when alone // part II

 

H. took this of me in Glendalough, Ireland // July 2019

I played piano and sang at a wedding this afternoon; when I got home, I was completely drained.

This is what I do when I am home alone and exhausted: 

01. drink hot chocolate 

02. read a Madeleine L'Engle short story

03. scroll through social media and save every pretty flower picture I come across

04. soak in the bath

05. sing in the bath

06. shave my legs in the bath 

07. give myself a facial 

08. paint my toenails

09. eat cherries and chips for dinner 

10. play Liszt in my underwear

template for a Sabbath

I just experienced the most perfect Sunday. 

It started with biking to church. It takes a little under half an hour and it's mostly through lazy neighborhood streets. And today was cloudy, so it didn't feel as blazing hot as it's been lately. 

When the priest mentioned Dallas Willard, he had my attention. During the passing of the peace, I met another Wheaton grad. It's a small church, but lovely community. Someone gave me a high five for wearing my helmet while I biked. 

I met one of my dearest friends for lunch at Mea Culpa. Good conversation and cappuccino. I flipped through cookbooks and read some of Art & Faith while she read her own book. 

I dropped by her apartment to borrow a tube pan for my next baking project, then went to buy groceries. Called another friend to celebrate her recent engagement. 

At home, I organized my fridge, and wrote out a meal plan for the week. Chilled on the sofa for a tad, then peeled myself off said sofa to make stuffed poblano peppers. Did I mention it started raining outside? Made for quite the cozy afternoon. 

I finished a beer while washing the full sink of dishes. 

After facetiming with my pops and messaging some friends, I brewed iced tea. Inspired by the basil at the store, I concocted a Basil Blueberry Honey Green Tea. Lengthy name, delicious flavor. 

This day had all the elements that rejuvenate me: 

- physical exercise

- spiritual centering

- connecting with someone new 

- time / connection with people I love

- time alone

- creating something new I haven't made before

- caring for myself / planning for the days ahead 

- healthy food 

questions I ask myself

Why do I tap my fingers incessantly? Usually to the rhythm of the last song I heard. Am I nervous? Or do I have too much energy and it creeps out of my extremities? 

Do directors always cast Tom Hanks in comforting roles because he is that way in real life? I find myself watching movies he's in when I am sick.  

Why do I constantly buy fresh ginger, only to let it wrinkle away in the basket above my microwave? 

Why do I not read for weeks and then I'll suddenly feel the urge and finish three books in a month? 

Why do I refurbish chairs I find on the side of the road, spray-painting them and wood glue-ing them, instead of buying sturdy new ones? 

Why did it take me two years to buy a white bandeau to go under the white dress I bought in Nashville? 

Why didn't I stick up for myself to the roommate who lost my seasoned cast iron skillet? 

Why do I like dark chocolate hagelslag so much? 

Why do I like the gentle petals of a cosmos in full bloom? 

how I want to raise my daughters

 

my mother at dusk on Sandbridge Beach, Virginia

Sandbridge Beach, Virginia

sunrise over Kure Beach, North Carolina

This is not a post to express resentment for how I was raised. Rather, I stand on the shoulders of my parents, and I know they did the best they could with what they were given. Nevertheless, if I have daughters someday, I want them to stand a little taller than me, going farther than I could. 

I want to raise my daughters to be sassy. Smart. Indignant towards injustice. 

They don't need to protect other people's emotions. They don't need to mask their true feelings with a sweet face that doesn't offend the other. 

I want my daughters to say 'no' whenever they want, and to know when they want to say that magical word. And to have the wisdom to know what is good for them. 

I want my daughters to recognize what they want out of life. And if there are barriers to get to where they want to go, I want them to have the strength and agency to seek the help they need to get past those barriers. 

I want my daughters to take up space, with their bodies and their voices. 

I want my daughters to see themselves as equals with men. 

I want my daughters to embrace not only their femininity, but also their masculinity. 

If my daughters want marriage and/or children, I want them to embrace these gifts without losing their sense of self and independence in the process. 

And if I want these things for my daughters, I better be pursuing them for myself, too.  

early spring

 

All around me, the earth is exploding in new life. Hues of greens in the trees and bushes. Japanese cherry blossoms, white and yellow daffodils, purple and red tulips, azaleas all over the place. 

But my life is suddenly empty. 

The contrast is stark. 

I'm grieving, so I'm reticent to fill it up right away. I want to leave space for this season to be what it needs to be. So I leave the tv off, I let my thoughts go where they will. And then, I pick myself up, dry the daily tears, and remind myself of what I know to be true. 

I am given the opportunity to trust.

To trust that all shall be made well. 

To trust that silence will give birth to song.

To trust that barrenness will one day produce fruit. 

And to trust that this time is not wasted, and I am growing even in ways I cannot see. 

I am not forgotten (and neither are you). 

things I've noticed that make me smile

 

every year my dad gives me a hibiscus bulb in the winter 

the chimes on my porch singing in the wind // the sound of M's voice on the phone // my cheap ikea clock ticking in a quiet apartment // when my mother laughs // an unexpected letter in my mailbox // joking around with my students // the smell of a new book // dancing, rock-climbing and walking in the woods // how cut tulips keep growing when you put them in water // liturgies from Every Moment Holy // a blind date coming up for someone I love very much // a few dates that already happened for someone else I love very much // the sunlight that streams onto my dining room table through the south-facing windows // a new year and new beginnings