It's ok to hurt. It's ok to heal.

Everyone has their heart broken at some point.  Lots of people have been jilted in love.  And lots of people find the courage and the strength to move on. They deal with the pain, the jealousy, the absolute heart break. And they live through it. Every day.  This is going to be me, too.

I woke up early this morning with a painful constriction in my chest, just one more physical sign of emotional distress.  No, that's not the term for it- it's so much more than that. And it has been for a long, long time now. But I woke up, praying with all my might that my loving Father in heaven could pick me up again after my fall. That my powerful God could make me right again. I asked Him to take all the broken, shattered, aching, distrusting, rejected, tiny shreds of my heart and make them whole again. I'd like to say it was instantaneous, that my life was better in that second. It wasn't. It won't be.  But I can start to see a tiny light at the end of this long, long, dark tunnel and that light is hope. Hope that I can trust again, hope that I can heal, that I can be new again, that the pain won't stay overwhelming forever. That the memories won't hold heartache and bitterness and rejection and loss and pain, but that I can look back on these past few years of my life as a time of love and growth.  They really did help make me into who I am today. Definitely not perfect, but worthy of love. Real, unconditional, heart-pounding, make-it-through-the-hard-stuff-even-though-it's hard type love.  And it's out there. Out there at the end of this tunnel.

I stole my heart from God and gave it away far too early, but I can give it back.  He'll take it.  All the shattered pieces of it.  He came for the sick, you know.  The downtrodden. The broken. That's me. It might be you, too.  I know I have a privileged life, and I know this experience isn't an isolated one.  Lots of people go through it.  And lots of people get through it. That's going to be me, too.

I wish I could say it's going to happen overnight.  Oh, how I wish that!  The constriction in my chest, that searing hot knife through the center of me- it's still there. But I know it won't be there forever.

Today is my birthday. I'm being constantly reminded that there are people in my life who love me. Maybe not in the romantic way I hope for, but in the unconditional, overwhelming, generous, enthusiastic, love-me-just-for-being-me way.  I think it's about time I stop throwing a pity party for my heart, and start throwing myself into loving other people. I've spent too much time already being consumed by my own pain, and missing out on the pain other people feel.  On their joys and triumphs, too.  I think part of my healing will come from throwing myself into lives that aren't my own.  If I stay too involved in my own, the pain and memories will just continue to drown me.  There are other things in this world than me and my life and my pain and my hurt.  People need to be loved. And if I can't receive love, I sure can give it.

God is so good.

Winky

Meet my new pilates ball, Winky!  He's 65 centimeters around, dark blue, and features stay technology, which basically means there is a sandbag in the middle which keeps it from rolling away when I'm not using it. We've worked out pretty hard in the week we've been together. It's a love/hate relationship, but I see a bright future together ahead.

New Goals, New Me

My roommate, a dietetics major and thoroughly knowledgeable about healthy eating, and I decided last night that we were tired of living in our normal, average bodies. We were going to go on a healthy-foods, low-calorie diet, and we were going to start exercising much more regularly. Both of us having been recently brokenhearted, we needed something to give our focus and attention to. What better than a new lifestyle?  I've decided to share mine here for an added bonus of accountability.

I started this morning weighing 150.2 lbs, 2 lbs more than I weighed last week, which is a direct result of my hedonistic and luxurious eating habits this past weekend.  My goal weight it 137 lbs, and my super goal weight is 135 lbs (simply because I'm not sure my frame can support that low a weight and still be healthy and toned).  I must drink a minimum of 64 ounces of water daily, and exercise atleast 30 minutes, 5 times daily.  Keep in mind this is a bare minimum, and I would like to exercise a full hour 5-6 times a week, making sure to keep one day for complete rest.  I've decided working as a server does not count, and the hours I spend on my feet will in no way count as "exercise" toward this particular goal. The obstacle I can see most clearly at this point is that I tend to be absolutely exhausted after week, and incredibly lazy before work, so in order to meet this part of the goal (and still work 40 hours a week), I'm going to have to be way more dedicated than I am.  I'm also planning to count calories. Every single one that I put in my body.  I'm limiting myself to 1600 calories daily in order to lose weight at a healthy pace, but my goal is 1350 calories.   So I'm shooting for 1350, but if I happen to trip over that line, as long as I don't go above 1600 I won't give myself too difficult a time, or too heavy a guilt trip.

So far today, for breakfast and lunch I've consumed 980. I went to Jimmy Johns with a friend and ate one of the healthiest choices on the menu (actually, only HALF of that sandwich) but that still was a huge hit to my count.  And I've only had 14 ounces of water.  So for my late afternoon snack and for dinner I only have 370 calories allotted.  Looks like I'll be consuming a ton of vegetables and 50 more ounces of water and hoping my stomach won't be too unhappy with not enough breads and sugars, like it's used to.

These are my new goals. I have a great habit of starting a new goal and being really motivated for about a week, and then allowing it to just kind of piddle away...  Here's to not allowing that negative habit to control me again!

Healthy = Happy

Re-evaluating My Life

It's that time, I suppose. A time to look on my life, see the areas of improvement, and seize them for what they are.  The path I am currently on might not be the best for me, and it is just now occurring to me that I might be happier doing something other than what I am right now.

Currently, I am planning to apply to a master's of arts in teaching program at my alma mater and go into English and Theatre education- I'd like to teach high school.  I went through a phase last summer where I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and I needed to lay it all out on the table. It came down to a decision between going to seminary and majoring in girls' ministry, or going to a university and getting a masters in english/theatre education.  Now I've been taking the semester off to get some bills paid, I've been enjoying a 6 month-long yoga teacher training program (which is rocking my world- in a good way), and I've been trying to figure out what is going to make me happiest, career-wise.  I'm not so sure it's going to be teaching.  Will I be happy in a 7-5 job teaching students, not information, but whatever is going to be on the next scheduled test? Will I be happy being so stuck "in the box"?

I've been thinking about getting my masters in counseling.  Maybe at a seminary, maybe online. I'm still thinking about getting into yoga therapy, because I'm really into natural healing and teaching or reminding the body how to take care of itself (it was made for that, you know), and I know how incredible your body feels after a great yoga session.  I would love to live my life making people's bodies healthier and happier. But I don't know that that is enough, either. I'd really like to help people find peace and happiness in their minds, in their emotions, in their every day lives.  I would love to get into wholistic therapy, healing minds and bodies together.  Is that possible? Can I provide therapy both with yoga and with counseling?  Can I make a living with that? And is this the combination of work that will make me happy?

I know work isn't the thing in life you look to for happiness.  But it can fulfill you, and you spend most of your awake time there, so it should be something you at least enjoy. And I want to make a difference with people. This could be the way. We'll see!

Amazing Grace

Today at work I had the distinct privilege of witnessing truly amazing grace. A little girl and her grandmother were out spending the day together and decided to come to our restaurant for lunch. As they were eating their food, a second table came in and one of the members of that party happened to be wearing his army fatigues.  When I checked on the little girl and her grandmother, the grandmother very quietly told me she would like to have "that young man's meal" on her tab.  When I brought it to her, I explained that he had chosen quite an expensive meal, but she said that was perfectly fine.  While that conversation was going on, another gentleman in his fatigues came in with his family.  This little old lady, in front of her 6- or 7-year old granddaughter, not only paid for the meal of the soldier sitting behind her, but handed me another $30 and asked me to give it to the other soldier, thanking him for his service. Wow.  I not only was allowed to be party to surprising two soldiers with a free meal, but I had the incredible honor of witnessing true grace and love at work in my restaurant, a place where grace is not extended very often.  I'm a very lucky girl.

Achilles Temple

I realize it's been quite awhile since I have blogged again, and as uplifting and cathartic as the first was, one would expect I would write more often. Let me share with you why it is I have not written: WORK. Since my last blog I have worked 9 days, 5 of those days being a double shift which, in the language of restaurants, means 12 hour days with no breaks and no sitting. Which is fine. No problem. It has given me a great opportunity to catch up on bills and to start paying off some debt. However, my body has begun revolting. I wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning with swollen knees, or throbbing joints, I get to work and halfway through my shift arthritis-type pain starts playing chopsticks on my spine.  Further, I've begun to be abused by fellow workers and random inanimate objects while on a shift. Let me explain more...

During one of my double shifts, about halfway through the morning, I was standing near the salad bar in the alley, attempting to do something for my guests, because that's the thing about guests- they're always needing something... and I turn around to reach for a tray. At the same moment, a fellow server picks up her tray (a solid piece of something solid, loaded down with even more pounds of solid things) and turns to leave the alley. BAM. Right in the temple. My head rebounds away and I fall over. I saw black for a split second, and then stars...lots and lots of stars. Not the cool ones, like the ones you watch at night on a blanket in the middle of a field with a cute boy and some hot cocoa. No, no, the weird bright-white ones that leave you dizzy, unable to focus, and a little nauseas. Awesome. It takes me a full 2 or 3 minutes to regain my composure (including getting the tears under control) and attempt to finish taking care of my tables. My temple was sore for awhile, and after an hour or two, the headache and dizziness went away, so no biggie.  Then, later that night as I was reaching for a salad bowl in the exact same place my manager accidentally manages to slam my hand in the refrigerator door. WOW. It hurt even worse than being boxed in the side of the head. I immediately yank my hand out of the door, and cradle it against me, crying for the second time that day.  This was no ordinary fridge. This is one of those heavy, stainless steel fridges that keep salad bowls cold for guests- the door is a heavy, sliding-type door that's mounted on top and meant to hold all sorts of different weighty things. It plays no games. My hand immediately began bruising, and I just could not believe my luck. I still had 3 more hours to go before I could escape to someplace safe. And yet, on I went. ON I WENT.

I finished that shift out, no more problems, and I made some good money, so I just chalked it up to "one of those days" and went home, exhausted but pleased.  The very next day I head in to work once more. I breeze through my shift- it was fantastic! As I am preparing to do my final side work of the night before I go home, I place my hand on a wooden computer station and lean down to pick up a check binder. Horror of horrors, my hands slips and a PLANK of sharp, jagged wood jabs itself deep underneath my nail bed. And I'm talking about all the way underneath my nail. Not a baby splinter, a TREE. Immediately I think, are you kidding me?? and I race to the back office to get a manager to get it out. I can't do it myself, of course, because I am a wuss. So he takes a pair of tweezers and prepares to hurt me even more (because contrary to what parents tell their kids, YES, YES IT DOES HURT MORE THAN WHEN IT HAPPENS TO BEGIN WITH.  Meanwhile, I'm sure my finger has swollen to the size of the Sears Tower, and the pain is radiating up into my elbow. To make a long story short, I hop around for about 5 minutes, holding my finger and begging him to chop it off instead of try to get the splinter out before I finally let him just do it. And it does hurt. SO BAD. I screamed for a split second (literally a split second- like AH! not AHHHHHHHHH!), but still the entire restaurant hears me, and I am in so much excruciating pain I can't even force myself to be mortified. Of course, looking back on the experience, I can say now with a level head that it didn't hurt that bad...but you would never have convinced me in the moment.

Now, after several more doubles, and 3 more days to go before a day off (including one more double and 2 closing shifts), I can safely say this week has been a roller coaster of emotions and pain tolerance. I'm not really sure how so many things could have happened all at once, but happen they did. I can only go forward from here, and hope that no one decides to keep a bowl of hot water near the salad bar, because you can probably count on me finding it and tipping it over on myself, or perhaps tripping and falling face first into it. Whatever the injury, I'm certain it will find me.

And that is what I have learned at work this week.

My First Blog

This is my attempt to tame the chaos of finding my purpose in life. I was supposed to start this blog when Teach For America hired me, but alas, two days ago I received my rejection letter.  I cried for a solid 10 minutes, and then decided that it was just one more closed door on the way to finding what I really do need to be doing. I know that's not a very eloquent way of saying I'm ready for good things to start happening, but boy....am I.

I suppose I should start by listing all the good things that have happened in my life, but it's really the bad that have brought me to the point of blogging. I graduated from college in '07 with a degree in theatre, an emphasis in stage combat, and a minor in ASL. I spent the next two years of my life doing nothing of importance or advancement, and ended up deciding to go back to school to get a second degree, this time in ASL Interpreter Training. I mean, why not? I had been interpreting for my church for nearly four years- I loved the Deaf community, I loved ASL, I needed a career. What better to do than become a professional interpreter?  After two full semesters of prep courses, and a good four months of applying and interviewing, I was turned down. Of the 56 people originally applying to the program, only 19 were chosen. I was not one of those. After crying for perhaps a solid 2 weeks, eating a tremendously dangerous amount of calories, and sleeping more hours than Rip Van Winkle achieved in his entire life, I came to the conclusion that God clearly had something different in store for me. I was fluent in ASL, an already-experienced and definitely skilled interpreter, I had one of the highest GPAs of all applicants, and I made some of the highest grades on all projects, tests, and assignments. There was no way anyone in their right mind would have put me on the not-right-for-interpreting list. But because the staff in this program did, clearly God had something else for me. I could not have done anything else right. So- upwards and onwards.

I spent the summer house/dog sitting for several professors at my alma mater, and working 3 weeks as a special teamer at a Christian youth camp in North Carolina.  I met some really incredible people there, some of which I had known from college, and some of which I still, 7 months later, talk to almost daily. It was a time of healing and renewal in my life, and I used it as a time to wipe the slate clean. There was a huge horizon in front of me! Anything was possible! I could go get my masters and become a high school English/Theatre teacher, I could go to seminary and major in Girls' Ministry...I could do anything. After much thought and prayer, I went back to school once more, wanting to get a few classes under my belt before I applied for the MAT in English/Theatre Education. During that semester, I was introduced to, and began my journey through, the application process for Teach For America, a really incredible program that sends non-education majors into a low-income area for 2 years to teach one of the four main subjects: English, Math, Science, and Social Studies. They are super picky and it's a huge accomplishment even to be invited to an interview. Last year alone, 46,000 people applied and they only hired just over 4500.  It was a big deal. After I turned my application in, I was passed on immediately to the Final Interview stage; it was a big deal. I put in tons of time and effort working on the last few requirements before the interview, on the lesson I had to teach during my interview, and on learning information that might be necessary for the interview in general.  On top of this, I was taking 6 classes, 5 of which were over the 400 level, working 25-35 hours a week at Red Lobster, choreographing for my dance company, rehearsing 17 hours a week, interpreting at my church STILL, and attempting to make a broken engagement work out. It was exhausting, emotionally and physically.

Further, I missed a Praxis deadline for the masters program I was applying for. Those tests are EXPENSIVE, and if you can't afford it, sucks to be you. What did that mean? I had to take a semester off of school, and re-apply for the program that would begin in May. 

Now, you must know that throughout all of these ordeals this past year, I also moved 3 times, none of which were a welcome idea.  I simply have terrible relationships with apartments.  The first move happened because I was living with a family from my church and my intense schedule just wasn't working out for their family life. No one was at fault, it was simply the nature of their being a family, and my being a 20-something college student with an overloaded schedule.  The second move happened when I had to take a semester off of school. I was living on campus in family housing, a really sweet, perfectly-priced one bedroom apartment with awesome parking.  When I missed the Praxis deadline, which stopped me from entering the program beginning in January, I had to take a semester off, meaning I would no longer be a full-time student, and consequently no longer be eligible for family housing. Move #2: I moved in with two of my besties and their roommate, under the offer that this would be a semester I could use to pay some bills and save some money. I had to move between Christmas and New Years (Happy Holidays), and because we lived in a college town, everyone was gone for the holiday season. Meaning I moved 90% of my belongings by myself, in 30* weather, over Christmas. When the roomies came home, within a week, the problems the three of them had with each other found a catalyst for implosion and I found myself moving once more. The three of them are also currently in the process of moving.

Now I am living with a good friend and coworker, in a house owned by her dad but rented by us, and it's absolutely perfect. She is an incredible roommate, the house is just fantastic, and it's right in the middle of town, but in a court where we don't have a lot of pass-through traffic.  When I received my TFA letter (of rejection, of course), while my heart WAS broken for 10 seconds, I realized quickly that, once again, God has something else clearly in mind for me, but not to fret: I have an awesome roomie, a permanent place to live for as long as I need, and infinite possibilities once more.

I really don't know what I'm going to do with my life...I still want to pursue theatre as a career, maybe on stage, maybe in film, but I need to find a decent job with which I can support myself if ever I have the ability to move to a place that can sustain life on acting alone.  Is this a sign I should go to seminary? Should I just re-apply to the MAT and get my masters in teaching? Should I go get a masters in counseling and help people work out their problems?  Maybe become a child-life specialist specializing in teens, and find ways to make terminal illness manageable? Maybe I should just stick with yoga and become a yoga therapist/massage therapist and just makes people's lives awesome. So many decisions, so many options. I just...I am just ready to know what I should do. I'm ready to be on that path.

This has been probably the most difficult year of my life, but I've learned a lot, too. I've learned how strong I really am, and how independent I can be. I've learned I can handle a WHOLE lot, even when I think I can't take another step. You know, I used to say that I was ready for good things to start happening to me. But I think I was wrong in thinking that way. We serve a great God, and He has a plan to prosper us, and not to harm us. And ALL things work for the good of those who love Him. I'm not ready for good things to start happening to me...I'm ready to make good things happen for myself.