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

Apologies

I’ve been volunteering at DMCW for 9 months now and when you’re a staff volunteer, you see the same people come through every week. First, you get to know names and faces. Then you learn things like how Stanley takes his coffee and how when Kim asks if you have noodles she means ramen noodles and nothing else. You learn that Jimmy prefers donations of black socks to white ones and that if anyone is mouthing off, Annie will most certainly have your back.

The longer I’m here, the more I learn not just about preferences and personalities, but about what happens on the other side of the street when our doors have closed for the day. I am only privy to seeing the tip of many icebergs, but it’s enough to keep me from living in comfortable ignorance of what lurks beneath the water where I float.

I can fill a plate, clean and bandage cuts, drive someone to detox, or offer my undivided attention and a hug. But all the love and good deeds in the world don’t change the fact that at the end of the day I’m the one sleeping inside when it’s below zero outside. I’m the one who can raid the fridge at night if my stomach is growling. I’m the one who can work. I’m the one with a car to take me to work. I’m the one who goes home to people who aren’t abusive or tweaking. What do I do with the privelege I carry as I attempt to live in solidarity with these nieghbors of mine?

 

There have been several times I’ve asked one of our guests a question, completely unprepared for where the conversation would go. Totally unaware that I just signed up to have my ears violated. I’ve had some real good sob sessions in my car lately as I drive and decompress from all the information I take in. I hate, hate, hate, HATE that most of the time all I can do is say, “I’m so sorry.”

I’m so sorry that your husband beat you until your eyes swelled shut and you could feel your mouth fill with blood.

I’m so sorry that you’ve been shot 9 times and can show me the scars scattered across your abdomen.

I’m so sorry that you’re finding it impossible to stay sober and it’s ruining everything.

I’m so sorry that 3 of your 4 sons died when they were just kids.

I’m so sorry that your fingers are frost bitten.

I’m so sorry that you were forced into prostitution and that you feel trapped and violated.

It feels like there are apologies constantly pumping through my bloodstream. All I know is that I cannot burn out, get cyncical, and angry. I cannot disengage. In this place where I live, contemplation and action are connected. Connecting to Love allows the community to stay engaged working for some semblance of peace and justice when the presence of pain is so thick and tangible. I believe this house is holy ground and these neighbors are immensely loved in the only way we know how: to show up, to see and listen, to stand together, and to know how they take their coffee.

God, I hope it’s felt and that it’s enough.

Love,

Taylor

P.S. I know this is kind of heavy, but I promise most of the time there’s a lot of joy and good vibes all around.

 

 

Waves

Shout out to Kanye West and Rob Bell, who inspired the following content with their individual creative genius. This is for all the people out there who currently find themselves in a season of life where they just can’t catch a break and have no f-ing clue what’s happening. Come. Join me in my little wave mantra.

 

I am getting pounded by waves. Waves never come alone. They come in sets. They pummel you, sending your whole body into a vicious spin cycle. Your muscles get tired. You can’t see what is happening. You can’t fill your lungs with precious gulps of air. You don’t know which way is up or down, left or right.

Waves don’t die. They’re ever present. But in the moment where you’re involuntarily forced underwater, you must remind yourself…

This moment is not all moments. The wave will come. It will pound me. It will pass over me. Then I will come up for air.

When you’re tossing and turning in every direction, you will want to thrash your body against the water. Your heart and mind will want to frantically conjure up all the worst case scenarios: What if I don’t make it? What if this doesn’t work out? What if I don’t have the money? What if I get rejected? What if this person doesn’t come through?

What if questions and worst case scenarios only add pound to the pummel. You are burning up energy that could be used to do the only thing that is helpful in a wave: Stay calm. Take care of yourself. Eat well. Sleep enough. Remind yourself…

THIS IS A WAVE.

This moment is not all moments. The wave will come. It will pound me. It will pass over me. Then I will come up for air.

Love,

Taylor

So This is Happening

I’ve been one busy lady. Good busy. But busy nonetheless. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of mental breakdown some days, but soaring high on others. I’m finding it hard to muster the energy to do the things I want to do when I’m done doing the things I need to do. And trying to remember that I get to do it all.

But OK, so this is what’s happening…

+ I took a road trip to the mitten of the United States last weekend with my friend Kory. Between cafes, breweries, ice cream parlors, and bakeries…we just ate and drank our way through Grand Rapids with Miss Bailey. That city is dope. And so is Bailey. I also got to see my godparents- Dave and Maria and little James, the newest additon to their family. They spoiled Kory and I with an amazing dinner at Terra, a farm to table restaurant. I tried mussels for the first time and I didn’t hate it. After saying peace to GR, we ventured to Detroit to complete the mission of the entire trip: to see one of my favorite paintings in person. We perused the Belle Isle Conservatry, bought succulents at Eastern Market, and stumbled upon a Luge race downtown (which is possibly the most quiet and bizzare sporting event to see up close). A personal highlight was making our way through the midevial art section of DIA via Snapchat and creating these:

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Diego Rivera mural in the DIA

YAY for used bookstore steals

+ I had the opportunity to play papparazzi at the Alzheimer Association’s Conference last week. The Alzheimer’s Association in Des Moines has been a huge support in the project I am working on and they have asked me to be on a project committee that creates social engagement events for patients and their caregivers. I am so pumped to be a part of that!

You should sign up for The Walk to End ALZ 🙂

This is crazy.

+ My Fridays-Sundays are spent with the DMCW, serving up food and loving our neighbors. I am unendingly appreciative that I get to be a part of this community, which is about equal parts insanely beautiful and hella challenging. But being here keeps me grounded in my values and beliefs about how life is meant to be lived and shared. For every absence I observe, there is an abundance to be experienced. One thing the DMCW does is serve breakfast and give out Whole Foods donations on Saturday mornings at Trinity Church before serving lunch at the Dingman House at noon. If anyone is interested in volunteering or cooking a meal, hit me up!

My housemate Al and Justin…two of my favorite dudes.

+ I’m nannying for one more month. Still applying for jobs and becoming increasingly depressed and frustrated by everything. BUT I’m looking forward to being a bridesmaid for one of my dearest friends in June and to being in Edinburgh for a TBD amount of time this summer. Also, I’ve taken up kickboxing again which has been a sanity saver and makes me feel like a total badass.

Uppercut. Hold the follow through.

Love,

Taylor

Real

This is a thank you letter to the people who refuse to hold back their emotions in public. They might make some people uncomfortable, but I am not one of those people. I freaking love them for it because they aren’t trying to hide, cover, or not feel. Its refreshing when people give in and react to the moment, even if someone or everyone might see.

Dear woman quietly bawling on the tube in London,

I hear you sniffling and letting out those tiny, gaspy sobs. I keep glancing up from my book to see a constant stream of tears coming down your face. Oh shit. You just read a text on your phone and it made you cry harder. I’ve been there before, sister. Did you just get dumped? Did someone die? Did you get in a fight with your best friend? I wish I knew why you were so sad. When I get off at my stop, I’ll drop a travel pack of kleenax on the empty seat next to you as a token of my appreciation for the honest visual display of your current emotional state…and because crying that hard gives you a runny nose and it’s the worst when you’re leaking from every orifice on your face. Thank you for reminding me it’s okay when you can’t hold back tears. Just let those rivers flow.

 

Dear couple fighting in aisle 13 at Home Depot,

I’ve always been told that home improvement projects are the true test of a relationship. That seems to be a very real thing in this moment for the two of you. You apparently have very different opinions about which project is more important to finish first, but there has to be a compromise, right? Also, I feel like this argument isn’t actually about a project timeline. It sounds to me like this lady thinks you’re over estimating your DIY skills and wants you to just hire someone so you can focus on your relationship rather than drywall for awhile, dude. But she should probably just come out and say that to you. Oops. We just made eye contact and you guys got a lot quieter. But you don’t need to. Honestly. Don’t mind me. I’m just over here mentally cheering you on while I eavesdrop and make what appears to be a very difficult decision about paint primer. Thank you for showing me that I should probably never try to renovate a house with my significant other.

 

Dear girl telling off guy in the park,

There are people all around you: eating their sandwiches, power walking with their coworkers, biking to class, playing frisbee, reading on benches, etc. And then there you are just yelling at this guy. You look really strong. I imagine you feel strong. It sounds like you’ve wanted to say this for a long time. Maybe it’s been building in you. Way to go for telling him how it is and walking away. You didn’t turn around, but he watched you until you reached the street. Thank you for being loud and fierce. I felt empowered just observing you and I don’t even know you.

Dear couple breaking up at Smokey Row,

Here are your lattes. Oh. Oh no. This is awkward. You guys are totally breaking up right now, aren’t you? Wow. Did one of you plan to do this here? Because you’d think that initiating a break up in a cafe would come across as a terrible idea. Are you breaking up on a date? This is ridiculous. I feel so bad for whoever is getting dumped right now. I mean, you’d at least expect a to-go order so that this conversation can happen in the car…But alas. Here you are. Both staring intensely at your cups. I’m going to bring you a couple of free cookies and just set them on the table. It feels like the right thing to do since you brought me into this now. Thank you for being reallll real.

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

Tenfinity

On December 31, 2005 I was in a big, beautiful ballroom watching my dad get married. To this day it is one of the best weddings I have been to, but at that time it also was one of the most profoundly sad days of my life. I knew everything from that day forward would be different. It was really, very, finally, seriously the end of what I knew as family. And what? I was just supposed to celebrate that? Put on a party dress, toss some confetti, eat cake, dance around, and give my best wishes to the happy couple? Happy. Freaking. New. Year. Life.

My best friend Rachel held my hand through the ceremony. I remember watching my tears splash onto our interlocked fingers. I remember being scared of what I didn’t know. But then the party started and I was swept up in confetti, cake, dancing, and ringing in my new year/life with friends and family.

This New Year’s Eve I felt sad and again, the last thing I wanted to do was put on a party dress, eat cake, and dance around. But I did it anyway (and I’m glad I did. Not being 15 anymore and able to drink a lot of champagne also helps). However, it really had me thinking back to a decade ago when I was watching my dad get married (HAPPY 10 YEARS, you two!!).

I was thinking about how if I could go back to that ballroom and talk to 15 year old Taylor I would give her the biggest, tightest hug. I would tell her how everything would not only be ok, but that it would be really, really wonderful. How 10 years from now she would not even be able to imagine her life without Wendy. How she would get to watch both her parents become happier, healthier, healed people. How she’d have pretty amazing relationships with all of them. How yes, the family unit as she knew it would no longer exist, but that it would only grow bigger and deeper in both quality and quantity. I mean, it won’t all be sunshine and roses, of course. But she just needs to trust that there are good and beautiful things ahead.

New Years aren’t always happy. They can remind us of what isn’t anymore.

So as I crawled into bed with my belly full of champagne and my heart feeling a bit like the ball the dropped in Times Square, I tried to imagine 35 year old Taylor crawling in to bed next to me. How she would hug me tight and tell me all the good, beautiful things I had to look forward to. I want to expect that she would tell me how everything would not just be okay, but that it would be really, really wonderful. She would remind me to trust in a God who orchestrates life and growth from death and ashes.

Oh man. Please let that be true.

Love,

Taylor

Strength & Weakness

Has anyone else ever become painfully aware that their greatest strength is also their most maddening weakness?

Someone recently commented on how much I give of myself to other people…and they said it (probably unintentionally) in a way that made me self-conscious about it.

In a way that implied, “Tay, you’re just a little bit crazy and it’s making me kind of uncomfortable.”

And for days after this, I internally mulled over whether this defining character feature of mine was, in fact, crazy…even just a little bit.

And I’ll admit it. There is a crazy element.

It’s crazy to try and be what someone else wants or needs. But I do this a lot. I put other people first. I meet them where they’re at. I think of them first. I try to make their day. I ask them questions. I over analyze all my words and actions so that I’m not being too much of this, but enough of that. I will be patient and understanding to a fault. I will listen well and ponder your thoughts in my heart. If you hurt me I might tell you, but you probably won’t feel any repercussions because I would rather love without reservation. And all of this honestly comes pretty effortlessly. Because this is me. This is how I am good at being. This is where I’m strong. And for the most part, it works. I have a beautiful existence full of amazing relationships and opportunities that make my life full.

I know how to use this strength and leverage it for the good of others. If I get asked to do something that will make you feel better and I can, it’s honestly great for us both. But here’s where the crazy becomes uncomfortable…I don’t like asking for anything and I don’t like having needs of my own. This doesn’t exactly work, because it isn’t realllllly human.

I’m 9 months in to my year of being fierce and still learning what that looks like, but I think this is part of it. I’m already fiercely loving and giving. That isn’t something I need to grow deeper in. This is where fierce becomes about expanding, adding, balancing. It’s about flexing those muscles I’m adverse to using. It’s hard to accept those challenges for myself. The challenge of being confrontational, self-focused in a way that makes my skin crawl, and bravely blunt.

I mean, if you play an instrument with only one string, it’s going to get really irritating and redundant after awhile, right? Adding a few strings will help you get farther.

I don’t mean for this to sound definitive, but for instance…

If you are really organized, you are probably inflexible. Adapt more.

If you are giving, you are probably not receiving. Take care of yourself more.

If you are a talker, you probably talk too much. Listen more.

If you are a creative, you are probably scatterbrained. Ask more questions.

If you are insanely busy, you are probably restless. Rest more.

If you are great at encouraging, people walk over you. Confront more.

We all need to push ourselves towards balance. I’m not naive enough to think that anyone, myself included, can just start doing this and voila- a whole new person. No, no, no.

One of my favourite authors, Rachel Held Evans, said it this way:

“You tend to come out of the big moments– the wedding, the book deal, the baptism, the trip, the death, the birth– the exact same person who went in, and perhaps the strangest surprise of life is it keeps on happening to the same ol’ you.”

We have game changing life moments, conversations, and prayers. I don’t know about you, but I don’t ever come out of them a whole different person. I’m still me. But something small changes and creates that tiny ripple effect that dictates what happens next: a slow but insanely amazing refining process. I know that for me, it started with acknowledging that my greatest strength makes me weak when I am motivated out of a place of doing or being for love or acceptance from other people. When it fails, I struggle to feel adequate enough. I get hurt. My confidence wavers. I let myself down. But if I am fierce in the refining process, my strength will go farther and hit deeper because I will be motivated out of a place of fully loving and accepting who I am and taking care of what I need before I give.

My best friend said to me, “…it’s like this. If you were to decide to renovate a house on your own as a project you wanted to do…you’d still be doing it with other people in mind. You’d probably make changes and designs for who ever you thought might take up that space. That’s a beautiful, incredible thing about you. But Tay, you have to make it yours first. It has to be tailor-made, you know? The only type of person who deserves what you give is the person who comes in and helps start painting the walls with you in mind. So, be you. 100%. Do your thing. Focus on making that house however you want it first and then the right people, the ones who truly belong in your life, will come in. They’ll come in and you won’t have to change anything. They’ll just decide to stay because they’ll feel at home in your tailor-made house.”

I think he’s right. Now I have to keep on living it out.

Ooft. Well, that was draining.

Speaking of draining…I would like to drain a whole bottle of wine into my mouth.

Ugggh. Whole30. Two more weeks. I can do this.

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

I’ve been home for a little over a month now. I don’t really know how to describe what the transition back feels like.

It’s not bad.

In fact, it feels really normal and fine in a lot of ways. I love being around my friends and family again. I love the hot sun and driving through rural gorgeousness. I love muggy nights on back porches with twinkle lights and brews. I love the sound of cicadas as I fall asleep. But I’ll get hit with a pang of shock and sadness at any given moment.

Because I miss cobblestone streets and secondhand smoke. I miss dancing in the terrible dance bars. I miss the weird things that happen on public transportation and walking by a freaking castle on a daily basis. I miss my friends and kirk and Steampunk crew. I miss chips, cheese and curry. I miss being offered a cup of tea all the time. I miss walking everywhere. I miss every little bit of it except for the wind and lack of Vitamin D.

I know from my own experiences and from watching various friends and aquaintances go through the “coming back home” from wherever you were for however long…that it can be really, really rough. People get stuck. They get depressed. They isolate. The job doesn’t come as quickly as they want. The friends aren’t around. You feel different. You feel lost. It’s not what you expected. You get anxious about waiting. Nothing goes right. It feels like this whole part of your life was just a weird dream. Oh, transition. Patience is truly a virtue.

I have been determined to not let myself slip into this place. Do people slip into it? Is it a choice? Or does it just happen? I don’t know. Maybe it’s not that dualistic. It’s probably a little of both. Either way, I have felt my foot slipping a lot in the last week or two, but I know I can also make choices to avoid just flat out falling.

So, here is what I have found to be beneficial in making the transition as smooth as possible. Hopefully, if you are/have been/will be in the same boat, there’s something helpful in the list.

One. Change your perspective. Rather than being bored and lonely and focusing on everything I don’t have right now (i.e. a job, my own place, my own car, a vibrant social life, routine, etc.) I want to choose to see this as a time where I’m free to do a lot of things. In a matter of weeks or months I will likely be back in the daily grind and will wish more than anything that I had all the time I do right now. Why waste it?!

Two. Do what you love and do a lot of it. I love creating. This last year I missed that so much. Grad school required me to flex my left brain a lot. The right is a little rusty, which makes me nervous but you have to start somewhere. Like now. I started knitting a new scarf. I’m teaching myself how to embroider. I’ve been sketching more. I just painted over an old canvas to begin something new. I’ve been cooking awesome meals because I have the time to. I’ve surprised myself with how diligent I’ve been at morning prayer and meditation. I pulled out my kickboxing gloves from Farrell’s. Keeping your head and hands busy is crucial. 

Three. Say YES to everything. Normally this gets me in trouble and I work relatively hard not to say yes to everything. But in this season, it’s been a good thing. Right now in this little window of time, I have freedom to say yes to everything. How awesome is that?! Want to come over and watch a movie? Yes. Want to go on a road trip? Yes. Want to come to my potluck? Yes. Want to teach this art class? Yes. Want to volunteer here? Yes. Want to housesit? Yes. Do you want to come stay with me after surgery? Yes. Do you want to go on a bike ride? Yes.

Four. Have fun. Today I painted outside and then I came in and moved the furniture so I could do cartwheels and dance around like a lunatic. By myself. And it was really. freaking. fun. After that, I made myself a gin and tonic and jumped on my bed. And then I took a bubble bath. I mean…it beats watching TV. Or at least I think it does.

But seriously. You should do cartwheels and dance to this, too.

Five. People, people, people. Re-connect. Make the effort even if/when people aren’t making it with you. And with the right friends, be open about how you’re dealing with everything. You might be surprised by people’s insight. You also might be surprised at how good it feels to be social when you force yourself out of the woe is me/sulky/I’m cool doing this all on my own headspace. And if you can stay in touch with the people you love oh so much in your ‘other home’ doooooo it.

Six. Try to balance. I completely acknowledge that it is important and normal to let yourself fully feel and wrestle with all the complicated, frustrating, weird, messy, transitional shit, too. Don’t get me wrong. I know you can’t just switch it off and be a busy, social, happy bee until life’s pieces fall together. Reflecting is good. Bumming out okay. But no one has to stay there.

Seven. Pep talk to yourself on the regs. Oh man. For as positive and optimistic and proactive as all this ^ makes me sound. I am full of doubt and worry and anxiety. I have to tell myself truths all the time to counteract everything else in my head that is much louder and more obnoxious. These pep talks usually happen in the bathroom mirror and in the car when I’m driving. But they work. I know when I start pep talking myself it means that I’ve been paying attention to my thoughts. It’s like I’m catching them and holding them up to the light in order to examine whether or not they’re legitimate or if I need some rewiring. My best friend has this notecard on his door where he wrote “Remember the upsides”. If you suck at catching your own thoughts, put reminders to stay positive in places you will see them. It’s simple.

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