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Friends! I'm off. This weekend is our wedding, then Chris and I are headed to Greece! Thank you all for your continued love and support during our engagement. Thank you for sharing in our joy, embracing our story and making us feel especially loved!
See you in two weeks! :) Αντίο!
Last week, I drove home at dusk as the sun faded behind the clouds, providing the perfect light, I would think, if I were a photographer. The air smelled like pre-summer rain and it blew across my face as I drove with my windows down.
I crossed through Emory's campus and it suddenly hit me that I was driving my old running route. I spent my first two summers interning in Atlanta living in student housing, pounding the same three-mile loop every morning in the dark before work.
As I crossed over my old halfway point, my mind flooded with memories I haven't processed in many years. It hit me that, this week, Chris and I will get married just a little over a mile from where I spent those first few years in Atlanta. Where he planned the night of our proposal is right by the golf course where I once met a boy who I (incorrectly) thought I'd marry. Where we'll dance into the night is just down the road from where we used take postprandial walks getting to know one another better. And, our wedding day is, almost exactly, five years to the day after I had my heart broken by him.
These streets that once felt so broken, empty and painful, have been refreshed - paved with love and filled with abundant joy; so much so, that I almost didn't recognize them. The landmarks that used to make my heart ache, reminding me of what once was, have been resuscitated, new life breathed into them.
I was reminded in the moment that this journey was written for us. Our wedding day and our story were by design; they were not by chance. It was a gentle reminder that there is a plan and, if we can lean into it a little more and trust more fully, we can find unprecedented joy and relief.
Had you told me, as I moved from apartment to apartment across the city, living in 10 different places, that I'd begin my life as a married couple with Chris just down the road from my very first apartment, I never would have believed it. If you'd told me that connections Chris and I both made at separate high schools, nearly 500 miles apart, would be the people who ultimately introduced us, I would have been flabbergasted.
But that's the thing about it. It's not our map to navigate or our story to fully understand. It's simply a beautiful life we're meant to live, if we can open up our hearts to trust a little more.
Happy Monday, friends!
This morning before work, I took out the trash and noticed that Pedro, the man who maintains our property, had placed two chairs in our veggie garden so he didn't have to mow around them. The move was understandable, as the garden has been completely neglected this year.
As I transferred them back, I noticed the garden had become overrun by weeds. Our mint, which is abundant despite my neglect, was being strangled by weeds that had started on the outside of the garden box and now ruled the inside. I quickly began uprooting the weeds one by one. The more I pulled, the more I discovered. They had grown layers deep - intertwined between the mint and mulch and remnants of tomatoes and basil.
As I dug deeper, yanking up more twisted, powerful weeds, I realized our 20s can be a lot like this garden if we aren't careful. We start out planting basil, tomatoes, mint and peppers. We're dedicated; we tend to it and care for it.
But, the summer ends and as winter nears we forget about the garden. It freezes over during the coldest months and in the spring it stands forgotten by us, becoming whatever we have left it to be. Years go by and suddenly our once diverse and vibrant garden is simply mint and weeds.
This isn't to sound negative, but, instead to acknowledge that one of the greatest lessons I've learned in this decade is that we have to be intentional.
If we want to be a therapist or a doctor or spend a year abroad, we can't simply sit at our desks, hoping someone will give us that dream. If we feel led to start a business, we can't grind on other work, hoping someone will lay that foundation for us.
If we want a garden full of basil, tomatoes and peppers in the fall, we have to plant it in the spring and tend to it all summer. If we want a life made up of our dreams, hopes and goals we have to get out there and make it happen; we have to hustle and work for it. Before we know it, we just might find ourselves waking up in summer, surrounded by the fruits of our labor.
Growing up, we had a Dairy Queen within walking distance of our house. Because of this, entire periods of my childhood are marked by specific DQ menu items.
In the beginning, it was the Dilly Bar. We'd roll up in my mom's Astro Van after a swim meet, exhausted from racing so late into the night. Or, on special evenings, after my dad would take us for a night swim at the local pool. I always associate the Dilly Bar with my eyes burning from chlorine.
In elementary school, it was the blizzard. Almost too big to finish, always Oreo. When I fell off a stool and hit my chin on the counter, that blizzard was the answer (after the stitches, of course).
And, in middle school, it was the now-retired Frozen Hot Chocolate. As we became old enough, my parents would let us walk the four blocks with friends. We felt so old, walking on our own, talking about boys.
One of my friends always made fun of my Frozen Hot Chocolate. She said it just didn't make sense for it to be named both frozen and hot. I remember that every time she said it, I would think: Hm. She's probably right. But, I like it even if it doesn't make sense. And then I'd enjoy every bit of it.
I've been thinking a lot, lately, about how our feelings don't always make sense. My brother, Duke, and I have shared a duplex for the last two years. He recently moved out to prepare for Chris to move in after our wedding.
I'm overwhelmed with joy at the thought of living with Chris. But, I've found myself mourning no longer living with Duke. The juxtaposition of the absolute joy I feel for the future and letting go of what once was is leaving me feeling confused. I'm finding that my feelings don't totally make sense.
But, as I've sat with them this week in my empty little house, I'm reminded that feelings aren't about making sense. It would be easy to let myself feel guilty for having mixed emotions about a chapter for which I am so ready. But that wouldn't be fair to myself, because feelings aren't always black and white.
So often we try to draw lines around our emotions - fighting feelings with facts. The best thing we can do is give ourselves the grace and space we need to process, feel and learn. Just like my DQ treat could be both frozen and hot chocolate, so our feelings can be marked with both sorrow and joy. I'm continuing to learn that there is so much beauty in life as we learn to make space for a little bit of ambiguity.
Happy, happy, Thursday, friends
