on hurry, worry and loving the process


My cousin, Allie, was recently joking that in college, a typical weekend evening for me looked something like this: 
I'd go to one person's room and say: Jordan, can you paint my nails?
Then I'd go to another room and say: Allyson, can you pluck my eyebrows?
And then another one and say: Jamie, can you do my eyeliner?
...And down the hall I went until I was all done up and ready to go.

These skills aren't my strong suit and I was recently joking with someone about it and they said: Maybe you're so bad at painting your nails because you always hurry...


Now, had she seen me do art, ever, she might not be so inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt. 

However, it got me thinking about hurrying. I love getting stuff done, producing results and checking things off. It's so empowering. I'm a goal-oriented, end-results, check, check, check kind of person. 

But, I tend to forget that it's not always the end result that matters. Sometimes it's about the process along the way. The cake you make is beautiful, but what about the way you learn to mix ingredients, enjoy the kitchen and laugh at your mistakes before you put it in the oven? 


About two years ago I was in stuck in a rut of worrying and during the last few years, I've worked to break free from the pattern. And golly, it's so much more peaceful living with less worry. However, I've noticed that I start to worry more when I feel stuck. When I feel like I can't get to Z as quickly or as easily as I want to. When I feel frozen at M. Or even A. I worry, because I want to hurry.

But sometimes, I think it's important to remember that even though we'd really like to be on the other side of our worry, sitting at Z with a glass of wine and a carefree day, we can learn so much along the way. 


I recently heard that worry is a smaller way of saying we don't know if God will come through for us. It's our way of saying: listen here, just in case you don't have this one handled, I do. I'm going to micromanage and control and make plans, just to ensure everything is going to work out just how I'd like it to.

Wheeoo. Isn't that the truth?

The hardest part of all is that we often worry about the things we care about the most, which makes it that much more challenging to loosen our grip.


But today, I decided I'm throwing my hands up. There are plenty of things for me to worry about, because life can be hard and there is real hurt and pain on this earth. But by sitting in worry, we can't solve anything. We can't make the people we love hurt less. We can't get to our futures faster. We can't gain even an ounce of control. 

The best we can do is love those around us, meet each other where we are, give ourselves grace, and ask ourselves every day what we can learn from the process. And, of course, pray like crazy.

And who knows, maybe by the time you get where you want to be, you'll have learned more than you ever thought possible. In fact, you might even be able to paint your own nails. 

And that, my friend, is a tricky.



fight the fright

Atlanta people: listen up.

Non-Atlanta people: book yourselves a flight here. Then listen up.

Unusually bossy, I am. But for good reason.

Last night I had the sheer pleasure of dining at my very first underground supper club, Porkman's Table.


The chef (and financial advisor by day), Ben Portman, hosts weekly dinners with the hope of "fighting the fright of Sunday night." 

You're intrigued, right? As was I.

The first step is to sign up for the mailing list. After you sign up, you'll receive an email mid-week with the menu. The first ten people to reply (from a mailing list of 400+), earn a spot at the table via a cryptic email: "You are in. Keep your eyes peeled for an email with details and directions." A few days later, you receive a follow up with the time and location, and that you will be greeted with a drink and a snack. Who will be there? What to expect? Completely blind. It's an adventure at its finest. 

In other words, it's my jam.

The food was some of the best I've ever had. There was leek bread pudding, herb and truffle stuffed hen, fennel ice cream -- and course after course of incredible combinations of ingredients I wouldn't dream of mixing. I felt like I'd walked into Top Chef's home, just down the street from my own. 


I don't claim to be a foodie, and, while obviously blown away by the food, my real weakness is ambiance. I'm such a sucker for a good vibe that I often don't realize I didn't actually enjoy my meal that much. I can't tell you what I ate, but wasn't the lighting great!? And the chalk board on the wall! And the bathrooms! 

Now, last night, I remember the food. It was unreal. But, true to form, the vibe was what filled me up the most. Melissa and I walked in knowing no one. We sat with seven strangers (plus one girl I just happened to know). We started the evening knowing nothing about the night, but by the end we were talking about weddings, celebrating a birthday and laughing at inside jokes from the prior course. It was the kind of natural intimacy that comes only when no one has stake in the conversation. We will likely never see one another again. We did not need to impress one another. We were just there to enjoy the experience. The conversation was relaxed, real and life-giving. It was the absolute perfect way to end the weekend, before slipping back into reality.


If you haven't already, sign up for the mailing list, and get your trigger finger ready. Your speed will be greatly rewarded come Sunday night.

stay humble

When it comes to airline travel, Courtney and I are both a little lot bit ridiculous. We run through the airport more often than we walk. We're no strangers to having our names last called over the intercom. And we're notoriously the final passengers to board the plane.
 
(And to the rest of our family: I can feel ye cautious travelers cringing right now.)
 
 
I cannot count the number of times we've been driving to the airport in Virginia, Denver, Houston or Atlanta and one of us has looked at the other and said: "Are we going to miss our flight?"
And then the other of us looked at the clock and laughed, saying: "No! We're not going to miss our flight."
{meanwhile thinking: we might miss our flight}
We are overconfident to a fault. We operate as if we are above the law in the one place on earth that absolutely no one operates above the law. The plane would not leave without us!
 
One time, we were at security a few minutes ahead of schedule and there were two lines. Courtney had to go in the longer line, but I had the option of either one. So, I obviously chose the longer line so we could stay together longer. I had eight extra minutes. Puhlenty of time!
 
 
Fast forward 22 minutes and what was I doing? That's right. Giving Courtney the quickest hug in America and sprinting to my gate, sundress, sandals and all.
 
 
Last week, though, I received a text from Court that rocked my world. It went a little something like this:
And I say it again. What!

 
When I called her I needed to know every detail: What exactly happened? So the airplane actually just took off without you? Like it left? Even though you weren't on it? It just left?
 
 
Turns out, even we, with our false sense of security when it comes to ETDs, can be left behind. And let us be your cautionary tale: stay humble everybody. Ain't nobody operating above the law - on the plane or off it.
 
 
Happy Friday :)

mooore adventuring


I'm trying to think about how to tell you what I'm about to tell you in a clever way. And the amount of times that I have shared this news is making me dig deep into the realms of my brain to get creative.

So here we go.

In high school, I went through this phase where I thought it was really funny to tell cow jokes. I don't know why I thought it was funny. But I swear I snagged my high school boyfriend with them. He took me to the moo-vies, even.

(Yes. They were that bad. Like Colonel Moo-stard and moo-chas gracias caliber. All the time.)

So today, brought to you by Whitney Circa 2004, I ask you what a cow says when he finds out his house sold?

That's right. We're moo-ving.

Moving! 

Which means, yes, so far in 2013, we have a post about moving as a quarterly feature. January and April. But this is it. For real, for real, for real.  This is the last time we're moving for a long time.


When we moved in to our current place, we knew it was a possibility that the house might sell, but the market wasn't that good and the rent was low and the location was amazing and our luck certainly had to be up after living with rats. 

Right?

But, alas, someone has decided they want our abode as their abode and they don't want to rent it anymore. I thought about lobbying for these newlyweds to let Mel and me continue to live in two of the four bedrooms this house offers, but it didn't exactly scream logical.

So, in just three weeks time, we'll be on the move again. You might think I'd be worried that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. But I'm oddly relaxed...


In the meantime, I've made a real short Greenwood Ave. bucket list, which includes: dinner at Panita Thai and to score an invitation to a porch party at our neighbors' house. They live on the corner of Highland and Greenwood in this hugely huge house with two wraparound porches and they're always having so much fun out there. 

Cross your fingers for good weather this weekend so I can deliver them some baked goods with a cow joke and a smile and really set the mooood right.

{I won't do that. Cookies. No cows. Promise}