free to create, creating freely.

There are days I wish I didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, I place a high value on life and consider it to be an extraordinary gift. And yet, this knowledge does not take away from the fact that we are often asked to bear things that we simply cannot, so much so that we sometimes reconsider living. Call it depression or call it suppression--either way, we shove the feelings down and grimly wade our way through the muddy waters of another day.

I think for me, I've always experienced things so strongly, so acutely. I can't bear to feel the sting of loneliness or insecurity. I hate to see the vulnerability of others. It's not that I lack compassion. I just can't manage to sustain eye contact with the hurting places, the deep spaces that are dark and full of fear.

I worry if I go there, I won't be able to come back out.

Recently, I was asked what type of box I would place my fears in--what it would look like, feel like. How I would secure it and make sure those fears couldn't get out, how I would ensure my own safety. I realized my box would be clear. I would want to know at all times where exactly my fears were lurking. But the more I thought about how I would lock that box up, the more I came to the conclusion that it was not the fears I was afraid of.

It was myself.

That I couldn't trust myself.

Couldn't keep myself safe.

That I would maybe even let the fears get out and get to me.

Or that perhaps, I was the scariest thing in the room.

That my clear, safe box was actually a mirror.

And that my fears were simply a reflection of my worst self--

that I was afraid of my darkness.

my shadow.

You see, it is not the things outside of me that scare me most--it's what's inside, what's at the core. That I won't be able to stand up and stand out, that I won't be able to stay. That I will live in cowardice and crawl into the corners of my soul, wrapping myself in the trappings of insignificance so that I cannot be found to be a fraud.

So you see,

I am also afraid of my light.

I am afraid that I can't keep it going.

I am afraid that when all is said and done, the furious beating of my fragile heart will cease to exist all together.

It is a terrifying thing to live with the thought that you may not have lived at all.

So what do we do, when what we fear most is our own self destruction?

Because the only person that can stop us is ourselves--

And we are our own Achilles heels.

We know which pieces of us are tender and prone to bleeding.

We know our dark.

But we also know our light.

So what if we fought back with not who we see in the mirror, but who we have the potential to be?

What if we believed that we were strong and capable, though flawed and fragile?

What if we believed we could be afraid and still be strong?

What if we believed that it was OK to face our fears and fail?

Because the failure did not indicate a battle lost,

but a battle fought?

Before the war is won?

What if all of our little battles were leading up to something great, and the losses were just minor in the grand scheme of the overall victory?

Is it possible that we aren't really losing at all?

But that we are gaining just a little more light in the fight?

That even though the outcome was not what we hoped for that we still won something that can never be diminished? 

Here's what I'm learning: when we are free to create we create freely.

Our fear of ourselves tarnishes our gifts.

It makes us doubt ourselves and place ourselves inside of a box.

A box that beckons to us with seductive words of false security, a box that kills our dreams and leaves us safe but dead inside.

SO, who's stifling your soul these days?

Well?

Is it you?

Are you the one responsible?

Have you let fear win over creativity?

If so, it's time to GET OUTTA THAT BOX.

And go forth in battle--

for the war has yet to be won.

surprises and gifts.

I think one of the most beautiful things about our day to day existence is that we never quite know what is going to happen from one moment to the next. Most people fight this sense of chaos, the pull of uncertainty and change. We want control, we want to be masters of predictability.

But so often, the power that comes with choosing leads us down the wrong path.

And then, when we are least expecting it, heaven gives us something sweet and surprising, full of goodness and almost always unexpected truth. Something we never would have asked for or looked for or even acknowledged by ourselves. Something that is so needed, deep down in our soul, something that strikes us to the core and rattles us into new life.

I'm learning to embrace these unprecedented moments.

I have spent such a long time thinking about what it is that I desire/want/expect, when all along the pieces of my life puzzle have been put together in ways I never imagined, but always needed.

When I signed up to be a mental health counselor, working with homeless men from NYC was not exactly in the cards for me. I  could not imagine a more unlikely, unusual job for a 25 year old female from Virginia. And yet, here I am, two years later--convinced that I was exactly where I was supposed to be and incredibly grateful for what it grew in me in the process.

You see, working with these men taught me things I could never have learned otherwise--it taught me strength and community and how to stay when all I wanted to do is leave. It taught me the importance of standing up for what is right and that I always, always have a voice. It gave me more gifts than I could ever possibly count and than I ever could have expected and I sit here today in both awe and humility that I got to be a part of something so sacred.

Surprises can be like that sometimes--sacred and full of mysterious authenticity. I wonder at how a situation can be so wholly healing by complete and utter accident, but then I remember that it is often not I who made the plans to begin with, though I surely did try.

And thank God for that.

So, what surprises have landed on your doorstep? I'm here to tell you to take them. Embrace them, because they could be your greatest gifts. When you see something pure and good and totally undeserving, take it because that is a gift for you, and we don't know when it will come around again.

And when something happens to you, hard and tragic and potentially soul crushing, remember: there may be a surprise in that too. This does not take away the sting, the blurry tear-filled eyes and the aching heart. But there's always a gift to be given, and a gift to be received. Don't let your sorrow take you too far from the path of hopefulness--pain is a cumbersome package but you never know what you'll find inside unless you look.

Be surprised, take the gift, and hold on tight. Tuck the moment safely away as a keepsake, something to remember and something to push you forward when you have forgotten how to get to where you are going.

And if you don't know where you are going, good.

The right gift usually finds its owner.

And the surprise is always worth the suspense.

After all, when was the last time you heard someone say they hated their surprise party?

Because I am of the opinion that if we look hard enough and learn to accept what comes our way, life can be just that--

a surprise party waiting to happen.

More: A public service announcement.

Do you ever wonder if you aren't living up to your full potential?

Or, if you're like me, do you ever wonder if you even have potential?

I have found that most of my life I have spent making myself smaller.

That I was so busy just trying to survive, that I forgot to live.

To breathe.

To be myself.

And not the supporting character self.

The LEAD.

The can-do, kick-ass, strong as hell hero.

I have spent my days apologizing and second guessing and politely denying that I may have some magic inside of me.

I see this very often with the men I work with.

They come into my office, unsure and avoiding eye contact, because they too have believed an untruth about themselves.

But let me tell you, when they discover who they are,  I mean who they really ARE, it's like light exploding in a room.

It's like nothing can stop them from outshining all the stars in the galaxy.

It's like witnessing a miracle, a brand new spark in the dark dark universe that shines and shines and says I'M HERE.

I want more for myself.

I want more for them.

I  want more for you.

Can you imagine what it would be like if we all believed that we had something spectacular to offer? If we lived like the world deserved us, like we knew that our lives held meaning and purpose and impact that no one else could offer?

Can I tell you that THAT is the truth we need to believe?

I  remember when I was young, I had an intense fear of "faking it".

Or, in other words, of being found out I was a fraud.

But did you know, that the most successful people are not the ones who necessarily have talent, but the ones who BELIEVE they have talent?

They ones who say yes and speak up more and recognize their own inner gifts?

Many of you know I work with men recovering from homelessness. And I have to tell you, that there is no special "catch all" to describe how a person comes to find themselves in this particular position. We have people of all shapes and sizes and of every talent. People who were wealthy and people who were poor and people with degrees and  people who can't read.

And they are all a little shook up by their situation.

They are all second guessing a bit their worth at this time in life.

But the ones who move forward?

Those are the ones who have told themselves over and over, "I can do this."

They have internalized the belief that they have something to offer, they have gotten back up and looked around and said "I am HERE and you need to know it!"

They have remained humble, remained open to help and have accepted it as it has come to them.

But they have not let their circumstances determine their worth, they have not let it darken the hope on the horizon.

They have looked around the room, held up their head, and said, "I deserve to be here".

And they do.

And so do you.

Do you know this?

Do you show this?

Do you let it guide your decisions and your steps and the way you see yourself and the opportunities in front of you?

If not, you need to reassess what exactly it is you are believing.

You need to check and see if the fraud you are so afraid of committing is actually the fraud itself--

that you aren't worthy.

aren't good enough.

aren't able.

How discontenting would it be to come to the end of your life and feel you did not use your gifts?

Your talents?

To realize you were acting all along, but it was the wrong role?

Be more.

Do not do us a disservice.

We need your light.

The public will thank you.

listen to your heart (attack).

I struggle with bad habits. Working with people who have all sorts of addictions has taught me that this is normal. I find it interesting that even when we know that something is bad for us, we do it anyway. There are days and even years where we hide in denial, but almost always, we figure it out. We get to the end of our rope and the beginning of our desperation and we say to ourselves--

I can't do this anymore.

And then we continue to do it anyway.

It's like our head knowledge and our heart knowledge don't link up. We are pulled in opposite directions, and the tension alone threatens to tear us apart. So what do we do when the habit is as painful as the abstinence, and the relapse is relieving?

We have to press on.

I think so often we believe the illusion that once we decide to stop doing something unhealthy, the gratification is instant. We see the people on TV or the social media account that gives us the blissful "after" picture--the one where the person is all smiles and better off and moving on and all the other independent stuff we associate with freedom.

But man oh man is the process excruciating.

Our heart feels like its being squeezed so hard it could burst.

Which is probably close to the truth.

I actually learned recently that a heart attack is caused by a lack of blood flow to the heart.

That in a healthy person, the blood headed to the heart has lots of oxygen, and essentially when an artery is full of gunk it prevents this oxygenated blood from getting into the heart.

And the heart freaks out.

It's in pain.

It needs that blood to survive.

For people with heart problems, they are warned of the issues associated with poor nutrition or lack of exercise.

But yet, so many ignore the signs and symptoms until it is much too late. Until their heart begins to literally die, muscle by muscle.

And I think, breaking bad habits is like that.

We know what is hurting us, but we continue in ignorance.

Because our heart knowledge can't catch up with our head knowledge.

And so we have a heart attack.

And it takes some time to heal.

And that healing does not come easily.

In fact, it may feel worse than before.

Change is like that sometimes. We want so badly to feel like we are doing the right thing, but sometimes it feels all wrong.

That's the trouble with bad habits.

We are so used to living a certain way that to change that way of living is unbearable.

Even if it's unhealthy.

Even if it's hurting us.

Even if we could be or could have or could gain so much more.

We settle in until our body can't take it anymore and our heart screams at us to STOP choosing that which is making us sick.

And finally, we listen. But though we make that initial step, the journey to recovery is long and not without many trials.

So we have to remember to be strong, to surround ourselves with hope and courage and memory.

We need to remind ourselves of where we came from and why we are doing this and how we are going to get there.

And we need to be able to withstand the pain of healing.

The digging the dirt out, pouring the peroxide in, searing kind of healing.

The kind that lets wounds heal without risk of infection or scarring.

Even when we want to stop the process.

Even when it seems that we cannot go a step further.

We must endure.

Because that healing will give us our life back.

It will leave us clean and whole and brand new.

It will lead us back to ourselves.

So in this time of healing, this time of all-consuming, everything-you-got breaking, continue to reach for heaven beyond the hell that is your habit.

While the gratification of relapsing may provide temporary relief--

it is terribly fleeting.

Your wound will heal.

And eventually, your heart will go back to it's normal beating.

It's normal breathing.

And all that fresh oxygen?

Well, there's nothing like the first breath of air after years of suffocating.

Or the beating of a heart after coming back from the dead.

diamonds and hope.

Hope can be a distinctly cruel thing. I remember a client once alluding to this idea--the feeling that hope is fleeting, that it is unreliable at best. When I look at people of great resilience, people who have overcome and failed and bounced back again, I am skeptical of their optimism. I am not inspired but rather wary of their seemingly persistent attitude of positivism in the midst of great distress.

I  am embittered by it.

I feel betrayed by hope most often. Reading the Psalms sometimes, I wonder at the bold acclamations that David made. He was so sure, so certain that God would rescue him from his troubles. That God would bring him out of the miry pit, keep his feet from slipping and his enemies forever at bay. I wonder at these verses.

From what I've seen of life, we are never too far from the edge of death and danger.

Where then, is hope to reside?

Do we keep our faith in the promises that are before us, even when they get dried up one by one?

I am learning that hope is not an outcome, but a process.

That there is a reason to joy, even when the smoke of uncertainty comes to suffocate it out.

And I do mean to joy--the act of being joyful, or the action of it.

I once asked a much different client (than the one  mentioned at the start of this blog) what it meant to him to read the Psalms in light of his current situation.

In light of losing everything.

In the certain shadow of death and--

the promise of difficulty.

This was a person who had nothing left, a person whose ground had been uprooted and turned and made barren through no fault of his own.

He was born into great privilege, safety in both family and provisions.

And  here, in the middle of his time, in the height of his career

he was brought low.

Very low.

Imagine as low as you can, and then go lower.

And yet--

he stills hopes.

Not without doubt, not without pain.

He struggles with the path that led him to where he is today.

He wonders at the raw senselessness of it.

But still, he hopes.

He says that though his circumstances are troubling, his faith has shown him that God is still good, still working in  the  middle of his wasteland.

That though God had not protected him in the manner in which he expected, that God was with him still.

That he believed beyond hope, past what he could see in front of him.

And this, this is what brought him inner peace.

Inner joy.

The  knowledge that though he could not see it now, a treasure was waiting for him.

And I don't mean necessarily in the literal sense--though I do believe that's possible as well.

I mean in the invisible sense.

That the things gained in the fire were worth the heat.

The strength.

The grace.

The hope.

So today, I am feeling joy beyond the hope.

Remembering that the fire will eventually burn out.

And maybe, just maybe

I'll find a diamond beyond the coals.

A treasure, priceless in value.

Indestructible.

And unable to be broken again.

loneliness and open hands.

27 can be a lonely year. Actually, I think it's safe to say that any year of your life can be lonely--whether married or single, in community or by yourself. We are all prone to the feeling that there is no one there to hold our hand. No one to walk with us through dark spaces, no one to cheer us on.

And sometimes, this is true.

I've known people in committed relationships who often feel misunderstood and unheard, and I know people who are alone who feel connected to others no matter what.

But for me, this year, I feel lonely.

It's not to say that I don't have a faithful family of supporters. I can say with no doubt that I am loved, that I am known, and that at any time there are a handful of people who would drop everything to be with me. There are moments in my week where I am so full of joy I could burst, so full of hope that I can't help but dish it out as often as I open my mouth to speak.

And yet, the loneliness is still there, lingering.

Fullness and meaning, emptiness and grief.

It seems this life we live is intertwined between two ends of the spectrum, that no matter how much love we can hold there is always the possibility of brokenness.

For a person who walks in extremes, this is highly uncomfortable. I want to hold on so tightly to the good or wallow miserably in the bad--I cannot tolerate this middle ground. I can celebrate in the season of plenty, and cry with the best of them in pit of despair, but at least tell me when they are going to happen.

Give me some time to prepare.

I think this is why loneliness sneaks up on us. We can be surrounded by those we love and whom love us, and still fear the day they will be taken away.

In the same turn, we can be all by ourselves, safe from the possibility of a broken heart, and still yearn for the feel of a family.

None of us are free from this longing, this ache of the soul.

So then, what is there to do?

The way I see it, we really only have one option.

To embrace it.

All of it.

The hard things and the beautiful things and the icky things and the pure things and the things that drive us absolutely crazy.

They are apart of life.

Apart of us.

I guess then the thing is acceptance.

Will we choose to embrace what has been set before us?

Or will we lay down and die?

I can tell you from experience that wallowing in misery is OK for a time but extremely redundant.

I can also tell you that the more you avoid the thing the bigger the thing becomes.

So face it.

Let me tell you something--it's quite alright to be lonely.

It's more than fine to be frustrated with the path before you.

It's absolutely within your right to grieve and yearn for and fight what has been discouragingly sitting at your front door.

Do all of these things.

Give yourself the time to feel it, to name it, to recognize its existence.

Then move the hell on with your life.

Because here's the thing--there will always be seasons of despair and prosperity, pain and healing--

loneliness and hope.

We have to live with open hands.

No matter what gets placed in them.

We don't always get to choose.

And yet.

Every day is still a gift.

There are still so many things to choose. 

We don't get to pick up some and leave the rest behind.

It's all jumbled together.

And that--that is the paradox of living.

That it is possible, in so many ways, to feel incandescently alive and painfully aware of loss all in the same breath.

This is called being human.

We mustn't lose it.

The thing that makes us love and hurt with others.

The thing that connects us.

I have found, that the more you know, the more you know.

And that it is much better to know a whole lot than know very little.

Much better to live with open hands and a tender heart,

then to lock yourself away in  your loneliness.

So take it all in.

Let it all out.

A closed hand isn't much use to anyone.

But an open hand?

Well an open hand is much easier to hold in my experience.

go slow.

New York City is wired to be fast, in every sense of the word. Slow is not in our vocabulary, or in our preferences. You come here because you want bigger, brighter, bolder. You come to live and work and breathe productivity.

Slow is not an option.

Oftentimes, the word fast also comes with the word impatient. We've all been there, mostly because we live in a world that offers instant gratification in so many cases. But lately, I feel like I've been practicing the art of passing time. I've been learning the value of slowing down, and let me tell you, it's not an easy thing to learn.

I hate waiting.

I  hate waiting for the same reason I hate not having control.

I don't like not knowing the outcome. 

I don't like feeling like I'm waiting for something better. 

I want the reward now. 

More than this though, I want the feelings that come with the reward. I want to feel happy, healthy, whole, full of everything good. And when I feel the stress, when I feel the discomfort that comes with life moving slowly, I can't tolerate it. It freaks me out.

We all fear that the season we  are in will be permanent. That things won't change, that we in fact will  stay the same forever. But if there is one thing I know about life to be true it's that change is perhaps the only constant there is--that saying goes all the way back to the ancient philosophers of Greece, so it's backed up by centuries to prove  it. 

Life promises us change, no matter how slowly it may come, or how difficult it may be to wait for us.

I find it one of the greatest ironies that as people, we both loathe and yearn for change. 

We are rather inflexible creatures.

So, what do we do when we are moving so slowly we fear we are stuck? What do we do when we think we are doomed to suffer the season we are in indefinitely? When we can't imagine how to begin to get the change we are seeking? 

What if change wasn't the outcome but the process?

What if instead of letting the slowness slowly suffocate us, we use the opportunity to slowly change ourselves, our way of being?

Here's what I know: change produces perseverance, and perseverance, character.

Sound familiar? 

There's hardly anything new under the sun that hasn't been taught before.

It's just when we choose to learn and acknowledge it.

And that's important.

I'm trying to pay attention to the season I'm in. I'm trying to sit in it, really let my roots grow down deep. I'm resisting the urge to squirm and wriggle my way out of it, I'm resisting the urge to complain.

It. Is. So. Hard.

It is so natural for us to want better for ourselves. To want the best. 

Especially in NYC. The best is what we are known for. Dreams are made here. 

But you have to be willing to fight for them.

So really, fighters are made here.

Change is born here.

Change is, and always will be, a process. It doesn't come easy, it isn't quick, and it certainly won't be comfortable. 

I am choosing to embrace this slow race even though I can't see the finish line.

I will not give up.

I will not stop running.

Instead, I will look for ways to change the race.

I will look for ways to grow right here, right now. To train my soul and my body, to become a better runner, a runner who is focused, present, and strong. 

Long distance means pacing yourself.

It means being excellent in the moment.

It means paying attention to the process, not the prize.

It may even mean the the process is the prize.

And if that's the case--I don't want to miss it. 

I don't want to wake up and realize I was running towards the wrong thing.

An elusive thing, an idea of what I feel should be the prize.

So these days, I'm running. Slowly, with purpose. I'm trying to mind my pace because I know there is merit to be found in the training process. 

It's OK to go slow. 

Don't rush and miss what's happening in and around you. 

They are both of insurmountable value. 

Because change is happening, whether or not you can see it, whether or not you can feel it. 

So, move towards a change you want to see.

Not one that happens to you. 

Go slow.

Stay aware. 

Keep running.

Slow and steady wins the race.

And hope is always, always right around the corner.