Page 46: What Are You Passionate About?

I recently heard someone ask the question, “What is your passion?” Which is something that I’ve struggled with my whole life. It’s a really huge question—so big that when I hear it I tend to immediately switch off. This does not apply to me. I’ve looked and looked and I don’t have one of those.

What Are You Passionate About

I’ve always sort of assumed that I must not have any passion because I was not born with this innate and obvious drive to do one thing. I thought that those people were just lucky and I wasn’t so much and maybe some people just don’t have any passion?

But he followed the question up with a second question, “When you look out into the world—what makes you angry?” That’s an easier question to answer—for me anyway.

I thought about it for a little while and realized I have an answer for that question. And maybe that’s what my passion is. Maybe that’s how we discover our passion. Maybe our passion isn’t something easy to pinpoint—maybe it’s a little bit subtle and flies under the radar. Maybe it’s taking stock of the things that stir and leave an impression.

I mean, normal things make me angry—paying $11 for a watered down drink, realizing you’re out of milk when it’s 10 pm and you just poured yourself a bowl of Count Chocula. But those are the kinds of things that you forget about quickly enough.

What moves my heart and what leaves more of a mark on me is when I see people who assume that nice lives can’t be theirs. When people believe that because we live in a normal house in a normal town with a normal budget, we aren’t afforded nice things. But we can take pride in ourselves—our work and our bodies and our minds and our hearts and our homes. We can do that! We don’t have to live somewhere exciting to have opportunity.

I was an English major in college and as an English major I was forced to be on the school newspaper staff. Sorry everyone who worked with me but it was definitely not my passion to go into journalism! I did not like it. I did not like all of the recognition of athletes or political figureheads of the school. These weren’t the kind of people that I opened the paper to learn about. But I had to be on this team if I wanted to graduate. At pitch meetings, people would have these ideas and specific beats to which they were assigned and I didn’t want to do any of them. I mean, I didn’t know what my passion was but I had a pretty good grasp on what my passions were not! Finally they asked me what I wanted to write about. I said, “You know, honestly, I’d rather focus on the people that we never really learn about. The people who keep to themselves but have interesting things to say.” And miraculously, the editor told me that I could write a feature, every two weeks, about an ordinary student. And suddenly, I was really super pumped to write for the newspaper! I chose my first subject by going into the cafeteria and talking to the first person that I saw sitting by himself. And it was a lot of fun. People would inevitably say, “I don’t know how you’re going to make me sound very interesting.” But I always did. I was really excited about that skill that I had. I liked my ability to see something exciting in someone who saw themselves as just so crushingly ordinary.

We can be ordinary people with ordinary lives that we value and adore and appreciate. We can find adventure in our neighborhood and we can find gourmet in our own cupboards. Ordinary things can sparkle and ordinary people can shine if we just make a little shift into the sunbeam. I think that’s how we move from having a passive life to taking an active role in our future. Maybe I can work to help people to see some of these things. Because what’s the point in having a passion if you’re never going to do anything with it?

What Is Your Passion?

I think maybe everyone does have a passion but maybe it could be disguising as something a little more subtle.

I wonder about you–do you know what you’re passionate about? How did you come to recognize it?

xoxo,
lib

Page 45: I Felt God in the Sun on My Back

Sunday mornings are my favorite part of my week. Saturday mornings are great, too, but Sunday mornings feel like they’re just for me. Particularly in the summer time.

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Saturdays are all about staying in bed for as long as possible. Snuggling, watching videos on our iPhones until they run out of battery juice. And then we talk for another hour about what we are going to do for breakfast.

Yesterday, we did that for so long that we finally had to change the subject to what are we going to do for lunch. And, of course, by then you’re much to famished to do any cooking yourself so we went to Mr. B’s (our absolute new favorite place). I had a bowl of chili (in July) and peach cobbler. It was pretty great. We went to the Farmer’s Market, too, and it was a great day for it. Of course we got there too late to catch any tomatoes or zucchini but we nabbed up a jar of Sand Hill Plum jelly to smear on the homemade bread we were going to make.

Sunday mornings, though, are all about me taking care of me. I drink a big glass of water and come write in my journal or I’ll sit on the steps with a cup of green tea. Or I’ll stand in that incredible morning light in the kitchen that I am confident can heal just about anything.

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The other night I was talking to Kat about how I guilt-free stopped going to church on Sunday mornings. It was when I ‘d moved to McPherson and, since I’d just come from a very church-every-day sort of an environment, I did feel an obligation to find a church. One Sunday morning in spring, though, after months of attending and never feeling anything but utterly uncomfortable, I took a day off. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat out on my steps. I felt the sun on my back and I let it warm me. I heard so many birds talking back and forth and I went walking around the yard to try to find out which ones were making which sounds. I picked flowers around the yard and just walked. I felt my muscles in my legs moving and I felt grateful. I felt the sun on my face and I felt safe. I felt freedom–which was something that my heart hadn’t experienced in, truly, decades.

And so I stopped feeling so obligated to Church. And I opened myself up to the opportunity to feel that love in other places. That love and safety and true freedom that, for years, I’d only heard people talk about. Make no mistake–I have no bitterness or cynicism in my heart for the way that I was raised or for the years of church that I attended. I have freedom and freedom comes from living a life and it has no room for bitterness.

My story to freedom is a long one and it’s complicated but then again it’s also really simple. I felt God in the sun on my back. I stopped holding onto things that were weighing me down. And it works for me.

Page 44: Right Now

I like doing a little survey of all the little details that are always there but always changing, too. It’s fun to look back. I even do this in my personal journal. It’s one of my favorite things to look back on.

TV Show I’m Watching: We just finished watching two seasons of The Layover with Anthony Bourdain on Netflix. It definitely gave us both an enormous case of the wanderlust.
Books I’m Reading: Despite being a strong devotee almost exclusively to fiction, I am currently reading Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin. Getting my contentment on. But I’ve got a few other books queued up, also. Next up will be The Dinner by Herman Koch which I’m pretty excited about.
Music I’m Loving: The new Joy Williams album, Venus. I’ve pre-ordered it on iTunes so I’ve only got three songs, so far, but those three songs are on strong, almost daily rotation. “Woman (Oh Mama)” is my power anthem.
What I’m Eating: Despite the fact that I have had every intention of standing in solidarity with Jamie while she embarks on a month of sugar free living… I ate a s’more made with a Reece’s cup instead of a Hershey bar last night. For what it’s worth–it was way too much and when it was over I wished it had never happened.
What I’m Drinking: Mostly just iced tea, lately. A lot of iced tea and a lot of water. Though, today, Ryan brought home all of the ingredients to make a Charleston Fizz so that might become my Summer 2015 cocktail of choice. It’s so delicious and pink.
Where I’m going: We are tossing around an idea of going to New Orleans sometime in the foreseeable future but for now, I’m just going to work. Which is fine by me.
Most recent treat-yo self:
Feminist coffee mug (tried to link but it has disappeared from the internet–sorry internet).
Current Wish List: Side tables for our “new” bedroom. We got new sheets and pillows and blankets. Currently ISO tables and lamps.
Plans for the Weekend:
We’re leaving to go swimming riiiiiiight now.

Page 43: Should I say or should I not right now?

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One of the most difficult things for me, in any relationship, is knowing when to speak up and when to just shush and let it go.

If you were to ask my husband, he would say that I should speak up any time that I have a concern or a thought–any time that I feel annoyed or hurt or inconvenienced in any way. He wants to know about it.

That can’t really be true, though. Right? If I voiced every little negative thought that popped into my head it would surely drain us both. And if I did that with my friends… I mean, right? You’d hate to be around me. No part of you would be like, “Oh, here comes our friend who exposes even the shittiest parts of her soul to us. What joy to bear witness to such honesty!”

I had a friend who only spoke in the negative. There was almost never good news coming from him. When he was around, if he wasn’t speaking everyone was at ease. When he’d open his mouth the whole group went on edge. Were we getting a simple annoyed day-to-day observation or are we on the cusp of a days-long-tirade about the inefficiency of a Ford F-150? And it had such an impression on me that I’m very intentional–probably too intentional–about peppering in something positive with the negatives. It probably has a lot to do with my over-commitment to emoticons and emojis. Oh bless the gracious heart that invented the emoji keyboard. And now I have GIFS at my fingertips? Never, since the discovery of pen-to-paper correspondence, have I been able to express myself so thoroughly in textual communication!
thanks animated GIF But there’s happy stuff, too, right?

Being an engaged-to-be-married person was difficult for me because, obviously I spent a lot of that time dancing in fields of wildflowers and joy and optimism and annoying enthusiasm. But some people just aren’t ready for that. And that drains them, too! What’s worse than the person who sees the bad in everything? The person who has a never ending list of what’s so awesome about everything in the whole world.

“Oh my God you got pulled over on your way to work today? Well at least you got a chance to roll your window down and breathe in this fresh, crisp springtime air!”  It’s difficult for me to reign it in.

And then I become so self-aware that I tend to not speak up even in times when maybe I should. At work, for example, my boss will be quickly running over something he needs for me to know and I’m not understanding at all and rather than ask for clarification, my brain waves a hand and says, “don’t bother him, we’ll just wing it from here.”

But then there’s important stuff. A friend says something that hurts me–she didn’t mean anything by it. Do I work on just getting over it and not make it a bigger deal than it needs to be? Or do I make sure that she knows that what she said bothered me?

Every time that the trash can gets full I go through an existential crisis:
A. I don’t want to take out the garbage at all. It’s possibly my second least favorite chore of all of the chores.
B. I know that Ryan will do it if I asked him to.
C. I’m a strong, competent woman in this world and I don’t need a man to take out the garbage for me!
D. But I don’t waaaaaaana!
E. It’s been a few days, Ryan notices the garbage needs to go out. He takes it out. With a smile on his face like he does everything in this world.
F. I’m the worst for pushing him to a point where he knew that my lazy ass wasn’t going to take out the garbage so he had to do it yet again (insert 274 other personal complains about me)! (I know that’s not how his brain works at all but mine certainly does.)
Maybe skip all of those things and just ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking out the garbage? Or… just take it out yourself. But, no. I’ll just clam up and have an argument by myself in my brain. I think I’d prefer that method of problem solving instead.

I’m getting better, though. I really am. Regarding complaining, I have instituted some rules.
1. If my complaint is about a person–I will say nothing if it has to do with the person’s personality or beliefs system. I don’t want to change the personality of the people that I love so much. Even if it’s getting on my nerves right now it all comes together to make this delicious human-stew (editorial note: never again use the phrase “human stew”) and it needs all of the ingredients.
2. If there is no solution to my complaint, I will do my very best to just shush. If I must say something–I will try to make it not a complaint but an opportunity for conversation.

Does anyone else have this issue or am I just spending too much time in my mind? Do you have any tricks for knowing whether or not it’s a good time to speak or shush?

xoxo, lib.

Page 42: Chapter 2; Page 1

The last time that I wrote anything here, Ryan and I had just gotten engaged. And then I entered into this 9 month long phase where the only thing that I thought about, the only thing anyone asked me about, the only thing I could write about was the upcoming wedding. Not only did it feel like the kind of thing that I assumed was boring to everyone, it was becoming boring to me. As our wedding day approached, the thing that I tended to look forward to the most was the fact that I could go back to my normal life with normal thoughts and not be so self-obsessed.

Here's an obligatory wedding photo of us walking one another down the aisle.
Here’s an obligatory wedding photo of us walking one another down the aisle.

We’re married, now, and I feel like I can write again. I feel like I’m my normal self again–like there’s not something I should be doing. There’s nothing to be done but sit here with my laptop warming my legs. That and organize all of the added stuff in our house but that will still be here, tomorrow.

Maybe one day I’ll write all about the wedding on here but for right now I’m just going to cozy up in my brain that isn’t filled up with party details and organizing things and answering the question “how can I help?” I did write about it–don’t worry. As soon as we had the energy, we went to the book store and I bought a journal. I wanted to write down everything that I could remember about our wedding because I could already feel a lot of it fading away and getting blurry. I wanted to remember details like how I got to drive everywhere with Jamie on the day of and how Katie was the one who zipped up my dress and who were the people who were digging cars out of the mud?

So I wrote all of that and ever since then, I haven’t missed a day of journaling. I used to journal every day. From 12th grade through my first year after college. I wrote every day. And then sometime when I was living in South Dakota I stopped all together. At the time, I was going through some things that I thought I really didn’t ever want to remember so I made no record of it. That definitely got me out of the habit. But I’m happy to be back in it, again. I’ve been living a noteworthy life for so long and no one had been keeping notes.

And writing begets writing so I think I might be back over here, too. It feels really good to be back.
I can’t promise anything more exciting than what you see here right now but that’s okay with me.

xoxo
Lib