I took a day off yesterday (not of my choosing, a nasty bladder infection laid waste to all sensible thought or ambition) and it gave me time to think. Actually, I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now – what am I doing?

The only thing I’m good at is now the only thing I do, frighteningly enough. I realize that I’m a decent writer, but I’m certainly no Jane Austen, and maybe it’s just sad to toil at something every day only to be mediocre at it. It’s slightly unnerving to think that I switched my major in college from a marketing communications degree to print journalism, and that heady, sudden decision at 19 changed my life forever. Did I really know what I was doing then? Do I now?

I still do a lot of “marketing communication” – after all, that is most of what Wrangler Dani offers, so I guess maybe I’m overstating the point. But inside of the workings of this little media company I’ve built, with my corporate blogging accounts and social media presences, is my own voice, wondering if it still has anything to say. Better yet, is it talented enough to say it?

Desire is one thing, talent is another – together they are formidable, and make our giants: the Brad Paisleys, Elizabeth Gilberts and J.J. Abrams – those people who somehow have sweated long enough and thought hard enough (and been given enough natural gifts) to make us swoon at their revelations and hang on their words. They speak for us, they say what we never could, what we aren’t talented or gritty enough to declare ourselves.

I guess I’m having a completely normal artistic crisis – where I feel boring and dumb and supremely under-talented for the story I want to tell. The funny thing about blogging is that you can see the rolling hills of my angst – from feeling fresh and inspired to dejectedly wondering why I would ever choose a profession which is best known for “bleeding on the paper”. So I won’t even try to pretend that this is some original moan or logical level of blah.

But it’s there, nonetheless, and I’m stuck with a degree and a decade of work and really nothing else that I’m even remotely good at. I don’t have a conclusion, other than I’ve been itching at this for a couple of weeks now and it’s hurt like a peeling scab until this moment, when I put it on paper and mused in print. So that has to count for something.

Right?

I’ve been informed by my family that I need to start writing more about food. I guess it makes sense, since looking up new places to nosh is one of my very favorite activities (second only to the noshing itself, of course).

So, I’m going to regale you with a tale about one of my very favorite places to eat in Bend: Zydeco Kitchen.

“Zydeco” refers to a style of folk music from Louisiana, so it’s no surprise that this Zydeco’s menu has a distinctly Cajun flair.  This was actually what first drew me to Zydeco – you all know that I am a Southerner in a Westerner’s life, and nothing makes me happier than a hush puppy and some shrimp and grits.

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The neat thing about Zydeco’s menu is that it pulls from Cajun traditions without losing the Oregonian sensibility of locally grown and processed foods (they’ll even waive the corkage fee on any wine from Oregon or Washington). Everything tastes fresh and healthy without tasting like a vegan restaurant (no offense, but I’ll see your Chia-seed-cous-cous with almond milk and I’ll raise you one grass-fed ribeye and sauteed broccolini with garlic sauce).

The roasted clams appetizer (with capers, piquillo peppers, olives and lemon butter over grilled bread) might be the best thing on the menu. We first tried it on a frosty night in December, and it was enough to make you want to hide under the tablecloth and never leave. The soft, buttery clams mixed with the tart acids of capers and olives is a match made in culinary heaven, and soaking up the peppery, slightly salty juice with fresh grilled bread – I have to stop, because I’m drooling on the keyboard and it’s getting weird.

Artichoke and corn fritters with honey-jalapeno and baux mayo dipping sauces. Yepsir.

Zydeco clearly has more than just inventive flavors going for it, though, because every protein we’ve gotten has been cooked to absolute perfection. The fish is flaky and delicate, shrimp are perfectly finished, steak, duck and pork are all cooked the way you request, not some happy hour cook’s version of what medium-rare looks like. I come from a long line of waiter-eyebrow-raising “burn it!” requesters, but they will even burn it for you, no questions asked.

They have a full bar and an excellent seasonal cocktail menu that isn’t just bits of fruit stuck on the outside of a low-ball, but real, delicious mixes of fresh juices and inventive flavors with just the right amount of high-quality alcohol. Bend being Bend, they also have a great craft beer list, and, as I mentioned, some good local wines. Back in December, I had a version of a whiskey sour that forever changed my view on the humble party drink, and for Mother’s Day I indulged in a marionberry margarita that was a northwestern summer in a glass.

Zydeco embodies one of the things I love about the new food revolution – it’s possible to get a truly gourmet meal and five star service without ordering Chicken Cordon-Bleu and wearing a tux. We’ve sat inside and out and the waitstaff is well-timed (none of this “you’re in the middle of a super emotional story, may I ask how you’re enjoying the halibut?”), knowledgeable and friendly. When my mom ordered her Wild Boar Tenderloin well-done (burnt!) the waiter wrote it down without so much as a condescending eyebrow twitch. You want it well-done, it will be the most delicious well-done tenderloin you’ve ever tasted, and we won’t even judge you for it.

It’s a good place to eat, is what I’m saying. Now, show of hands, who actually hung in for 600 words about my food loves?

Before we moved, I sat in the last few services we attended at Mariners MV and cried. I knew, deep down in my gut, that leaving that church would be the hardest part of moving. It had become home, family, friends, community. It was where we served, where we stayed late to chat, the jumping-off point for spontaneous adventures with dear friends. I felt like part owner, or at least manager of it – I took it upon myself to invite, welcome, clean up after and be a working, helping, loving part of the community there for so long.

So now we’re on the hunt again, and I admit that I’m having a bit of a struggle with it. The first church we attended felt so different – it was so small and so very unlike the well-trained fiesta of Mariners – that I was ashamed to find myself sniffling in the worship, not because my thoughts were inclining toward the holy, but because my eyes were well-focused on my own navel. For the first time, I realized a lonely, heart-wrenching fear that the family we’d found at Mariners was indeed the proverbial lightning in a bottle.

Since that first (rough) try at church-shopping, I’ve been wrestling with what corporate faith means for my internal beliefs. After all, I know that there are plenty of people who insist that the church is their hang-up, not their hope – that they’d believe in Jesus someday if he didn’t have so many lousy followers. For me, it’s the opposite: the strength of others’ faith, the level of their grace, the love I’ve experienced in the name of God has only driven me closer to him. But this poses a question for me, in my season of quiet, lonely following. Do I still believe without the faith of my church family to bolster me and remind me of God’s goodness? Am I reliant on the corporate, outward expressions of faith, and the ones I’m comfortable with (the loud worship, the well-spoken pastor, the seamlessly organized campus) or can I still live out my calling in Christ without those trappings? What is acceptable personal preference and what is me being snobby and ungracious about my needs, selfishly refusing to see the hurt around me as I wallow?

God is not limited by space and distance. He is the same faithful Father I felt so easily when his people prayed for us and selflessly helped us move for an entire weekend, the still, small voice telling me that we weren’t crazy to try a new life, that He was with us. He is the same God that is prayed to in these tiny country churches and services in the high school gym, where everything is smaller except for who He is.

So I’m asking Him for courage and faith, for grace and wisdom. I’m navigating a minefield of emotion, but I look to the future with excitement. What will He do with my lonely times, with my need, with my desires?

I want a piece of open country, where sunlight glints off of tall meadowgrass and crickets hum in the evenings. I want my family to be self-reliant and community-oriented – capable and independent, but never too busy to help a friend. I want a home that’s inviting, with an open-door policy and a full fridge. I want a family that holds tightly to sacredness and tradition, but keeps an open mind and heart.

More than anything, I want to be a mom. It’s strange to even say it – a few years ago, I was telling you how mystified I once was by the baby-craze amongst my peers – and I’ve certainly never been the girl who put “wife and mom” at the top of her Life Goals list. But in the last couple of years, something has shifted in my heart.

I’ve realized what a gift kids are, even when they break your dishes and make messes and cry loudly on roadtrips. I see my friends becoming even better versions of themselves as they parent, and with every snuggle and sticky kiss, how their hearts are opened ever wider. I ache to be able to love a little person like that, and to give my parents and in-laws the incredible experience of grandparent-hood. This is an emotional issue for me – I don’t know that we won’t have our own biological kids, but I’m preparing myself for that reality.

That means that we have to save up our money and prove our worth and jockey to be parents in the adoption system – which, romantic as the notion is of rescuing a child, in my darker moments I wonder if it will ever work out, if the dream I have of handful of munchkins and their friends stealing cookies off of my countertop is simply a fantasy.

Because if it is – if this dream of parenthood and place is not our future – than I don’t really want to be here. I don’t think I can live in the smell of sagebrush and long summer evenings without little people to teach to ride horses, fish for trout and change tires. It feels like a gamble on an unknown game, like I’m setting myself up for a great failure – a house in the country and a dream that lies empty, reminding me of hope, but not giving any.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all of this down, let alone publishing it on the Internet. I have not written about this before because it is so tender, it feels like a clamp around my heart when I even try to put these fears and feelings into words.

But maybe you can help. Maybe Adam and I don’t have to do this alone. Send up a prayer for us, if you believe in that kind of thing, or maybe even if you don’t. Psalm 37 says:

Trust in the Lord and do good;

dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.

Take delight in the Lord,

and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the Lord;

trust in him and he will do this:

He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,

your vindication like the noonday sun. (Read the rest here – you really should, it’s beautiful.)

Stolen from Katie, as most good blog ideas are. Since we’re still settling in to a new home and new hometown, this is my written act of presence and thoughtfulness in the jumble. So, here’s what’s on my…

VANITY: A giant basket of hair potions, make-up, jewelry and baubles of every variety. It really is humongous, and I’m promising Adam that I’ll find a new home for it soon.

PERENNIAL TO DO LIST: Write (there’s always a project unfinished), send out bills to clients (my least favorite part of owning my own business) and clean (something always needs to be cleaned, doesn’t it?)

REFRIGERATOR SHELVES: Diet Coke and Dr Pepper. Tons of condiments, a london broil for cooking tonight and fresh salad stuff. Also some fun Oregon beers, just to keep it interesting.

ITINERARY: Exploring the northwest is definitely in our future. I’m ready for camping, hiking, kayaking, climbing, adventuring.

FANTASY ITINERARY:  Somewhere in the world, someone is going to have a baby, and that baby is going to be a Nichols. My dream is to travel somewhere – Ohio or Africa or somewhere in between – and come home with my baby.

PLAYLIST: Adam made a moving playlist for us, and it was a love letter to me, to us, to our life and our future. It’s all of the hopes and fears and loves of his heart in 17 songs, and it was absolutely perfect. I’m a lucky girl.

NIGHTSTAND:  I don’t have a nightstand anymore, but I throw my phone on the ground by the bed sometimes. I’m a teenager.

WORKOUT PLAN: I was swimming laps a few days a week in San Clemente, and I’ve really missed it. We just got a pass for a local pool and I’m hoping to go often – they also offer yoga classes so that might be fun to get back in to as well. 

PHONE: Words with Friends, Instagram, connection with all my dear ones who are far away now.

TOP 5 LIST: Lavender scented anything, new recipes, Costco, late evening light on open fields, fluffy socks.

BUCKET LIST: Babies/kids/munchkins, growing my business (I’d like to hire more help and actually get a real vacation one of these days), finishing my dang book, traveling to Europe with Adam, overcoming my fear of failure, becoming a proficient and competent English-style horsewoman, whitewater kayaker and rock-climber (all things I enjoy but I wouldn’t say I’m good at).

MIND: What’s next? Why are we here? When do babies come?

BLOGROLL: Think Christian, Glitter Guide, Spoon Fork Bacon, BlogHer

WALLS OF YOUR FAVORITE ROOM IN YOUR HOUSE: My favorite room is our kitchen, so the walls are cupboards. It’s restful and organized and creative and I love it.

LIQUOR SHELF:  SO MANY THINGS. We kind of have a lot of booze, we realized. I have some wine from San Clemente Wine Company, a few mixers and various varieties of whiskey and scotch. Happy Hour at our house tonight?

LAST CREDIT CARD STATEMENT: Ahem. Moving is very expensive. Gas and U-Hauls and storage units and SO MANY THINGS.

SCREENSAVER: The church verse from Mariners. It speaks to my heart and gives me courage.

TV: We’re watching Revolution, although I’m irritated by it more than anything at this point. Why do they keep introducing characters, only to kill them off? Why can’t anyone deal with their emotions without storming out of the room/building/camp? Why can’t Charlie use her facial muscles? Why is the dialogue so obvious? (Next time someone eats a sandwich or gets upset, I expect them to say: “I’m eating a sandwich and I’m upset.” Just to make sure we get it.) Game of Thrones is on, though, and it schools every other show on how to pull off nuanced moodiness and complex characters, so all is not lost.

What’s on your…?

We’ve had some changes up in here, folks. The desk from which I used to regale you has been commandeered by my handsome Hubster, who is now working from home in our new little life. I’m hoping for a desk soon, but in the meantime I’m sitting at the dining room table, looking out the window at clear blue skies and a cute little tree filled with chirping birdies. The breeze coming in said window is a bit colder than I’m used to, but what can I expect with snow-capped mountains in the distance instead of the expansive Pacific?

Speaking of the obvious, did you know that every tiny thing you own, from paperclips to water bottles, has to be put in a box when you move? And that those items get together in mysterious ways and have large broods of insufferable, cluttery, dust-collecting children? Well, it’s true, my friends. I have learned something very valuable about myself while moving: I am a foodie and have way too many spices, tools, glasses, and serving dishes of all sizes – and I never, ever throw away a t-shirt. I’m trying to figure out how to combine these two oddities into some cohesive revelation, but there’s really nothing there. I like wearing  t-shirts from Freshman Formal 2002, and I like making fancy dishes with two different kinds of truffle oil and Hawaiian salt. (shrugs shoulders)

We’re starting to settle in though. It’s amazing what a night snuggled on the couch with your honey will do for your soul when you’ve been hauling, taping, driving, crying, saying goodbye and toting God-knows-what up and down stairs for two weeks. I’ve never been so happy to go back to work as I was this morning – it felt so healthy and normal to sit down with a full to-do list and a cup of coffee – in stark contrast to the wildness of life lately.

But do you know what I appreciate about moving? It shakes me up. I’m dreaming big dreams – ones that make me choke up and live hopefully. I’m throwing away things that I used to hold tightly to – simply because they aren’t worth carrying anymore, they can’t save me the way I thought they could. Adam and I keep joking about all of the free time we’ll have because we don’t have any friends here – it’s heartbreaking to think of (hence the jokes, we like to laugh at pain) but it’s also filled with possibility. What will pour out of me when I don’t have a girlfriend to meet for coffee? Can I share those thoughts with you, Internet? Do I dare believe that I’m the same person when alone or when surrounded by laughing, loving faces?

Moving is hard, but what does this new life look like? I’m not sure, but I know we’re here for a reason. We felt drawn, called, pulled, pushed, kicked out – to what? What is here in the rivers and mountains that we need to find?

In case you haven’t yet heard, here is the letter I sent to all my clients and colleagues. More news to come…

I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I are moving to Bend, Oregon at the end of April, 2013! This is a decision that we’ve been kicking around for some time, and we’re realizing that in order to pursue the kind of life and family we want, this is the right move for us.

This will not change any of the services you receive from me, as I will continue to provide copywriting services, editing, blogging, marketing and social media involvement for all of Wrangler Dani’s clients while in Oregon. Also, I am planning to come back for at least quarterly in-person meetings with my clients in SoCal (those that want that interaction, I won’t force it on you), as well as using the wonders of technology to keep in touch!

I’ll keep you informed about any time I take off for the move, as well as my change in address. Everything else will stay the same. I want to personally thank you for your business, your belief in my services and your continued support of my company. Please let me know if you have any questions, concerns or bottles of champagne to break on the hood of the U-Haul.

I can help you!

Sincerely,
Dani Nichols
Wrangler Dani, Corp.

I was feeling a little down and out today. It’s Monday, which means I have a “job o’ work” ahead of me, and I’d made some interpersonal mistakes that were weighing on my heart. Combine that with a long, emotional weekend and the realization that I have three weeks to pack up everything I own, and I was just a little grouchy and overwhelmed.

I wanted to curl up with a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa and cry. I wanted to watch something terrible on TV and forget about all the stupid. I wanted to call someone and see who would listen to me be sad and tell me it was OK.

But you know what I did? I hand-wrote letters.

I prayed about my funk and it dawned on me that the best way to avoid self-absorption is to, well, focus on someone else. So I wrote thank-you notes to some friends. Thanks for being so much fun. Thanks for loving me. Thanks for your honesty. Thanks for your creativity.

Mostly it was friends here, people who I see multiple times a week and so are apt to forget to thank, or who I think should know how much they mean to me, but I’m realizing likely don’t. It’s a simple thing, the ritual of putting pen to paper and saying something heartfelt – but it started to cure my blues and I found myself grateful instead of grouchy, humbled rather than sad.

I think I’ll write letters more often… after all, I have a Sharpie collection that’s begging to be used for something more fun than labeling moving boxes.

Writing and editing for Trochia is a terrifying experience for me. I constantly feel like I’m not wise enough, winsome enough, like I’m not articulate enough or good enough at what I do. Frequently, my insecurities sweep into my mind until I’m more tempted to watch reruns on the Food Network than actually do anything, because I’ve convinced myself that I’ll fail.

What God is teaching me, though, is that when I am cowardly – when I shrink back from people or professions that he’s placed in my life – I’m not only cheating myself out of enjoying his gifts for me, but I’m limiting an incredible chance at a front-row seat, seeing what He can do.

Read more at Trochia, here.

I’m a cynic. I’m the one who asks the Devil Advocate questions, who snorts at simple answers, who absolutely rejects chain-letters and sappy news stories and nearly every hard-luck tale. (I’m not proud of this, by the way. Just being honest.)

So, I surprised myself when I cried this morning as they announced the new Pope at the Vatican. There are thousands of people packed into the courtyard, millions more all over the world, leaning into radios and TVs to watch the proceedings and listen as Pope Francis 1 makes his first blessing. Thousands of voices reciting “Our Father” and “Ave Maria” together.

There’s a lot of cynicism in my heart, and even more in the world. There are people making cracks about how the Catholic priests are just a bunch of child molesters, how religion doesn’t mean anything, how much the Catholic church gets wrong. I think it does get some things wrong, but it also does a lot right.

Papacy is a tradition that’s carried on for almost a thousand years. “Our Father” was given by Jesus two thousand years ago. I can’t be cynical about something that has stayed true for so long – I think about my grandmother, how she would have gotten teary-eyed too at this moment, how despite her toughness she was a softy for the Catholic church, for living her life in a way that honored God. I see the faces on the TV of people from all over the world, waving the flags of their country and crying out their gratitude to God for a new leader.

It’s really a beautiful thing. My cynicism is melting away in the face of this optimism and faith, and it feels good.