Dear Universe,

I know it’s been awhile since we’ve had a proper conversation — that is, a true one-on-one that doesn’t include me begging you for a favor, or bribing you with those tootsie rolls in order to acquire said favor, or coming to you in the midst of an emotional crisis when I’m seeking comfort or understanding or trying to figure out where my life is going.

I know it’s not always supposed to be that way; I know I shouldn’t just come to you when I need something.

But I need something. Because I’m in the midst of an emotional crisis and I’m seeking comfort and understanding and trying to figure out where my life is going.

So…Can we talk? Universe?

What up.

Um…Where were you just now?

Tending to the ill and injured.

…

Fine, fine. I was watching Dawson’s Creek reruns, too. I’m great at multi-tasking.

Dawson’s–

I don’t judge you, you don’t judge me.

Anyway, I was wondering if we could maybe talk. Because my mind is kind of confused right now and my heart is –

Guarded.

Yeah, I’m working on that, remember? It’s just that there are so many emotions and changes and realizations happening all at once that I’m having a hard time sorting through it all and figuring out where I stand in the midst of everything…Like, what does it mean to leave what was a home in order to build what’s now your own home? And how do you deal with realizing that the people you love so deeply, that you want to protect so fiercely from anything negative, are only human and that they will get ill and injured and grow old and what comes after that? And how do you so selfishly keep wanting something good for yourself when so much good has already happened? And–

Whoa. Ok. See, this is where I need you to stop. This thinking thing? You do it too much, and it’s not going to get you anywhere or do anything for you but give you a headache and leave you way more confused than you already are.

Susan. Life is chaos. Life is confusion, life is emotional, and life is full of change, and you’ll never, ever be able to figure it all out. You’re not supposed to. What you are supposed to do is just let it happen, let it be every once in awhile.

Look, you’re a smart, intuitive girl. And you don’t give yourself enough credit for your strength and perseverance. But you’re taking on way too much. Your heart is in the right place, but the weight of the world isn’t yours to carry, Susan. That’s my job. That’s what I’m here for. You need to relieve some of that burden. And you need to realize that you, too, are only human.

But I don’t know how to stop caring so much. I don’t know how to stop worrying about the people I love so much, and I don’t know how to stop wanting to be there for people, to make everything better for them. I just…I don’t know how to turn it off.

You’re going to have to figure that out. It’s not about turning it off, Susan. It’s not about caring less, and it’s not about not doing for others or not worrying — that comes with the caring, which comes from the loving. But you do have to let go a little, to let people make their own mistakes, for better or for worse. I know that’s not the easiest thing for you to do.

I know you’re right — you’re always right, annoyingly so. But I can’t help but feel that that’s my role, that that’s who I am. And that I should be doing something more — loving more, caring more, helping more.

Than you already do?

Yes. Way more.

Listen, that may be who you are, but that’s not all that you are. Trust me, I should know. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you learn to let go a little. And the sooner you let go a little, the better you’ll be. And the better you are, the more you’ll be able to help others. Do you see how that works?

You’re overwhelmed now, and no kidding, look at everything you’re doing. By taking on all of this responsibility, you’re trying to prove something — you’re trying to prove to yourself and the world your worth, and you don’t have to. You’ve done it already. You do it every day. With every person that you love and everything that you care about, with every small, kind act you share, with every step forward and good thought, you’re changing your world. And that is always, always worthwhile.

I know I sound ungrateful, and I know that I’m all emotional and whining–

I’m used to it.

But I can’t help but think that there’s something I’m missing and that maybe that’s part of it. Like, there’s a reason for everything, only I can’t figure out what it is. So I’m taking all of these steps on my way to somewhere, only I have no idea where that is or when I’ll get there and I really, really hate not knowing.

So, what I’m sensing is…You don’t wanna wait.

Excuse me?

For your life to be over.

Right…

You wanna know right now what will it be…

Ok, can we stop with the TV theme sing-a-long and focus for a second?

You have no sense of humor. Did I leave that out on Let’s Make A Susan day?

…

Fine. Ok. Here it is:

You? Are an amazing person who is on her way to doing amazing things. But you’re young yet. In the great, big span of things, you’re still a child taking her first steps. You’re learning, Susan. With each and every day, you are learning more and more and with that learning comes living.

You think you haven’t done enough, but look at where you are, look at that wonderful story you can call your life, the one that’s individual to you and only you. Look at everything you’ve been through, accomplished, and experienced. I don’t just mean the good things, the successes. Successes mean nothing unless there have been failures, unless there have been mistakes, and unless there have been a few tears.

Or a lot of tears.

I’m in the middle of a monologue here…

Sorry.

Yes, a lot of tears. I know how you work, it’s that whole “get it out, then figure it out” reflex of yours. And you know what? That’s ok, too. Because this life? It’s not easy. It’s not designed to be that way. If it were easy, we’d all be partying it up with cheesy popcorn and Chex Mix and those really, really spicy Doritos and tootsie rolls.

Tootsie rolls.

Yeah. Can’t forget about those. Speaking of which, I’m running low…

So life isn’t a party. I’m kind of figuring that out.

But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t good, do you understand? Life is hard work, yes, but that’s also what makes it so rewarding, why those accomplishments make it all worthwhile. Susan, you have got to relax and give yourself some credit for the life you’ve built for yourself, for everything you’ve done and experienced. You’ve made that happen.

It wasn’t all me. I couldn’t have done it without my family, without my friends…

Yes. And it’s beautiful that you’re giving credit where credit is due, but you’re the one who took that first step; they’ve been here as the wonderful souls they are to help guide you along the way, to where you were always meant to be. But this is your life, just as they have theirs, just as you are there to help guide their way when they need it. See how that works, too? I love all this interconnected stuff. Makes my heart giggle.

Love, Susan. Love deeply, but never to the point that you begin to confuse that love or overpower it with fear.

Learn to loosen up on the reins a bit, to ask for help, and to lighten the load. That weight of the world? Somebody’s got to carry it, and it’s a dirty job, but that somebody is me, not you. You’ve got enough to do with just this whole living thing.

Be humble, yes, and have humility. But you’ve got too much. Listen, it’s ok to be proud of what you’ve accomplished as long as you’re also proud of who you are. Two for one. Booyah.

And please. Please, please, please, please, please. Every once in awhile get out of that head of yours.

Alright, are we done here?

Thanks, Universe. You always have a way of…kicking my ass.

Yeah…You know what kicks more ass? Tootsie rolls.

How about that?

And I’ve always lived like this
keeping a comfortable distance.
And up until now
I had sworn to myself that I’m content
with loneliness…
- Paramore, “The Only Exception”

“You know,”  My mom said as we walked to our separate cars in the grocery store parking lot this afternoon, “it would be a lot different if you had someone.”

By “it,” she meant this move. And by “someone,” of course, she meant a boyfriend, a partner, a significant other to come home to, to cook dinner for, to share this life with.

Someone to just be there, unquestioning, when I’m feeling this alone, this lonely.

The past few days have been difficult, that’s been painfully obvious. I had spent the last two months getting ready to achieve a dream — a place that I could call my own, one that I could call my home, and while it’s the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, while this is going down in that memory book as one of the proudest moments of my life, it’s also one of the hardest.

And that I definitely did not expect.

I didn’t expect this mental and physical exhaustion and not being able to handle making even one more decision.

I didn’t expect this emotional fatigue — this sudden onset of homesickness and loneliness that came out of nowhere but rests heavy on the heart.

And I certainly didn’t expect to find myself wanting to share all that I had achieved on my own with someone else.

My mom is right, of course. It would be a lot different if I was with someone. Easier? Maybe. Less lonely? Of course.

But while I’ve been missing people and places these past few nights, while the heart feels a little bit divided, I can’t say for sure that I would be happier had this chapter in my own story begun any other way.

For some inexplicable reason, I’d convinced myself that I was so independent and so self-reliant that I didn’t need anyone. For the last few years, for some reason that even I can’t understand, I’ve been unconsciously trying to prove to myself that I could do everything on my own: I could be that career-woman, I could travel to France, I could buy a house. I didn’t need anyone; I was capable of anything.

And I’ve done it. I’ve done it all. And I’m proud of myself for it.

But now…

Now I know that there’s something missing. Someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, someone to share it all with.

Someone.

I think I miss having that someone.

And truthfully? Even that simple acknowledgement seems to scare me because I haven’t felt that way in a long, long time.

Maybe throughout all of this testing myself and trying to prove to myself that I could do everything on my own, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to really need people, to want people, and to be a part of something.

Maybe it’s time I realize that it’s ok to want to be a part of something…

Maybe this confession means I’m getting ready to lay down this guard, to open my heart and let love in.

I’ve already proven to myself that I could do it all on my own.

Maybe now it’s time to remember what it means to be someone else’s someone once again.

Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
- Oliver Wendell Holmes, “Homesick in Heaven”

Sunday, August 29

It’s eight in the evening, and I’ve just finished putting away the dinner dishes after having close friends over as my way of saying thanks for helping me move, thanks for hanging in there with me, thanks for being the friends I’ve always wanted and needed in my life.

Riley’s curled up beside me on the bed I just made — freshly laundered sheets and a blanket from home so he’s comforted by the smell.

Riley.

This little animal that I love so much; this perfect creature of unconditional love and pure joy that lifts my heart with every tail wag and brings a smile to my eyes with every pant. He’s the one I’ve been worried about all this time — how would he adjust to his new home? How would he react to being away from my parents’ dog, Cody, after they had become so attached?

How would he feel separating from my parents, who, through the past two years of living there, had become his family, too?

Last night, though I was all moved in, I slept on the couch at my parents’ house. I wanted Riley to have a fresh start in the morning, to greet his new neighborhood and have a full day of sniffing and exploring and whatever it is dogs do to adjust.

I just wanted to see him happy.

We said goodbye to my parents early this morning. We said goodbye to Cody, and we said goodbye to the place we had always — or at least for him, for the past two years — known as home.

I was in tears the entire fifteen-minute drive. Fifteen minutes — that’s all it is. A short enough distance that we can visit and be visited in return. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I was tearing him away from the home that he knew — his place of comfort — and forcing him into some unknown territory because I was being selfish, because I wanted my dog there with me.

Because my home isn’t a home without him.

All day I tried to make him feel less anxious and more comfortable: I set out his blanket, brought in a basket of his toys, took him out for walks. For a few minutes mid-afternoon, I left him alone to run an errand, and as I closed the door, hearing his whimpers echo behind me, I could only imagine how lonely he felt, how scared and how abandoned.

I cried again.

Tonight, as I made the bed and he watched from the floor nearby, his brown eyes gazing up almost adoringly, my heart filling with both love and guilt, I realized just how much I had been projecting my own feelings onto him.

As much as I fought with the idea of moving back to my parents house two years ago, as much as I didn’t want to give up the sense of independence I had cultivated throughout college and after graduation, I’ve come to realize just how special this time with them has been.

We’re a family.

Figuring out what to do for dinner with Mom, watching movies after a busy day at work with Dad, shoveling snow (and impromptu snowball fights) with both of my brothers…We were a family, not just living together, but part of each other’s lives in a way that is so different from when we were kids. Yes, we bickered and quarreled, but we also laughed and loved and respected each other now as grown adults.

It’s all different now, with me in this new home. I’m happy and I’m proud and it all feels so…right.

But it’s also bittersweet. Because as ready as I am for this next phase of my life, as happy and excited as I am for this next adventure, a part of me can’t help but feel that familiar twinge of homesickness, missing what once was, just a short time ago.

It seems like I can already feel the distance, already feel that sense of comfort being shaken…

I can already feel the loneliness setting in…

I was so worried about how Riley would adjust but the words my mom has been saying for weeks are echoing true: he’s happy as long as I’m happy because his home is with me.

He’s curled up beside me now, already fast asleep. I know he’ll be happy, I know he’ll feel right at home. With every move, he’s always been quick to adapt — maybe dogs are just resilient like that.

My adjustment period is going to be a bit different, a bit harder.  Because while this is my home now in every sense of the word, I feel somewhat unbalanced, caught in the middle between this new life I’m creating and that place in which I spent the majority of my life – that place where people and animals are always coming and going, where everyday conversations are had, where they call goodnight to each other and ask what time they’ll be home for dinner once morning rises and everyone readies themselves for work.

That place that will always be my home.

Two homes. One I’m leaving and one I’m creating. I would feel lucky if I weren’t so caught up in these heavy emotions right now — emotions that I’m positive have been brought on by exhaustion, excitement, and the ever-difficult acceptance of change.

Little by little, though, I know that distance will feel less and less. More and more, I’ll find that familiar comfort here. Soon, this homesickness and loneliness will fade.

Because home is where the heart is.

And my heart is with my family.

My family is Riley.

And Riley is here.

Update: I woke up this morning with happiness bubbling in my heart and a content, snoring dog beside me. Emotions have run rampant over the course of the past week, and I still feel a touch of homesickness deep in my heart, which seems ridiculous, I know, but it’s definitely not as bad as the heaviness of night made it seem…After all, it’s nothing a phone call or visit home can’t fix.

This is home
Now I’m finally where I belong
Yeah, this is home
I’ve been searching for a place of my own
Now I’ve found it…

This House

This House

And now after all my searching
After all my questions
I’m gonna call it home…

My Home

My Home

My home. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get tired of saying those words. Maybe when the first mortgage payment is due or there’s a plumbing problem or something breaks, as things eventually do, I’ll roll my eyes and wonder what on earth I’ve gotten myself into. But right now, in this very moment, nothing has ever felt more perfect, more right.

The sellers of the house explained to me that they bought this house after their family returned from a three-year missions trip to Bosnia. It was their place to heal, she had said, a place to put the pieces of their life back together again after all they had experienced. My journey may not be so remarkable, but I couldn’t help but smile and think, “I understand.”

After the past few years of trying to figure out who I am and where I fit into in my world, of building back up my broken self-esteem, and of fighting everyone around me and myself in one of the darkest and scariest periods I can ever remember, I feel like this is that similar place of healing, that final piece of my own puzzle as I create the life I’ve always dreamed.

The beginning to a brand new chapter.

Some of my closest, oldest, and dearest friends stopped by to see the house this evening. One friend came to measure the windows for blinds while his wife helped me pick out paint colors. Other friends brought their children, and their excited shouts of delight as they explored the house made my heart skip a beat, for they were voicing exactly what I was feeling. And after they had all said their goodbyes, my best friend stayed behind, and we talked about where we had been and where we are going and I admitted, “this is the first time in all of my life I have felt this proud of myself, that I have actually believed that I deserve this.”

I was proud when I graduated college, though that pride was more for my family. I was proud when I went to France on my own, but that was more about proving to myself that I could do it; it was more about needing to heal.

But this…There’s something so different about this. As we stood in the doorway of the kitchen and gazed around the empty rooms, I told her that everything inside of me from start to finish has whispered that this is right, that this is meant to be, that this is everything I’ve been looking for — not just in the details of the house, but in the life I’ve been waiting to lead.

Without ego, with as much humility as possible, I told her that I’d never felt more self-pride — for the decisions that have led to this, for following my heart, for reaching out for the support of loved ones, and for finding the strength within myself to follow through.

Still, I wasn’t alone.

Tears sprung to my eyes, just as they have with this writing, as I thought about how not alone I’ve been. I don’t mean the unending support of family, of friends, of those of you who read this very blog, though it has been nothing short of remarkable, but of someone who has been guiding me my whole entire life, even though she has been gone for years…

My grandmother bought her own house, into which she moved her very large family, when she was my age, before she ever married my grandfather. Independent during a time when independence among women was met with disapproval, my grandmother was every bit the career-minded woman, with a gentle disposition but a quiet strength that I could only long to match. I feel as if I barely had the chance to know her, yet she is one of the greatest influences of my life.

From the very first glimpse of possibility to standing in the threshold this evening, the sky darkening outside and only the warm glow of the dining room light filling the room, I have known, without a doubt, that she has been here, guiding me still. She’s been that example of what is possible, that proof of what everyone is capable of.

I’ve begun to realize my own strength, my own independence.

I’ve begun to accept that I should never again consider myself exempt from happiness.

Boxes with painting and cleaning supplies and necessary staples now litter the hardwood floors, and the walls are still bare, devoid of any decoration, any real personality. But the heart of the home is written on the walls, invisible to the eye, but still apparent in every nook, corner, and cranny.

Love resides here in this house…

This house that is now a home.

Yeah, this is home.

- Switchfoot, “This Is Home”

I tend to believe in karma – that the positive energy that you put out into the world returns to you in one way or another (often in ways that are unpredictable). I also believe in doing good – not just because it leads to that good karma, but because it’s our inherent responsibility, it’s what makes us human.

That’s why I love the idea of paying it forward. Such simple acts of kindness can change a life in unimaginable ways: hold open a door for someone, wave someone on in traffic, say thank you (and mean it).

 Smile.

You never know when someone will need that helping hand, when your generosity can help them get where they’re going, and how far your appreciation can carry them.

 You never know just what a smile can mean.

 Storytime 

France 2008. It’s hard to believe that it’s been two years already since that trip, as it still remains so vivid in my mind. I was traveling completely on my own for the first time to a foreign country where I knew no one upon arriving. I was ready; I was excited. I was homesick; I was terrified. Yet all through that journey complete strangers were there to guide me along, to calm those emotions, and to help me see the beauty in this adventure.

 An older gentleman refused to take a tip after showing me the taxi line and conversing with the driver about directions to the inn in which I was staying, claiming “c’est de mon coeur.” On the way home again, after missing my flight to Paris due to a train delay, exhausted, weary, and out of tears, I studied the contents of a vending machine only to have the cleaning woman ask me what I was looking for — food or drink? After admitting that I was famished for both, she pulled a packaged sandwich out of her cart and offered it to me.

 If I didn’t believe in everyday angels before, I certainly did now.

 Safe and sound in the Charles de Gaulle airport the next day, an hour or so before boarding my flight back to Philadelphia, I stood in line to pay for my lunch. Ahead of me, a young Asian man rooted through the coins in his hands, only having enough money for the drink beside his selected sandwich. After I had purchased my own meal, I wandered over to the waiting area and settled in. A moment later, I recognized the young man near me. I barely hesitated.

He didn’t understand English or French, and I didn’t know his language, but we understood each other. I held out a 2 Euro coin and gestured to the cafe. He smiled, nodded, and ran off to buy something to eat.

 There are so many instances in our lives where we have the opportunity for kindness, to lift each other up with our actions or our words. We may not be able to donate an entire paycheck to charity or volunteer all of our time to the cause we feel most passionate about, but we can do more in what seems like simple ways to us, but may mean the world to someone else.

 When it comes down to it, we have to watch out for each other.

 Because when it comes down to it, we only have each other.

 The Givaway

 I first heard of this book via Grace Boyle’s Small Hands, Big Ideas giveaway; a few days later, I was contacted with a gracious request to review the book, to which I gratefully accepted.

 But Operation Beautiful by Caitlin Boyle (no relation to Grace, I hear) has such a powerful message that I asked if I could do my own giveaway for you.

Fed up with the negative way in which women have a habit of seeing themselves, Caitlin started a movement – a powerful movement — with one little post-it note that she slapped on the mirror of a public bathroom:

 ”YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL”

 You are. Every single one of you. And that’s why I love the message of this book.  You are smart, you are good, you are loved.

 And you deserve to be loved.

 And you deserve to be reminded of this every single day.

 I can only imagine what that first person thought when they saw Caitlin’s post-it note on that bathroom mirror, but the thousands of women who have responded with their own pay-it-forward attitude, their own positive post-it notes and messages of empowerment among the many described in the book, is a testament to this power of positivity.

The Details

 As my own way of spreading this message, I’m giving away a copy of Operation Beautiful: Transforming the Way You See Yourself One Post-It Note At A Time by Caitlin Boyle. Simply post a comment below telling your own story of how you pay it forward or how you’ve experienced this transfer of empowerment and positivity. One reader will be selected via a random drawing on Wednesday, August 25. 

So get to it and spread the word! 

(And be sure to check out the fantastic responses to Grace’s giveaway.)

CONGRATULATIONS!

 Congratulations to PositivePresent, recipient of the Operation Beautiful book giveaway! 

Thanks to everyone for sharing their own stories and for helping to spread the word.

Bloggers around the web are continuing to pay it forward with giveaways for Operation Beautiful. Check out Elisa’s giveaway for another chance to win! 

(Note: recipients are chosen based on a random drawing.)