need to be done- it’s about not choosing things and people and events that don’t add to your joy.

We have so much noise in our life. We have so many things telling us what to do, what not to do, what to believe, what to support, what to spend our time, money and voice on.
It gets pretty damn loud.

And, just as loud are the voices that tell us to take care of ourselves.

And to me, it’s in that tension that we find our lives can become a little blurry.

So, today, as I sit here for a few more minutes typing words and figuring out what I need to make my world a little less blurry- I want to ask you that question too: what makes life a little less blurry?

We can do the things friends, we can walk in the tension and dissipate it. We can choose things that bring us light and joy ( even if it’s avocado toast) and we can set the things on the side that don’t bring us cultivate joy.

The Marie Kondo method isn’t just for jeans that are too tight folks.
Let’s step into this week and find the joy, But, more importantly, let’s toss aside the things that don’t add to us, that maybe, just maybe, we don’t actually need.

 

ramblings, Spain g42

and the fog rolled in

When I was younger foggy day schedules were the best. My mom would shake me awake to tell me that I didn’t have to be up for another hour because school was starting late. To some that sounds crazy;to stop school for fog, but what you have to know is central California fog is no joke. There would be mornings when I couldn’t see across the street to the grape vines on the other side. Foggy day schedules meant watching TV on the couch and sleeping.

As I got a little older I started to dislike the fog more. There were too many accidents and too many deaths that took place. The fog started to be less like a blanket and more like an invisible roadblock.

Apart from all that I still like the fog. When I’m inside curled up by the fire and the fog rolls in; it still feels like a blanket, it still feels comforting. Fog tells a story of what’s not there.

The fog rolled in, in fierce ways in Mijas. As I walked home down cobblestone roads fog intermingled through the buildings and lingered outside of doorways. I turned the corner to head up  to my house I noticed that the fog was stopping at the base of the hill. My home sits higher in Mijas so it make sense that there was no fog at our doorway.

As I walked down the stairs to my patio I watched the fog, white and billowy, pour down the mountainside and cover the Mediterranean. Anything the fog didn’t touch seemed clearer, more defined, more colorful even against the white. In all this I thought of the phrase “having a foggy brain”.How a foggy brain makes thoughts seem murky or unclear and how after the fog subsides every thing is clear because you can actually see without searching or straining.

But what if instead of focusing on the part that is foggy we focused on the part just outside of the fog? Instead of looking to what we can’t see why don’t we look to what we can. So often, we choose to try to search through what we can’t see. We try to look for the unseen and forget to see what we can actually comprehend without hurting our eyes. And as we understand what is seen, the fog rolls back we see even more and we don’t miss the first part.

We’re doing prophecy activation this week at g42 and so many pieces of my life that I dubbed foggy are slowly being uncovered. It’s not quick or all at once, but I’m beginning to realize that the fog is fading and things that weren’t clear are beginning to be covered by the light.

Fog isn’t a bad thing. It keeps the ground from freezing and holds in warmth. It covers. Fog hold onto things (like oranges) so they don’t get ruined in the weather,so it doesn’t go bad before it gets picked.

The fog in my brain has been holding revelation until I was able to connect the dots. Until I was able to accept. A lot of those dots were connected today. But truthfully there is still fog. And if I’m being honest…it’s a lot of information that hasn’t all been made clear. A lot of information I haven’t been able to fully sort through.

But watching the fog roll in and out and uncover mysteries in my life has been a theme. Yesterday, the fog rolled in and out to physically show me things were about to be revealed.

To show me that what I didn’t think I had, I have now. It was just covered in fog, being protected, so when the freeze came the fruit wouldn’t get ruined because it wasn’t ready to be picked.

I’ve lived my life in different states of fogginess. But I’m choosing now to see what’s above or outside of the fog. Because eventually it will roll away and I will be able to see for what I’ve been waiting.

I’m not going to stand in the fog and search eyes strained. My vision already bad enough without forcing myself to see what is not ready for me to see.

hope is a verb, Spain g42

do the damn thing.

I’m ready.
Or at least, I think I’m ready.

When I had two months to go on the World Race last year I was in the middle of Cambodia in a village, hand washing my clothes and taking bucket showers, battling Small Eye, teaching little children English and for a season being a vegetarian because no has time to accidently eat dog.

I had a countdown chain that was counting the days until I hit the United States. I was ready to go home. Ready to be done. I had to firmly plant my feet in the rice fields of Cambodia and pray for so many aspects of life.

This time is different.

I’m not ready.

I am finding ways to superglue my feet into the soil of Mijas.
Ways to soak up every minute around these people I love.
I don’t want to leave this place. The people, the heart, the DNA.
There were parts of last year I didn’t want to leave.
But there is nothing really about here that causes me to retreat.

And that is why I am ready.
I have two months left and I am going to take all I can and infuse myself with this corner of the south of Spain.

And then to quote my friend Patty Reed “I’m going to go do the damn thing”.

I’m ready to step in the river; not test out the water, not stick a toe in, but go and DO and BE.

So this is why I am so utterly grateful that I still have two months to sink my toes into the sands next to the Mediterranean. Two more months to grab hold of all that this place has to offer.

Two more months to live in this place I will always call home.

My vision and dreams feel more real, more part of myself then they EVER have.

I’m ready to plant my feet and build, speak and create life.

As I sat in class today this is what I came to terms with; I realized I’m ready, but I’m not.

So let’s go do the damn thing.