Planning: Day 1

Three years ago, I took aim at the can that was my future and gave it a good, swift kick down the road. I could see it as I moseyed down the path. It was always there waiting for me, and in about six weeks, I’m going to reach it again. This leaves me with options.

I could, in theory, stay where I am. I have the best of jobs, where I get to work with kids and travel and have a grand old time while still educating and giving back to the state that’s given me a good plenty of opportunities. I could stick it out here for another year, or two, and save up some money (barring any other unforeseen tooth removal situations) and survey the state of the can when I reach it again, farther on down the road. 

But staying isn’t really an option. I mean, it is. It’s viable. But I can’t stay here indefinitely. Chapel Hill is wonderful and I’ll always be thankful for the experiences it’s given me, but there’s a whole world out there. There’s an entire planet of places outside of my state and I want to see what it’s like to be there. Besides, staying here for more than another year is going to feel like putting down roots and I’m not ready for roots yet. Soon, but not yet. I’ve got wanderlust in me still.

So that begs the question, “What next?”, in response to which I laugh loudly and reach for a glass of something strong because I have no idea how to answer that question. In seventh grade, I wanted to be an astronaut. In eighth grade, I wanted to be a journalist. When I walked into college, I wanted to be an astrophysicist. When I walked out of college, I wanted to be employed. Along the way, I decided definitely that I was for sure going to seminary and I was going to be a pastor and that was what my life would be. Farther on down the way, I decided to not decide on that just yet. Open-ended life, right? Kick the can down the road. Cross that bridge when you come to it. 

And I’m capable. I might not meet all the requirements for any job ever, but I can learn and I’m wiling to work. I have the awesome privilege and responsibility of being able to make something out of myself. I’m not  yet hindered by circumstance or ability. I can do many things. I just have to decide what to be and go be it. Take a breath, take a step, take a chance. Take my time. 

If it sounds like I’m talking myself into something, that’s because I am. The idea of “What next?” is a gigantic ocean that you have to dive into and swim around in. It’s got currents that push you and doldrums where it leaves you and a depth that is unfathomable. In my soul, I’m beyond excited to jump in. In my mind, I’m a little less sure. So this is the dance we do, where we wade into the water, swim out to the sandbar, and mumble confident quotes before closing our eyes, breathing in deeply, and taking the plunge.

Six weeks is a good amount to time to ponder and plan. I process life in writing, so that’s what I’ll do with this, and I’ll take you with me if you want. I’m thinking we’ll see a week of thinking about purpose and what that even means, a week of LSAT consequences, a week of hanging out with Jesus, a week in the life of an educator, a week of unrestricted dreaming, and last of all, a week of deciding. That will drop me off at the second week in September, right by my can, when the applications are all online and the bustle of the school year is ripe for beginning new things. This is a plan I can handle.

One of the things life has given me in the past few years is a substantial iTunes library of music that I love, so each day gets its own song, with its own thoughts and feelings about life and things. Today’s is Take Up Your Spade by Sara Watkins. 

I’ve never really built anything big or tried to grow anything that didn’t start out its life inside a pot, so I don’t know what you do after you take up your spade and break ground. But I guess that’s what tomorrow is for. 

Mirrors

Recently, I looked in the mirror and was surprised by what I saw.

I was pretty.

I know that’s not what we should think of ourselves. I know that physical appearance has no bearing on mental faculties or the worth of one’s soul. Being pretty isn’t the goal. Being a good person is. I drank that kool-aid a long time ago. It’s what’s on the inside that counts. All of that. And I’m not here to belittle that.

For most of my life, I think, I didn’t think about my appearance. My hair did what it wanted to do and mostly I wanted it back in a pony tail or a bun. It was heavy and in the way. And I never looked at my face and so it could do what it wanted. If it wanted to have a pimple or two, I was happy to pick at it and then forget about it. I wasn’t looking at it. And as for the rest of me… well, I have nice collar bones and I like my feet and everything else in the middle, as long as it wasn’t in my way, I didn’t much care. I have a brain, which might not be as useful as I think it is, but that’s what mattered to me. I could use my brain and carry around my body and that was fine.

I guess I missed out on girl-talk, where you learned about cute bras and matching clothes and shoes, or whatever it is girls talk about. I didn’t pay attention to makeup or nail polish or diets or muscle-group-specific exercises. I never learned how to get rid of that upper arm fat or back fat or how to tighten my abs or glutes. I didn’t care to find out what colors were my colors or how to fix my hair or whether I should go heavy on the eyeliner or not. I don’t read Cosmo. I don’t look for makeup tips. I get a minor panic attack when people talk about going out and I realize that I have no clothing that’s appropriate for bar hopping and I have no idea what to do with my face.

All my heroes, how they looked was the least important thing about them. Princess Leia led a rebellion and she spent half the first movie in the same dress, without ever redoing her hair. Aerin, from The Hero and the Crown, she’s specifically not as pretty as Galana, and for good reason. Samantha Carter, from Stargate SG-1, who is the hero of my life that I don’t often talk about, she spends her days in a man’s uniform, with short hair and a fierce independence. I don’t even know how to describe these women and their looks because I’m too busy thinking about their actions and adventures and thoughts and that’s how it should be. It shouldn’t matter how you look. It should matter what you do.

At some point, I got distracted from that. I looked at my clothes and realized they weren’t all that flattering to the body underneath them. I realized that the body underneath them could use some work now that I didn’t have ballet and swim practice to keep it in some semblance of shape. I stared at my eyebrows and realized that they dominated my face and that my eyes weren’t even and that if I put some color on my face, my skin evened out and my eyes popped. If I cut my hair or even just parted it differently, it framed my face and suddenly, I wasn’t some preteen stuck in an adult’s body. I belonged. I was using my looks to my advantage.

But it never quite panned out. I had a couple of articles of clothing that made me look great. I had a style or two that made me happy with my hair. But I was convinced it was putting lipstick on a pig. I was plain and all the makeup in the world wasn’t going to fix that. It was my laugh and my wit and my stories that were going to win someone, if there was ever someone to win. I’ve been told that I have a beautiful soul and that was enough beauty for me. 

So I gave up again. A couple better-fitting bras and I could go back to t-shirts. My hair had grown out enough to be pulled back. Glasses or contacts, it didn’t matter. My eyes were fine as is. I mean, your body is just a meat suit and someone who’s only attracted to that has a while to go. Someone who judges you based on just your appearance has another thing coming. Wear what makes you feel good. All that matters is that you’re confident in yourself.

Which is why I was so surprised to look in the mirror and be pleased with what I saw. I had been talking to a friend about appearance on a  roadtrip and she had said, “I don’t know who told you what, but you’re beautiful.” And I laughed it off because that’s what you’re supposed to say, right? You’re supposed to tell someone they’re beautiful even if they’re plain because we all deserve to think that we’re lovely. I know I’m plain. I know that I’m not winning any pageants. But looking in that mirror, the same mirror that I’d seen myself in everyday in middle school and high school and some of the summers during college, I could see that I grew into my body. I fit my face. And I was happy, because I was pretty.

A wise group of writers once said that you are beautiful when you do beautiful things. If you do beautiful things, then you are beautiful. It’s a simple calculation. I don’t know that I’ve done anything beautiful recently. It seems that my standards have been raised in that regard. But I don’t mind seeing what I see in the mirror and I think that’s a step in the right direction. Maybe it’ll lend me some much-needed confidence as I try to figure out my next step in life. Because I see people, you know, I see people who look different from me who are doing beautiful things and I can’t help but think that I’m not worth it, that someone who looks like me can’t be taken seriously, can’t belong where they are.

But I’m wrong. 

I’m downright cute. 

And while that’s not going to take me anywhere or make me do anything great, it’s also not going to hurt me right now. 

So I’m okay with that. 

Under This Willow Tree

Hi. Hi. Hey. Hello.

Hi.

Hey, listen, you wouldn't happen to be my long-dead love, would you? Only I've been looking and I'm afraid my love's face may have changed and that I won't recognize any of the features anymore. They say that you'll know them by their eyes, you know, when you lose your love and find them again, but I don't know if that's true. Before, before the death, my love's eyes were these grey-green blue eyes that changed with the weather and it was like a new person every time a cloud floated by. Always exciting.

My eyes are the bark of a pine tree at Christmas. That's what my love used to say. Hey, would you mind speaking? They say that recently blinded people know their loved ones by their voices even just hours after their sight's been taken, so maybe I'll hear something of my love's voice in yours. It was this booming voice, sometimes, when ghost stories were being told or dragons imitated. You could rest your head on that voice and let the quiet rumble rock your soul. Not always, but when my love spoke to me, because I was loved, the rumble was always there for me.

Could you maybe say my name, just so I can check? I'm-

Yes, that's it. I must have already introduced-? Well, it's nice to meet you again.

No, you know, it's fine. I mean, there was never any guarantee that my love would be here in the first place. They say that when you come back, you're drawn to the places that meant something to you, and we... well, we had our first kiss under this willow tree. It was the edge of summer, and the fireflies and the stars were out and my love leaned forward and kissed me once, just gently.

Of course, we have years of memories after that, and any one of a hundred places we could have picked to return to, but I figured, if I wanted to start again, I'd start here. Plus, we can't really meet at our house- I sold it after the accident. Do you live around here?

So you heard about the fire?

Yeah, I don't think I was very safe for a few weeks there, or months. Honestly, I was probably more flammable than the average human, if you know what I mean.

Ah, that wind. It's a little bit of a chill, but, oh, I can just imagine my love's arms around me. Isn't it funny how that happens? It's, like, an extra warmth around your shoulders and, just, this feeling of contentment. My love had these big, strong arms...

Landscaping, actually, and then working with a moving company on the weekends. The mowers had these hand grips and they really work your forearms, and then, of course, moving boxes and all those things... I mean, no offense. You look like you work out. But my love used to lift me up in the air, no problem, and as you can see, I'm pretty substantial.

Oh, thank you! That's kind of you to say. Since I've been alone, I've had extra time to focus on me, so I am a little more in shape than I've been in the past.

Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just.... it's funny, the things you notice. Your nose, it has a bump just like my love's. It's the wrong color, of course, but it's uncanny how similar the shape is. I used to tease all the time, saying that there must have been an early drop by a distracted mama, because I would have sworn that was a break bump.

Was yours-? Not to get too personal.

Ah, yeah, it was actually a family nose too- you could trace the family tree back and back and back and in all of their wedding pictures, they had that same nose. There was some relative that was really into genealogy, so we had a wall of photos leading up to our picture.

June fifth, yeah. Oh, it was a gorgeous day. I mean, most summer weddings, they're either hot or rainy, but we got married at sunset and everything cooled as the sky switched colors. It was lovely, just perfect. Like today. I'm glad you got to have this lovely night out here and I hope I haven't intruded too much.

Hah, no, you're right. I should probably go too. It was lovely talking to you. No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run you off...

A ride would be great, actually. It's not too far from here- at the bottom of that hill a few streets over. Oh, you're a hero. Thanks so very much!

So, tell me about you. I know, you don't know me at all, but I did just bare my soul, so there's not much else to say from my end.

What a nice car! My love cared about cars as well. Oh, but, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Her favorite color is purple, so you were thinking irises?

Oh, the gate freaks everyone out. It's so imposing. But it was here when I bought the place and I haven't had much time...

Yes, just over that ridge. Exactly.

Hey, listen, would you mind walking me to my door? I think the moon set early tonight. It's usually so easy to see. You have a light, right? Just past these stones here. Yup, this is me. Thanks so much- it's good to feel safe as you go, you know? Do you think you could find your way out again? Just a left at the end of the row, then about a quarter of a mile- exactly.

What was that?

Yes- that... that was my love's name. First, last, and middle.

Yes, we did have the same birthday- a year apart, to the hour, isn't that funny? But how did you-?

Oh, I see. I see. Wow.

Well, thanks for the ride anyway.

No, now that I think about it, the ground isn't cold at all.