I want to be a writer. It’s all I’ve ever genuinely wanted in life.
But I settle for what’s easier; a receptionist, a secretary, a coffee shop. I have a tendency to loose sight of myself and settle for what’s easy and, more so, what causes the fewest waves.
I have a book called “Get a Freelance Life” (thanks, Josh!) and I’ve read it at least ten times. I am still not a freelance writer.
I don’t want it to be a hobby. It is all I want to do. It is has always been the one thing I’ve always wanted to do. It defines the essence of who I am.
I have a passion to communicate and I can’t turn it off.
I have an ex-fiancé. I dated him for just shy of five years.
It was the best of times and the worst of times. As are the years of everyone’s life from the age of 16 to 21. The world is in the palm of your hands during those years. Unfortunately, I spent mine in the palm of his hands during those years.
It was a very high profile, seemingly perfect relationship; social, popular, funny, perfect.
Really, it was; manipulative, dishonest, horrible and tortured.
In the words of Taylor Swift (someone shoot me for quoting her), “Back then I swore I was gonna marry him some day but I’ve realized some bigger dreams of mine.” Or something like that.
I feel like this is a significant detail about my life and I don’t know why exactly I feel compelled to share it with anyone. It is an experience that defines a great deal of who I have become.
I believe in the Gospel of Grace. And only grace.
I don’t care how fucked up you think you are. There is no difference between me, you, and that guy (quick… point at someone; we need a third party. It doesn’t matter who, I’m trying to make a point here).
I don’t care what you think you deserve, what you have earned, or what someone else doesn’t deserve because they haven’t earned it. I am not the one to deem anyone good enough. Neither are you. My standards don’t come from you.
At the end of the day, we are all selfish.
I need you. And you and you and you.
The hardest lesson I have ever learned is that I need people. I am imperfect, to say the least. Without other people, I am not whole. I have to beat down my pride to remember this every day. I don’t want to hear what you have to say about me … but I need to hear it. You are my sounding board.
I’m a pastor’s kid. I have never said that out loud without shame or embarrassment.
It wasn’t the best experience for me… nor was it the worst. The experience is at the root of my habitual fakeness. Every day I have to consciously shake it off and force me to be me, no matter what that looks like.
I am passionate about making sure this isn’t anyone else’s experience of church. That is not gospel.
I’m a funny mother fucker. And I love to laugh.
I have always thought that if I can laugh at the end of the day, then life must be alright. Laughter breaks all sorts of walls and bridges the furthest distance. I laugh at inappropriate times, at inappropriate topics. I can make any situation into something funny.
Sometimes it becomes my defense mechanism. Other times it is my coping mechanism. I prefer it just be out of pure hilarity though. Smile.
