I was more interesting last year.

Here’s a stupid thought I’ve been thinking for awhile now.

I was more interesting last year.

Lololololol let’s all collectively laugh at my need to be interesting and what I think about on boring Wednesday nights.

I suppose I ask you to laugh because it’s altogether shameful to think about how tragically self-absorbed that statement is. But bear with me, maybe when you’re bored on a Wednesday night because nothing’s on TV that you haven’t already seen (I’m looking at you Chopped. C’mon, enough will the grill challenges.) the ugly thought hits you too. I was way more interesting _____________.

Outside of rollerblading last night (talk about taking life by the horns) I’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing extraordinary this week. This month. Two months. Who knows.  I’ve hardly done ordinary things. Like wash clothes? Nahhh. Shower? Only because I don’t feel like bending over the sink to wash my face. Literally, that was my reason to shower this morning. Take a look at my dish-filled sink and you’re going to wonder if I have running water. I do, to clear that up, but basically I am a lump who consumes Nutella and leaves the knife in the sink.

The problems begin partly with me watching America’s Got Talent (because of the afore-mentioned Chopped re-runs) and bawling my eyes out because these people with dreams are so dang precious. But also obnoxious. At the heart of it, wow, I am so happy for these talented people, but really I just want to know why they get such cool dreams. The lies start pinging my heart and I sit there and wonder, if I had to go stand on that stage, what in the world would I do for a talent?

Comparison is stupid ugly.

But then I try to remind myself that I’m cool. Heck, I rollerblade. I’m pretty sure I have talents, not ones I could present on a stage, but still, there’s things. I made a quiche this week.

Then I remember some of my friends don’t even know what I’m good at. I don’t really even know what I’m good at. Who even knows what they’re good at besides America’s Got Talent people? (And some of them don’t know either.)

You’d think that’s enough to get me upset, but another ugly comparison comes barging.

Last year I was doing _____________. And I felt like I was talented at ______________ because people said so and I was busy and in a cooler spot and didn’t even own a jar of Nutella because I was eating at incredible restaurants. Even worse, the months before that I lived in London. And wow was I brave for a minute because I had to be and I liked that version of me. I did things, constantly. Adventurous, hard, and exciting things. I ate Nutella all the stinking time, but for some reason I was skinnier. What happened to her.

I’m sorry I keep mentioning Nutella, but that stuff is good.

And then I start crying, not because some chick just sang a beautiful song dedicated to her mom, but because I’m sad for myself. I’m sad that I’m here and not where I was or where other people are.

I’m a nanny. I eat Nutella. And I rollerblade at a park because most of my friends no longer live in this city and I would rather have cramping calves than sit on my couch by myself.

I was way more interesting last year.

Pretty dang good pity party I’ve got going. Wouldn’t it be horrible if I just stopped this right now and left at that? Because that’s where my brain wants to stop every time I get caught in this. I’m a wallow-er.

Here’s why I’ve written this short novel. By some great chance you are having any of these crises, or also resort to Nutella, or have just felt like a bottom-dweller at any point today or ever, I just would like to cup your face between my two hands and whisper over and over, “You’re good at living. You are so good at living. You are so good at being you. WOW, am I glad you are you.”

I’d say it until you believed me. I’d say it until we all believed we belonged.

I don’t know if America’s Got Talent depresses you, or if you’ve done something cool in the past and feel like a failure because you’re not doing it now. And I absolutely do not have the fix-it solution to these big, hard thoughts. But here’s the thing: I think living counts. In a world of epic and picture perfect and gold metals, I think breathing in and out when the going gets tough deserves a standing ovation.

Comparison is an ugly, ugly battle fought facing backwards. That's no way to win a war. Look ahead, sweet soul. Look ahead and know that sometimes simply marching on is a gigantic accomplishment.

And also I bet you’re really talented. In fact, I know it. I know you're full to the brim of talents people can't even see.

(P.S. Is one of them rollerblading? Because that's a trend waiting to happen and I could use some help getting the momentum going. Thanks in advance.)

pathways and trespassing

It’s been a year since I’ve put my embarrassment on the internet. I guess you’ll never know about the time I genuinely thought someone stole my car.

Well, I’m back. I was gone because this last year felt like a blur and I’m in the process of untangling and I’ll probably tell you about it soon.

But let’s start with today.

Back story: I’m graduating college this week.

Present story: I thought I’d go on a reflective walk and wander down new streets. The reflecting thing wasn’t really happening a whole lot, but I was having a great time looking at the beautiful houses and thinking about owning a dog as soon as possible. Then I came to this street crossing that was like a six-way stop. After thinking pretty hard, I picked one. And per usual, I regretted it a hot second because it led me up a gigantic hill and my asthma was kicking in.

I headed farther and farther into this neighborhood until all of the sudden, the houses just stopped. Right there was this huge, beautiful field with overgrown patches of clover and a tree here and there. The sun was setting behind it, and it felt like peace and beauty and good things. I looked down at my feet, and lo and behold there was a wide path that led straight through it. Bless it all, it was meant to be. I figured it was a little park or something and I silently thanked my favorite city for doing that for me. I followed the path a little ways but not far because it went straight back and disappeared in a bunch of trees and it looked kinda scary. So I went for this lone tree right in the middle and I sat down.

Problem one, the ground was wet. My pants were a nice light grey and unfortunately they did not stay that way. Anyway, I sat down and after a couple seconds of wincing over the thought that I was going to have to walk a long way home with dirt stains on my back end, I surveyed my new spot. I was on a hill and I couldn’t really see much, but it was beautiful.

I’m sitting there, thinking about this spot in life and praying and talking to myself. Out loud mostly. And I stared a good bit at the sun setting, thinking how perfect it was. Then it happens. I see an SUV. And they are slowing down to a snail’s pace. A little creepy, but that could be normal. Then they do it, they turn right straight towards me. I squinted at the path that now looked a little wider than I originally thought, and looked back at the part that was shrouded by trees. My heart went to my toes. Behind the trees, I finally make out the shape of a stupid, dumb, HOUSE.

I was sitting in someone’s front yard.

It was not an open field. It was not a park. It was an overly large and massively deceptive front yard.

Thoughts:

#1. They desperately need a lawn mower.

#2. Chances of them not seeing me? None, they are now a foot away.

#3. Pretend not to see them or wave?

So there I sat, awkwardly making eye contact with an SUV full of four girls who are literally driving within feet of me and they look torn between confusion, concern, and laughing at me. They didn’t seem terribly upset so I went with the waving, and silently prayed they would stop so I could apologize and explain that I thought it was a public field. Then I changed my mind and prayed they’d just keep going.

They did and the minute they were behind me, I stood up and walked quickly back to the road and I laughed the whole way home. I made no new friends, I barely processed things, and my pants got wet. But I really enjoyed the first five minutes by the tree.

Things aren’t going the way I planned.

I’m lost and it’s okay. Life feels weird and really hard, and that’s okay too. Sometimes the five minutes by the tree is all you need and the rest you can just laugh at until you find home again.

Lesson: Beware of wide paths. It's probably a driveway.

Lindsey in London: Held together.

Day 36:

I am in a foreign country. You have probably caught that by now.  

But so far, I've kept it together quite well. Well, actually that’s a lie. My Father, my ever-loving and oh so patient Savior keeps me together, while I stand by, helpless to tears and wondering if I should just keep sleeping.

I am a homebody. Tied at the hip to my family. Comfortable in coffee shops with window seats. I wrestle with a powerful fear of loneliness. I haven’t traveled the world before. I have trouble reading maps.

And here I am, feeling a peace there’s no WAY I could come up with on my own, a joy that absolutely, positively will not fade, even if the smiling thing does panic the Brits, and over and over God introduces his love in the form of what were once strangers.

Not to say I haven’t had any issues. That would be a big, fat lie. This weekend has been the hardest yet. My brother, my best bud who is hysterically funny and sometimes dances to Justin Bieber with me, graduated boot camp. Ask me how many monumental moments I've missed of my brother’s. The answer is none. Not one. My job as a sideline cheerleader began the day he started t-ball and I haven’t let it go because it’s one of my favorite jobs in the world. Not being there to see him in his uniform broke my heart over and over. Letting go of him again, this time for an indefinite amount of time, is breaking my heart, over and over.

But you know what? I’m still held together. I don’t look it. But inside, there is an incredible excitement for that kid because he is on fire with truth and his arms are wide open and will touch all he comes in contact with, and goodness HOW MUCH will he be used.

You know what else? God is overcompensating. This week, I got a message from a girl I met in passing. We got coffee and turns out she is an absolutely precious human. We’re friends. A day later, I got to see a girl who absolutely glows, one I haven’t seen in four years, and in London of all places. And she encouraged my heart until I could do nothing but be in total awe of how perfectly God knows me. Today, I went to church by myself and walked out of service with another sweet soul who came to church flying solo. We explored London with a lot of joy and a lot of good food, and her wonderful roommate even joined the adventure too.

That’s a lot of friends for a foreign country. That’s a lot of being taken care of.

And that's just the last three days.

I don’t know what’s pulling you apart, or breaking your heart, or making you feel as if you’re lost in a foreign place, but I am so burdened to tell you that you are extravagantly loved, wildly pursued, and so watched over by the one who can hold you together.

Let Him overcompensate on your behalf. I’m challenging you to watch for all the things that you can’t make happen, but they land in your lap anyway. All the beautiful miracles headed your way, see them for what they are, an intense Love that cannot be touched or changed by circumstances or your insecurities or how well you read maps.

Oh, how He loves.

That's a rainbow that showed up while I hiked the Cliffs of Dover.

Lindsey in London: Running, learning, and bathrooms.

Day 23:

London is an adventure in every way. This place totally and completely has my heart. I am learning and growing, and good grief it is so good.

However, coming to London knowing I have a slight issue of doing embarrassing things made me a little nervous to leave my bed seeing as a whole new level of faux pas come with a new culture.

Never fear, not nervous enough to actually not leave my bed. I get out of bed.  I’m simply aware there are a myriad of new possibilities for this quality to shine.

And shine it does. This is a long update about those moments.

This is how you have the most fun in museums.

Every single time, and I mean every time I see a runner coming towards me, I panic. I know how to walk on the left side. I consistently remind myself to be British, but I lose all confidence when I see a runner coming towards me. More than once, I have literally stopped someone in their tracks because they couldn’t pass. All because I couldn’t make up my mind what side to walk on. And if you've ever been to London, you know everyone, literally EVERYONE (and their dog) runs. Rain or shine, you’d think it was a queen mandate to put on your spandex and disrupt the birds and panic the Americans at the nearest park. I tried it once, put my little beanie on and everything, but I ended up sitting on one of the pretty benches longer than I ran. My transformation to be British is a work in progress. (Small steps if you will, hahahaha what a pun.)

And eye contact. Nothing scares a Brit more than eye contact with someone walking towards them. And if you smile during that eye contact it is literally the funniest thing in the whole entire world. I have gotten everything from confusion to pure fright.

One of my favorite things about this place is the incredibly charming accents. However, when it comes to meeting classmates it is practically mission impossibly to understand their names. I got to class and there were a whopping two people there early. So, I introduced myself. One of the guys said, “Hi, I’m Collar.” Knowing no one in their right mind would name their kid collar I said, “Oh, nice to meet you, Collin!” He shook his head, “No no no, it’s Collar.” Totally shocked and slightly horrified his name was literally collar, I tried to conceal my facial expressions. “Oh, Collar, right, nice to meet you!” His buddy started laughing. Finally he saved me, “It’s not collar. It’s CONNER.” That’s when I lost it because my brother’s name is Conner and out of missing him and relief the poor guy’s name wasn’t collar, I spewed out a long string of words about the name Conner. Realizing I was totally scaring my new friends, I hurried and finished up that speech and ended with, “Well then, it’s nice to meet you.” For the third time.

London is beautiful. Absolutely stunning. But the bathrooms. The bathrooms I have been in, London charm was nowhere to be found. Yesterday, I went into a bathroom (one I didn’t have to pay for, thanks Costa) and got so excited because I saw one of those cords from the ceiling that you pull to flush. Like a little kid, I pulled it, totally thrilled. In a tragic moment, I realized the cord was not a flushing thing. A horrible alarm went off. Not just in the bathroom. The whole coffee shop. A high-pitched steady beeping noise. Panic stricken, I realized the cord was a nice shade of bright red for a reason, and upon further inspection I found the words “Pull for emergency service.” So I stood there not at all sure what the protocol was for this kind of thing.  Dumbfounded, I waited for someone to bang down the door. I pulled the string again hoping to turn it off. Not so. By now I was talking out loud to myself. “Oh no, oh no, I didn’t mean to! Read, Lindsey. READ.” Then I remembered the lady in line behind me and realized she could probably hear me. And hear that I needed emergency assistance. That’s when I found the blessed answer. There was a nice little button near the door that said “Cancel Service,” and out of pure hope, I pressed that little diddy. The alarm ended and I put on my total innocence face. I opened that door to see the line had five new and slightly concerned people waiting. And about twenty judgment stares from the rest of the coffee shop followed.

Welcome to London, Lindsey.

The most beautiful.

And this is where I freaked out and figured I found Narnia. Aslan is there on the right.

Brighton. Holler.

Casual day on the Thames.

Lindsey in London: Getting here was a trip.

 Day One:

Packing didn’t go so great. I tried, and I really mean it, I tried to be a minimalist. The adventurer with one backpack. Living off the land. It didn't happen. I weighed my main bag for the first time and to my great horror realized I was 18 pounds over the limit. 18 Is a lot when you think you've packed the bare minimum.

And guess what, I got rid of 16 pounds of that. TALK ABOUT EFFORT. Every time I had to put back one of my sweaters, it was like I was giving away one of my children. Painful, just really painful. But at last, there was no stinking way I could give anything else up so we bit the bullet and checked another bag, and somehow filled that one full too. This came to a grand total of one huge suitcase, two medium suitcases, and a backpack. It wasn’t a bit of problem when two of those bags were checked. But, when I got to London and had all of those little diddies with me, it was a test of endurance and an overall nightmare. When I claimed them, I took one of my string-like belts with blue flowers all over it and tied one medium suitcase on top of the other one. Any Boy Scout would have been proud of that knot. Even still, it was shaky to say the least, and the only point that was secured was the top. So I carefully rolled those huge suitcases over to the vending machine. First, I didn’t know how to use the UK chip thing in a credit card, so that took me awhile. Finally, I turned around and I saw a guy patiently waiting. I smiled, apologized and went to clear out when the slightest touch to that dumb pack of bags sent them sprawling towards him. He didn’t speak a lick of English and just stared wide-eyed at the tired and struggling for balance American.

That’s when I tried to bring all of my luggage into a stall in the bathroom. I backed in as far as I could go, but I couldn’t shut the stinking door. So, I decided to put my luggage in first, then make a path. This is what happened there:

 

(This picture is generous and doesn’t accurately depict how tight it was, but you get the point, I didn’t fit.) That’s when a lady walked by and noticed my peril. She disdainfully told me to use the first stall. I fit in that one.

I finally met up with another student and we headed to campus. Here is where I could go into hours worth of detail of how horrible it was to carry three suitcases and a back pack through half of London. It was a bad idea, terrible, painful, the worst. But all you really need to picture is me standing on the platform of the tube, sweat running down my face, praying profusely that I wouldn’t die or lose my hard-earned possessions because I can’t get all my luggage off the platform before it goes back to its speedy pace, then just pushing off my suitcases when the doors opened so I could get it all out in time. THEN realizing that to get to our next tube stop we had to tackle three flights of stairs. One at a time, we carried our suitcases up those stairs through the hoards of London dwellers. I cried in my heart but not out loud. I’m growing here.

After the tube episode, we had to walk on London’s beautiful cobblestone streets. Every. Single. Surface bump attacked my wheels and every step or so my top suitcase would fall off. However, the silver lining came when I was turning a corner and there went my unruly children colliding into a stunningly attractive man. By now my reflexes were top notch, so I grabbed it quickly. So there we stood, me holding for dear life to the loose suitcase about to take him out, and he gallantly grabs it for me. Out of breath, I managed a thank you and let go to get my balance. He must have totally misjudged my huge biceps because the suitcase toppled right into him for the second time. He apologized in a charming accent. Me being me could only blush. He helped me set it up right and walked away right before I proposed.

So, I’m here. I made it to this absolutely stunning and beautiful and charming city and not engaged yet.

I’ll keep you posted. 

I will always love planes and window seats.

 

The tube station called me.

I think I love this place.

 

British accents and bravery.

I never have been very brave.

I dog-sat for a summer and was afraid of the dog. I sat on the very top of the couch (like where cats sit, yes, way up there) when I saw it coming towards me. This happened for weeks. Watching a movie was near impossible, believe me.

I haven't been in a Haunted House since third grade, and I remember that experience vividly enough to last me a lifetime. I will not do anything that has the remotest possibility of making me nauseous. Roller coasters, Ferris Wheels, tall buildings, cliff jumping. No. Absolutely not.

And wouldn't you know, somewhere after leaving a basketball game because the mascot was getting too close, (yes, the mascot, absolutely terrified of those things too) I decided I would like to stop living like this.

So I dug up a dream a fearless little girl had. Nine year old me believed whole-heartedly she would step out and see the world. Not just see it, actually she wanted to experience it, to touch it in a way only she could. Me at age nine, convicting me at age twenty-one.

So, I unclenched my hands one day and said okay, let’s see the world.

And lo and behold, this mandatory brave thing started kicking in. I don’t even have a choice anymore, my plane ticket is booked.

In one month I'm going to cling to my mom, probably with a lot of tears, and let her go. I’m going to bear hug my dad, and walk away with the most outfits and chocolate I can fit into two suitcases.

I'm going to leave my America. Leave my comfortable room, in my comfortable house, a part of my comfortable life. And do something extremely out of my comfort zone. I'm going to hop on a plane and cross a huge ocean and go learn things in a gigantic city with a lot of gorgeous lights and bridges and trains. (According to Pinterest.)

It's going to be hard.

It's going to be beautiful. 

Beautiful is learning how to rap my arms around people I can’t always understand, with their thick accents and a different word for pants and cookie. Listening to their hearts and their stories and growing as my worldview grows. To soak in views I've never witnessed before. Being able to thrive in a spot where I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. To taste a culture I've only read about. To be able to open my eyes and see things differently because I have lived differently.

And to accomplish the obvious goal of successfully saying “water bottle” with my new and improved British accent. That will be a good day. That will be a great day.

I refuse to let this experience not change me. I will be different. In the best ways, I will have learned more about how to live fully, more about how to love all people well, more about how to unclench my hands and step out.

I will know a little bit better about what it means to be brave.

But just so you know, you don't have to leave a country to be brave. You can be brave in whatever you do. Go ahead, be brave. Unclench your hands and see what happens. I know you will absolutely not, no way no how, be left with emptiness. 

You will be met and it will be beautiful.

You, me, let's be adventurers. 

(Also, I will probably do embarrassing things over there in London. I'm hoping none too detrimental, but feel free to follow my adventures. I'll be taking a million pictures and telling you all about it, no doubt.)

I was trying to be a good friend and it ended with a lecture from a stranger about wearing tights.

I hate gas stations. This is a long story to prove that. I've dreaded them since the day I turned sixteen and went to my first gas station alone. It's beyond humiliating when it takes longer for you to screw the gas cap back on than it does to actually pump the gas.

Well, this weekend marked the beginning of birthday week for one of my most wonderful friends. Being a huge fan of birthdays, I rushed out to buy some of those window markers to decorate my beloved car (whose name is Zoe in case you wondered). On my way back from the store, I decided to read the instructions and it mentioned that the windows should be clean. Well, mine certainly were not. And I needed gas, so the logical thing was to go to the gas station.

So far, we're making sense here.

Well, what I did not factor in was that I was in a very flowy dress. Emphasis on very flowy. And it was a very windy day. And of course, it had to be grand central station at the Kroger gas place.

So I get out feeling all giddy about my decorating plan when I notice a large tent. Under it was about five youngerish men and I awkwardly make eye contact with one of them. That's when I realized they were selling something and I was about to get asked to buy it. I'm not a huge fan of these situations because I'm already giving up my favorite kidney to buy my gas, so quite definitely I do not want to spend money on some random product.

Sure enough, this 20-something-year-old walks over to me with some can in his hand. I half-smiled but looked away, the universal signal for "I am acting like I don't know you want to talk to me so let's not talk to me." He did not take my social cue and approached me. I felt bad because he looked scared. He had no spiel ready, and obviously wasn't feeling comfortable with his winging it strategy, so that left us both feeling awkward. He finally got out that in the can he was holding was waterless window washing solution. Miraculous. You simply spray and wipe it off with a towel. Now would I like a demonstration? Wanting to end this agony ASAP, of course I nicely said no, that's okay. Now here is a man who has just volunteered to wash my windows, and I turn him down. What. He walks back to his posse at the tent and I stand there feeling really dumb as I grab the squeegee and start washing the windows myself.

The men in the tent are watching me heroically tackle the windows without this magical can stuff when out of nowhere, disaster strikes. The wind picks up my entire dress. I repeat, my entire dress is blown upward. Not like a cute little breezy swish, no as in my pink underwear are exposed for all to see and my face is pure horror. Flustered to say the least, I hurriedly grabbed it as best I could and looked around at the millions of people at Kroger. My embarrassed brain told me there was no way that freak accident would happen again, and being determined to clean those dang windows, I pressed on. As I'm reaching my arm across the front windshield, the wind decides to pick up again and there goes my dress for the second time. Mortified, I look over at the tent and realize they are laughing at me. Bound and determined and furiously blushing, I stuff my dress between my legs while muttering to myself, and attempt to finish the window. Only that doesn't work. The entire backside of my dress goes up and STAYS UP, PEOPLE.

So there I am. Standing like a person with cramps, a wad of my dress in one hand and a dripping squeegee in the other thinking how the heck do I move. As if I could not be more embarrassed, I see one of the tent workers make his way towards me. The first thing out of his mouth is, "Stop mooning everyone. Let me do this, sweetheart. You just stand there and hold your dress." I literally could not breathe, let alone respond. Finally, I give a fake laugh and hurry to explain why I'm still standing outside when clearly it's hazardous. "You see, it's my best friend's birthday and I'm decorating the car so I have to clean the windows." "Oh, is this her car?" "Um no, this is my car. I'm going to drive her. With the decorated windows. But they have to be clean."

I'm shocked the blood vessels in my face did not spontaneously combust.

The guy then starts attacking the windows with this can cleaner and giving me the entire speech of how wonderful it is and how much I need it and would I just look at the difference?! And I just stood there holding my dress down against the tornado and tried not to cry. I was tempted to scream I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR CAN STUFF and run away, but instead I had to nod my head emphatically and bite my lip as he finished with, "If I were you, I would always wear a pair of boxers or tights. I tell my sister that all the time. Just put it on and it's better for ya." Then he made me look at the difference that stuff made on my headlights.

Great. Just great.

As I finally pulled out of that putrid place, I passed the tent and all the men smiled and waved. That's when I teared up.

I went home and changed. The end.