i don't want to miss it.

I have a whole slew of things I want to write about and recipes I would like to share and pictures to post from events and excursions back in September...but for the moment, I offer something a bit more simple.

I'm compelled to write about changing seasons over and over again here. And I think I've said before that I don't know what it is that intrigues me so about this process in nature and the emotions and feelings and memories it evokes in us (or me, at least). But I'm fascinated. On top of that, I adore fall. Yesterday, I read the following in an old post from the Smitten Kitchen: I love fall. I mean, I know how decidedly unoriginal that is to say, but I can't help it. And I'm sure it's even more unoriginal to say it by way of quotation, but doing so makes me feel less alone in my decided un-originality and weakness for all of the beauties of fall--the bright splashes of color in the trees, the crunch of the leaves on the ground, the chill of the crisp air, the apples and squash and cider and dark leafy greens...

And yet. I'm afraid I'm missing it. I'm afraid I'm missing the change of seasons and the glory of autumn and...life. It feels as though there has been so much going on--trips and visitors and a conference and meetings and deadlines and events and friends and a race to train for and an apartment to clean and my first and then second illness of the season--and on top of that, I have the overworking of my mind to contend with as I overanalyze my life, worry about all of the injustice and mess of the world and pursue the impossible task of figuring out both the present and the future right now while staying poised and trying not to let anyone see that I'm a bit afraid of all that may or may not come.

When I got home from work yesterday, I felt that fall had suddenly begun in earnest while I was tucked away in my office. As I walked to my front door, it seemed that I was brushing through more layers of leaves than before, and the air had that feel of autumn that I can't possibly describe with words, and it finally smelled like the season.

I went outside for a moment today on my lunch break. I didn't have any errands to run, and I didn't really want to go anywhere. But before staying in (to write this post--something other than a grant request or press release or newsletter), I wanted to catch a bit of the sunlight on my face, to see the brightness of the leaves in their splendor, to feel a little more free and alive.

It was perfect. Still, cool, bright.

And I don't want to miss this...this season, this time of my life, this moment. It's too easy to wish it all away.

So tonight, I will appreciate the wonder of the season as I run through the leaves covering the sidewalks of my neighborhood, and I will revel in and enjoy the present moments of my life. This weekend, I will bake for friends with autumn fruits and happily run a race in my city. I will appreciate and love well the good folks that surround me. I will decide what needs to be decided, and I will let everything else rest, peacefully. I won't worry about the future...the bluster and ice of the winter to come or the elements of the life that awaits me.

There is too much goodness in my life and in this world to be anything but thankful.

and so we build our lives.

Perhaps it is because I just finished reading this book by this man, which on top of making me cry every time I sat down to read (and I'm talking about the audible, gasping, non-attractive kind of crying here), made me think a great deal about story and what it is that makes something epic and beautiful. Perhaps it is because I am finally entering a relatively calm stage of this early post-collegiate-20-something-with-a-full-time-job life. Or perhaps it is because living alone affords me an opportunity to be more introspective and thoughtful.

Whatever the reason, I have been thinking lately about life in general. When people ask me for an update on my life, I tell them I am learning about balance. And frankly, this is about all I can handle right now, this project of learning how to safely juggle the flaming clubs of a full-time work week, sleep, exercise, preparing food, growing my relationships with those I care for, engaging in my community, keeping my sinks and floors clean and maintaining my education and awareness of current events (many thanks to NPR and the BBC).

I've also been thinking about how important it has become to me to have what I consider a meaningful career, though I get stuck on this one, because I realize that it is an incredible privilege to be that picky. Many do not have the education or social positioning to be choosy about a job, even in a good economy. And it doesn't seem right or fair that people have to devote 40+ hours a week to work that they don't find meaningful in order to keep the heat on and put the food in the refrigerator to enable them to live another day to wake and return to that job and make the most and wait for the weekend.

But I do think that we are called to steward well whatever resources we have been given, and this pursuit of vocational calling remains important to me. At present, I have a job I enjoy relatively well, and my organization pursues a mission that has become very important to me. But my work doesn't bring any excess of joy when I start my commute to the office in the morning, clutching my coffee in my mittened hand. And as much as I can wrap my mind and heart around the importance of what we do, it doesn't (routinely) make me choke back tears upon sight of a photograph or a few words of a story. Now, mind you, I am VERY thankful for my job. And I'm not leaving too soon. But I'm also not going to stop seeking a career more directly focused on the things that make my blood run (thanks, KP).

So as I think about life and balance and vocation and with my peers ask the same questions over and over again and become entranced by the lives that people older than I have created throughout their years, I come to this: as we go through our days, making decisions and weaving in and out of one another's stories, we build our lives. And as I stand here in this season, with my plans and dreams still in flux, I am truly beginning to build a life.

This feels like a larger version of my current project of settling into this new home... As I stock my shelves with spices and flours and sugars, so also I piece together the elements of my life, finding how to best fit everything that a healthy and faithful and full life necessitates. As I arrange and rearrange the books on my shelves, so also I made decisions about the shape of my life.

I was thinking about this when I went to get my hair cut on Saturday morning down at my hairdresser's shop/home down on Division, which is filled with the most eclectic and lovely vintage clothing and handmade treasures. As she cut my hair, I thought about how my friend is part of that store, part of why I go there again and again and why I didn't mind getting up early on a Saturday morning to fit an appointment into her busy schedule. The next customer clearly felt the same, bringing baked goods from a local bakery that she shared with both of us, and we talked and laughed and the sun streamed through the windows and the stranger with hair dye on her roots didn't care that I saw the hair dye on her roots. I lingered in the middle of my friend's beautiful life, a life that didn't come easily but rather on the heels of a realization that she didn't find an earlier version of her life fulfilling. So she built a more beautiful story, from vintage boots and silver earrings and carefully swept floors and honesty and laughter.

My friend Nicole has a beautiful life as well. She knows what she is called to, at least in part, and so she lives with confidence. She is a mother and an artist, and she speaks truth all over my life. When I see her sweep into a room with strength and grace and humility, I know I am okay, and when we part, I remember that the world is beautiful and that I have a story to live, too, even if I am not sure of all its elements.

I searched for a tablecloth for the little square table in my front room until I found the perfect one at a nearby antique store: it is a cream colored square of exactly the right size, with brightly colored flowers stitched into a lovely and graceful pattern, the bumpy knobs of thread popping their rounded heads out of the soft fabric. And so also I hang pictures and twinkle lights and silver stars on the walls of my life; I stack my brightly colored bowls and buy ingredients for banana bread and big pots of soup.

And slowly I build a life.

(in)decision

A big decision looms, and I do not know what to do.

For a few weeks now, my prayer has been that God would close all the doors but one -- the right one -- because I honestly do not feel equipped to make this decision. Unfortunately, I am beginning to think that this will be one of those times when God does not give me what I want. It seems, in fact, that he might throw ALL of the doors wide, wide open and leave me to choose which one to walk through.

Dang it.

I really wish we could have done this the easy way. You know, with God forming the clouds into arrows that point towards the neighborhood or city where I should move and writing the answers to all of my questions in chalk on the sidewalk outside of my house and having a stranger at the grocery store spontaneously burst into song with words outlining my whole entire future, from today until the day I die.

But no. And, of course, I am sure that all of this is for something, for some greater purpose that I just don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean I like it.

This has been particularly difficult for me, I think, because in addition to being quite awful at decision-making and somewhat (extremely?) irrational when I am stressed and/or tired, I am facing this very significant life decision on the heels of a season of no options... of no tangible possibilities or offers or even workable suggestions for jobs or relocation or future plans. I guess I just expected that when that whole time of uncertainty ended, the something that followed would be clear. And singular. And simple.

But, as two of my dearest and wisest friends told me in two separate conversations, what is MOST difficult here is that at the end of the (metaphorical) day, no one can tell me what to do, and there is no "right" answer. This is quite unfortunate, as I would really like one right answer as well as someone to tell me what it is. I am sure I should find some peace in this, because it means that all will be well regardless of my choice, but it mostly just makes me confused. Don't get me wrong, I do believe that God is guiding me to my decision. But it's not black and white this time.

My head is spinning.

And I’ll be honest, today and yesterday have not been the best of days. I’m very weary. And I just spilled half a pan of lentils on my kitchen floor. I know, right? I almost cried. I might have used a word I won’t repeat here.

Yet in the same world and in the same little life in which lentils spill on the ground and wise decisions seem impossible to make, there also reside much beauty and all manner of good things. As I drove home from work last night with the new(est) Imogen Heap album playing in the background, I saw the moon rising in front of me, enormous and glowing white in a sky fading from blue to purple to darkness, and then I saw in my rearview mirror that the sun was setting just behind me, coloring the opposite horizon red and orange and yellow and pink. It was so intensely beautiful and strange, I nearly cried.

And then tonight, prior to the lentil-spilling incident, I sat down on the couch with my coffee to get some work done and saw that my neighbor across the street has flashing Christmas lights. Several types of flashing Christmas lights, to be specific. I smiled in spite of myself. Though aesthetically quite horrendous and not at all helpful to my ability to focus, I find it somewhat delightful. It’s Christmastime, after all.

So at the end of the (non-metaphorical) day, I will crawl into my warm bed and try to turn off my mind and let myself dream and remember that, in the words of Julian of Norwich, bless her soul,

“All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.”

oh the possibilities!

Everything. is happening. at once.

I do not know what is going on with my future. And I speak of the relatively immediate future, the one that starts around January 1. Honestly, several (3) job/place possibilities, none of them certain options, all of them quite appealing but for very different reasons, all of them at once.

I unloaded all of this on a friend tonight who, poor man, just came by the flat to pick up a pot. I loved how he responded, though, after pausing a moment to think: "at least things aren't staying the same."

True. Nothing stagnant here. And things are moving in directions that make sense, even if there are several directions in which they are moving. It's not just chaos or cloudy water anymore. So I resolve to be thankful that things are not staying the same... life is interesting and exciting, full of hope and always unpredictable.

And as I always always say, in this also we find beauty. If only we will stop shielding our vision in hopes that ignorance truly is bliss, stop running so fast propelled by our fear that the world becomes a blur, stop staring at ourselves in the mirror out of selfishness and vanity and just stand still with our eyes open wide, we will be overcome by the beauty.

See, the former things have taken place,

and new things I declare;

before they spring into being

I announce them to you.

(Isaiah 42:9)