Small Hours

I’m watching a play. There are two 20-something aged girls in pyjamas, curled up in over-sized armchairs facing the audience. Over the next 45 minutes I listen to their conversations. The ones that happen in the small hours of the morning, when best friends talk about everything and nothing simultaneously. I know these hours and friends well. Immediately memories start playing out in my mind. One friend inebriatedly crying about the effects of global warming on ocean animals after we built a fort and had too much whisky. Squeezing the hand of another on a rooftop right before we graduated college, afraid of letting go and growing up. Having the worst flu of my life and deciding the obvious antidote was to cuddle up on the couch together and spend the entire day watching the Godfather series for the first time.

The stage lights end and begin scenes intermittently. I soon recognize that I’m witnessing a shuffling of memories—various conversations during those hours that become the breeding grounds for future nostalgia. The girls, still enveloped in their armchairs, begin to turn from the audience towards each other and their discussion reveals that this is actually a play-within-a-play. The earlier conversations are perhaps entirely false. One girl tries to remember while the other gets upset for parts being erroneously represented. One is really here, the other is not. This relationship now grievously exists in one-sided memory.

“The worst part is that I’m not even me anymore. I’m just how you remember me.”

Light-hearted, funny, sentimental conversations fade into something that is universally experienced yet rarely portrayed: the loss of self that happens when old friendships dissolve.

The small-hours-kind-of-friends are like mirrors. We love the part of ourselves they reflect back to us. When one of those friendship ends it’s as if there’s a part of yourself you can’t see anymore. Whether the ending happens suddenly or more commonly, slowly and gently over time, any attempt at revisiting is prone to error and inaccuracy. I think one of the most jarring parts of growing up that no one tells you about is how often you will experience this:

Looking back on something you thought you knew and discovering the reality you believed was something else entirely.

We talk about making vows with partners, but don’t we also make them with our friends? Not ones said out loud wearing pretty outfits in front of a smiling crowd. Silent ones in pyjamas that happen between “what’s up”s and “remember when”s. Vows that are spelled out in leftover pizza crusts and danced out on dorm room floors. Those vows made during the small hours propel us through so many big days. We assume best friends are forever kinds of things. We assume these friendships will fill us in the ways they always did. That this friend will know how to love us the way we need through all of life’s ups and downs. We assume that we’re honest with ourselves and with one another. We assume that we’ll always put forth effort in equal measure. But vows made between friends are just as subject to change as vows made between partners. It feels to me that most of us are taught to regard these changes with an air of nonchalance and progressive acceptance. This seems increasingly evident to me as I journey through a phase of life that is incredibly transitional for everyone my age.

It’s natural. Life happens. They’ll understand. People change. Things get busy. I’m sure we could just pick up where we left off. 

I get that. I’ve parted ways from friends both abruptly with mutual acknowledgement and in a slow, silent fade out. I’ve cried after hearing about a friend’s engagement because of the changes that I knew would inevitably follow. I’ve quietly seethed over a friend’s job placement knowing it would take them far away from me. I’ve stayed up all night anxious about how things “felt weird” when we hung out last. I’ve experienced the sink in your chest the instant you realize they don’t care as much as you do anymore.

This play made me realize that everything I just described is a reaction of fear. These “normal” transitions in a friendship doesn’t just mean the change or loss of this person who has a specific and important part to play in your story. It’s kind of like a change and loss of self. If you love who you are around someone, if you’re attached to what they bring out in you or how they know and understand you, and then that connection shifts in a big or small way…it’s startling. Hard. Uncomfortable. It’s shitty, okay? It’s just shitty. And I wish friends acknowledged the silent vows more often. I wish friends talked about the transitions when they happen.

I don’t have a tidy conclusion or a specific point to make. Mostly I just saw a play and it brought my feelings to life in one of those beautifully messy ‘ME TOO’ ways that art tends to do.

Here’s to the magic of the small hours.

I wouldn’t take any of them back, no matter the outcome. Maybe that’s the point.

Shout out to my C venues team mate Anna Jeary for her brilliant writing and Fourth Wall Theatre for showcasing Small Hours at the Edinbrugh Festival Fringe. 

Love,

Taylor

In the Wrong Place

I keep finding myself listening to a similar conversation with friends. Although there are different people and situations, I keep sensing a fear to admit when they find themselves in the wrong place. They’re in the wrong job and pretending it’s the right fit because they invested so much time and money into their study. They’re in the wrong relationship but convinced he’s going to change or she just needs to put in more effort. They’re using all the wrong things to numb their pain, thinking they’re fine because it makes them happier. They’re pretending to believe something they no longer believe because they don’t want to have an identity crisis. The list could go on.

I sense the fear of admission because I recognize it in myself. I’ve been there. I admit that I could be projecting, but I don’t think that’s what this is.

This is what I know it to be:

Deep down, from your inner most being there is a protest.

“I was not meant for this. This isn’t right.”

But you smother the protest for weeks, months, years. The protest dies, but resurrects itself the next time something happens that isn’t right. Why don’t you listen? Why do you make excuses? Why do you keep going?

Because there aren’t other options. There are only things tying you down. There is no green grass on the other side that you can see from where you’re standing. You don’t know exactly how you arrived here in the first place, but you sure as hell don’t know how to get out. You don’t have a plan or an alternative. So, you keep putting up with what doesn’t feel right because even though it might not be ideal, it’s what you have. There’s always hope, right? Always potential. It would be stupid to surrender a perfectly fine or at least comfortably familiar job/life/relationship/etc. and instead hurl yourself into a complete mystery.

Look, by all means, give this all you’ve got. Please keep going as long as you possibly can. Exhaust all your resources. Use up every last drop of determination and optimism you can muster.

But know this: there is something holy and relieving about surrendering to the inner protest of, “This isn’t right.”

There is something that happens in a person when they admit the fear and are brave enough to go, “I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like, but I know it’s not this. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know if it’s going to be worse or better. All I know is that where I’m standing now isn’t right, so I’m going to move.”

This is how life changes. This is how you find your sanctuary. The choices made from that place of, “I don’t know, but not this” are terrifying. But if that inner protest begins to play like a broken record, LISTEN. Be brave. Move. Because the next step might feel worse at first. In fact, expect that it will. But at least it won’t be “this”…whatever your “this” is.

The solution to fear is not creating security, it is having courage.

 

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

One. My sister was offered a big girl job with Laura Geller Cosmetics in Columbia, South Carolina. She’s trying very hard to convince me to move there with her. Hmmmm 😉 I’m sad that she’s leaving Colorado, but I’m proud of her and excited for this new adventure! Way to go, Madison.

Two. I wrote about the #KnowJustice project a couple months ago when I was working at ArtForceIowa. The Des Moines Register published this article, highlighting a little bit of what is happening with #KnowJustice and some other exciting arts events in Iowa that have to do with race and justice. I can’t wait to see what comes out of this workshop.

Three. This week my grandpa was in the hospital for a heart procedure that ended up not happening. They ended up needing to start him on a new medication that required monitoring him in hospital for several days. I spent a few of those days hanging out with family in his room and keeping grandma company over night. She kept telling grandpa, “I kind of love you a lot” and giving him kisses. And then at one point when he was getting an EKG he told the nurses he wanted grandma to come over and give him a kiss while they were scanning him so that he could see what it did to his heart. Seriously?! Stop. it. I can’t handle that kind of adorableness. #lifegoals.

They make my heart explode.

Four. I’ve now reached 6 months into my job search. If P.O.D can get nominated for a Grammy three times, I feel like I should be able to land a job in my field, you know? Sometimes life is cruel and unfair. But there are a few applications I’m feeling fairly optimistic about. Fingers crossed. Toes crossed. Everything crossed. Waiting is hard. Staying really proactive in the waiting is even harder. But I know that life happens between point A and point B. I will always be waiting for something, so I should learn to love what happens while I wait.

Five.  I think you have to be very close to someone in order to have the green light to go off on them when they’re being dumb. In my opinion, you have to approach these situations from a place of, “I could be wrong, but…” but still… I respect and appreciate the hard blow of redirection when it comes from a loving place. And it rarely comes. Most of my friends are listeners. They ask good questions. They’re comforting. But sometimes being a true friend isn’t just blindly agreeing, standing in solidarity, or waiting to see what happens. It’s coming alongside, telling them their eyes are closed, and shouting out what it is you see. The other night I was telling one of my best friends about something that happened recently, and they just went off on me and got upset. But I understood they weren’t upset at me or with me, but for me. And I needed that. I needed to have my motives challenged and my actions questioned so I could figure out how to either defend myself or realize I was wrong. I needed to hear the perspective that wasn’t “I understand,” but rather, “I don’t understand what you’re thinking or doing. This is insane and f-ed up and you need to ___ because I love you and I hate seeing ___.” I need to be better at this as a friend, too. It’s a delicate balance and a thin line because when are you being a good friend and when are you just being an ass? BUT, is it not completely worth figuring out how to do gracefully?

Six. This is awesome. And then Frieda told them about love…

Seven. I was in a yoga class this week where the instructor played this song during savasana and I legit shed a few tears. It’s like a musical security blanket. I will not apologize for kind of really loving The Fray.

Love,

Taylor

Home

My flights from Edinburgh to Amsterdam and Amsterdam to Minneapolis went smoothly and on time. Of course its always the final and shortest flight that has to screw everything up. We boarded 30 minutes late. Then we had to deplane because the thunderstorms in Des Moines were too severe. We waited another hour. Then we took off. Then the storms were bad again, so we flew in circles in the air for another 45 minutes before finally landing. I was supposed to arrive in Des Moines at 8:30 pm and didn’t get in until 11:30. But this is what I loved about the whole experience…

I was immediately reminded of why Iowans are the best people you’ll meet. They’re so freaking nice. Any other group of people in the airport would have been groaning, whining, asking the gate agent a million questions, etc. (I was even starting to wear thin at this point after I had been travelling for almost 24 hours with no sleep). But not this group. While we were waiting to re-board, someone goes, “Well folks, at least its not a snow storm, am I right?” and everyone laughed in agreement. The woman sitting next to me at the gate offered to share her snacks with me. There was a group of people huddled around someone’s iPhone periodically giving the rest of us updates on the weather radar. When we re-boarded, one man said to the flight attendant, “Well, look at that. You’ve still got a smile on your face! I appreciate that” and as we exited the plane in Des Moines the ground crew were at the door with everyone’s carrier luggage that hadn’t fit in the overhead compartments. One lady, as she was being handed her suitcase, said, “Wow! That was so fast. Thank you so much!”

These people…always remembering the upsides.

**The waterworks started going the second I walked off the plane and by the time I made it to my parents in baggage claim I had to promise that I honestly wasn’t sad to see them. If you’ve seen the movie Inside Out, at this point I could imagine Joy and Sadness sharing my memory marble. Fortunately, my parents know me well and so they just laughed and said, “We’ve been preparing ourselves for the fact that you will probably be like this for a few days.”

When I finally ventured into town the other day I almost had a little panic attack. I was naive and thought maybe I could get away with working on my paper in a coffee shop inconspicuously. But what actually happened was that I couldn’t even make it to the counter for 15 minutes because I knew the next 7 people who walked through the door and although I was really, genuinely happy to see all of them…it was just a lot all at once. And maybe jet lagged brain wasn’t ready for the onslaught of realisations that I’m actually home. I decided to walk back to my dad’s house (which is about a 45 minute walk that goes from one end of town to the other) and I can’t walk by anything without there being very specific memories attached to it.

The corner of Jefferson and Washington where I got hit by a car (well, technically I hit the car) because my bike breaks went out.

The last house we lived in as a family where my favourite cat is buried and where I was told things that changed my entire life, really. Where we had bonfires and covered my bedroom wall in written memories and lip prints.

Smokey Row, where I got to work with literally all of my best friends. Where we took espresso shots before prom and Emily spit hers out across the entire counter. Where I met customers who felt like family and who’s orders I remember still to this day. Where we listened to Kanye West’s ‘Graduation’ album in the dish room about a million times and yelled at kids who were making out in the loft.

My dad’s old apartment on the square where I experienced by first heartbreak. Where we sang the star spangled banner really loudly and obnoxiously from the roof during Tulip Time. Where my outfits consisted of combinations of pearls, purple eyeliner, lace tank tops and cardigans in every colour of the rainbow.

The cannon, where Rachel gave me lessons on how to swear.

The canal next to the movie theatre where Caroline and I once waded for quarters and came up with enough to buy a piece of cake. Score (apologies for all the stolen wishes)! Where I went to many midnight movie premieres. Where I once sat through all of The Devil Wears Prada with my head tilted to the side trying to get rid of my swimmers ear because I had jumped off of the cliffs at Red Rock.

Happy Joe’s, the most frequented venue of summer 2005. Cheese sticks. Boys. Arcade games. Watching music videos. Skateboarding.

Central College where I met some of my favourite people in the whole world. Where I attended epic dorm dance parties and enjoyed the benefits of McP’s mini cupcake maker. Where I played games of Nuke ‘Em and graduated from high school. Where I raked leaves and chased around little Marco. Where I departed from to take off for Haiti and Reynosa, trips that grew my faith, deepened my relationships, and widened my worldview.

The park where Walker and I had a wedding for our trucks. Where I smoked my first cigarette. Where I saw my first girl fight.

Kevin’s house where in the dead of winter we listened to Bright Eyes records and drove around looking at Christmas lights and having stupid deep discussions.

Aaron’s house where I passed out in the lawn after being hypnotised at prom. Where we stayed up late talking after I threw his bachelor party. Where we’d play card games, listen to Jason Derulo, and make tiramisu.

This list could reach novel-length. But the point being…small towns don’t really change. But you do. And then you come back and you realise that you can go live on the other side of the world. You can go experience all these other places. You could even spend the majority of your life somewhere completely different. But home never leaves you. Not really. And home is obviously a place, but it exists in people, too, I think. When you revisit, it hits you that certain aspects of your being are completely gone. They’re dead. They don’t exist anymore. But you know how you can listen to a mixed tape from ages ago and certain songs bring you back? They bring back a moment in time and you feel like you’re actually there for 3 minutes and 45 seconds or whatever it is. Isn’t it the same for people and places? Like the other night…getting in my truck and driving to West Market Park to meet up with Cameron brings me back to a certain time. We are different now. Life is so different now. I’ve seen him in various, more recent contexts and continue to ‘grow up’ with him, but 16 year old Cameron and Taylor still exist in the recesses of my mind. I don’t know if this is making sense or if it sounds like sentimental nostalgic shite. Probably the latter. But oh well. Obviously, you will never remember something exactly as it was. You will never have these memories forever. You cannot realistically go back and relive them. But I find something really mind blowing and comforting about memory keepers. I think to live with chronic nostalgia would be a terrible, terrible thing. However, sometimes a good dose is helpful in a transition season to remind you of where you came from, realise where you are, and prompt you to ask where you’re going.

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

One. I spent a week in Ireland and loved it. Irish people are just the best. Highlights include:

• Seeing The Book of Kells and library at Trinity College Dublin, which was something I had really enjoyed learning about in my art history courses and so, SO cool to see in person.
• Experiencing clay pigeon shooting. I was one, surprised that clay pigeons are not shaped like birds and two, even more surprised at how well I did at shooting them. Who could’ve seen that coming?! It must be all those games of N64 007.
• Soaking up some sunshine and seeing where the last scene from The Guard was filmed before getting 99s and listening to a very amusingly beginner saxophonist on the promenade. If any dude wants to serenade me with a saxophone that would very okay with me.
• Even though the weather was slightly disastrous, seeing the Cliffs of Moher was amazing!!
• Watching our classmate Derwin perform in his Irish dancing show. So talented with the feets, that one.
• Michael’s car tours of Galway and the surrounding towns. “This is the bad turn. Everyone knows what you mean when you say that you’re so many kilometres from the bad turn.”…”Oh, this is (enter name)’s house and you see there in the yard? That’s the grave he made for his dog.”
• Sailing with Katie and her parents and daring to jump in the coldest water I have ever been in.
• So.much.dancing
• Tom Barry’s, the most dreamy beer garden
• Playing some tunes on the Shandon Bells at St. Anne’s

A wee video montage: http://replayapp.com/v/FDQSmPvDB8/

Two. This might be the most positive song ever and I can’t stop listening to it:

Three. Yesterday I had one of those moments that kinds of defines you as a person. I just left the hair salon and got on the bus. I felt a very strange sensation and realised that there was a mentally handicapped man in the seat directly behind me…wait for it…chewing on my hair!! Yep. Just sucking away on the ends of my fresh locks. And I didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop. So, I just let it run its course and then sort of leaned forward in my seat so it was out of reach.

Four. I went to a Picasso and Lee Miller photography exhibition at The Portrait Gallery and was blown away by these best buds. There was a whole group of friends, really…painters, poets, photographers. They were so tight knit and supportive of each other’s work. They created resistance publications together during WWII and Miller was a war photo correspondent for Vogue. Picasso wasn’t allowed to exhibit any work during the war, but he created constantly, so there were pictures Miller took of all his new pieces when she finally got to see him on Victory Day. She took thousands of photos of Picasso during their friendship and her husband wrote his biography. It felt like a privilege to see how personal the photos were- documenting everything from holidays together, to having kids, new homes, changing relationships, visits at work, etc. It reminded me of Midnight in Paris (which everyone should watch). And it made me wonder if the famous contemporary artists of today have that sort of thing going for them.

Five. It has been a weekend of saying farewell to people who have made such an imprint on this sentimental soul of mine. And when you meet people who do that, you don’t want them to just become a tiny part of your life, you know? Like, oh it’s been years since I’ve seen so-and-so. We just went to grad school together for a year. Noooo! I hate the idea of not knowing the next time you’ll see a person. It’s a terrible thing. Honestly, I can’t get over how fortunate I am to have spent a year in such good company- friends from my course who I’ve been through the trenches with and could not have survived without, the Steampunk crew who make life feel so full and happy, friends from church who have loved and cared like the superstars they are, and great flatmates who made a new and unfamiliar place feel like home. I’ve held it together so far, but I have a feeling at that flight gate on Tuesday I will be a mess. I don’t want to leave. I want to come baaaack. But I don’t know if, how, or when that will be a possibility. I don’t know if I just take a risk and a big leap or if I wait for something to happen. I need a UK visa fairy to come tell me what I should do because my head spins when I read into it. Maybe I’ll just put up a kickstarter to fund my stay? 😉 BUT all of that said, I am also really, really excited to fly back to Iowa and be home with all my homies who I have missed immensely. Although, you won’t see much of me until after I submit my dissertation August 19th. Booooo.

Six. I’ve never had a caricature/portrait done before, but I spoke to a really sweet Polish artist when walking on the mile yesterday and she did mine. I don’t know how much it really looks like me, but it’s fun to have anyway. Support street artists!

Seven. Lawls

Love,

Taylor

Hey Soul Sister

Yesterday I was savoring a delicious breakfast in the company of these two lovelies. We were discussing workplace dynamics, conflict resolution, documentaries, progressive women’s movements, faith, etc. Ya know, the usual…

While sipping my coffee, I stopped to think about what my closest girlfriends do with their lives. I came up with the following:

Revitalizing neighborhoods, community building, leading people in worship, parenting, studying to be a midwife, assisting refugees with urban gardening and childcare employment, researching for child and welfare policy, coordinating volunteers, managing projects and events, serving people onboard aircrafts, teaching America’s youth, leading missional outreaches across the globe, helping homeless families transition into stable housing, campaign management for healthcare reform, and running their own small business.

You know, I think Jesus was spot on when he said that to be a leader you must first be a servant. These women are the most service-oriented people I know and that is one thing that makes them incredible leaders. The occupation part is just a glimpse. They also serve on committees, volunteer in churches, grow vegetables or knit scarves and give them away, teach yoga classes and mentor at-risk kids. THEN, on top of that, they also find time to bring me lunch when I’m sick, take me to the airport at ungodly hours, dance with me, remind me of my self-worth, defend me, let me get snot all over their shirt as I sob into it, accept my flaws and allow me to see theirs. They challenge me to see God in new ways, they inspire me with their intellect and passions and they bring me comfort with their presence (along with a million other tiny and big things).

In the last week some of these friends have told me:

-They were sexually harassed in workplace environment

-They attempted to lead a group at work and were immediately shut down

-They didn’t feel heard or that their voice mattered

Siiiiggghhh. I hate that.

And there’s nothing I can do to fix it or make it go away. I also hate that.

BUT, I just want to say:

Chin up, cookie.

You are courageous for being where you are and doing what you do.

You are lovable for making the world a better place with the work of your hands and the fruit of your spirit.

You are capable of leading one or one-hundred-thousand with your voice and your abilities.

You are valuable because you exist. And good Lord, am I thankful that you do.

Fight for a place at the table. Speak up. Make waves. Cause a ruckus. Practice your Wonder Woman stance.

Love,
Taylor

 

At The Moment

I am…

–Suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome. Being an adult + the arrival of Summer = severe symptoms.

You start growing up accustomed to this work hard/play hard cycle of school life and then all of the sudden you’re in a NO BREAK EVER life. What?! Who approved this?

Can’t I just not reply to work emails for three months and then come back in September and pick up where I left off?

Remember the glorious adrenaline of the last day of school? It signified the arrival of the freedom months. It meant full days spent at the pool with your best friend, ingesting an ungodly amount of freezer pops. It meant mischievously prank calling boys who still had little girl voices, sprinklers and water guns, turning three shades darker without even trying, multiple sleepovers a week, eating tubs of raw cookie dough with Doritos and frozen pizza (metabolism…what’s that?), sweaty hand holding, building rafts at the beach, wearing a swimsuit 3/4ths of the day, road trips to thrilling places like Adventureland, and living completely unconcerned about what time you had to wake up in the morning.

Now Summer means sitting at a desk all day praying to God the office AC doesn’t break. It means forcing yourself to be productive when all you want to do is float down a river inside of an inflatable donut or take a nap in a hammock. It means still setting your alarm, still getting dressed, still paying bills, still feeling worthless after a workday, etc.

I’m not saying Summers aren’t fun anymore. They’re still the best. But you never get back those few months of blissful, ignorant, youthful freedom. And that is a tragedy. RUUUFIIOOO.

–Grateful for friendships near and far. I think something unique happens when people become friends because the universe brought them together in another country, for a specific amount of time, to experience something intense and out of the ordinary together. I’m not exactly sure why, but for me at least, there is a pull to keep those people close. Maybe because they’re my only few ties to a life altering experience. Maybe because we lived in places and spaces where all we could do was talk. For hours, days, months. My friend Melissande and I have been in a season of communicating frequently. It’s been 5 years since we were aimlessly wandering the streets of Morocco, but we’ve continued to share life over Skype and through cards/packages. My friend Sarah, who I met in YWAM, asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding this Summer- yeaaahhh! I’ve stayed in touch with the three people I interned with in Uganda, visiting and checking in with each other. Each one of them has really been there for me lately, even if we’re oceans apart. It means a lot. And I’m constantly blessed and amazed by the friends I have surrounding me every day. I don’t know why or how I got so lucky. As cliche as it sounds, they make me a better person and I would be in a far darker place right now if it weren’t for their love and zeal for life. So thank you (you all know who you are). A million times. Thank you.

–All about the little victories.  When you find yourself challenged beyond what you thought you were capable of, the small victories become all the more precious. Stress and worry have tried to swallow me whole the past few months, but there is one victory I have been relishing in: the absence of self-doubt. I believe in myself. Don’t ask me why the realization of that comes as a bit of a surprise. But I’m proud of myself. I know that I am capable. Of reaching new levels of health. Of obtaining my dreams. Of saying no. Of great love. Of conquering fear. Of gracefully embracing change. Of deeper faith. I’ve got this. Breathe. Keep your eyes open, your chin up, and your heart full.

 

Love,

Taylor

On Break(throughs)

I just need a breakthrough.

I keep telling myself this.

I need a breakthrough at work, where a barrier crumbles and I’m let in. I’m allowed to swim through the tormented, beautiful minds. Where I’m listened to and asked to listen.

I need a breakthrough in my creativity, where it suddenly ignites as if I were a human sparkler.

I need a breakthrough in friendships, where the awkwardness goes away. Where I don’t feel less than because of the newly missing half.

I need a breakthrough in church or spirituality, where prayer isn’t a homework assignment, but happens with people organically and in the moment. Where there is time for honest questions and room for silence.

I need a breakthrough in therapy, where I learn how to gauge whether I’m doing something caring for someone else or if I’m actually doing it for me (which, for the record, is way harder than you might think). Where I figure out how parts of my personality and character make me wonderfully amazing and wonderfully unhealthy at the same time. Where I figure out how to let go, unclench my fists and foster some sort of pioneering spirit that pushes me forward into God knows what.

Break:

separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow, shock or strain

to lacerate; to wound

to put an end to; overcome; stop

to interrupt the regularity, uniformity, or arrangement of

I’m in the process of breaking. In some moments I feel completely broken. We’ve all been there, right? There’s that overly-pinned Leonard Cohen lyric about how cracks are what lets the light in. It’s true, though. Breakthroughs must be like that- never one single break, but rather gradual shifts…tiny cracks that reveal or expose what was once unseen and intangible. And it’s an active process. To continue breaking is an option I will always have. It’s the “through” part that I have trouble committing to. That part is scary. That means I have to find the flaw and see through it. It means that I some point, in order to get anywhere, I have to shift my actions to a forward and through direction.

It means I have to take a break from the internal mind chatter that doesn’t actually benefit me. It means I have to finds ways to make use of the time I spent devoted to all these old habits and ways of thinking. And it means I must stay mindful of all thee above.

While breaking is unpleasant and disorienting, I realize that when we break…newness and freshness floods in. It’s different, but it doesn’t have to be scary. I can lean into that. I can embrace the pain of the cracking if it means I’m breaking for a good sob and surrender. For the most raw and pure form of faith. For new adventures and relationships. For the breathlessness of anticipation. For discovering that I’m capable of this. For sunflowers and sweaty yoga mats. For new eyes and a wiser heart. I can break for those things. 

Away with the notion that breaking is about isolation, gross imperfection, and all things depressing.

Usher in the truth that breaking is about movement, growth, and light. God is in the beauty, sacredness, and humble gratification of the breaking.

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

 

 

 

I hope that you all had happy hearts this week! I hate that couples take the cake on Valentine’s Day because really it’s just a day to overtly celebrate love. Anyone and everyone can do that. Think about or do the things that make your heart sing! Treat yo’self: to pedicures. To an extra piece. To a dance in your new underwear. To an hour of quiet. Make things: hats for people with cold heads. Drawings for people with naked fridges. Gluten-free cake for people with sensitive tummies. Tea for the friend who is sad. Give things: Nice words to people without smiles. Kisses and hugs to your grandma, boyfriend, kid or cat. Your precious time to the ignored or poor. Your prayers and thankful heart to the Creator. Remind people they aren’t alone. FYI: This week is Random Acts of Kindness Week! What a perfect way to extend the good love vibes.

It’s interesting to me how love is something so natural and yet I’m always learning more about what it actually is. What it actually means…what it looks like…how it feels. What I knew about love at 14 pales in comparison to what I know now. I wonder what I will know at 30 and 55. It makes me really excited to see how much I’ve learned but to know that I don’t know it all yet.  That there are bursts and depths of love that I have yet to experience. That there are people out there in the world that I will immensely love but have never even seen their faces. That there are places I will leave bits of my heart at, but have never been to. That there is room for my heart to grow and expand, but it has yet to be tested. Right now I’m learning about sad kinds of love. Or bittersweet kinds of love, at least. Love for what is lost and broken. Love for what is out of reach. Love in the midst of everything unknown. The handing over kind of love. The kind of love that rips you apart and holds you together at the same time. I think that’s the kind of love Jesus had. And that’s the kind of love I want to emulate, so maybe this is a good lesson. A good season of learning love.

7 Things I would tell my 14-year old self about love:

Hey you awkward little thing, you:

1. You think you are in love right now. I won’t say you aren’t. I won’t roll my eyes at you and speak of puppy love or whatever it is grown-ups talk about. I won’t tell you that you have no idea what you’re really feeling. I will validate the in-loveness, the euphoria of it all and the earth shattering feeling of when you get rejected. I was thinking about telling you to guard your heart better (as if this is something we all inherently know how to do) so that it doesn’t hurt as much when its over (and then over again) but no…no, don’t do that. Because later on it will just feel silly. In a good way. The kind of silly that makes you smile. The kind of silly that makes you happy you experienced what you did. You eventually forget the hurt and all that’s left is a whimsical, nostalgic kind of thing. I shouldn’t say you forget the hurt. It’s definitely memorable. But the dancing in the rain kind of stuff will be more in focus. We learn from heartache. Everything is a gift, even that part. As Elizabeth Gilbert says, “It’s a good thing; a broken heart. It means we have tried for something.” So I guess what I’m saying is take it all in with everything you’ve got, but then let it be over. Don’t keep trying or desperately hoping for more. Let it be.

2. You’re really good at loving your friends. Love your family more. Friends will still mean everything to you. Friends will still be who you see the most on a daily basis. But don’t miss out on family. I wish I could tell you everything, but just trust me. The family thing gets much better and bigger and more lovely. So give them the quality time they deserve. Your presence is love. Its cliche, but they will literally have your back no matter what. They don’t change. They always love. They will be your sounding board in life.

3.  Sometimes love is making the decision that doesn’t seem loving. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do for a person is to say, “no more.” I know you’ve had it drilled into your brain: love, forgive, love, forgive, love, forgive. But that doesn’t always look how you think it does. You’ll realize all the love and forgiveness you can give doesn’t change a person. And sometimes you end up enabling the bad things because you’re too scared of doing the wrong thing. You’re not a very brave person in that department. You don’t trust yourself very much. It makes me sad. But grace is key to who you are, so don’t change that. Just know that it’s okay. It’s okay to have a breaking point. And it’s okay to not know what God is teaching you before he teaches it to you. It’s okay to let go of whatever is hurting your heart and soul.

4. For goodness sakes, love yourself more. In order to love people well, you do truly need to be in a healthy place of loving oneself. At the end of the day, you are all you have. You have your mind, heart, soul, and body. Take care of it. Love it, with all it’s flaws and all it’s beauty. Love your body. Be outraged at the objectification of the female body. Stop trying to please everyone. It’s okay if people don’t think you’re the greatest or the prettiest. It’s okay if people don’t agree with you. Don’t burn yourself out. Listen to yourself. What do you need? Ok…now do that. It’s quite simple, really. You don’t have to go to that thing because that person will be disappointed if you’re not there. You don’t have to do every little thing someone asks of you. It’s okay to say you’re busy. It’s okay to say you need a night at home. Learn to be in tune with your gut. Sometimes you have to listen to yourself and to God and accept that someone you love might not understand.

5. God loves you, no matter what choices you make. There’s nothing you can do that will ruin His plan. He won’t see you as less of a good person if you do___. Your life isn’t going to be less full or blessed if you ___. You don’t worship a conditional God. No, really. You know this, but knowing it in your head is entirely different from knowing it in your heart. It’s a really hard thing to grasp–unconditional love. Maybe you’ll get it more if you become a mom someday. I don’t know. You definitely have a “gray” perspective. You’re really good at being accepting of everyone else and not being judgmental. You’re really good at knowing if Jesus is the Truth, you’re not…except when it comes to yourself. When it comes to your life, things are more black and white. It’s harder to believe that whole unconditional love thing for yourself than it is for everyone else. But you are, you are so radically loved and accepted just as you are. Don’t let anyone else taint your journey by comparing it to their own. And don’t do that to yourself. Live into what God has for you.

6. Sometimes love needs boundaries to keep hurt and confusion at bay. And then sometimes screw boundaries…love with abandon, my dear.

7. Some of the greatest loves of your life will not be boys. They’ll be the girlfriends who intensely know you and are your memory keepers. They’ll be the places and spaces that saw you through unforgettable seasons of life. They’ll be the children that light up your world and teach you to wonder. They’ll be the roles or vocations that allow you to live out love and purpose. They’ll be the women you look up to, the ones who blazed the trail before you and come back to walk you through it.

Love,

Taylor

 

 

Birthday Love

Happy Birthday to the beautiful Kim Hensley! Like seriously…look at that picture!! She is absolutely radiant. All. The. Time. Last night I had the privilege of celebrating the life of this lady. We went to see Peter Pan at The Des Moines Playhouse. We sat in the second row. We laughed, we believed in fairies, we ate ice cream sandwiches. It was fantastic. Everyone should go see it, especially if you have little ones. Then we cuddled up in my apartment for some fancy liquor our friend Emily brought home from Scotland and chatted late into the night.

Kim is someone who consistently oozes joy. I can’t express that in enough seriousness. She is so happy and animated  She makes everyone else happy. She has my favorite laugh in the whole world, which is great because I get to hear it often.  Her hair is perfect. I covet it. She is the life of the party. She is always giving of her energy and love. She has an incredible family. She inspires me to find blissfulness in the little things life offers. She leads worship for a living and if you’ve never heard her voice before you are missing out. Its like honey. When all our dude friends lived in a big house together, Kim would come over and cook amazing Cuban food for all of us. I love that Kim shares my passion for Jesus, Team Peeta, dance parties and doughnuts (thus, the doughnut hole adorned with the birthday candle in the photo). I love that she isn’t afraid to get real and sassy. I love that she is a mentor to young women and is invested in their journeys. Kim, needless to say…you are incredible and I love you. Have the happiest of birthdays.

Love,

Taylor