Transitions.

When I was a kid, I remember watching my parents walk into the gas station (because debit cards weren't as common) to give the clerk cash and turn on the pump. I remember being so intimidated by this - it was like I had stage fright for the real world. I was too scared to ask anyone for anything. It went the same for drive thrus, too. I would watch my parents order, giving them my order - trusting them to convey this to the employee at the window.
Occasionally, my parents would make me give my own order. Or make me ask a clerk for something. I would dread it. My cheeks would get red. I'd quietly state my request, then look to my parents for help.

I think of me then - a little kid - and I look at myself now. If little me saw the life I led today, she'd wonder how I do it all. How I got there. Do you ever look back at yourself and wonder the same?
I guess the answer is, transitions. Life is a constant string of transitions from one stage to the next.

Some slow. Some put you on the spot, and force you to grow. Others happen without you really even noticing it. My life has transitioned to this point - gradually, all of these responsibilities have piled themselves around me, and I have had to adapt and assume the challenge, or fail. I remember all of the times I've had to grow. Crying at my kitchen sink Senior year of undergrad, questioning all of my life decisions. Stuck in a limbo where I didn't know where my life was going. Feeling all of the changes around me making me grow - but bending under the weight. Senior year was probably the pinnacle of forced growth for me - I was working 4 jobs at once, I had gotten in a traumatic car accident, bought another car, had that car die, and then bought another car - was going through a breakup - and I had been put on a waitlist for graduate school. I didn't know if I could do it. I was depressed. I remember scrolling through my newsfeed, and a bible verse from Phillippians showed up. "Do not be anxious," it said. I know my shortcomings: I get stressed too easily. I'm not the best communicator. But I know I can bounce back from anything: I guess that's a gift I can own up to. I'm determined to the bitter end. I'll play a chess game I know I'm losing and refuse to go down without a fight. Sometimes I need reminding of this - but when it comes, I'll roll with the punches, and I'll get back up again.
Atlanta was a transition, too. But all that time, God was helping me grow, piling on more responsibility and teaching me that I had a deep well of strength from which I could draw from.
I am who I am because life has never stopped changing and forcing me to grow.

It amazes me just how strong we as people are for doing that, because it's not just me - it's everyone. We all had to fight and fail and conquer and try to get to this point. And whether we are happy with ourselves or not, we face more and more responsibilities each and every day. New roles to play. New challenges. So much to do.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

One of those new roles I am recently learning is that of a wife. And let me tell you: It's the sweetest, most wonderful role I think I've ever had to learn. People ask me a lot now, "So how do you like married life? Do you find it any different?"
And yes, of course, I do. In the obvious ways. We share a bank account now. My name is different. It still feels weird to say "Lacy Mason".
 I nag at my husband to do chores - and he keeps having to redo the dishwasher dishes because I load the dishes in wrong.

In some ways it doesn't feel different, because my husband was my best friend before, and the same applies to now. We still go on adventures, we hike, we cook together, we drink coffee. We do all the same things we did. But at night I get to call him husband, and that's the sweetest name of all. Being married to Kris just feels right. And I don't say that just in a gushy, newlywed way - I say that in a very honest one. Because life is hard. And life has been hard on all of us.

When Kris was transitioning from one job to another during our engagement, that was hard. I sometimes wondered some nights how on earth we were going to pay for a wedding, on top of furnishing our future home, one top of the normal, day to day expenses. When I get way too stressed out about not having adequate means to obtain Diabetes supplies, or school, that's hard. Diabetes is a big problem. And now it's not just my problem - it's Kris's problem, too. It's a problem he chose to assume when he married me. And I think that's pretty amazing.
We've both made slip ups, but we are there to pick each other up. It's true what "they" say - marriage isn't hard. It's life that makes it hard. But at the end of the day, we're there to face life together. It's amazing how marriage works - two people come together and willingly take on each other's problems as their own. I don't feel like a very selfless person at all. Deep down, I know I sin and I know my heart can be jealous and selfish indeed. But looking into the eyes of the man I chose to marry - the man whose accomplishments I share, whose troubles I share, whose life I share - I feel a bond with him. A selfless one. Because I will take his burdens on as my own and I will gladly face his - our - troubles - right by his side. Just as he will face mine.
It's been a whirlwind 7 weeks facing life with him, learning the new roles and responsibilities that being a wife entails. Transitioning. And it all feels different - but it feels just how I know it's supposed to feel. It feels right.

Our Wedding: Blog 1

Wow! It's been a week and a half since Kris and I's wedding, and I'm still in awe of the incredible outpouring of love and support that family, friends and complete strangers have given us! Our wedding day was quite simply, the best day I've ever had. It was the day I got to marry my best friend, and I'll never forget it. It will take a whole blog (if not more!) to rave about our wedding and how wonderful it was. And how wonderful marriage is. A whole blog (or two)... that will be saved for a different day. This one is about actually getting to that day.

It was a tumultuous trip to get to that day. Wedding planning is stress, as I'm sure anyone that has planned one knows. Getting the venue was a rush - trying to visit places to tour their venue before anyone else booked the dates we had in mind. Trying to find a caterer was one of the most stressful things - and the most expensive. Doing your registry. Stupid little things - like tablecloths and flower arrangements and if I want the garter toss or bouquet toss first. And what kind of skillets should I register for? What colour towels? Thankfully - I had a lot of help from my family and friends for those "little" things.

And then there's people. Don't even get me started on guests. I love every single one of the people I invited, don't get me wrong. But if you're planning a wedding, be prepared for some pretty heartbreaking cancellations. On the forefront of those cancellations is one that really upset me more than anything. Yes - I'm okay about it. Yes - I've talked about it with others (and it's helped). But yes - it still hurts, which is why I'm doing the cathartic thing and writing about it.

My dad cancelled the day before my wedding.
My dad and I don't have the best relationship. I've always loved my dad - when I was a kid, my dad hung the moon for me. My parents haven't been together for a long time, but I remember the excitement of weekends I got to spend with my dad, watching my fill of cartoons and eating cheez its until I was sick. Selling art for $.25 to my siblings and their friends - my best (and only) customers. My dad would let me set up my Barbie tent on the bed so I could sleep on it. When I got older, I saw my dad less. He moved away for a long time. I didn't see him for two years. I prayed for my dad every night those 2 years, missing him. One year, he came back. I was in middle school. In high school, we drifted apart because of some family drama.  But my mom and I had moved right down the road from him, so in the last three years of high school, I still got to see my dad a little more. Things got strained over the years just because of some wacky family dynamics. My dad missed a lot of milestones in my life. But he made it to others - one of my ballet recitals. My Phi Theta Kappa induction. Senior prom. (One) of my graduations - my graduation from Valencia Community College, right before my high school graduation. Sometimes, my dad would drive me home from school. Once, he drove me to Georgia. He was usually 3 hours late, but it meant the world to me that he was there. Sometimes, I'd get cards for birthdays - sure, they'd be labeled wrong ("Happy Graduation!") and 3 months late, but they got there.
But once I moved to Georgia for my Bachelor's degree, things just got more strained because of family. And slowly - my dad started fading out of my life more and more. I still made time to see him on vacations home. He always promised me he would come visit me in Georgia, and I believed him. The cards got less frequent - they weren't late. They just never came.
I guess the other people in my family that knew my dad were trying to protect me from the disappointment of the fact that my dad just isn't reliable. Or doesn't care. Or maybe both. In college was when I started to learn it. Then, the night of my college graduation from Wesleyan - my proudest accomplishment to that date - my Dad cancelled on me. "He'd had some drama with work happen and he was just drained," he said. I was sad... but I did forgive him. I didn't forget it, but I tried to give him as much grace as I could muster. Maybe it really just was a bad work week.

But my dad and I drifted apart more as I really started to feel the brunt of his not seeming to care. I started visiting home and I wouldn't ask my dad if he was around to visit. I just didn't have the heart to see him and spend 4 hours listening to him talk about himself, while he had never even asked me what I was going to school for or what I wanted my career to be. Or even a simple, "how are you?" I loved my dad, but... he had hurt me. And my disappointment in my dad was real. Maybe it hurt even more knowing that he could be there, but he simply... chose not to?

Kris proposed to me. I hadn't seen my dad in a whole year, and my life had completely changed. Kris had never met my dad. I told him that he didn't need my dad's blessing to propose. I just couldn't put that stipulation on Kris when my Dad hadn't even remembered my birthday. In December, I decided that Kris needed to meet him. I texted my dad to see when he was free while we were down. My dad didn't text me back until the day we were leaving. He did it like nothing was the matter. "2 pm ok?"
We had a full day planned, but I moved things around. I wanted to give my dad a chance.
We spent 4 hours listening to my father talk. He didn't ask about Kris or I. He didn't ask Kris anything about his life. My dad talked about billboards, and the president's he'd shaken hands with. He talked about his old car. His first trailer. I pasted a forced smile on my face and laughed at the same jokes I'd heard every time I spent time with him dad. I gave my dad our wedding invitation. He gave me a Christmas card. He took a photo of us. We left. Kris and I drove off, and the smile fell off my face. I was unable to hide my disappointment in my father for not even taking 5 minutes to express interest in the man I was going to marry. But he had promised he'd be at the wedding. My dad RSVP'd.
Still... my dad hadn't been there for me throughout my life. And I had had multiple father figures. So ultimately, I decided to nix the first dance with my father and I asked my sweet grandfather to walk me down the aisle. I did these as safeguards, but I honestly did still believe my dad was coming. It wasn't until 2 weeks before that I started to get this sinking feeling that maybe... maybe he wasn't coming. He'd sent me a text complaining about his health about a month before. The day before my wedding, at my sister's bidding, I finally got the courage to ask my dad if he was still coming. I guess I hadn't asked earlier that week because I was worried about how disappointed I would be - I was worried about the disappointment I was trying to mask.
I texted my dad. And he texted me back.
"Won't see you in person honey.... but LOVE YOU! xoxo"

Kris was standing with me and my joy about the weekend fell off of my face, the hurt hitting me like someone had shoved a pile of weighted bricks into my arms. I couldn't help it.
My dad cancelled on me, and he didn't even call to tell me. I couldn't help but to ask him when he was planning on telling me. When I looked for him in the crowd, just like I had anxiously searched the crowds at my ballet recitals and gymnastics meets as a little girl? I had been a girl anxiously and joyously wanting to share her life with her daddy. And part of me was still that little girl, heart and stomach fluttering with butterflies, just hoping with all of my heart to see my daddy in the crowd - this time to see him in the crowd on the biggest day of my life. I guess the last bit of faith I had in my dad crumbled that day, and part of my heart, quite honestly, broke a little. Part of me felt a little more alone as I grew closer to the day that I would marry the love of my life and never be alone again.
I was so thankful for the pep talks that Kris and my other loved ones gave me. They really helped. But there's part of me that will always mourn the fact that my dad neither showed up to my wedding, nor got us a wedding gift, or even told me on his own accord that he wasn't coming - the things that might of shown that he at least cared a little.
This blog really isn't intended to be a "bitch fest", but rather, it's just to help me heal and try and start to forgive my dad, at least for the sake of my own heart, so that it doesn't become bitter towards him.
And it's also to say that I'm so incredibly thankful for the people that have been there for me in my life, in the best and worst of times. It's to say that I'm so thankful that I gained new family when Kris and I married - to emphasize the fact that my family in law is some of the most genuinely kind, caring and helpful individuals that I've ever me. To emphasize the fact that my mother in law is an absolute rock star and that she was literally like my "wedding guardian angel" and that Kris and I probably would be a little less sane without her. I adore them, and my heart is so full and happy with knowing that I get to have the honour of being part of their family. It's to thank my good friends the Newman's - especially Bryan Newman (I hope it's okay that I'm bragging on you), who has known my father from Junior High and who was there for me not only on my wedding day, but even on my college graduation day, when my father cancelled. And more than that... he's just always been there, since my undergraduate days, watching over me and helping me with more things than I can count. And he did it all on his own accord - he just reached out to me one day and was gracious enough to make me feel like I had people to watch over me even when I was far away from home.
I'm thankful for Kris and I's friends Katy and Connor, who stepped in to be a groomsman and bridesmaid after we had cancellations. We're going to Europe on our honeymoon with Katy and Connor in December, and they are some of the coolest Jesus-loving folks I know. Katy agreed to be my bridesmaid when I'd never even met her, and more so, she basically coordinated my entire wedding without my even asking her to. I'm so incredibly thankful for them, even though I was a terribly mess of nerves and disorganization that weekend and I know it showed.
I'm thankful for my mom. And my grandma. They did all of the little things I didn't even want to think about. My mom and grandma and I all disagree sometimes (stubbornness is hereditary) but they were patient and loving with me. They were generous and they were there to help. Mom and grandma were so incredibly creative with planning the wedding decor and much of the food and I truly valued their love and wisdom and just plain support for Kris and I.
I'm thankful for my sister (and matron of honor), who was rock during these past few months, and who really sympathized over all of my family drama with me. My sister is incredibly organized (unlike me) and planned a beautiful bridal shower for me. She created these incredible books filled with photos of my bridal shower and bachelorette party and captured countless precious memories about pre-wedding things over the months leading to our wedding. I'm thankful for my maid of honor, my best friend Kelle, who planned an incredible bachelorette party for me and who is also far more organized than I will ever be. I'm thankful for the Osburn family, who helped me make beautiful wedding props and who have basically opened their house to me on a permanent basis to crash at and have opened their fridge to me on more occasions than I can thing of. I'm thankful for the VonBartheld family (probably still spelled their last name wrong), who not only gave Kris and I an awesome bird, but who helped me plan my other bridal shower in Georgia with many of my loving classmates - who gifted me with their friendship - who have been amazing comedic relief throughout these past few months when I got stressed. I'm thankful for each and every one of my bridesmaids. I'm thankful for my stepdads, who were there for me even when it wasn't the most convenient thing in the world for them. One of them had to work the next day... but he flew in that Sunday to be there for me for our wedding for 3 short hours, before he had to get on a plane to leave for back home. I'm thankful for my entire family. I'm thankful for all of our friends who showed Kris and I endless support and love. I'm thankful for everyone I may have overlooked in writing this post.
I'm thankful for my incredible groom - the love of my life, the best husband ever, and my best friend. Every moment of difficulty in planning a wedding was worth it when I walked down the aisle to you. I'm overjoyed to spend every day with you.

I'm just plain thankful. And blessed.

So there. I got the sad stuff off of my chest first, and then I wrote about the good stuff - and now I feel very happy and loved indeed. In short - Kris and I are so incredibly blessed and thankful to be surrounded by so much love. We're so happy to be married. And life is a sad, mysterious, joyful and wonderful place indeed.

The Long Road Behind Me

This time two years ago was a dark time for me. The summer before I moved to Atlanta for physical therapy school. It’s not something I have opened up to a lot of people about. It’s deeply personal and it’s hard to share. Sometimes I feel ashamed that I wasn’t stronger. What was happening and the mistakes I made during that time. All the sad songs I listened to, trying to capture the extent of my heartbreak – the lonely nights alone, just my cat and I, spent in a big, empty apartment with hardly any furniture. I would leave the TV on all the time just so I didn’t have to live in silence.

I went to work at the local children’s gymnastics facility down the street. I swam occasionally. I worked out. I cooked quinoa and chicken. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. And at night – I’d suffer. Those of you who know me close, knew that during my time in Georgia, I’d been in the same relationship – the one that had ended the February of that year. Through those long, lonely summer nights, I suffered as I struggled with letting go of a relationship that I knew I needed to let go of, but didn’t know how.

One night in particular comes back to me – it was one of the worst that summer. Against my better judgement, I went to see my ex. I knew that I shouldn’t – every time I did, I felt in my heart and stomach a pit of despair and darkness. But I didn’t know what else to do. I hurt so incredibly badly. And the alternative – the scary thought of being alone – sometimes, it seemed like that was worse… I couldn’t get out of the cycle. I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. Breaking up was one step – saying goodbye forever was another. It was that night that he confronted me about talking to other people. I was young, I was newly single – and I was trying to mask my heartbreak by distracting myself and moving on. I was in a terrible place, and seeing my ex during that time only made it exponentially worse. I hadn’t known it, but my ex was capable of doing something called “cloning” my phone – he was able to see all of the messages I received from other people. He was even able to see if anyone came over to my apartment based on IP addresses pinging my wifi from their phones, since he had helped set the wifi up. And it was bad. He confronted me about it – and I didn’t have anything good to say. How could I explain the heartbreak I felt? How utterly terrifying it was to face the thought of truly letting go of my first and only love, forever, and facing a scary new world alone? But knowing that that relationship was terrible and poisonous to both of us – and so at the same time I couldn’t help but try and move on? Trying to explain that I felt both of those at the same time seemed impossibly shallow to me, but it was much more complex than that. Maybe you’ve been in a similar situation.

A confrontation that night turned into raised voices, and raised voices turned into complete screaming. I don’t even remember exactly what was said, but I remember that – the harsh, grating, scary screaming.  His anger. The feeling of being paralyzed by helplessness. I tried to leave – I wasn’t allowed to. He took my phone and locked me in a completely pitch black room and wouldn’t let me go. I cried and cried desperately. I was so desperate to get out that I literally broke the old wood door keeping me in – which only made him yell worse. I ran out the door and down the street. He followed. “You can’t leave,” he said, threatening me. Tears poured down my face. I knew he wouldn’t let me leave – I sat down on the curb in the dark of the night and cried. In an effort to get him to let me go, I let him drive me to the house of this guy I had been on a few dates with – and he forced me to walk to his door while he knocked on it and yelled that I didn’t care about him. I finally got the chance to go home, then – I’d changed my locks so that he couldn’t get in anymore, and I tried to pretend the notes on my car when I went to random places didn’t bother me, and tried to pretend that I didn’t feel like this was an endlessly hopeless situation that I would struggle with forever. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t worried that I would be stalked around town. That I couldn’t even invite people over for worry that he would find out. I just wanted to close my eyes and forget everything. I wanted to be free. But I didn’t know how I could get there.

I don’t have a word for what that summer was like. Abuse? I don’t know. The thing about that word is, at least in my case, I didn’t think about it that way as it was happening to me. I just thought, “I deserve this. I’m an awful person – what I’ve done, by breaking someone’s heart – was awful, and these are the consequences I have to live with. This is my burden to bear. This is a hell I don’t know how to escape from, but it will be ok. I’ll be ok. He’s justified in being angry and emotional. He’s hurt too.”

Atlanta was a scary place, but it was a beacon of hope to me that summer, compared to Macon where I spent those last few months. Atlanta was a chance to be free. If I could just make it through that summer… that horrible, horrible summer – THAT was my chance to leave this hell behind. And the day I moved, oh thank god, I was so ready. I was ready for my new life. It turns out it wasn’t as easy as that, of course – my past still followed me. In fact, my ex followed me – he moved to Atlanta shortly after. I was careful to conceal my address, but somehow, he found my new address, and he’d leave notes for me there, too. Sometimes he’d wait for me to come back home. One night, I had to stay at my friend’s house, for fear of him confronting me if I went home.

One morning, it must have been 3 am – I got repeated phone calls from his new number. I hadn’t blocked it yet. Finally, he sent me a message saying there was something for me downstairs. School was at 8 am in the morning, and I was exhausted. I went downstairs, though. There were big windows that my roommate liked to leave the blinds open to that faced the street – I remember literally crawling down them, afraid to walk up tall, worried me might see me if he was still there. I opened the door, and there was a plastic bag. In it was a box – a box I had painted for him long ago for his birthday, filled with all the cards and letters I’d ever written. And one last letter from him – the last I ever received. And I wept, and wept, and wept. I was so tired, and so hurt, and so heartbroken from these last few months. I felt like I was dragging a body, the body of what my life used to be - behind me wherever I want – that’s how big the burden felt to me. I lived in fear, and heartbreak, and darkness, and no one could get me out of it. This was my burden to bear. This was my loneliness. My past. I filled journals with my hurt that the memories and that the lack of privacy and the stalking and the notes left me. His constant ability to find ways to leave my messages and get in touch with me and never leave me alone or let me forget. 

In fact, it wasn’t until the week before I met Kris, that things finally ended – for good. That I finally cut all ties with that dark piece of my past. I had still been trying to come to terms with the fact that even though I had moved on and I was seeing other people, that it didn’t make me forget my hurt – and I felt as though I constantly lived in a state of questioning if my decisions over the last year had been the right ones, or if I would be doomed to date people under a state of heartbreak that shadowed any feelings I felt forever. Just comeuppance for my bad deeds, perhaps. I remember the last time I ever saw him – I went to a bar with one of my friends, and there he was, bartending – and he brushed past me. I had a long cry that night… and then I let it go. I blocked every form of communication I could possibly find for him to talk to me to. I finally felt ready. And then I met Kris 3 days later. And for the first time ever – I finally, truly let go. I let go of the heartbreak and the hurt. I told Kris everything, and this burden was lifted from me. For the first time, I could think back on all of those memories – and they didn’t hurt anymore.

I felt peace. And funny enough, that’s one of the many reasons how I knew that Kris was the man that I would marry. Kris is kind, he’s hysterically funny, and he makes the best life partner and partner in crime I could ever ask for. He shares my longing for adventure and my passionate, determined spirit. And loving him – it’s just like one of my favourite poems, which goes like this:

“She asked ‘you are in love, what does love look like’,

To which I replied, ’like everything I’ve ever lost come back to me.”

Atlanta’s symbol is the phoenix, and the phoenix perfectly captures my life here. Out of ashes, my life was reborn and remade. I was always whole before I met Kris, but Kris gave me something more than that. He filled my whole self with joy, and all the things I’d lost in those dark pieces of my past – the loss I felt – was replaced my peace, replaced by a feeling of wholeness. He brings me closer to God and he taught me to let go of that hurt. He is the man that makes me feel as though everything I’ve ever lost and that I used to mourn every day and night before I cried myself to sleep – has come back to me. Newer, brighter and more perfect than ever before.

And in just less than 5 days, I’m lucky enough to get to marry him. If that isn’t a happy beginning to a love story, I don’t know what is. 

Why I'm Glad I Conceal Carry - And What Happened That Made Me Even More Glad.

I want to share with you guys a story of a recent trip I went on. 

As you know (if you follow any of my feeds or anything, or you just know me), I'm super pro-gun and pro-carry. It started as an annual hobby: we'd go shooting for summer camp in high school every year. That was cool. Then I moved to Georgia - it was normal for a lot of people to carry there, so I had some practice. By the time I was 21, I had already made up my mind to apply for my concealed carry. It took a while - between having to take a class, obtaining finger prints, a background check, a passport photo, complete my application and pay a lot of money throughout the process, I finally was able to submit my application. On top of that, actually getting a firearm wasn't easy either. I was a Florida resident living in a different state, where they didn't sell guns to you if you lived out of state and had no license to carry. It took me a month to actually get my gun once I'd bought it because of Florida's 3-day wait period (you have to wait 3 days after buying your gun to pick it up) - and trying to plan that in between full-time classes and work.

The day I actually picked up my Bersa 9 mm was a proud day for me. A lot of research and a lot of practice had gone into my decision to get my gun, and I loved it from day 1. Guns are fun to shoot - but I also liked having the knowledge and the comfort that having a gun could at least give me a shot (no pun intended) of not becoming a victim should anything ever happen. Going out of town, traveling, staying at hotels, even being at home alone just felt a lot more secure knowing that I had a weapon that was both intimidating and that was powerful enough to hurt someone that was trying to hurt me. Especially being a woman - a woman that goes to stranger's houses for a living to entertain at parties and events - it just felt nice to know that I had something in between me and danger. I became increasingly more pro-carry after actually being license to carry a gun (and doing so). Bachelorette party? Carry. Trip to charleston with a friend? Carry. Walking around Atlanta? Carry. I'd worked hard for my permit and I'd trained to use my weapon. The campus carry bill was exciting for me. I hoped it would be passed. I'm pretty sure a lot of my friends thought I was a little too over the top about wanting to carry my gun places - but again, after having a firearm and getting used to the security that it lent me, it was hard to leave it at home. I trusted my ability to protect myself a lot more with a gun than I did with pepper spray or a knife.

As far as actual self defense goes (and I know, this isn't great), I didn't know a ton about it. Someone attacks you? Make noise and try and fight them off. Go for the areas that hurt. I knew stuff like that. I recently took a class in self defense and I had no idea that I might actually have to use it sometime soon - but I guess that's the point. You never know why you might need to use it. Something I appreciated about the class was that they did address having a firearm. I had a gun and I knew how to use it, but it's hard to predict that you'll know the appropriate thing to do in a situation where you actually need it. I learned a lot about how you shouldn't pull your gun out obviously - how you need to read the situation - and when to make the choice either to run for it, or if the person needs to not be able to run after you.

The day after the self defense class, some girlfriends and I decided to go on a camping trip in Alabama. I've never been hammocking before, but I thought it might be fun. We built a fire, brought out wine, and set up our camp site. We were sitting around the fire in our chairs when my friend and I were laughing about what might happen if something actually did go down. "You've got the gun. You'll distract them and keep them away while I run to the car. And then you get to the car."
It was around midnight when I heard something and asked, "What am I hearing?"
"Coyotes," One of the girls said, obviously much more comfortable with camping and much less worried about the coyotes than I was. All I could picture was coyotes eating me in my sleep before saying, "Uhh.... I don't like coyotes." One of the other girls piped up that she wasn't the biggest fan, either. The hammocks weren't high - the fire was dying and the wood was low - we decided to go home. We started picking up and putting out the fire.
But I'd never been in a hammock! I crawled in just to spend some time seeing what it was like. It was comforting - rocking gently between the trees. But I was glad we were going home. It was dark and a little creeepy.

The occasional car had passed by on the dirt road at this point, but this one was louder. I peeked my head out of the hammock and saw the girls were over by the fire, putting it out and listening to. I turned off my headlight. Rocks and gravel rolled underneath big tires of an obviously large vehicle. I looked at the girls again, then back at the road. Something wasn't right. "Get to the car," one of them shouted. I leaped out of the hammock and grabbed my backpack full of insulin immediately. I pulled my gun out of its holster and hid it in my sweater; I ran to the car, ready to bolt. I hid back behind the headlights of my friend's car, slightly in the dark. A huge truck blocked the entrance to the gravel exit of the campsite and a loud voice shouted over the intercom, "THIS IS THE TUSKEGEE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE. PUT YOUR HANDS UP and QUIET. STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE." I could hardly see because the lights of the giant truck were on high beams and they were so bright. Adrenaline was pumping through my body at this point. My hand gripped my gun harder, finger off the trigger, but ready to shoot. My hands weren't up, but I was off to the side. The other girls had their hands up. "STAY WHERE YOU ARE. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY WEAPONS". I said nothing - I didn't want anyone knowing I had a gun. One of the girls shouted "Yes." Silence enveloped the 4 of us. "No... tell them it's a knife. A pocketknife. Or something." I muttered. "Just not a gun." "We're not a threat." One of them said. "Don't tell them," I said as I shook my head, hand still on my gun. They kept demanding to know what the weapon was. I thought. No. "Ask to see their identification," I said, remembering my mom's old lessons to me to never trust someone saying they were law enforcement - especially until they could show some identification. "You can have the site if you want it." One of the girls said. "We were just leaving." "DO YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS OR ALCOHOL. IT IS ILLEGAL TO HAVE ALCOHOL ON THE PREMISES." I later learned this wasn't true, but part of me legitimately thought "Shit, am I seriously gonna go to jail tonight for drinking and possession of a weapon?" We were all silent. I was ready to shoot or bolt depending on what happened next.

A woman in a pink shirt with ratty brown hair smoking a cigarette got out of the car, laughing. "Aww... we're just kidding!" She said. I was so angry. My hand was still on my gun, hidden in my sweater. I walked closer to her. "You need to leave. Now." I said. My friend was nicer. "You guys have a good night," she said. The lady threw the cigarette on the ground. "Aw, we're just out driving around. You guys have a good night." We tried to catch their plates but the lights around the plate were busted out as the truck backed up and away - and we bolted, hurrying to pack up the rest, not wanting to stick around in case anyone came back.

And what's more: one of the girls called 911 right away to tell them that someone was visiting campsites impersonating an officer and was likely drunk and tried to give as good of a description of the people and vehicle as possible. 911 said: "That's cool... well, I don't know what you want us to do." "Well, we're leaving. Just wanted to let you know," the girl said. "You're leaving? Really?" 911 asked. "Uh, yeah. We're leaving. Of course we're leaving."
It seems like such a silly situation, but being in that situation - it was scary. We had no way of knowing who these people were: Threat? Not a threat? It was unpredictable and we were 4 women alone in the woods. It was pitch black except for the bright vehicle lights. I didn't know if these people had a gun, or if they meant harm. I was thankful for that self defense class though, so that I didn't just pull my gun out in plain sight and potentially make myself a target. And I was also thankful for my gun - thankful I didn't have to use it, but thankful I had it, in case things became worse. I'm glad we're all safe, and I'm glad it was just some people pulling a joke. But it could have been a lot worse... impersonating an officer isn't cool.

So, yeah. It's situations like that that there's NO way that you could predict that make me very, very glad that I conceal carry.

Puzzle Pieces.

My paths have brought me back to Macon again today.

Funny enough, in Atlanta; city of so much everything, it's a lot harder to get Dr.'s appointments at the health department. I always just make an appointment at the one close to Macon because I'm always able to be seen there, and it's so easy. It's always been worth the drive to me, which is a little less than an hour, depending on how fast you drive.

Driving back is always like driving back into the past to me. The nostalgia never leaves - if anything, it just grows stronger, as I start to realize that the people I know and the connections I have in Macon are slowly growing smaller, fading away, until one day they will be nothing at all and Macon will simply be a place  used to live. Not a place to reconnect with old friends who still carry out their lives here. 2 years ago, I was sitting in this coffee shop lamenting about leaving here. 2 years later, I drive back with a sense of how small this world is here; how small the shops are, how small the community is. How people know each other. And I'm amazed at how I ended up here, in this little town of all places, when I had a world of choices at my feet my senior year of High School. 

Do I regret it? Spending time in a place as seemingly tiny and unimportant as Macon? I don't. Because I have memories here. And this is how I met Kris, a year after leaving it. 

I think that my decision to attend Wesleyan was grounded in a lot of reasons. Some of them were stupid teenage girl reasons. Others were very founded - Wesleyan is a wonderful school, and I loved the ability to be taught in classes that were reasonably sized and build community with my small group of friends. And Macon... as small as it is, is a good place to learn about who you are if you're a first-timer at living away from home. It wasn't too big to intimidate me, like Atlanta likely would have been. It was a good medium - set apart from my hometown of Orlando, and different, big enough to keep me occupied, small enough to feel like home away from home. I won't bore you with the details of the things I did here because that's encapsulated in a variety of my other blog posts here. The bottom line is, I know this place isn't the best. It's not even close to it. But it was my home, and I'll always go easy on Macon because of that. I'll miss seeing Lake Tobosofkee and shopping at River Crossing (The New Mall) and hanging out at one of the few speciality coffee shops in town. I loved the Rookery and the shitty, sketchy clubs and the old, moss covered tombstones of Rose Creek cemetery on the banks of the muddy Ocmulgee. And I think of these things... and I think of me, still a girl at 16, who came up here to spend a Summer some 6 years ago. I think of the hot, hot July days that summer of 2010 - no ocean breeze to cool them. I think of driving around the neighborhoods just to see the pretty houses - driven by someone, because I didn't have my license yet. I remember this goat that sometimes got into the house I stayed at. The strawberry patch: picking so many berries that we couldn't find enough use for them and we got sick of eating them. Staying up until the early morning playing video games. Wondering why I got cranky and shaky when I didn't eat - thinking I was hypoglycemic, when I couldn't have predicted that it was actually more. My online classes... the 10 page essays due every week. Walking barefoot on the gravel until my feet learned to be tough, sitting on the porch with the kittens at dusk,. Watching the kittens pass away... 4th of July by the lake. The best sweet tea at Aunt Shirley's on her lovely porch. 

Those things made me feel as though I belonged, and for a whisper in time, I did belong there. I made my life there. I met people there. I loved there. My heart broke there. I learned so much about life and I became who I needed to be. 

One summer spent in Forsyth, years ago - it must have been 4, or 5 - I was browsing on the internet, struggling to find a way to stay in Macon when I knew inevitably I'd have to leave: there were no physical therapy schools there for Graduate school.

Mercer had one... Mercer's main campus was in Macon. But this program was in Atlanta. Maybe it was close enough to make it work. Atlanta wasn't so bad, after all. 

I didn't make a decision yet, but the seed was planted. It was, inevitably, my love for Macon and my desire to stay close that pushed me to apply to Mercer. 

After I was accepted to Mercer in 2014, UCF back home called me. I was tempted to say yes... and maybe I could have. At the time I was accepted to Mercer and after I had applied to graduate school, it turns out I no longer had any more reason to stay in Macon. My 5-year long relationship hadn't worked out; it had died, and with it, my ability to belong here. 

Did I go back home where I had friends and family and for a brief period of time, I could relive that? I could get back what I'd sacrificed when I'd left home to make a life in Georgia. It was safe. It was familiar. 

Atlanta was huge, cold, unknown, mysterious. Scary. 

I thought for a second on the phone, feeling bad for going silent after being told I'd been accepted into their program. I'd already been accepted to Mercer.

I made the decision that would change the rest of my life:

I told them I'd made my decision to attend Mercer.

At the end of Summer, I moved to this big beautiful lonely city and I learned to love it. To find the kind of nooks and crannies I'd found in Macon. My life and my world blossomed. I met my friends Robert and Chelsea - I still dated someone from back home in Florida. In an effort to please them and also to see what it was all about after hearing Robert rave about it, I decided to attend my first swing dance. I struggled with it, I questioned whether I wanted to do it, but I stuck with it. Something drew me to it... even when I didn't dance well with the person I'd initially learned it for. The fun, the excitement, the variety - I loved it. I felt alive. Keep coming back. Something told me. Keep going. Exams came and went, competencies passed and failed, semesters ended... spring, my second semester in PT school, ended and I found myself at swing dance again. And there I found a man: There I found the man I'm about to spend the rest of my life with.

This is the story of how unlikely places can still lead you to where you need to be. How they can pave the path for greater things, and how life is a marvelous puzzle made up of pieces so tiny that sometimes you can't see the big picture until it's done and you get a good chunk of a section put together. Which takes time. 

Macon brought me to Atlanta, and Atlanta brought me to Kris. And PT school brought me to Kris, even when it discouraged me and made me feel as if maybe I'd chose the wrong profession. And dancing! Even dancing brought me to where I needed to be - despite saying I'd never learn to dance and swearing I have two left feet. 

2 years ago, I wondered where my life was going: I was headed into the great unknown. 2 years later, and I'm about to get married. I'm off to clinic. The puzzle pieces have come together: Not all, but some. Some of them have revealed their mysteries to me and showed me where my life is headed. 

2 years from now, I wonder what I'll be writing about then? All the new joys, responsibilities, and troubles I'll have, no doubt. I guess I'll have to wait until that section of the puzzle is complete.

Stress Management for the Diabetic, Graduate Student, Entrepreneur Bride-To-Be.

When I look at my engagement ring, there's a pretty part of the sapphire in the center that has an almost iridescence to it. It's a facet about it that looks lovely in the light, and you can only catch it sometimes.
I think that this is a stark comparison to myself, because when I look close up at my facets, I don't always think they are lovely. I spent the other morning rushing to get to school; I spilled protein shake powder all over me and the floor when the entire container's lid fell off while reaching for it in the cabinet. I accidentally caught the bird cage door (without the bird in it, he was in the other cage) with my purse and made it fall over. I broke my lamp this morning. I accidentally confused the date on a party for one of my repeat customer's this weekend, causing me to have to give the event to someone else. I got lost on the way to my gig the other night, which doesn't usually happen. I was short with people because I felt sick this morning.

I am clumsy. And what else - I'm super imperfect. I'm busy, and I know I shouldn't use that as an excuse to dictate my behaviour. But I'm bad at answering texts and communicating. I'm short with people when I don't mean to be. I brush over edges I should take more time on. Sometimes, I'm not in a good mood around Kris. Sometimes, I say mean things. I'm on my phone too much. I haven't been to church as much as I should have.

The other morning I was having one of "those" mornings and I started to turn on some music. I didn't really love how it made me feel, though. Music is one of those things that really augments (or can change) your mood. John Mark McMillan is probably my favourite Christian artists now thanks to Kris. Selfishly, that's a little because Kris is so good at singing his songs on the guitar. But also, he's just really awesome at what he does. I swore off a lot of Christian music for a while even though I grew up with it, because I'd had an apologetics teacher tell us about how not all Christian music is created equal and some of it is sacrilegious. John Mark McMillan is one of the first Christian artists I've loved in a long time. So I turned his music on instead, and instantly felt my mood change. It's amazing how the things we listen to and the things we surround ourselves with make such a big difference on us.

As I enter finals week next week, take a competency this weekend, and try and balance planning a wedding in a month and starting clinic - as well as my usual chores around the house, keeping the place clean, and not having my business crash around me - all while managing my chronic illness - I am reminded to create peace for myself, and try my hardest not to become overwhelmed. I'm trying to make time to do Insanity at least 3-4 times a week (and it's working, my pants are loose!) and really eat healthy (no sweets), lots of water. I'm trying to listen to calming music and keep the apartment clean and take time for me, even in the midst of grad school which demands a lot of time. That hectic morning was a good reminder that stress, or helping to make yourself less stressed, has a lot to do with how we choose to act towards the events we can't control.
I can't control the coming stressful weeks entirely, but I can do my part to have as much control over keeping the situations that come at me as in check as possible.
I can do it.

2 Months.

Earlier this week, it was eve of a big competency for school. There I am, listening to nostalgic music, and cats are surrounding me. A year ago, my life looked very different. Spring 2015 semester was in full swing, life was sucking hard, the music I was listening to wasn't quite nostalgic yet, and the man I'm marrying in two months I hadn't event met yet - but I was going to. Soon.

I was a different person then, even though it was only a year ago. I was sad. Down to my core sad.  I felt alone; a lot of that was because I kept trying to seek validation from people that I would have been better off with leaving alone. People who didn't build me up, but left me feeling empty. Some of it was I was literally alone in a huge city. I'd go to school, go home, and repeat. Some of it was that I felt like school and work and life was a huge mountain that I had to climb and there was no one else around to help me through it. I wasn't confident, I wasn't happy, and the future had a big question mark in front of it.

I don't miss that at all. But you know the kind of cool thing? That man that I'm going to marry was going through some of the very same things, at the same time. We were both sad, but we were about to meet each other, and change each other's lives. We just did a lot of struggling before then. I can honestly look back at last year, and then look at the months following my meeting Kris - and see that I have changed for the better. I truly have. And that's always the kind of person I wanted to marry: someone that challenges me to change for the better, someone I can be a team player with, someone I care for more than I do for myself.

I measure my life in semesters a lot, as school takes up so much of my life. I can now look at summer, at this past fall, and now almost all of spring, as the last month of my didactic PT school career will draw to a close at the end of April. And right now? Life is good. I just found out that I received a 100% on my entire competency this week. I've gone from a girl who failed almost everything in school to someone that is actually proud of her performance as a physical therapy student. I'm more confident now - I can do it. I can put in the work. The hours are long and my mind gets tired from the work, but I'm doing it.
I'm now writing this while listening to artists that I learned about through my fiance. I now own a plaid shirt. I can comment on coffee more than I used to be able to. And I'm joyful. My life isn't any more perfect than it ever was, but everything, in spite of how overwhelming life still gets sometime, is so damn wonderful that I can't help but wake up thanking God every day.

The challenges of life aren't nearly as bad when you share half of the burden with your better half.

I love Kris. Prior to him, I had never experienced love like I experience for him. An overwhelming feeling of positivity towards life that bleeds into all of the aspects of my life. An optimism that was waiting to be found in me. A desire to be more like him - impossibly generous, kindhearted, and the best example of loving someone that I've ever seen. Kris loves me so gracefully and completely, even when I am upset, downtrodden, or overwhelmed. He doesn't waver for a second. He's helped me through so much - and I can't wait to marry him in two months and see what marvelous adventures life has in store for us.