My Life in A Variety of Places

A Little Bit of My Life in Washington

The first time I ever saw Washington state, ever stepped foot on the western side of the U.S. for that matter, was when I was 20 years old and headed to a math research program for the summer. My first observation sitting in a car belonging to a then stranger but soon to be good friend was, “wow, the trees here are so much pointier.”

I remember this moment today as a pause from the stressful thoughts bouncing around my head and appreciate the January sky. There was a lovely sunset tonight and no rain. A tree caught my eye, and smiled at the memory. The evergreens are the trees I was noticing that day. Here in the Pacific Northwest (PNW) the trees are so tall: not just the ones in the forests, but the ones beside my house, the ones in the city, and of course the ones in the national parks. It feels like they would tower above the pine trees of Georgia. The ones as a child that felt so tall. The trees here are beautiful and bring me joy when I remember to notice them.

This is my favorite city tree. It’s just so tall for a tree in the city.

I wanted to insert some fun science here comparing the average height of trees in Georgia with the ones in Washington; however, either my google searching skills are rusty or it’s legitimately difficult to find such information. I will say, the numbers I saw for Washington were generally larger, so an educated but very unscientific guess says, yes on average the trees here are taller.

I remember that day 7ish years ago in the car, absolutely loving looking at the hills of Seattle from a distance and seeing all the various colored houses built into them. It’s still one of my favorite views. The gorgeous lakes with the backdrop of hills filled with a variety of houses. [A good number of houses here are painted bright colors. Shades of pink, and bright blues, and blue-greens, that I’m not used to in the south, and that I’m convinced were chosen in defiance to the greyness of the weather.]

Twenty-year-old Sam wasn’t struck by all the green of the PNW, although she did notice a plethora of coffee stands. She didn’t know all the subtle ways Washington is different from the Southeastern part of the U.S. or all the ways it is very similar. I’m beginning to learn that sometimes it takes living in a place a bit longer to notice differences. Perhaps that is what is so intriguing to me about traveling, particularly the idea of visiting a country for a couple of months; it gives you a chance to observe differences. It creates a small window into discerning which things humans do as part of human nature versus those that are culturally acquired.

I would like to clarify as I continue to point out some of the differences I have noticed; I am not saying the differences are necessarily good or bad. They just are… well, different.

The grocery stores here are different. I’m not just talking about the names of the stores, but what they carry and how they are laid out. It’s a very slight difference, one that took me about a month to notice it was causing me some frustration. It is small things like the fact that wheat pasta is hard to spot on the shelf among all the gluten-free alternatives. The fact that the isle with frozen potatoes has only a few options and doesn’t take up half an aisle. I remember thinking once when I lived in Tennessee: “Americans and their frozen potatoes. It’s hilarious that we love them so much they get their own heading and section.” It turns out, it’s not Americans in general. Maybe it’s southern? Maybe it’s a rural thing? I’m not sure, but I will admit I miss having all the options.

With most items, it’s not that the stores do not have them, it’s just the number of options on the shelves and sometimes the brands are different from what I’m often used to. Even vegetables and fruits seem to go bad at slightly different rates here.

You might have thought earlier when I mentioned the layout of the stores are different, “of course, don’t we all feel that when we walk into a store that is not our local store?” However, my gut feels like it is more than that. I remember shopping in college and a friend wondering where something might be, and I would say “oh, that will be over on the isle with x.”

After a couple of visits to a store in Georgia or Tennessee, I would know the general layout of the place. This combined with having a general sense of what type of products get put next to each other, navigating a store, and shopping in the most logical order was pretty second nature to me. (Or if it wasn’t second nature, I could text my mom and ask where an item might be.)

I can’t quantify it or prove it, but I think things are paired a bit differently here. The metaphor I’ve come up with for moving to Washington is navigating life feels like how it would if walked into your house and suddenly everything had moved six inches to the left. Everything would feel familiar, but also just a bit off.

Another thing that I have learned is the summer vibe is very fast-paced in Seattle. It makes sense, the sun is shining, the weather hangs out in the mid to low seventies, and the wildflowers are blooming in the mountains. Summer is this breathtakingly beautiful, but also small window to be outside. Summer is filled with hikes, kayaking, sailing, paddle boarding, laying on the beaches, mountain climbing, camping, backpacking, and more.

You can feel the rush in the air. The desire to be outside and cherish the weather is contagious. Occasionally, you’ll hear a native Seattlite murmur that they are ready for the rain again. It’s been sunny for too long. (Some of this comes from drought concerns, but I also heard people say that it is just too much sunniness.)

The days in the summer are long here. The sunsets around 9 pm in contrast to the 4:30pm sunsets of the winter months. You can decide to go for a walk at 8 pm and still have plenty of time. What feels the most strange to me, is when there isn’t a heatwave, you could spend the entire day outside. It’s never really hot enough to swim in the ocean without a wetsuit, and you want to pick a warm day to jump into a lake. For the most part, going for a hike early is more about parking than avoiding the heat of the day.

I’ve read books set in the south that talk about the long lazy days of summer. The weird nostalgia of the heat, the humidity, and the general stickiness. In my head, lazy summer days were a thing of the past. After all, blessed A.C. makes the outside temperature a moot point, right? Yet, there is still something different to a southern summer. A summer where if you are going to go for a run, a walk, or a hike your motivation to get up early is definitely the heat. A place where you avoid all outdoor activities, sometimes even swimming in the hottest part of the day. A place where outdoor activities come with a fresh set of bug bites for free.

It can feel pretty draining just to get into a car that’s been sitting out in the 90-degree heat all day. Any southerner knows well that gross sticky feeling that comes from walking around a strip mall or small town with friends and then sitting down at a restaurant in clothes that are damp with sweat. All that heat combined with the knowledge that it’s not going anywhere until early October (if we’re lucky) merges together to create a slower pace.

These differences between the states are beautiful to me. I miss the feeling of baking in the southern sunshine, of being truly warm to my core, and the smell of Georgia pines. Yet, I love seeing blackberries everywhere I look and going for long walks in the summer evenings in Washington. I miss the winter sunshine and the long winter walks I can go on in Georgia. Yet, I love the abundance of evergreens and being able to wear cozy sweaters in Washington. Therefore, today I’m grateful, grateful for variety and difference, and mostly trees. Trees are pretty cool.

That’s all for now. Love ya, bye.

Blackberry Cake to Celebrate WA’s Abundance

P.S. The pictures in this post mostly come from a few of the adventures I went on this summer in Washington as I embraced the busy summer spirit.

To Settle

It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m sitting in the house that I rent with three other people in Lynnwood, WA. There’s snow on the ground outside (not typical for this area), and I’m by the fire and listening to instrumental music by Yasmin Williams. (Shout-out to one of my new WA friends for introducing me to her music.) I’ve inadvertently arrived at the perfect setting to feel a bit nostalgic, reflective, creative, and maybe even hopeful. That is the perfect setting to write a blog post.

I’ve lived in this suburb of Seattle for about six months now. It doesn’t really surprise me when I think about the last six months of life, or even the last year to know that I haven’t written a blog post in a long time. I’ve written a few in my head, but honestly, I wondered if I was done with the phase of my life.

Sunset walk, celebrating the rare siting of sun in November

When I think over the last six months of my life, the only word that comes to mind is swirly. It feels all so very swirly. For a person who loves math, organization, and planning… swirly is not a very familiar (or if I’m being honest welcome) feeling. I’m not sure that swirly is a strong enough word, to express the feeling I’m trying to describe. It’s almost as if when I think about the last six months I feel dizzy. If I feel dizzy just thinking about the last six months, what was living it like? I should know, being the one to live it and all, but as I mentioned before when I think about it, I get a bit dizzy.

Perhaps, that is why as I tried to think about if I had any goals for the upcoming year, the only thing that comes to mind is that I want to settle. Not to be settled, not to feel settled, but to actively settle.

You might be wondering, “what in the world does that even mean?” (don’t worry, I am too). I think it’s a bit hard to describe, but as the saying goes, “I’ll give it the old college try.”

To settle, does not really have an association to location for me. I think it is pretty normal to still feel unsettled and new at six months when you just moved all the way across a country as big as the U.S. Also if this blog is any evidence, I really like to be in new places. In fact, with my Enneagram 1 personality and love of travel, I would say that one of the ways I know how “to settle” is to travel. I love the gradual peace and happiness that washes over me when I’m staring at a gorgeous view in a brand new place.

Ok, so to settle doesn’t mean location. If I’m giving it the old college try, I ought to google some things. Here are a few definitions of settle that I found:

to place as to stay
to establish residence
to make quiet or orderly
to establish or secure permantly
to arrange in a desired position
to come to rest
to sink gradually or to the bottom

Settle for: to be content with

Settle the stomach: to remove or relieve the distress of nausea of indigestion

What would it mean “to settle” in my spirit? In my soul? In my mind? In my body? In my heart?

Perhaps, my mind becomes quiet and orderly by sinking gradually into my body and establishing residence within my soul.

Maybe I can find rest in my soul when I become content with my spirit, yet remove or relieve distress from my mind.

Slowly thinking through these definitions and these words brings a quietness to mind. Perhaps this year, my litmus test for decisions will be what things led to feeling settled.

I’m aware that many of my life choices involve doing the brave thing. They often seem the opposite of settling. Furthermore, as a counseling student, I am continuously endeavoring to feel my feelings more. Feelings can be quiet swirly, so now I’m left wondering what it might look like to settle but not to shut out my feelings?

Learning to settle my body feels like the most tangible on the list. I’ve learned a bit about breathing exercises and mindfulness in my studies. I have a love-hate relationship with these things. I think they can be prescribed as a cure-all and easy fixes to anxiety. Yet, the truth is everyone has to find their right version of these things and there’s no simple “fix” to anxiety.

Certain breathing exercises cause frustration for me because counting doesn’t soothe me and I get annoyed when I lose track. Noticing my thoughts without judging them can be extremely difficult depending on what kind of day I’m having. Creating a calming picture in my mind almost works, but isn’t quite there. Repeating a word over and over again to myself while sitting in a group doing the same gives my mind too much space to wander and I end up feeling worse than when I started.

I have found a few things that I like. There’s the butterfly hug which involves crossing your arms in a self hug and tapping on your collarbone rhythmically (there are youtube videos of it). I find it peaceful, but also not something you would do if you are trying to be covert about your anxiety-reducing activities. A pretty simple one is breathing in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth trying to exhale slower than you inhale. I also like progressive muscle relaxation or body scans (meditation body scan is a good thing to look up on youtube). These things actually calm me and make me feel more settled. I didn’t like all of these the first time I tried them or even the fourth time. Yet, slowly but surely they have become comforting. Therefore, in an effort to settle my body, my tangible goal for the new year is to alternate yoga with mindful meditation exercises everyday.

Rhythms also come to mind when I think of being settled. Prayer can be a rhythm to settle the soul. Going for walks helps to settle my mind and my body. Painting feeds my heart and my spirit. Yet, I often do not make time for these things if I haven’t established them as a habit, a rhythm, a way of life.

As I walk out of a year, filled with grief, transition, and a lot of disappointment, I wonder and truthfully worry what the new year will hold. Losing a friend, one so young, and so dear has made contemplating the future challanging. When you lose one so close, you grieve not only what was but what you had expected to come, all the laughter, adventures, support, and big life events. It’s harder for me to have goals than it used to be. Why have goals when the future throws so many curve balls?

Reflecting with a friend this past week reminded me how vastly and quickly my life has changed in the last 3.5 years. From math grad school, having post-concussive syndrome, living in Switzerland for a bit, then COVID started, then I lived in Virginia for a bit, to switching career paths and starting counseling grad school, to living in Georgia and then moving to Seattle. My twenties have been filled with so much change. It’s been stressful and uncertain. Two feelings with which, a world in the midst of a pandemic most likely resonates.

Therefore, it makes sense that I’m still wary of having goals and dreams, of hoping for things uncertain. And, yet, I crave the old optimism of previous years. Hebrews 11:1 states: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” I wonder more now what it means to have “confidence in what we hope for.” I’m curious about what assurance actually feels like. Perhaps, this journey I am on is what happens when you learn to replace optimism with hope, certainty with assurance.

So as I hold the new year in my heart and ponder the words “to settle”, quietness and peace wash over me. A flicker of hope emerges, and a smile rises to my face.

That’s all for now. Happy New Year Everyone.

Brokeness Aside and a Little Bit of Colorado

Boulder, CO: Photo Credit Goes to Nicole Raisin

One of my favorite songs is called “Brokenness Aside”. It’s a Christian song by the band All the Sons and Daughters. When I first heard it, I was in church and feeling the discomfort that comes with hearing a song for the first time that you’re trying to sing. Add onto that discomfort the awkwardness that comes with the first time a congregation sings a new song and it is pretty hard to like the song. The words were different than a lot of praise music. It felt more personal, something my Presbyterian upbringing found uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure I liked it. In fact, I hoped we wouldn’t sing it again.

Later that week, I had an epiphany about grace. I had grown up with the teaching of grace, but my depression put me in the seat of feeling completely worthless, completely broken. All the new teachings I had been learning at my new church about having value and the way God sees his children did not line up with brokenness, my brokenness. I loved learning about how God sings over his children, listening to songs like “You Say” by Lauren Daigle, and picturing a God that was more than just the harsh one of my childhood. But I didn’t know how to reconcile these two things.

I talked to my counselor and in walked the idea of grace. I learned at my new church that grace is defined as unmerited favor. Evangelicals, Christians, are very good at saying the words “there’s grace for that,” but never actually extending Grace. Humans like rules, and religion falls into the legalistic trap for a reason.

In those months, at that moment, I was experiencing my dark night of the soul. I was facing my own emotional, mental, and physical limitations, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like feeling broken. Depression does that, brings you to your knees to your limits. It steals your energy and your hope. All the striving I normally do was just too much. I think I was experiencing true grace for the first time. The song, “Brokenness Aside” came alive for me. The singer asks for grace and love and all she knows how to do is cry. The words suddenly felt personal and spoke directly to me.

I felt free and a new depth of understanding. It resulted in a much-needed endorphin high. I’ll never forget the feeling of playing it on repeat on my way to the volunteer gig I was doing that summer, smiling from ear to ear. The song has the following line: “you take brokenness aside and make it beautiful.” I felt that to my soul and through my core. That I could be beautiful even in the brokenness.

I’m not sure what that means for me now, but I feel the brokenness deep within my bones. I miss Emily. I still can’t believe she’s gone most days. I’m exhausted from some personal relationships and learning about boundaries. I’m tired of hurting and I’m tired of seeing my friends hurting. This season has contained so many setbacks, disappointment, loss, and so much brokenness. I don’t know how this can be redeemed. I don’t know what taking brokenness aside means right now. But I’m holding on to that memory, and a tiny thread of hope, that somehow, someday that line will feel true again.

Denver Hiking Thoughts:

All of the pictures from this post are from Panorama point trail in Colorado. The trail didn’t quite live up to it’s name (there was no panoramic view at the top); however, this is what I had always pictured Colorado to be: fresh air, evergreens, and snow topped mountains in the distance.

The timing of the trip was based on a brief window that my Spring breaks for schooling and working at a school overlapped. I hadn’t entirely thought through the whole snow thing and started reading reviews for hikes talking about needing spikes for the ice this time of year. It was a short trip, and we weren’t really up for a snow spike needing hikes. I was super grateful to find this trail that had a bit of ice, but but nothing too scary. Reading AllTrails’ comments and looking at the date they were left is supper helpful. Especially in places with lots of hikers there’s usually good information about trail conditions! (Also reading the comments helps me know if a trail rated “easy” is actually easy, or easy for a native denverite who spends all their spare time scaling mountains.)

It was beautiful, chilly, and sunny out. The perfect weather for a hike and for an apprearance of flat Katherine 2.0.

Well that’s all for know folks, love ya bye!

Denver Memories and A Bit of Current Grief

I started this post with this paragraph when I was in Denver: “In case, it wasn’t obvious I love going new places and COVID has really thrown a wrench in my hopes and dreams around traveling. However, the stars aligned, and this trip was planned, life happened and the trip got changed a bit, (I internally and a bit externally panicked that it wasn’t going to happen), a friend couldn’t come anymore, but we made some adjustments and the trip was on!”

One direction red rocks, the other green hills with snow remnants

Dear past Sam, so much excitement and joy. The vivid blue skies and mountain air barely feel real anymore. They’ve already become like a distance memory.

Current Sam is feeling that this week has been long and slow and heavy. My grief is mixing with the feelings of exhaustion that come with wrapping up the school year. I teach a sixth-grade math class and I work in the lunchroom. The teacher/school employee end-of-the-year burn-out is real. Add to that being in the middle of the short trimester of counseling grad school (the trimester that moves way too fast), and I’m honestly a little confused about which emotion is coming from where. Am I stressed about school work? Lacking patience for my students? Am I feeling lost missing Emily? Does it even matter which thing I’m feeling?

In some ways, I feel like I have regressed in this whole grief thing. The weightiness has returned and the mind fog is dense. I’m not sure if I even believe grief regression is even a thing, but I still wonder about it. The truth probably lies within my type one personality. It sees that homework pile and less than stellar paper I turned in last week and is starting to put the pressure on. “Sam, snap out of it. Sam, push through. Sam, Sam.”

My counselor mentioned, “you know many people would take a semester off after something like this.” I laugh. Life feels like such a circle sometimes. I didn’t quit the semester I had the concussion and the post-concussive syndrome. I scaled back, but I didn’t quit. So I try to do the same now, scale back but keep walking. I don’t really know if that’s the smart choice, but it’s the one I’m making. I of course have dreams of going to L’Abri, grieving in the hills and in the beauty. If the timing were right, if COVID barriers were gone, I’d be on a plane yesterday.

My friends are reminding me to be kind to myself, to take things slows, that it’s ok not to be at top energy levels. I want to give myself permission to talk about Denver and the fun. To feel my grief but also to walk out of it too.

I look at this photo from Denver and the idea of climbing that staircase right now with my current energy levels feels laughable. You see, my friend, Nicole and I definitely felt the whole one mile-high altitude of Denver. We went on a little hike and then climbed to the top of the amphitheater. We took our time as we watched the Denverites run up and down the stairs. Altitude makes me queasy, it made it hard for Nicole to breathe. I was super thankful to be there with my friend Nicole, a fellow Georgian, and not one of the Denverites casually running up and down the 380 stairs at 6,000 feet altitude.

On the subject of altitude, the altitude plus jet lag combined to make us both a bit loopy. (Well it made me loopy, I won’t speak for Nicole). It’s that feeling you get when you’re a kid and you stay up really late at a sleepover. You and your friends are laughing at everything, and life feels light and joyful.

When we arrived in Denver we took a shuttle to the car rental place (my first time ever renting a car!!! Ya for being old enough!) and then headed out to find someplace to eat because it was a little too early to check into the Air Bnb. I had found a recommendation for an Arepas place that sounded really good. We went to the wrong place, walked in, sat down, and then realized it. The place we were at was super trendy: cocktails, weird furniture, beautiful sunshine, but our hearts were set on arepas. So we left and laughed at ourselves as the hostesses watched us look around confused and walk across the street to the other place.

Post delicious food we went to return to our car. I may have definitely walked right past our car. I turned around and noticed Nicole was not with me. It turns out that she had been trying to open a car door. She laughed at her failed attempt to “break-in.” And I laughed that she thought that small SUV was our car…. and we kept walking. After a while we realized we had gone too far (well Nicole realized). We turned around and retraced our steps.

Nicole told me to look for the yellow umbrellas that she had noted as our landmark that we parked beside (I internally rolled my eyes, what good is a landmark I can’t plug into my GPS, but I couldn’t say much because I had forgotten the name of the restaurant we had parked near). Low, and behold, I spotted the yellow umbrellas in the distance. We walked to our car and realized that Nicole’s earlier break-in attempts were indeed on this very car. My lesson for the day, pay more attention to what the car I’m driving actually looks like. (Also I think hatchbacks are weird.)

Most importantly, travel with people who can laugh when little hiccups happen along the way because they for sure happen.

Well, that’s all for now folks. Love ya, bye!

P.S. I wrote this like 2 weeks ago, but forgot to finish it… my bad.

Beautiful Flowers and A Grieving Heart

Trigger Warning: This post contains a conversation about suicide.

The sun is shining on my back as I write this. There is a soft cool breeze, an airplane passing overhead, birds chirping, and the sound of Dougie walking through leaves nearby. My heart doesn’t know how to write, how to form sentences, and coherent thoughts. Grief, for me, feels like a heaviness. I’ve described it as walking through water, everything just takes more effort than normal. That’s not a perfect metaphor, because my arms feel heavy and weighty even when I’m not moving, and my heart feels heavy too. My brain feels slower connecting two thoughts or two dots is so much harder than normal.

I’m learning that grief doesn’t look the same for everyone, even when we are grieving a similar loss. Even my own grief feels weird and unfamiliar. Manifesting feelings of weightiness and heaviness one moment, but feeling normal another moment, wanting to feel sad in another but not being able to conquer feelings at a meer whim.

I guess I should back up a step and say why I’m grieving. My dear friend Emily died of suicide recently. She had been battling depression and anxiety for a very long time. She was in my inner circle of friends. I’m not sure there’s been a more appropriate time in my life to use the word, devastated. I’m devastated by this loss.

The pictures in this post are either from Gibb’s gardens, my backyard, or the Silver Comet trail, Rockmart trail entrance. I’ve had this set of pictures for a while now, but I never had enough words, enough “content” to make an actual post. Emily was an artist. She loved beautiful things in that special way only one who loves art can. Flowers being something she would paint or gather, as well as something one gives at a funeral feels rather appropriate for this post. Perhaps, much better than the stray ideas I had come up with before.

My previous idea was to start the post with the sentence: “Fred has really changed the way that I see the world. It’s only been a few weeks, but I see the flowers and the trees and the sky in a whole new light!” This is my attempt at humor because Fred is what I have named my camera. The battery is Bertha, and the backup batteries are the twins. I was going to follow up with the sentence “don’t get too excited, Fred is my camera, not a new boyfriend.” I can’t remember if I told Em this joke, but I know she would have at least given me a pity laugh. I also know that I got the quirky idea to name my camera from being friends with Emily. She definitely approved of me naming my camera.

It’s true that the camera changed the way I looked at the world and look for colors and contrast and lighting. It’s a bit heartbreaking to think that not long ago I was thinking about my blog, what to say, wondering if I make a post about Denver before the flowers, does that somehow ruin the integrity of the blog, since it wouldn’t be in order? I was flying back home and thinking about the drive and how tired I’d be once I got home. My headspace mere weeks ago was so different, so normal.

When I landed for my layover in Baltimore from Denver a text came up on my phone from Emily’s sister. She asked me to call her when I could. I knew Emily, I knew her struggles, and I knew this text would be bad news. I maybe arrogantly thought, Emily might need me. I need tomorrow off work, or to go straight to her instead of home. I should call and find out what has happened.

So I made the call from the airport. Her sister asked me if I was sitting down and then told me the news that we had lost Emily. My brain didn’t really believe it, but tears were instantly in my eyes. I didn’t say much on that phone call – I guess there wasn’t much to say.

My friend who was traveling with me came back from the bathroom. She knew Emily too. I told her through the tears and then continued to cry. It’s odd how the body works. My professor Doug Shirely says our bodies are always the first and last to know something. In my mind, this news didn’t feel real. She must just be in a hospital. This was not supposed to happen. Despite my brain denying reality, the tears didn’t stop.

A kind man in the airport asked if I was okay. I nodded my head but didn’t stop crying. I thought wryly, at least my concussion got me used to crying in public. The man came over and offered me some of a roll of toilet paper to use for tissues. He told me to take as much as needed.

Small mercies, small mercies are what I look for right now. I am glad my friend was traveling with me, I’m glad the stranger cared that I was crying. I’m glad that my online counseling classes were on break when this happened.

I wrote the first half of this post about a week and a half after I had heard the news. It’s been almost four weeks now and I finally feel up to editing it and adding on.

My mom suggested I write a blog, what to say, and what not to say to people when they’re grieving. As I love being a know-it-all, I mean teaching, I decided to add a bit of that here.

A weird fact about me is that often in dark times I have brief vivid moments where I sense that I’m doing this really hard thing right or well. I felt that with depression and at times with the concussion depression. It sucked, I cried a lot, but I also went to a counselor, brushed my teeth, and called my people. I kept taking steps even when it was scary or hard.

In this grief, I knew that I wanted to feel sad. I wanted to cry and ask all the cliche hard-to answer questions. I reached out to so many friends because I’m an external processor. I asked them the hard questions: why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she call someone? All the why questions and all of the what if’s. Questions that I might talk about more someday, but right now still feel too real and too raw.

I knew I needed the space to voice these questions. Now that I have, I think all the questions are less about answers and more about pain. I needed to and still feel the need to put words to all the hurt and pain inside me, all of the layers that come with grief. My friends helped me and help me by listening, by saying how hard this must be, by reminding me of how I’m a good friend to them and must have been to her as well. They don’t stop me from feeling the pain or try and invalidate it, they just hold it for me.

I grieve hard and in some ways fast. My brain works fast. I remember lots and lots of information and I tend to lean in when things get hard. The thing to remember about grief is that it’s different for everyone. I grieved in a way that fits my personality and my life story: external processor, logical, personal experience with depression, counseling student, a believer in being counter-cultural, etc. I live my life at about 99% stress level, so I had to scale back for a bit. I needed time off from work to grieve in this way. I ditched all my plans of reading before the semester, and I slept more and watched more television than I had in months.

A question that I got asked that I didn’t realize how healing it would be was the invitation to talk about my friend. People asked in a gentle and nondemanding way, “would you like to tell me what she was like?” I have hours and hours of stories and with her being at the front of my mind, it feels raw yet healing to describe her, to tell my stories. The response when I do is usually along the lines of “I can see how much you loved her” or “she sounds really wonderful.” These are helpful words to hear. My advice is to be genuine and be kind.

Another thing I knew I needed was to lay on my picnic blanket, listen to sad music, and cry. I love nature, I always loved Emily’s picnic blanket, and I knew the simplicity would make me feel close to her. I also found myself scrolling through her Instagram and her Facebook. I miss her voice in my life. I miss hearing her input when I panic message a group text thread about a stressful life event. Her social media allowed me to spend time with her voice, to think about the context behind the pictures only a good friend really knows. I sat down at some point and made some art inspired by her work and her style. I didn’t really do this intentionally, but the combination of the school I attend and thinking about Emily combined into art taking shape in my mind. These things were hard, they made my heart ache, and often the tears spill out, but in some small way they were cathartic, maybe even neccessary.

On the subject of what not to do to comfort someone in grief, I would say not to make assumptions. Listening is key. And don’t assume how the person is feeling or what the person needs to heal or grieve. Consider your relationship to the person grieving. If you don’t know them well and they’re in the middle of a task or trying to keep it together, that’s not a great time for condolences. Open an invitation to talk, but don’t feel bad if the grieving person doesn’t take you up on it, or if they do but it’s two weeks later.

I have friends who find the cliche of “she would have wanted ______,” really hard to swallow.

A big one for me is the word “choice”. I absolutely hate it when people say they are sorry my friend made that “choice.” I have a long mental health rant about the word, but for now let’s just say the topic of suicide holds a lot of stigma and the word choice is not great. Anyway, the word misses the point, I’m sad that my friend is gone. Does the way it happened make it harder? Maybe, I’m not sure I could ever know the answer to that. However, I would prefer if people would just say, I am really sorry for your loss.

And before you bring it up at all ask yourself, “am I offering condolences to be kind, or to make myself feel better?” If you aren’t close with a person or the timing is weird, it’s ok to wait, to send a text, an email, to talk to them after their shift, or on their break. The grieving person’s world has fallen apart, treat them with so much kindness.

Kindness is a notion I would like to end this post with, a helpful reminder that I have received from the counseling world is to be kind and gentle with myself. It’s okay to be low energy. It’s okay to take it slow, ask for what you need, and accomplish less than normal. Grief is heavy and hard and western culture doesn’t make much space for it.

Be kind and take up all the space you need.

Breathe in, and breathe out.

Take it one moment at a time,

and remember that you are loved.

Utah Part 3: About Solo Hikes and Body Image

I wrote the hiking and adventure parts of this post a long time ago and never got around to editing it. However, I reread it today and it still rang true. In fact, a piece of me misses this past empowered feeling version of Sam, so I decided to share.

Today is a beautiful fall day in Georgia. The kind that makes me long for a good hike or to sit on a picnic blanket with a group of good friends. There’s a perfect breeze in the air and gloomy clouds of yesterday have parted to reveal the bright sun. However, today’s post is about a hike I took in August, on a day where the air was dry and hot, but I felt just as alive.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for some time, the day on that mountain felt so profound and hopeful that I wanted to write something to hold on to that moment. As I picked up a book this morning that encouraged me to pounder a moment of joy, I thought of Utah and I thought of this hike. As the pastor encouraged the congregation (through my computer screen) to quiet the noise of the world and listen to the holy spirit, to get out into nature, I thought of my deep love of hikes.

Now dear reader, you may not be one for nature or hiking (although if you are reading this, you probably are); however, perhaps this post will encourage you to try it or its equivalent for you.

Why Solo Hiking?

I love a good hike, for oh so many reasons. My friend and I admitted to each other that our favorite hikes were solo ones. I cannot speak to her reasons, but mine are numerous. When one is walking alone, they can go at their own pace. They can stop when needing a breath or wishing to take in a view. There is no pressure to keep pace or slow down. There is no (or very little) embarrassment about breathing heavy or wanting to stare at an interesting tree.

Through years of media, P.E. classes, and social pressure; deep within me is an embarrassment around exercising. I never was the fastest person or thinnest person. I spent years embarrassed about my clothes and assuming I was unhealthy. I was never taught to feel my heart pounding, deep breathing, and legs shaking as a testemant to how much our bodies can do or as a collaboration of science and creation that sustains life.

Salt Lake + My first and only two piece bathing suit

I was taught that those were signs of not being in shape, not being fit enough, or in essence not being good “enough”. I’m not blaming anyone; I am merely acknowledging that the U.S. is deeply embedded in diet culture. A culture that assumes shame will cause change (or at least cause the desire to purchase products that promise change). A culture that aligns thinness with health and in a weird Catch 22 simultaneously judges “fat” people for exercising as well as for not. I am grateful that we live in an ever-changing world. One that has begun to recognize this harm. One that has begun to sell clothes in a wider range of sizes and celebrate people who look different. However, I would be lying to say that the culture has totally changed and that all harm has been lost. I’m still working on it and learning, and I still love a good solo-hike. A hike where I can breathe deep the fresh air and push myself all the way to the top to see a lovely view. (I’ll tell you a secrete: I love going up more than down. Finding my footing among the rocks, hoisting my weight, using the momentum to keep going.)

Now the joy of exercising alone is not the only reason a solo-hike fills my soul. I love the adventure of it all: finding the path on my own, embarking on “uncharted” territory, feeling strong and whole in a world where it can be difficult to be strong and whole, the quiet, being alone with my thoughts, communing with God. In the woods, I feel the closest to who God created me to be. (When I’m not regretting choosing such a long hike).

What about safety? To be honest, I rarely feel unsafe on a hike. The likelihood that I will be attacked is much greater in a parking garage, and the likelihood I’ll get injured in an accident is much greater when driving or riding in a car. There are precautions, to be sure. A newbie hiker should start off small, one should make sure to listen to their body and not push too hard, check the weather, pick a well-traveled and wel-marked trail, etc.

However, I would be ying if I didn’t admit the feminist in me loves a good solo-hike. It reminds me how strong women are, we bear the weight of the world on our shoulders, the weight of emotions and hormones and childbirth, yet we have somehow bought into the lie that we are weak. Hiking reminds me, I am not weak. Sure solo-hiking is more dangerous that watching Netflix. But is it really, when one thinks of the soul benefits of a good hike? Life is dangerous. As a Christian, I am baffled a bit by the desire to live in complete safety. God calls us live in risk, to follow him and we will not be alone (not that we will be safe). For me that means, moving across the country, visiting a new city, starting a new career path, and yes indulging in a good solo-hike. It wasn’t until my therapist told me that the Holy Spirit draws us into risk, so that we may trust him, that I made that connection to my adventurous spirit. There’s so much freedom in knowing that my longing for adventure is a gift, a virtue, and not a vice. So next time someone young tells you they like a good solo-hike, maybe quiet your nerves and ask them what’s their favorite part.

A Small Adventure

The Great Salt Lake smells, well terrible. It’s all the brine shrimp, the only thing that can live in its saltiness. The locals never swim in it because again the smell. However, my adventurous side decided it was a bucket list type thing. My friend graciously agreed to drive the long distance to the park despite not desiring to embark on this adventure herself.

When we got to the park we spent some time looking for buffalo and taking pictures. As it drew closer to sunset we walked over to the beach of Salt Lake. We were disgusted (and maybe a little fascinated) by the brine shrimp flies that flew away in a swarm as we approached. (I have a pretty awesome video where you can see them, but free WordPress won’t let me add it. Also, the creepiness was in the noise, which I was unable to capture).

Kirsten cheered me on from the safety of the shore as I waded in. To my disappointment the water never got deep, so had to settle for a shallow float. I did, however, feel the extra buoyancy given by the concentration salt and was fascinated to see the salt patterns form on my legs. I also felt the satisfaction of a small adventure accomplished.

Instagram Worthy Quotes

At the Seattle school, I’ve been learning a lot about mind-body dualism. Which is just a fancy way to say our world sees the mind as completely separate from the body, and as the body as the lesser of the two.

Through books like The Deepest Well and The Body Keeps the Score, I am learning that whatever is going on in our brains tends to show up through our bodies. (Did you know that Childhood trauma increases the likelihood of all sorts of diseases including cancer, strokes, heart attachks, and the like?)

In Christianity, this dualism is between the body and the spirit. Yet, as I reflect on my beliefs and the creation story, I can’t help but asking this question that Tina Schemer Sellers poses in her book God, and the Conservative Church: Erasing Shame from Sexual Intimacy: “What if the body’s experiences in the world are actual, bona fide means of divine communication, and the body, with all its desires, pleasures, pains, struggles, yearnings, challenges, climaxes, and difficulties, can lead us not further away from a fuller relationship with God but closer?”

Well, I could probably write a whole post about my thoughts surrounding this topic, but I will end it here.

That’s all for now folks, love ya, bye!.

Questions are Hard

I have a million thoughts swirling around in my head. “I need to write another blog post, the last one hit home with people! Yikes, now I have something to live up to… Self-care and being an amateur are safe topics, what if people don’t want to hear the other things I am pondering? What if I go too far and they stop listening?”

The Seattle School is like a playground for hard questions, deep questions. Do you have a question? It’s welcome here. Do you want to revaluate your belief system and examine your inner biases? Come on in! Even if you don’t want to do those things, you’re going to learn so many different things that your head will be swirling with new thoughts or maybe old thoughts that you never finished.

Deconstructing your beliefs isn’t exactly the motto evangelical culture (the culture in which I grew up) is built on. Asking questions might be outwardly encouraged, but the subtext is to ask the “right” questions. The “right” questions don’t challenge currently held beliefs, current systems, or current leaders. The “right” questions might change you inwardly, but as long as they don’t rock the boat.

That sounds harsh. Doesn’t it? Maybe you are reading this and saying, I don’t do that. Not my church, not my family, not my organization. Maybe your reading this and saying, I’m not a Christian or a part of a church. Surely this doesn’t apply to me.

Has anyone ever asked you a question and you tense up? Have you ever had a convicting thought and shoved it aside? Have you ever set a goal to change in a positive way and then felt a sense of inner resistance to change? Maybe even an outward resistance to change?

Psychologists notice this too. In the book Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, by Gottlieb (highly recommend this book) she explains that we all live within systems. Everyone has their role in the system and when they try to change often other members of the system are resistant to it. This is why friends might encourage someone who is trying to quit drinking to have one more drink. This is why a family member might encourage another family member to skip the gym today and hang out with family. When you change, everyone around you has to adjust. We humans are bad at change.

In my Battle of Shame class, the professor recently said, “we are loyal to our shame.” That hit me like a ton of bricks. So often, my head knows something, but my heart doesn’t know that thing. I know negative self-talk is pointless and harmful, yet I still call myself an idiot when I forget a deadline or can’t find my phone. I know I made progress on an exercise goal but exercising and my body image is so wrapped up in shame that I can’t be fully proud of myself. I am resistant to let these ways of being, go. I am loyal to my shame.

Shame is a big and scary word. We have literally spent weeks of class defining it and exploring it, learning how to identify it. I’m itching to get to the part of learning to deal with it, yet my head knows that identifying it is half the battle. We all know shame. We know that inner cringe, the sweaty palms, red face, don’t look at me feeling.

The thing about shame, is it is so painful that we don’t want to look at it.

What does this have to do with asking questions? When we ask hard questions, we are opening up the opportunity for change. Maybe I will have to change a belief, a habit, a way of life. Then comes in the bully, shame. Shame distracts us from the question, floods us with emotion, and leads us to shutting down and shutting up.

What does this have to do with evangelical culture? I mean we’ve all heard Chris Tomlin’s version of “Amazing Grace.” The lines “My chains are gone. I’ve been set free. My God, my Savior has ransomed me,” surely imply that we aren’t a slave to shame, right? Well, yes and no. Yes, we don’t have to be loyal to shame. However, while we are still battling it out here on this side of heaven (to throw some Christianese at you), we have to fight shame. That means as a culture we have to stop demonizing whistleblowers and dissenters and start examining our shame.

If you’ve ever asked a well-meaning question, such as “we preach helping the widow, why do we not do that?” and the response is a dismissal “oh we do” and referencing an organization that a handful of members of the church are aware of, that’s probably shame talking. If something big happens in the world and you are anticipating a sermon dedicated to how to acknowledge this injustice, and instead, you receive a sermon about how we must focus on heaven. That’s probably shame talking. It’s easier to ignore the things that make us uncomfortable or feel inadequate than address them.

If you aren’t a part of a church, there’s still plenty of ways shame shows up. If you have ever been a part of an academic organization and been told “things used to be worse, so why are you complaining.” That might be shame talking. If you have ever asked made a small suggestion of change to your boss or asked for a raise and they took it personally, there’s an element of shame there. If I admit that this organization is flawed, and you saw it not me, what does that say about me?

Shame is so sneaky, so pervasive.

I’m not sure how to address this on systems level. However, on a personal level we can start to notice shame.

Next time you feel resistant to a question, a political idea, a suggestion, ask yourself “when did shame walk into the room?” Don’t shove the uncomfortable question aside. Research it, analyze it, pray about it. Listen to both sides. Sure, ask a pastor or leader about it, but don’t take their word for it. Do the work. Ask where is their shame showing up? Where do I feel resistance? And remember, asking questions is hard, and that’s ok.

Amateur Hour

I haven’t written a blog post in forever. I was listening to Annie F. Down’s new book That Sounds Fun: The Joys of Being an Amateur, the Power of Falling in Love, and Why You Need a Hobby, as you may have guessed from the title of both the book and this blog post, I was stopped in my tracks by the chapter on being an ametuer. She challenged the reader to think of something they loved doing or think they might love doing but have avoided it because they’re afraid they might not be an instant pro at it. My first thoughts were about how I know so many people who do that, let the fear of failing keep them from hobbies, but not me. I’m an excellent amateur painter, and cook, and even poet. Heck, I even did a yoga challenge recently, and I am NEVER going to be a pro at yoga.

Yet, for some reason, I paused the audiobook after that chapter. I knew I wanted to think about it before I kept listening. What was I not letting myself do? I am in counseling school and often the professors will say something along the lines of “go do something kind for yourself after class”. I usually feel stumped by that prompt. I’m not great at being kind to myself.

We’ve had enough conversations in class that I know eating an entire package of Oreos or bag of chips guilt-free, isn’t their definition of being kind to oneself. It’s also not doing a face mask and taking a bubble bath. It’s not online shopping or repeating positivite phrases. There’s nothing wrong with either of those self -care methods, but in order to be kind to oneself you have to listen first. Being kind to oneself, isn’t cookie-cutter, one size fits all, or even one method works for me all the time.

First, being kind means listening. Am I craving a snack and some alone time? Or is being kind to myself calling a friend or is it going for a walk? Maybe being kind to myself is realizing the emotional toll that class took and skipping my yoga video to go to bed early. Maybe it’s sticking to my goals and doing that yoga video.

Maybe the self-care industry is a joke because, to be honest, self-care is HARD. To care well for oneself and other people requires work, deep listening, and listening without judgment. In a world that moves fast extra work feels not worth it. Can’t I just slap a bandaid (or a face mask) on my problems and feel better?

What does any of this have to do with being an amateur or blogging? Well, I realized, that I miss blogging. I journal, but I love the rush of having an audience. I like editing my words and trying to be funny. I like adding my amateur photography into my story. I hope that somehow my thoughts will connect with others and help them. Yet, I’m painfully aware that I missed the age of blogging. Most people prefer 30-second TikTok videos. Even my close friends have admitted to me that they don’t read my blogs, they tried, but they got behind.

Therefore, I let not being a “pro” keep me from this space. The same way I let the hard work of self-care keep me from trying to be kind to myself.

Well no more! (I say triumpantly while also knowing, I might fail. And well that’s ok.)

Don’t you just want to go beyond the bend? See what’s next?

Instagram Worthy Quotes

If you’re new to my blog this is where I typically post a quote that really got to me from something I have been reading. However, today I am going to post a poem that is loosely inspired by what I have been learning.

Deeply Spiritual

Well that’s all for now folks! What do you want to be an amateur at? What do you find deeply spiritual? What does self-care mean to you? (I love coments!!!)

p.s. I used pictures from fall in GA (even though it is February) because I’m completely jealous of those currently posting pictures of the snow covered lives, and I am blatently going to ignore that it is winter in Georgia because it just makes me sad.

Utah Flower Game

Better late than never, right? I took the pictures in this post during my trip to Utah which was over a month ago. My friend, Kirsten, had this spot in mind to take pictures of Wildflowers at golden hour (the time right before the sunsets in photography).

This place was extremely beautiful and in some ways it reminded me of Switzerland

Another facination I found while in Utah was the abundance of planted flowers. My friend and I think this maybe cultural aspect of Mormornism, in part, because in front of the Morman building downtown there were an intense number of flowers. Something else I found facinating was the massive varierty in color with a goal that seemed to be quantity over color strategy.

The bottom three pictures are more representative of the variety of the colors that I often saw.

Additionally, there were a variety of interesting neighborhoods, so I will be sharing some of those pictures as well. I feel a little creepying taking pictures of people’s homes, so these are not the best photos. However, I hope they show a bit of the variety of landscaping as well architecture.

Notice how some homes have tons of landscaping and others are more “normal”

Waterbottle Mishaps

If you know me well, you probably know that I seem to often be in need of knew waterbottle… despite my desire to keep a reusable one on me at all times to reduce waste. From buying water bottles that quickly break and leak to managing to purchase ones I struggle to open, I always seem to be in need of a waterbottle.

When you see a rock, you must climb it and take photos, right?

Unfortanetly, Utah became another story in my waterbottle journey. There was a dramatatic expansive gorge with a waterfall, and I asked Kirsten if she would take a picture of me from far away. She readily agreed and as I walked around the side of the gorge, I leaned over to take a photo of a flower. My waterbottle slipped from my backpack side pocket and rolled roughly 10 feet down the gorge before finding a spot to rest. I very quickly decided that my fairly cheap water bottle was not worth the risk of retrieval.

Can you spot me in the first and third photo?

In case, you thought my waterbottle journey has ended sinse then, I returned home and promptly bought a new reusable waterbottle. I started work, and as part of my job I helped with traffic control in carline. I had placed my waterbottle on a grassy curb (not a part of the parking lot) and it was ran over and crushed… thus causing me to need yet another waterbottle.

Sermon Recommendation

The final thoughts I will leave you with is sermon recommendation. I really enjoy listening to John Mark Comer’s Sermons. He is a paster at Bridgetown church in Portland, Oregon. (You can just google Bridgetown Church Portland and naviagate to teachings to find them.)

The sermon I listened to the most recently was over the passage in Mathew talking about “Who is Actually Blessed?” I really appreciate John Mark Comer’s sermons because he always dived into the historical context as well as language translation.

He deconstructed this well known passage and pointed out how the blessings have often been twisted into being attributes to be sought after.

The part that really stood out to me is when he said, you are blesses in your paint, not inspite of it. We do not have to say count your blessings, you should look on the bright side.

I loved this because it recognizes that we can hold sadness or hurt and the feeling of being blessed at the same time. As someone who has experienced depression, I know what it means to be deeply sad and feel deeply loved at the same time.

Well that’s all for now, folks! Love you, bye!

Utah: A Photographer’s Paradise

If you follow me on social media, you may already be tired of my photos of Utah. However, there are just so many gorgeous views, that I instantly knew I had enough content for several blog posts. (Kirsten, the friend I was visiting, is definitely laughing in glee at this fact, if she is reading this.)

I often get comments, that I am always traveling or going all over the place. Sometimes, I feel a little guilty about this; however, in talking with my counselor recently I realized that for me traveling is self-care and rest. It’s about the adventure and experiencing new places and how different people live. It just so happens that I have a lot of people in my life who either live in convenient places or have jobs with good travel perks. Because I love travel and my friends, anytime I have the opportunity I jump on it. This isn’t a travel advice blog, but if it were, I would say don’t be picky about your accommodations and make (and stay) friends with people who live in other states and countries!

This particular trip was extra special because I got to visit a friend from undergrad that I had not seen in over a year. We both were/are math people and have stayed in touch while going through our different math grad programs. This year she’s out in Utah doing an Americore job and as much hiking as she can on the weekends. Our love for outdoor activities made this a perfect trip during COVID. Also, since she’s been there for almost a year and we have similar tastes in activities, she had so many awesome recommendations.

A Few Adventures Around Utah

Utah is the well known Morman capital of the world. We spent a little bit of time in Salt Lake City and what struck me was the amount of flowers outside the Mormon buildings (temple, office buildings, conference center). I also gradually noticed, the flowers are arranged in a more flowers the better, any color goes, sort of manner.

After walking around downtown, we decided to go for a scenic drive. It was the heat of the day, and even though Utah is a dry heat and has a pretty good breeze the sun is intense. Along the side of the road, I saw a sign that said waterfalls and saw a lot of cars. Kirsten and I easily decided to stop and take a look. Sometimes the best views are unplanned.

Life Updates

In case anyone is wondering I made the official decision while at L’Abri to leave the math PhD program with my Master’s and enroll in a program to get my Master’s in Counseling Psychology. I took some online classes while in Virginia and absolutely loved them. I can’t wait to move out to Seattle and attend the Seattle School of Theology and Psychology; however, due to COVID all my classes are online right now. Therefore, before I get to explore the Pacific northwest; I’m going to spend a year in the much more afordable Georgia living with my parents. Honestly, not the adventure I would have chosen in my early twenties; however, through a series of events I start a new job tomorrow where I will be teaching a sixth grade math class and working in the lunch room at the school I went to growing up. The time difference is going to let me work in the morning and take my online classes in the evening. I still have a month before my classes start, but I’m super excited to meet my sixth graders tomorrow and happy to be around Georgia this year for some of my Georgia friends’ big life events.

Instagram Worthy Quote

I’m excited for my classes to start back because I am terrible at making time to read otherwise. However, I did order Christian Wiman’s book My Bright Abyss. It is full of poems and meditations about religion, particulary Christianity. I find it intrigueing because Wiman does not dance around tough subjects, tough emotions, and the frustration of questions that seem unanswerable. Amelia, my tutor at L’Abri, led an excellent lecture where we dicsussed excerts from this book. I can’t wait to read the whole thing, but for now I will leave you with a line that stuck out to me.

“How astonishing it is, the fiercesness with which we cling to beliefs that have made us miserable, or beliefs that prove to be obviously inadequate when extreme suffering – or great joy – comes.”

In counseling, I’ve come to realize certain beliefs I hold, mainly negative ones about myself, are not true and even harmful. It’s surprising how a small thought can have such deep roots and be coorlated to other misguided beliefs. It is interesting also to examine the way culture and one’s environment coupled with personality have worked to create or reinforce certain beliefs. I know those were some abstract sentences, but maybe these thoughts will ring true with someone else. Maybe we can all be brave enough to challange some of our beliefs. Lately, I’ve seen a theme of learning how to differentiate Biblical values from cultural (in my case Southern) ones. It can be a bit daunting or scary at times, but also a bit fun when I treat it like a mystery.

Photographer, hiker, and fortunetly my friend

Well that’s all for now, folks. Love you, bye!