BFF Suzy and I went to the College World Series this week and LOL. Full Disclosure: When I say we "went" to the College World Series, what I really mean is that we went to a bar next to the stadium.
We hate baseball (don't tell my sort-of cousin Alex Gordon) and Lord have MERCY it was hot. Like why do people go to baseball games in the middle of the day in late June in Nebraska? It's so silly. I mean, I don't want to make your decisions for you, but ... there's air conditioning and fans and shade and places where there aren't plastic seats and $12 beers.
I really do have something important to talk to you about, so sorry that I started with hating baseball - which apparently is America's "favorite" pastime and stirs up some very real feelings in people.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm 34. In my head, I still often feel like I'm 24, or when I'm with a group of friends on a night with no boot camp in the morning ... maybe even younger. #prayforus
My point is that I'm still learning about a lot of different things. I lived through a lesson this weekend, and I had to just take a second on Sunday. I walked around Target like a zombie and bought paper towels and command hooks and a bag of pre-cooked sausage crumbles.
Tuesday came around and another whammy. One of my friends is heartbroken and another friend is drowning in a sea of resentment in her marriage and another friend is struggling with self worth. And we are old, you guys. You'd think we'd have our shit together by now.
Glennon, my spirit animal in all things except politics, says that when trouble comes, we need to sit with it for a second. Ask quietly, "What are you here to teach me?" We should tell trouble, or grief, or pain, "Stay. Stay until I've learned everything that I need to know."
And we don't, you know?
We don't sit. We don't listen. We don't excavate wounds.
Because it is so, so hard to sit in the dark with your pain and your heartache and really feel it. To absorb it. To let it carve out a river on the canvas of who you are. To be okay with knowing you've been altered.
To just be okay.
I went to the country this week. I call it the country, but it's really The Boyfriend's mom's house (Jo-Jo) and it feels a little bit like The Farm and it's quiet and slow. The Gen ran down the small hill along her driveway over and over again and we went to Dairy Queen. We talked about old hurts and how still, years later, they trail us.
Think of that old carnival game, whack-a-mole. You tamp one down and another pops up. And then another. And you can't get ahead because they're not really gone, you know?
Jo-Jo sent me something this week that said you can bandage those wounds with food, or alcohol, or drugs, or shopping, but the bandaids don't stop the flow of the blood. They might hide the carnage, but the carnage is still there. Loitering.
Because that stuff just doesn't leave.
Not unless you stop what you're doing, put your ear down to your heart, and listen hard.
The trouble sometimes with listening, though, is that there is fear in what you might hear. What if the hurt tells you that you were wrong? Or that you should leave? Or that healing won't come for years and you will carry it along with you deep in your belly down every path between here and there?
I think the only thing that we can do is lay our heads down at night and pray that we can get it right the next day.
And then we try to learn all over again.
Until we come out on the other side, the morning sun shining on our faces, and our bandaids finally ...
PS - I didn't mean what I said about baseball. Sorta.
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences. And if you need an awesome virtual assistant, who is full of personality and really good jokes? Email me. I'm your girl.
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He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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