Writing is my outlet.
For the last four years, I've felt that something was missing from my life. Every time I was angry, frustrated, tired or just over concerned with the things happening around me, I wasn't sure what to do.
I tried running. I tried lifting weights. I tried talking it out. I even tried praying.
Nothing seemed to do the trick.
And then, it came to me.
For three years, I had spent the majority of my time detailing my thoughts out on paper, word-for-word, thought-for-thought. One, twice, even 20 times a week, I would sit down and write. I'd write about the world, about Doane, about myself.
I let hundreds of people into my life through my written words.
I didn't really care what people thought of my weekly umps whether they aged or disagreed with them, or really, even if they actually read them. For me, those columns were a therapy. They were a release from the stresses of my daily life, and a way for me to unwind.
And then, I didn't have them anymore. The Doane Owl wasn't depending on me to fill the empty space, and Sandhills Publishing certainly didn't have room for personal columns. My 4-H kids and parents definitely don't care to read what I believe to be profound thoughts in their weekly newsletter, and I don't have my own press to create a paper just for my thoughts.
So, I turn to the adult version of what I had in college. A blog.
If you read this, thank you, and if not, it's not going to upset me. This blog, it's just for me.
Writing is MY outlet.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
One month, many doubts
31 days.
That's the amount of time it's been since I left the life I knew and moved into the unknown. I've never been a risk-taker. I've always had a plan, done the right thing at the right time, known where I was headed and what route would be the best way to get there.
For once in my life, I had none of that. But sometimes, the risk is worth the reward.
I left Lincoln, Neb. on Oct 2. As I stood in the street crying with my cousin Kelly and best friend Tammi, I had never been so unsure of something in my life. I was leaving my best friends, my job, my house and my life in Nebraska. I cried the whole way to Colorado, worried that I had made a mistake.
But I hadn't.
Although I still cry and have my moments of doubt, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. I love my life. I can leave on a Friday at 3 p.m. and be home in Alliance in time for supper. Or, I can come home to the cows in my backyard and the smell of a "ranch home." I get to see my boyfriend every single day, instead of once every few weeks. I haven't boarded a plane in more than a month. The farthest I've traveled recently is back to Lincoln to visit friends. I take a run on a country road once a day. I still talk to my best friends every day, I just hear their voices over the phone instead of in person. I've never been so excited to see them.
31 days.
For most people, it doesn't seem like a a long time. But for me, it's the time it's taken to realize that I'm OK.
I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And despite my doubts, everything HAS worked out.
It's just taken some time: 31 days.
That's the amount of time it's been since I left the life I knew and moved into the unknown. I've never been a risk-taker. I've always had a plan, done the right thing at the right time, known where I was headed and what route would be the best way to get there.
For once in my life, I had none of that. But sometimes, the risk is worth the reward.
I left Lincoln, Neb. on Oct 2. As I stood in the street crying with my cousin Kelly and best friend Tammi, I had never been so unsure of something in my life. I was leaving my best friends, my job, my house and my life in Nebraska. I cried the whole way to Colorado, worried that I had made a mistake.
But I hadn't.
Although I still cry and have my moments of doubt, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. I love my life. I can leave on a Friday at 3 p.m. and be home in Alliance in time for supper. Or, I can come home to the cows in my backyard and the smell of a "ranch home." I get to see my boyfriend every single day, instead of once every few weeks. I haven't boarded a plane in more than a month. The farthest I've traveled recently is back to Lincoln to visit friends. I take a run on a country road once a day. I still talk to my best friends every day, I just hear their voices over the phone instead of in person. I've never been so excited to see them.
31 days.
For most people, it doesn't seem like a a long time. But for me, it's the time it's taken to realize that I'm OK.
I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And despite my doubts, everything HAS worked out.
It's just taken some time: 31 days.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Talking with answers
I talk to myself.
And, I also answer.
I'd never realized how much I actually did talk to myself until someone else brought it to my attention. I'm constantly chatting with no one in particular, and then answering when no one else does.
I can have some of the best conversations with myself about life, what I've done in a day, what I've forgotten to do and what still needs to be done. I can talk about my siblings: Drew, Ellie and Lane, about my parents, my friends, my co-workers and even people I've only met once.
While trying to "exterminate" the thousands of flies in my house today, I even found myself talking about my Grandma June, who never would have tolerated the swatting and "smack talk" the poor flies in my house were having to endure. She would have never killed them. She would have kindly opened the door or window and guided them outside safely. But then again, I doubt she would have talked to them either, as I did, telling them to tell their friends not to come inside. They would be killed if they did.
As you can see, I not only talk to myself. I also talk to flies, horses, cows, computers, TVs, movies, chairs, tables and even casserole dishes. I won't discriminate - nothing is off limits.
I don't know why I talk to myself or to animals and inanimate objects. But I do.
I think it's perfectly healthy. Isn't it?
It must be.
At least, the part of me who answers myself thinks it is.
And, I also answer.
I'd never realized how much I actually did talk to myself until someone else brought it to my attention. I'm constantly chatting with no one in particular, and then answering when no one else does.
I can have some of the best conversations with myself about life, what I've done in a day, what I've forgotten to do and what still needs to be done. I can talk about my siblings: Drew, Ellie and Lane, about my parents, my friends, my co-workers and even people I've only met once.
While trying to "exterminate" the thousands of flies in my house today, I even found myself talking about my Grandma June, who never would have tolerated the swatting and "smack talk" the poor flies in my house were having to endure. She would have never killed them. She would have kindly opened the door or window and guided them outside safely. But then again, I doubt she would have talked to them either, as I did, telling them to tell their friends not to come inside. They would be killed if they did.
As you can see, I not only talk to myself. I also talk to flies, horses, cows, computers, TVs, movies, chairs, tables and even casserole dishes. I won't discriminate - nothing is off limits.
I don't know why I talk to myself or to animals and inanimate objects. But I do.
I think it's perfectly healthy. Isn't it?
It must be.
At least, the part of me who answers myself thinks it is.
The power of prayer
Pray.
Run.
Pray.
Eat.
Pray.
Sleep.
Pray.
Repeat.
And Pray.
The power of prayer is undeniable, and, fortunately, I've come to understand this at an early stage in my life. My family (both my mom and dad's sides) were raised devout Catholics, and faith has been a part of my life since before I could sit on my own. And now, when I face problems of my own, I know there's only one place to go.
To my knees.
My grandma June always prayed one rosary a day. And if she forgot, she would wake up in the middle of the night and pray it, right then. Now, my Aunt Lisa does the same. I remember sitting in the nursing home, as my grandma faced her last few days in this life. And as she sat there, Aunt Lisa on one side and me on the other, there was only one thing left to do.
Pray.
And now, when I hear that someone is sick, dying, suffering, having a hard time or just in need of a little extra boost, I know exactly where to turn. I make the sign of the cross, fold my hands and bow my head.
And then, I leave it up to Him.
I couldn't be more thankful for my faith and more confident that everything will turn out, just as He planned. My parents believe it, my aunts and uncles believe it, and my grandma demonstrated it every single day.
Prayer is powerful.
It's hard for me to imagine people who aren't able to do that, who have nowhere to turn and no one to talk to when the going gets tough.
Pray for them.
Run.
Pray.
Eat.
Pray.
Sleep.
Pray.
Repeat.
And Pray.
The power of prayer is undeniable, and, fortunately, I've come to understand this at an early stage in my life. My family (both my mom and dad's sides) were raised devout Catholics, and faith has been a part of my life since before I could sit on my own. And now, when I face problems of my own, I know there's only one place to go.
To my knees.
My grandma June always prayed one rosary a day. And if she forgot, she would wake up in the middle of the night and pray it, right then. Now, my Aunt Lisa does the same. I remember sitting in the nursing home, as my grandma faced her last few days in this life. And as she sat there, Aunt Lisa on one side and me on the other, there was only one thing left to do.
Pray.
And now, when I hear that someone is sick, dying, suffering, having a hard time or just in need of a little extra boost, I know exactly where to turn. I make the sign of the cross, fold my hands and bow my head.
And then, I leave it up to Him.
I couldn't be more thankful for my faith and more confident that everything will turn out, just as He planned. My parents believe it, my aunts and uncles believe it, and my grandma demonstrated it every single day.
Prayer is powerful.
It's hard for me to imagine people who aren't able to do that, who have nowhere to turn and no one to talk to when the going gets tough.
Pray for them.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Church comfort
New places.
New people.
New life.
Same church.
I've been to many new places in my life, from Washington, D.C. to Burmingham, Alabama and even to Kissimmee, Florida. Every place is different. There are new people to meet, new places to explore and a new lifestyle to find. But in all my travels, one thing remains the same.
Church.
In Burmingham, I felt right at home at a church service, despite the fact that it was not a Catholic church, not predominately white as mine is, and by no means was it like my hometown service. Here there was singing, loud praises and an amazing choir that could definitely "raise the roof." But I was home. The people surrounding me were friendly, and, like me, they were there for one thing. To praise God.
Fast forward two years to Washington, D.C. Two weeks of long days, cold weather and homesick feelings. And yet, I found home there too. As we stepped into the Catholic church across from the Capitol, I felt one thing: comfort. This was where I belonged. And, even though I was thousands of miles from home, I felt like I was right there, right where I was meant to be.
Still, another year later, I found that same comfort in Kissimmee. Down in Florida for work and stressed to the max, a co-worker and I decided to attend Sunday mass at a local church. Again, this was nothing like my hometown service. The church and congregation were huge, children were screaming and a large choir was belting out the hymns. But amidst the chaos, I felt peaceful. I was perfectly content sitting in that pew, miles from home and feeling not a hint of homesickness.
Now, as I begin a new life in Colorado, I'm faced with meeting new people, exploring new places, and starting what I consider to be a "new" life. It's exciting, yes, but I'm scared to death. I find myself feeling lonely, out of sync and homesick. But I know there's one thing that will always make me feel better, one thing that will always bring me home.
My church.
New people.
New life.
Same church.
I've been to many new places in my life, from Washington, D.C. to Burmingham, Alabama and even to Kissimmee, Florida. Every place is different. There are new people to meet, new places to explore and a new lifestyle to find. But in all my travels, one thing remains the same.
Church.
In Burmingham, I felt right at home at a church service, despite the fact that it was not a Catholic church, not predominately white as mine is, and by no means was it like my hometown service. Here there was singing, loud praises and an amazing choir that could definitely "raise the roof." But I was home. The people surrounding me were friendly, and, like me, they were there for one thing. To praise God.
Fast forward two years to Washington, D.C. Two weeks of long days, cold weather and homesick feelings. And yet, I found home there too. As we stepped into the Catholic church across from the Capitol, I felt one thing: comfort. This was where I belonged. And, even though I was thousands of miles from home, I felt like I was right there, right where I was meant to be.
Still, another year later, I found that same comfort in Kissimmee. Down in Florida for work and stressed to the max, a co-worker and I decided to attend Sunday mass at a local church. Again, this was nothing like my hometown service. The church and congregation were huge, children were screaming and a large choir was belting out the hymns. But amidst the chaos, I felt peaceful. I was perfectly content sitting in that pew, miles from home and feeling not a hint of homesickness.
Now, as I begin a new life in Colorado, I'm faced with meeting new people, exploring new places, and starting what I consider to be a "new" life. It's exciting, yes, but I'm scared to death. I find myself feeling lonely, out of sync and homesick. But I know there's one thing that will always make me feel better, one thing that will always bring me home.
My church.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Proverbs 9:6
"Leave your simple ways and live. Walk in the way of understanding."
Proverbs 9:6.
It's one of my favorite verses. It's one of those that can mean anything to anybody. But to me, it means everything.
For having the verse tattooed on my foot, I can't say I knew much about it. I'd never sat down and figured out just how it related to my life. I'd never read "between the lines" in the Bible, to find out just how important this phrase was. I'd never realized how important it could be.
"Leave your simple ways and live."
It's amazing how we can get caught up in our day-to-day lives. Work, kids, family, friends, clothes, houses, apartments, bills, traveling. It's overwhelming just typing it all. And, it's hard NOT to get caught up in it. There's so much going on in our lives that we forget to stop and separate what's important from what doesn't matter. It's time to leave our simple ways. Stop worrying about work and bills and the things that you can't change, the things that don't matter.
"Walk in the way of understanding."
Too many times, we stumble our way through life. It's difficult to find our path, and even when we think we have, it's often rocky and uneven. Too many times I've wanted to turn back and stumble my way back to familiar ground. But that's not living. That's not understanding. And that's definitely not faith.
It's time to live by the words tattooed on my foot, to recognize what they mean to me and to realize their importance in my life.
Proverbs 9:6.
"Leave your simple ways and live. Walk in the way of understanding."
Proverbs 9:6.
It's one of my favorite verses. It's one of those that can mean anything to anybody. But to me, it means everything.
For having the verse tattooed on my foot, I can't say I knew much about it. I'd never sat down and figured out just how it related to my life. I'd never read "between the lines" in the Bible, to find out just how important this phrase was. I'd never realized how important it could be.
"Leave your simple ways and live."
It's amazing how we can get caught up in our day-to-day lives. Work, kids, family, friends, clothes, houses, apartments, bills, traveling. It's overwhelming just typing it all. And, it's hard NOT to get caught up in it. There's so much going on in our lives that we forget to stop and separate what's important from what doesn't matter. It's time to leave our simple ways. Stop worrying about work and bills and the things that you can't change, the things that don't matter.
"Walk in the way of understanding."
Too many times, we stumble our way through life. It's difficult to find our path, and even when we think we have, it's often rocky and uneven. Too many times I've wanted to turn back and stumble my way back to familiar ground. But that's not living. That's not understanding. And that's definitely not faith.
It's time to live by the words tattooed on my foot, to recognize what they mean to me and to realize their importance in my life.
Proverbs 9:6.
"Leave your simple ways and live. Walk in the way of understanding."
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