Living My Best Li(f)e

I was thinking about a year-end summary the other day, and wanted to make it about the phrase "Living My Best Life." I jotted down a note on my iPhone to remind myself about this idea, and somehow never made contact with the "f" on the keyboard.

Living My Best Lie

This couldn't be more appropriate.

During my 2018 journey through self-discovery, I uncovered the fact that I have been unconsciously living a lie. Like, for a long time.

A new-ish friend asked me what I was like in high school, and I thought back to my whimsical, insouciant, independent, determined teenage self. It's been a while since I've seen her for more than a few hours at a time.

Then,

I serendipitously got a job at summer camp this year and felt more alive than I have in years.

I tried teaching in a public school classroom again after nearly 20 years, and felt so constrained and ineffective despite the fact that I love (and am good at) teaching.

And as I processed all of this, I realized I have lost contact with the real me. This move to Louisiana (2.5 years now, y'all) has been so hard, but without it I don't think I would have come to understand these things about myself.

• I would have kept on living the life I had been for the past 20-odd years, doing the things I felt were expected of me. Things that were "appropriate." 
• I would have kept being (surface) friends with the same people who had comprised my circle as a young wife and mother.
• I would have participated in the same groups and activities out of obligation, not out of desire or enthusiasm.
• I would have continued to do small, fun things (and often feel guilty about it) because I was afraid to do bigger, bolder fun things.

I know this, because I felt myself wanting to change before I moved here, but I didn't know how to break free and be authentic to myself.

The past 5 months of intentional unemployment have been a liberating time to realign my internal compass. I traveled to Maui to visit my brother. I resumed working on my beloved blue house in Gibsonville, logging thousands of miles on my car, thousands of dollars to my bank account, and thousands of hours to be alone and think. I read a lot, crafted a lot, dreamed a lot. 

I can't say exactly what my best life is going to look like; it's something I'm discovering each day. 

Welcome, 2019.

Welcome, my best life.

if it's meant to be, part 3

The Trading Post. I was assigned to work in the Trading Post.

Perks: unfettered access to popcorn, slushies, cookies & soda. Moderate air conditioning in some places. Private bathroom. Occasional trips to town to pick up merchandise.

Disadvantages: Neurotically counting money and inventory on a daily basis. Not a program area.


I never would have chosen to work at the Trading Post (despite the excellent perks), but I had the best summer. My initial contract was for 3 weeks, but I ended up coming back for another week at the end of the summer because I was having so much fun (and apparently I had convinced the director that I was doing useful things).

Camp is my happy place. It is the place that I feel most like myself. If I could live at camp all year long, I would. And the people that work at camp are my kind of people. I freaking love camp.

The Trading Post director quickly became the best friend I never knew I was missing in my life. Midway through our first week of working together, he pointed out that I wasn't supposed to be there. If things had gone the way I thought they would, I would have been at Philmont and would have been at camp for only an hour or two to drop off and pick up my son.

What is meant to be, anyway? Was I actually supposed to go to Philmont? Or was I supposed to work at camp, all along?  Would I have had an amazing time at Philmont, or would I have been miserable? Would I have been assigned to work at the Trading Post if I had been hired back in December?

I have no doubt that I was meant to be at camp this summer. I don't know if I will make it to Philmont in the future, or if I will work at camp again. But my heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for the serendipity that landed me exactly where I needed to be for the summer of 2018.

Letting go of a dream

I'm stuck holding on to a dream, and I'm not sure if it's time to let that dream die or if I'm just in a long dormant phase. -Words of wisdom, from myself, circa late January 2017.

It's been a month and a half since I resigned, and for the most part, it's been good. I've done some subbing, took an amazing trip to visit my brother in Hawaii, taken up yoga, and had time to work on sewing projects.

The night before I left for Hawaii, I saw a job posting through a Facebook page I follow. It was a program assistant position in Elon's counseling department, something that I would enjoy doing and felt I was well qualified for. And I probably would have ignored it, had the tenants of my lovely blue house in Gibsonville not given notice that they would be moving out mid-September.

(Spoiler alert: I didn't ignore it)

I stayed up until 2 am revising my resume and cover letter to impulsively apply for a job.

I can feel you shaking your head in disapproval, dear reader. It's okay. I'm doing it, too.

You've seen me do this before, right?

I applied for a job to escape my unhappiness. I was literally trying to run away, albeit to a house and community that I loved.

Fast forward through an unexpected phone interview with a 6 hour time difference while I was in Hawaii and a Skype interview, once I returned home, which meant I was one of the top two candidates.

I didn't get the job.

I found this out as I was driving to North Carolina to check my tenants out, all the time wondering if I'd be checking myself back into that house a week later.

I kind of knew. I didn't hear back from them the day after the other candidate's interview, so I mentally prepared myself for the fact that it had been offered to someone else. It wasn't a surprise, but it was a disappointment.

This was the second time that I was so close to a job that I thought was within my grasp, and the exact same scenario played out.

Is it time to let go of the dream? Initially, that's how it felt: I am not meant to work at Elon again. That door is closed. Move on.

Here's the thing, though: working at Elon, although it is something I love and can do well, is not the dream.

Working at Elon is an easy way out, and I want an easy way out.

I want someone to give me a reason to leave.

I don't know if moving back to North Carolina would make me happy. Deep down, I'm pretty sure it would not. I have uncovered a habit of falling back on things I have pursued in the past as things that I should still continue to pursue, without questioning whether I want those things now.

Now. 

I am a different person now than I was when I graduated from college, when I got married, when I taught middle school, when I stayed home with young children and lived on one meager income, when I homeschooled, when I lived in North Carolina. I have grown and changed, and I need to realize that my old dreams and ambitions are security blankets that you have to eventually stop carrying around.

if it's meant to be, part 2

My family's summer 2018 calendar was a sight to behold.

On June 7, I loaded all 3 boys and their assorted gear for summer activities into my not-nearly-as-large-as-my-minivan Mazda Tribute and started our drive eastward. The original plan looked something like this:

June 7 drive to dad's house in SC
June 8 drive to brother's house in NC
June 10 drop #2 at summer camp in NC for staff week
June 11 drive #1 & #3 to WV for a different Boy Scout camping opportunity.
June 12 leave car at summer camp in NC & fly back to Shreveport to leave for Philmont on June 15

For the sake of everyone's sanity, I'm not going to throw in anything beyond that.

So when I drove to NC on June 7, I took with me a very small suitcase full of mostly nicer, wear-in-public kind of clothes. You know, because I was flying home 5 days later.

Except I didn't.


The cancellation of my Philmont trip left a huge hole not just in my heart, but also in my summer schedule. It would have me flying home to sit in an empty house all day for over three weeks with nothing to do. I contemplated several ideas: hike part of the Appalachian Trail, since I was already prepared for backpacking? Drive to New Mexico anyway, just to visit a new place? Come back home and throw myself into some creative business enterprise?

On the day that I officially learned that Philmont was a no-go, I also received an email newsletter from my BSA council in North Carolina which mentioned that they were still looking for a few staff members for summer camp (the one #2 was working at).

Let's go back to December 2017, shall we? Back to when I received an email from the director of said camp in NC, remembering that I had mentioned the summer before that I might be interested in working there, and would I like to put in my application?  I was honored to be asked, but had to turn him down because of my scheduled trip to Philmont.

With nothing on my calendar and a hesitant "okay" from my husband, I committed to working at camp for 3 weeks in a yet-to-be-determined position. I possess a plethora of skills and qualifications that would make me useful in many departments around camp, so I left it up to the director to place me where I would be most beneficial.

Where I ended up can only be described as serendipity.

(to be continued)

resigned, redux

Two years ago, I wrote a post that solidified my name choice for this blog.

I was full of heartache over loss- the loss of my home, my friends, my job... most of my life.

Two years ago, I wrote that I would move back from Louisiana in two years. #didn'thappen

A year and a half ago, I chose deliberate as my word of the year. Then, as I was working on my 2018 word of the year, I had this realization. Followed by this one.

At the beginning of June, all of my summer plans changed.

At the end of July, I resigned.

This, however, was a happy resignation. It was me following through with confidence on something that I knew I needed to do, but was too afraid of uncertainty to follow through with.

I resigned my teaching position. The one I took on a whim. The one that made me miserable for the better part of last year.

I don't know what I'm going to do now, and that's okay. I believe in myself. I am learning to trust myself again. It's a beautiful and scary process filled with a lot of tears, but I am so relieved to be back on track. I am paving my own happiness.

if it's meant to be, part 1

Last fall, I accepted an offer to serve as an adult adviser on a Philmont trek with a Venture Crew from Shreveport.



For those unfamiliar, Philmont is basically the mecca of Boy Scouting. It's their high adventure base in the mountains of New Mexico where you go to backpack/hike 60+ miles and participate in high adventure activities over the course of 10 days. It's expensive and requires many months of planning and training, but it's something I've always wanted to do. And, since I am within driving distance (12-ish hours) here in Louisiana, and because I'm not getting any younger, I jumped at the opportunity to go.

insert months of researching and buying gear for the trek, hundreds of dollars saved and paid, and many miles of practice hiking with a 30lb pack completed

Two weeks before our crew was slated to leave Shreveport on Friday, June 15, a wildfire was reported in the vicinity of Philmont. The Ute Park Fire proceeded to grow and burn through the center of the 140,000+ acre property. For days, I scoured the internet for updates, watched as staff was evacuated, and checked for reports on damage to buildings. I knew our trek was in jeopardy, but when staff were allowed to return to the campus, I was cautiously optimistic.

The official announcement came just 10 days before I was supposed to leave: all backcountry treks scheduled from June 8 through July 14 (and later, the entire season) were cancelled.

This was difficult information to process. I knew it was most likely going to happen, but when it did I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared. For over a day I alternated between non-stop texting everyone who would listen to me grieve (selected Boy Scout friends who "got" what a huge disappointment this was) and walking around in a confused stupor, trying to figure out what to do with my summer which had been so meticulously planned for over half a year.

I didn't have long to figure it out, however, because my first jaunt of the summer was slated to begin with a 14 hour eastward drive on June 7.

(to be continued)

homeless

I'm rolling into the two year anniversary of moving to Louisiana, and for the most part I have resigned myself to the fact that I live there now. My husband is not looking for other employment opportunities, and 2/3 of my children prefer to continue their educations there. I have friends, and I have a job (if I wish to continue it).

I live there, but it's not my home.

I've probably traveled back to North Carolina about a dozen times since I moved away, and upon my 2nd or 3rd trip back, I realized something that is solidifying with each additional visit:

This is not my home, either.

I don't feel like I belong in either place.

That's a disconcerting feeling- discovering that you don't feel at home in either of the places where you've lived for the past 30+ years.

So if I don't belong here or there, where do I belong?

I am not without a home, but I feel homeless.