If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say...

...say it anyway. I tend to speak my mind, in the worst way possible. My comments span from dumb jokes to cutting remarks and up until recently I've just shrugged and and decided to say it anyway.

I am a blunt person, perhaps to a fault. My bluntness often overrides my use of discretion and has led to plenty of hurt feelings and awkward silences. It seems like everyone was born with a make-sure-to-say-the-right-thing filter except for me. It is not unusual that, upon meeting someone new, I am assumed to be rude because I say things that others don’t dare to say and I make jokes that I realize I probably shouldn’t make after I’ve already made them.

I used to despise this part of myself. I tried to be a little more subdued, a little sweeter, a little quieter. I would have things to say but I wouldn’t say them because I just wanted to be normal. I was spending my time and energy attempting to be just like everybody else, which was exhausting because everyone is different. Nobody is “normal.” To try to become like every other person else means that you’re trying to be hundreds, thousands, millions of different people. It’s impossible. By not saying the things that I wanted to say, I was contributing nothing. I was agreeing with everything that everyone said which resulted in voicing no real opinion.

After months of staring off into space and smiling and nodding and only half-way paying attention to anything that anyone said, I decided to make a change. Life is meant to be lived together-we all have something to contribute. A major part of life is working together to discover what each of us has been created to do. It’s calling out the beauty and the good in each other, and rebuking the bad. It’s not about discovering flaws and hiding them before anyone can see. It’s not about pretending that the qualities that make you unique don’t exist because unique is beautiful and you are you for a reason.

I have this ability to get away with saying things that other people seem to be uncomfortable saying and for several years I misused it. I used this quality of mine to get away with hurting people. Throw some humor into a cutting remark and people don’t realize what exactly I just said. Lace an insult with a bit of compliment and people are left wondering why they feel offended. Some people call it funny or honest or a defense mechanism. I call it wrong.

Here’s the thing: I can still be funny or smart without being cutting or cruel. I don’t have to shut completely down. I have words to contribute. I came to a place in my life where I realized that if I am not speaking completely out of love, I should not be speaking at all. If I speak out of love, out of life, I’m good to go. It’s not about being accepted and appreciated. It’s not about impressing my friends or making the whole room laugh. It’s about building people up into everything that they have been created to be. Jesus spoke out of love 100% of the time. His heart was full of compassion and passion and so much love for each and every person who has ever lived and who will ever live. Where did Jesus end up at the end of His time on earth?

Jesus ended up being betrayed by one of his closest friends. Jesus ended up being mocked and hated.

Jesus ended up dead, on a cross.

Speaking out love doesn’t mean easy-living. It doesn’t mean people will automatically love you back and it sure doesn’t mean you’re going to like everyone you interact with. It does, however, mean that you’re doing the right thing. You aren’t kicking people down to build yourself up. You aren’t disregarding feelings in an attempt to boost your ego. You are speaking life into hearts that have been dead for too long. You are speaking love into lives that are lonely.

Don’t take the easy way out, guys. Don’t shut down because you don’t feel like you have anything to offer and don’t abuse the gifts that God has given you just to fit in. Be different. You have so much to offer.

And, before I end up sounding like a self-help booklet, is all that I have to say about that.

Little by Little, One Travels Far

I love words. I love to read words, to write words, to speak words, to listen to words. There is, however, one word in particular that I do not like to read or write or speak or hear. 

Transition. 

I do not like the word transition because when that word is spoken it means that things are about to change. I much prefer words like comfortable or familiar or schedule or…well, you get the gist. I don’t like change. 

My favorite month is February, and not simply because it’s my birthday month (and definitely not because of Valentine’s Day but that’s another story for another day.) My favorite month is February because spring is still quite a long ways off and fall is just a distant memory and winter has settled in. The beautiful chaos of Christmas is over and the flurry of activity that spring always seems to bring with it has not yet arrived and it’s just quiet. It’s a time to reflect, a time to prepare, and a time to be still. Nothing ever seems to change in February. 

It’s not that transition is bad. We all have to experience transitions and changes because that’s how we grow. I love the idea of progress, of moving forward, and transition plays a major part in that. I recognize that transition is a necessary, perhaps even a good, part of life. 

Honestly, though, it’s hard for me to find joy in these transitory seasons of life. Sometimes it seems like we are all in constant conversation about the major, life changing events are coming up. We’re all so determined to be going somewhere that we hardly remember what it feels like to just be. It’s so important to remember that before any adventure or big transition, there must be a season of preparation. 

Example: nobody just graduates from school by talking about how fun it will be to graduate. No one gets married after a single date (well, maybe some people do. I don’t know.) These major life events take work. You have to do homework and show up to class and get involved in the school before walking across that stage. You have to go on multiple dates and eventually get engaged and then actually plan the wedding before you walk down that aisle. My point. My point is that these big milestones that we’re all so excited to reach are a sometimes simply a culmination of all of the small milestones. Never discount the time of preparation when thinking about the biggest moments of your life. As my very favorite wordsmith of the literary world, J.R.R. Tolkien, so concisely stated: “Little by little, one travels far.” I think that the distance you cover, or the magnitude of your next “big moment” hinges on the value you put on the small moments. 

Big things happen. Life changes. But sometimes we find ourselves in one of those “February” seasons. Those seasons are an opportunity to think about how far you’ve come and to prepare to go even further. It’s a time to rest and to be still. It’s not a time to complain about, to feel “stuck” in, to try to get out of. The most adventurous of times tend to become the most draining of times when there is no restful time to rejuvenate yourself in. Hold these seasons of stillness dear and don’t waste them wishing that you were doing something else. Before you know it, you’ll be in the midst of yet another much-anticipated transition and, thanks tothe time that you spent preparing, you'll be ready.

Being 20 : The Things I Was Never Told [pt 1]

The thing about concerts is that you are waiting for hours in very close proximity next to people you would, under normal circumstances, never talk to. But a concert is not a normal circumstance. The best kind of concerts are the outdoor ones in those big amphitheaters that smell like beer and you have yellow tiger-print wristbands and you are five feet from the stage and everyone is sweating and nobody cares. Cute Argentinian boys are behind you, a lady experiencing hot flashes is on your right. The guy in front of you is wearing stilettos that are four inches tall and the guy to your left tells you about every five minutes that he’s “been waiting a long time for this.” As if I haven’t been waiting five years to see Adam Lambert perform with Queen in an amphitheater somewhere in Maryland. Puh-lease. The best kind of concerts are the concerts that are filled with the strangest kinds of people, because all of the sudden Adam Lambert is there in a gold-studded jacket singing “Who Wants to Live Forever” and we’re all crying and taking blurry pictures and singing our own off-key version as Adam holds his sparkling microphone out to the crowd. 

The other thing about concerts is that it is a very sad thing when they are over. Sometimes you’re standing there and someone spilled beer on you an hour ago and the couple in front of you is making out and you’re just like please get me out of here but then there are those concerts where all you see are the lights and all you hear is the music and then Queen + Adam Lambert perform the final song and walk offstage and you stand there like wait come back how on earth is it over already and then for the whole week following you refuse to listen to anything but “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Killer Queen.” 

The thing about last night was that it was the Queen + Adam Lambert concert in Maryland and I was there with my best friend and concert buddy and we were in the very front and we cried and sang and it was the best night. The thing about four years ago on August 29th was that my best friend and concert buddy were sitting in the fourth row of an amphitheater crying and singing with the Jonas Brothers, and the the thing about that is we are older and cooler and closer and prettier and more mature and more competent now then we were four years ago, but we still love concerts and we are still fangirls to the core. 

The thing about being 20 that nobody ever told me was that it’s okay to be a little crazy sometimes. It’s okay to still love the same things you loved when you were a freshmen in high school and it’s okay if your room is still messy and if sometimes the wonderful idea you had of making dinner results in burnt rice and dry chicken. You have new responsibilities and yes, by now you should have perfected the art of smiling and nodding in the way that grown ups do, but it doesn’t mean you have to go out and buy prescription sunglasses or assume Mr. Right is just around the corner and that before you know it you'll find yourself married, never to fangirl ever again (more on Mr. Right later, though...I have much to say on the subject.) Just be the you that you have always been. You’ll never have it all the way together, and the thing about being 20 that nobody ever told me is that’s okay. 

So keep loving One Direction, don’t be afraid to admit that Capri Sun is the best drink out there, pay your phone bill, and don’t forget to do what makes you smile every once in a while. The world would be a better place if we realize that we’re never really all the way grown up until we’re dead. That’s sort of depressing. I wonder if I should delete that last part. Whatever. We all know that the whole point of this blog post is that Adam Lambert was five feet away from me last night, so take it or leave it. 

Love Always

Christie

here's to goodbye // a memory

I don’t remember much about that day, but I feel like I remember everything. I don’t remember the weather, but I remember eating what would his last American meal for a year and we ate at Chipotle and laughed because his last American meal was Mexican food. I remember that the hospital was on the way to the airport, so we stopped by to see her, and it was his last time ever seeing her because she died two weeks after he left. I remember her saying that her favorite soda was Sprite, and I told her that Sprite was my favorite soda too, and that was the last thing I ever heard her say because the next time I saw her she didn’t recognize me. I remember it was a cordial hello and a casual goodbye, a “see you later” that I’ll always remember because we didn’t know that later meant never. I remember feeling like my heart was breaking a little more with every mile closer to the airport, because a year is a long time to be without a brother. I played my ukulele and sang annoying songs in an effort to lighten the mood, but it didn’t have much of an effect because I was the only one who was sad. I remember that there was traffic, and there was the palpable panic that always comes when a long-awaited flight threatens to be missed. The panic subsided and I sang a few more songs until my melancholy could be heard in my voice. I stopped singing because I didn’t want them to know how much I would miss him. Isn’t it a pity that sometimes there is so much you want to say but when the time comes to say it, you don’t speak because you don’t want everyone to know how strongly you feel, how violently you love, how much you hurt? He saw it, though, as much as I didn’t want him to. In the midst of awkward laughter and  saying that “well, I guess this is it” too many times, I cried and I hugged him and he knew. And when we walked back to the car, I remember that he forgot his iPod but it was too late for him to come back and get it. And as we wondered what he would listen to while flying over the ocean, we both cried, and I remember thinking that my dad must feel just as much as I do because he was crying like a person cries when he just feels too much. Then we used McDonald’s napkins to wipe our eyes and the drive back was quiet and we didn’t stop by the hospital again and I wish that we had.

Goodbyes hurt. They don’t hurt just because a year is a long time to be without a brother, but also because the person you are saying goodbye to won’t be the same person you say hello to a year later. Some people embrace change. They say that life is full of ups and downs and that “that’s just how things are.” I’m not like some people, and I don’t embrace the downs with the same enthusiasm that I embrace the ups, because I don’t think that the downs are meant to be embraced. When a cousin who you loved and would have died protecting slips away before anybody had a chance to realize it was time to say goodbye – we aren’t meant to embrace those kinds of downs. When your brother leaves for a year to live in Europe, of course I’ll toast to new adventures, but I’m not going to embrace being without him. I’m going to let myself be sad about the downs and look toward the ups, because that’s life. Life is goodbyes leading to hellos, a perpetual state of the closing and opening of doors, of transforming and growing into the person you are meant to be.

I was just listening to the most beautiful music and reading the most beautiful book and I remembered the day I said goodbye to my brother and to my cousin, and even though that was two years ago, it’s a day ingrained in my memory. My brother’s home in Richmond and sweet, sweet Katelyn is in heaven and things sure are different than they were 735 days ago.

Love, 

Christie 

(who is, obviously, feeling so ridiculously nostalgic. so sorry.)

second semester blues

I already know I’m going to fail. She told us our test would be today, and she told us two days ago. I know two out of thirty definitions, one out of ten diagrams, and I already know I’m going to fail. I’m in history class now, drinking Starbucks and ignoring the professor, falling into the same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone.

I never have liked spring. Everyone is looking toward summer and we all have subconsciously said our goodbyes. We’re all only halfway here. In winter, life is sedentary and we’ve prepared ourselves for the second semester that is seemingly unending. Spring is the end of the long run, the end of the never-ending, and the season of too many changes happening too fast. And so here I am, in this dull room lit up with flickering florescent lights, pretending to listen to a lecture about Teddy Roosevelt, all-too aware of the dismal future that lies ahead.

By “the dismal future” I mean the biology test next hour that I already know I’m going to fail. She drops the lowest test grade, and that thought gives me more comfort than it should. I had assumed that I’d save that lowest test grade for my last test of the semester – perhaps not show up for it or write something witty or turn it in blank with just my name at the top. Alas, here I am before only my second biology test of the semester, already knowing that I am going to fail. Already knowing that the rest of the semester will be a flurry of me paying an unusual amount of attention in biology, because my lowest test grade is in the books and I have to do well from here on out.

The same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone. Convincing myself that I’m trying my best as I watch New Girl and pretend to study, shrugging when I fail a test, telling myself it’s not a big deal. Telling myself I’ll make up for it later, and then report cards come out and I wonder why it seems that later never came. It didn’t seem like a big deal in high school, as I barely made it through four years of tests covered in red ink. It didn’t seem like a big deal because I thought that I would fail, even if I really did try. It didn’t seem like a big deal, because I believed that I was stupid.

Well, I guess I’m not stupid. I decided to try last semester and I had a 4.0 GPA. I’m still trying this semester and I’ve scored nothing lower than a B. So I guess, even though biology is just half an hour away and I already know I’m going to fail, I’m not stupid because even smart people fail when they don’t study. I guess, now that I know I’m not stupid, I can’t convince myself that I’m trying my best while I watch Modern Family and pretend to study. So the same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone can’t really happen this year, because I can’t use the “I’m bad at school” card if I get a bad grade. Because apparently I’m good at school, except when I don’t study, and I’m glad that my biology professor is going to drop this test because I already know I’m going to fail because I didn’t study. And I guess I should pay attention to my history professor in an effort to stay far, far away from that spring crisis I’m trying to avoid.

res·o·lu·tion || a firmness of purpose

Every year on New Year's Eve, so many people write inspirational Facebook statuses or send out quick tweets or selfies, enthusiastically exclaiming that "This is year is MY year!" And yes, perhaps I feel the same emotion and excitement that these zealous typers do, but in an effort to add some originality and specificity as to why exactly 2014 is my year, I'm sending out a blog post. It's up to you if you want to continue reading, but feel free to stop now. I have every reason to believe that this will turn into quite the self-evaluation. I'm even posting my New Year's resolutions, so watch out. Don't say I didn't warn you. 

2013 was an exhausting mixture of the best of times and the absolute worst of times. It's safe to assume that I welcomed 2014 with open arms and a relieved smile. As I sat and watched Ryan Seacrest narrate the dropping of the ball, a familiar nostalgia came over me and I wondered how on earth 365 days could hold so many ups and downs. Then the ball dropped and I watched people kiss each other in Times Square, couples creating a magical memories nearly identical to those of the hundreds of thousands of people surrounding them. And then I wondered if the next 365 days would be as much of a roller-coaster as the past 365 days had been, and I hoped not, and then I went to bed. 

The next day I woke up bright and early and went on a wonderful hike up a wonderful mountain with wonderful people, and I realized that 2014 could really be my year. Good years don't just happen, and neither do bad ones. It's not like the world just randomly decides to turn against you and then calls a truce once the year is up. Every year, every month, every week, every day is what you make of it. If I have a good day, it's because I chose to have a good day. If I happen to have a terrible day, chances are I had something to do with it. So, as I was happily dodging icy rocks and following a well-beaten path up a beautiful mountain on that splendid New Year's Day, I made a decision. If 2014 is going to be what I make of it, I want to make it good. A fairly simple decision, but a monumental one, given that I didn't exactly make 2013 the best of years. 

And that leads me to share with you my New Year's resolutions. If you like one of them, feel free to take it. This is just my list of what I believe that I have to do in order to make this year great. 

1. Join a writer's group
2. Read poetry
3. Drink green tea
4. Go to California
5. Volunteer at a soup kitchen
6. Keep a memory jar
7. Make a new lifelong friend
8. Read everything C.S. Lewis
9. Exercise regularly
10. Be kind
11. Go hiking (alot)
12. Learn sign language
13.  Love unconditionally 
14. Memorize 10 chapters of the Bible*

And there you have it. 2014 in a nutshell. One of my favorite qualities about myself (and I don't have many, so don't think I'm bragging by any means) is that when I make a goal, I reach that goal. I don't have any reason to believe that these resolutions will be any different. I plan to keep each and every one of them, and I'm so excited to see how the year pans out. Best of luck and much, much joy to you all in 2014! May it be the best of years for all of us. 

Love, 
Christie 
XOXO

*Romans 12 

James 1 

1 Peter 1

1 Corinthians 13 

 1 John 1 

   Philippians 2:1-18 

Philippians 3:7-20 

Ephesians 4 

 Ephesians 6:1-18

Galatians 6:1-10

to me, from me || read it if you want

I don't know that there is a scarier place to be than alone with my thoughts at the inexplicably enlightening time that is 2AM on a Friday morning. 

It was when I caught myself sobbing at the end of a Gossip Girl marathon while eating probably too many helpless and slightly deformed gingerbread men that I realized it was time to pull up my blog and write. Before that, of course, I played a few songs from my Sad Playlist and cried a few tears and tried to organize my brain in order figure out why, exactly, I was crying. It turns out that my out-of-control-emotions were not cause of Blair and Serena's dysfunctional friendship, but had more to do with absolutely everything else. What my scattered thoughts and broken ideas eventually gathered together to tell me was this: growing up is a process. 

I have blogged many a time on the horrors and fears and tears and regrets that come along with growing up. About the bittersweet memories and the fond farewells that I hold close to my heart as I journey from childhood to adulthood. Upon going back and reading such musings, I'm kind of embarrassed. A single blog post bidding my childhood good-bye is not going to end my childhood or begin my life as an adult. Graduating high school was an end and a beginning of a season, as was traveling to and from Africa and Europe, or beginning college this past semester. As will be finishing college, getting married, having children, and all of those things that seem so unrealistic and far away. Not a single one of those wonderful adventures, however, is an end of a childhood or a beginning of an adulthood. Sure, I'll be an adult. Maybe I'm even an adult now. But that doesn't mean I'm done "growing up". Yeah, I'll be a 30 years old with a super-handsome husband living in the suburbs of a big city (it's going to happen, guys) but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly done learning and growing. 

Growing up is a friend that is with us until we leave the earth. We never stop growing and I don't believe that we ever really say goodbye to being a kid. I just saw the new Disney movie "Frozen" the other night, and I was just as captivated by it as I would have been if I was ten. I still listen to my Camp Rock soundtrack and find joy in walking barefoot through the grass. I see my peers running to and fro from work to school to friends to family to sleep to work to school and I never see anyone stop and look and wonder. I see kids ask questions and become fascinated with the simplest things in life, and if "becoming an adult" means losing that sense of wonder, I don't ever want to grow up all the way. 

All I am saying is this. I want to remain as captivated as a child by the simple beauties this world gifts us with, and I want to remain open-minded and ready to learn and grow as I venture through this life. I never want to reach a place in my life where I stop and say "This is it. This is my best," because I always want to be striving for more. 

Growing up is scary, but haven't we all been growing up all along? Nothing has changed. There is nothing bad about starting new seasons of life and ending old ones - as long as it's time for the old ones to end and the new ones to begin. Take a deep breath, don't look back, and keep living and learning and growing. 

I'm talking to myself, here guys. It's my attempt to tell myself that the fact that I'll be 20 in a couple months isn't really as scary as it seems.

My brain is tired. Time to close my computer and sleep. 

Love Christie