Author: curlysedge

Create

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For as long as I can remember I have loved creating.  I’m sure it started at a young age–coloring, play-doh, and basic arts and crafts.  We had several babysitters growing up who instilled a sense of creative wonder in us as well–I can remember making sock puppets, creating intricate games, and activities that didn’t always end up the way they were planned (sorry about breaking that piece off of the chandelier!).

As I have grown up, my creativity has stayed consistent.  Sometimes I don’t capitalize on it, or admit it (Shelly will be the first to tell you that).  I love creating and being artistic.  Crafting is a part of my blood.  Several, several years ago I opened an Etsy site.  Eventually it became too much and I stopped making sales.  I have had a Facebook page that has continued (though not updated) as well.  Both have become ghost towns.  That is until today.  I’ve found such joy in being able to create new pieces for my own home, I have more than I need.  So I want to create as a way for self-care, and making a little money on the side is not bad either.  So I spent time today figuring out what areas I wanted to concentrate on, taking pictures, pricing pieces, and updating my Facebook Page and Etsy site.  I even updated my logos.

I’d love your support if you are interested.  All items currently are custom orders.  But I am happy to work with you to find something that fits your needs and budget.  You can check out my Etsy here and my Facebook page here.

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Challenge

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I believe in growth, and I know that often times that means facing things we are afraid of or that challenge us or that push us outside the place where we feel comfortable. In 2019, I said “I’m here for it. Bring. It. On!” I adopted a mantra for myself to remember to push myself (#bebrave), to be inquisitive and honest (#bevulnerable), and to be the crazy/wonderful person who I am at my core (#bewild). Often times it’s been far from easy. But I think those three things are essential for me in this year and will (and have) led me to some wonderful growth and new opportunities.

Tomorrow starts a new journey for me. I have my orientation for my Master’s program. I’m excited, and nervous, and really just ready for it to begin and to be in this new normal. I don’t like the anticipation of things (even when I like the actual things). Being in a new setting with a bunch of folks I don’t know seems daunting, but once I’m there I will be living and soaking up every moment I’m sure. That’s just one part of my growth.

I’m finding more and more that writing is a good outlet for myself. It’s allows me to be creative in a way different than when I’m paints or sewing or crafting. I love words and how they fit together and give us a unique sense of what is happening. Several people over the last year have complimented me on my writing and the way I use words. And so I’m noticing and challenging myself to keep that part of my creativity alive and fresh. In the month of September I am making a commitment to blog every day. It doesn’t have to be long. And there is no rhyme or reason to when it happens or what topics I’ll choose. I just feel I need it as a way to give back to myself.

I’ve Heard it Said…

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I’ve had several conversations over the last couple weeks with close friends about how strange adult relationships (friendships or otherwise) are–it’s as if in our minds as young people we think relationships will be: easier, less messy, more convenient, less drama, **fill in the blank here**. But, I think they’re harder…Playing on the playground at school it’s natural to go up to someone you don’t know and see if they want to play tag/ball/make-believe. But as an adult, it’s weird (okay, downright creepy sometimes) to walk up to another adult and say “Hi! My name is Shannon, want to be friends?” As an empath, I crave deep relationships. As an extrovert, I thrive on being around people. Together it can be a daunting combination. Because truly it isn’t quantity that matters (though sometimes that’s misleading), but it’s quality. I fall into caring about people super easily–really I care about all people and so it’s easy enough to find my connection on some level when I interact with new folks. And it’s often true that I can overwhelm others with my attentiveness and need for connection (I worry about the smother affect).

But recently I’ve struggled with connecting (not because anyone is doing anything wrong, but what I seek is not necessarily in line with what others can give). Many of my friends are coupled/married. That’s the first degree of separation (Kevin Bacon not included). Being a third wheel is something I’ve done for a loooong time. And it’s never really been a problem, but it’s different when we have jobs and bills and live more structured “I have to check with my partner” lives. And, though my sister who I live with is often my +1 in social settings, I don’t always have to check with her if I am just getting together with a friend or group. Add to this that some of these friends also have kids (second degree of separation). I love my friends’ kids, truly. But it means more flexibility in plans, rescheduling, or not having intentional time for months on end. It can be frustrating. It’s caused me to re-evaluate my reactions recently because I’ve been working so hard in 2019 to “be brave, be vulnerable, be wild”. And that has meant sharing how I feel (even when I know it’s ridiculous) and asking for what I need. Sometimes then I overlook the needs of others because I get frustrated by plans falling through. And–whoa–you’re telling me other people have needs too? Reality is that people can’t always give us what we need (even if they want to)–and that doesn’t necessarily mean they care about us any less. This is a big realization for me. Not that I didn’t already know it, but it’s like I could fully understand it for the first time. It’s a major reframe for me, and a process. I’m committing to understanding this more and trying really hard to take it in stride which feels counterintuitive. But, damn, I sure do miss the days of college when you could spend time with your people 24/7.

Adulting also makes the dating world difficult to navigate (you’re right, I don’t openly talk about this in person or here on my blog–be brave. be vulnerable. be wild–right?). Online dating is weird, it feels unnatural, and there is something about having absolutely no connection to the person you are talking to/going to meet that gives me the willies. Give me a blind date or dating an acquaintance any day over online/app-based dating. Also, the hook up culture runs rampant in online dating (if that’s your thing, no shame, it’s just definitely not where I am at this stage in my life–you do you though). It doesn’t seem that culture changes across platform (even though branding would lead you to believe otherwise). So I’m left with trying to meet and get to know people in the day to day–friends and potential dates.

There is a fine line (a gossamer barrier) between friendships and romantic relationships as adults–it’s harder to tell the difference. It’s harder to genuinely try and get to know someone, because you want friendship and camaraderie and support, without crossing over into any of those dating synonyms: talking, hanging out, dating, courting (does anyone still say this?), exclusive, bf/gf, etc. I’ve been concentrating on finding and growing friendships the last few months, but how is getting to know someone really all that different from “talking”? It’s easy to misread signals and cues and actions. Because today you can no longer assume whether the other person is into men or women, its not uncommon to think you are being friendly when someone else thinks you are flirting no matter the gender or relationship. That’s only one reason why clarity of our intentions and needs is so important (even when we don’t know–because saying “I don’t know” is an answer). And things change, you can think one thing and then find you feel another, or maybe you really just finally have an answer instead of not knowing. So continued communication and vulnerability is important, in any type of relationship. We all see situations with our own set of lenses. I worry sometimes my innate need for connection (what some would see as “clingy”) is too much or makes my intentions seem they are something other than what I say. In reality, I just love people and love them hard–that’s part of how my empathic nature presents.

Maybe I’m talking in circles, and maybe none of this makes sense outside of my own head. But I find myself sociologically analyzing my interactions and heart tugs and bonds with others–I can’t help it. I grow and age and “mature”, and thus I learn more. And where it brings some answers, it brings a hell of a lot more questions to the surface that make me evaluate my actions and what I want (or rather what I need). All I can do is try to be honest in all things, to be unapologetically me (even though I say “I’m sorry” too much). I’m not perfect, but I am genuine–that has to count for something.

I’ve been singing this on repeat (getting all of the High School show choir feels).

To Learn

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Life doesn’t always go as we’ve expected, or as we’ve planned. There’s that saying “God looks at your plans and then laughs”. I’m not so sure how I feel about that, but pieces of it ring true. I’ve been on a journey this year, really since facilitating the “Dare to Lead” class at church. I’ve tried to be open to God’s continued call for my life, and have looked for the subtle clues He places before me.

Back in March I had the opportunity to attend a Counselor breakfast hosted by my alma mater for high school counselors in the metro Indy area. I love those events, partially because I love talking about OWU and getting to know new people. I sat next to a very friendly counselor from Brebeuf and we talked a long time about his OWU questions and about how I ended up at Tapestry and in youth ministry. Something in this conversation just clicked for me.

So I started researching school counseling masters programs. What was out there, could I do that and still keep my job, and could I make it work for Fall 2019??? Butler had the best program for me, but their application deadline had already passed. On a whim, I asked if their cohort still had space and it did. So I applied a week or so later, pulled together some recommendations from parents, former Admissions colleagues, and one of my youth ministry peers. It could work. I played the waiting game and was asked to interview, which went really well, and then I waited some more.

But I got my admittance letter and was over the moon. This was where I felt my passion was meeting the needs of the world, where I could give back and use my talents in a field where all too often we pigeon-hole young people into college as their only option. My time at Tapestry has taught me a lot about vocation and calling and the variety of “right fit” for individual youth. It’s not one size fits all. And I think we need to do a better job of helping our young people see that.

So this Fall I will start a 3 year program while continuing to work at Tapestry. I can’t say what the future holds for sure or where exactly this journey will take me. But I’m excited to be back in a learning environment. And I’m thankful to feel like I have a new sense of direction. Here’s to figuring it all out, one day at a time.

Duality

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Blessing for the Graduate

May this blessing bring you courage.

May it lift your spirits,

And remind you of the newness of your journey.

This blessing is mean to give you space:

Space to seek, to grow, to discover

Discover who you are

Determine what is next

The blessing is one small piece

Or the ever enfolding adventure

It leaves much unknown

But so much to look forward to.

This blessing is with you,

Through every class

Every new club

Through the friendships built

The parties attended.

This blessing is your reassurance

That you made the right choice

Because the choice is always yours

This blessing reminds you to not be afraid

Your dream can take flight

Because it has secured the wings on your feet.

—————————————————————

Blessing for the Parent

This blessing is alongside you

Through the bittersweet taste

You spit from your mouth.

It finds you twisted inside

With heartbreak and joy

Both so closely intertwined

May this blessing comfort you

As you find your new normal;

One less.

May this blessing bolster you

And remind you of the lesson you be instilled within them.

May you be assured

The tools are before them

And there is much to be proud of today,

And tomorrow.

This blessing will catch you

As they take flight

And the wind is knocked from your own wings.

A Blessing for this Day

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You are my blessing.

Day in and day out,

You flood my thoughts,

Protect my heart,

And bring unending joy.

You are my blessing.

You find me in the dark places,

You wrap your spirit around me

When you can embrace no more.

You find me in times of weakness and shame,

You raise me to my feet,

And remind me of the strength within.

You are my blessing.

Lessons on end,

Teachings still to come:

About life,

About love,

About relationships

And faith.

About children,

About elders,

About spaces and in between.

You are my blessing,

My mantra,

My mama.

Will There Really Be a Morning?

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There are moments you remember all your life…This is one of those moments. –Yentle

I can remember so distinctly that, all of us in blue velvet dresses with the rhinestones. Our feet crammed into character shoes and hair freshly curled. And as we wait (at LC I think) Wiehe came to tell us: there’s been an accident. A plane crash. Zach didn’t make it. I remember the shock, the confusion, and the silence that poured over us. But there was music to be sung, and what better way to honor him and begin to grieve then to make music and do our best at competition.

It was chance that we sang “Weep No More” that year. Maybe not, maybe it was fate. But emotion didn’t hit me until we got to that song. Looking straight ahead, not making eye contact with my peers, we all sang from the heart. And the tears rolled down my face. It’s hard to imagine your former student teacher and friend passing away unexpectedly. But there it was–he was gone.

I don’t remember what my drive home was like. I do remember bursting in the door, and crashing into my mom’s arms as I sobbed through explaining to her what I knew about what had happened. He was too young, there had to be a mistake, planes don’t crash anymore, do they? And there we sat together for a long while as she soothed my heart and dried my tears.

In class the day of our end of the year show Wiehe asked for a volunteer to give words about Zach. No one moved for a moment, and then a hand shot up milliseconds before mine. And even though I tried to show I really wanted to speak, the other girl was chosen. That sat heavy.

So, being me, I wrote out what I would have said. I took it home, let my mom read it, and she said, “you have to send this to Wiehe. This is beautiful and a wonderful tribute.” I knew the other girl didn’t know him very well and it didn’t seem right for her to give the honorarium–I was jealous, and pissed, and felt like she was being an opportunist . And so that night, Wiehe told me that we’d both be saying words. My words. We divvied up the sentences and read from the printout I had brought with me. My voice caught in my throat more than once that night. It seemed unreal that music he had arranged for us, that he had rehearsed with us, should be sung. But the music lives on.

I remember the visitation–traveling with one of my choir friends, driving the 45 minutes, staying just long enough to sign the book and take it in but not see the family. There were gobs of people. Even our choreographer was there. Leaving felt strange but I sent a card and explained a little about who I was.

I wrote several letters to his parents over the years–expressing what an effect Zach had on my life and my music education–what a pillar he was for my peers and me. They sent me his CD, I still have it. But time moves on and not all connections remain. After a couple years the letters ceased as other priorities took hold. But I think of them occasionally, especially as this date rolls around, and as it sometimes falls near Holy Week. I am thankful for what he taught me, for the joy and happiness he always exuded, for the Zach-isms that remain. For reminding me to live life to its fullest.

Will there really be a “Morning”? 
Is there such a thing as “Day”? 
Could I see it from the mountains 
If I were as tall as they? 

Has it feet like Water lilies? 
Has it feathers like a Bird? 
Is it brought from famous countries 
Of which I have never heard? 

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor! 
Oh some Wise Men from the skies! 
Please to tell a little Pilgrim 
Where the place called “Morning” lies!

–Emily Dickinson

The Anticipation of the Thing

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I’ve always known myself as anxious person. It manifests itself in different ways, and 98% of the time it’s something I manage well and those who don’t know me don’t pick up on it.

When I was little it would show up in my extra energy, needing to always be around people, and trouble falling asleep. Through adolescence my anxiety grew up a little. I wasn’t a rebellious kid or troublemaker, though I had my fair share of opportunities. But my anxiety caused me to overthink the consequences of getting caught and I simply chose not to participate. In college, my anxiety turned toward my future: will I find a job? Will I get married? Etc.

And now my anxiety comes, more often than not, in my relationships. I worry about how I affect others and the deeper meanings behind their actions and words. I often think myself into a tizzy making sure I haven’t upset someone or done something “weird”. I don’t talk about this side of me much, probably because anxiety comes with a huge stigma in our society. People think it has to be treated through medications only, that anxiety is a gateway to other things, or that anxiety only happens to the “other”. Those aren’t my truths.

I am a high functioning anxious person who handles it really well on my good days. But on my bad days I tend to think the worst: everyone hates me, I made them upset, I’m not living up to my own expectations, I’m left out of “fill in the blank”. It’s a part of me, I live with it and I grow through it, but it isn’t always easy. I’m learning to be more direct in sharing my feelings and insecurities, to ask for what I need (and accept the genuine answers whether “I can help” or “sorry, I’m busy”). And I’m identifying ways I can best work through anxious feelings to diffuse them as much as I can.

I’ve been faced a couple times recently with conversations that gave me insight to my life and my friendships, and I’ve found I probably should start journaling again–not the “dear diary” type. More prompt based, deeper learning related, and concentrated on my goals and growth, how I’m feeling and the causes and side affects. My brain needs this type of organization and these lists to help me move forward, to get past the multifaceted analysis that often consumes my thoughts.

So with journal and pen in hand, I look forward to setting some new habits and routines–a healthier, more confident, stronger me. So I’ll start that forward motion with this new mantra propelling me:

Bert and Ginger

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Sometimes the universe knows what you need. It sends you little messages of presence and encouragement and love. Hold on to those, dear ones, gather them up and keep them close to your soul.

Earlier this week my sister and I were able to spend some intentional time with our aunt who lives in another state. She’s been a widow for a handful of years, and we talk to her regularly to check in and make sure she is doing alright. Our mom, her sister, was the youngest of four by about 8 years. Because our parents had us (what was once considered) later in life, people often thought our aunt and uncle were our grandparents. And they operated as such, our maternal grandmother had already passed before our parents were even married, and I only have a few memories of my maternal grandfather before he went to the nursing home–but they are wonderfully happy memories.

But our aunt and uncle stepped in, in so many ways, to the role of grandparents. They came for visits, kept me for a week or two while the rest of my family went on vacation (no joke), they spoiled us, loved us, gave us advice, celebrated with us, and so much more. Visiting my aunt brought back lots of those happy memories, and thoughts of being worried about her being lonely living states away from family–especially as she ages. And so when my sister and I saw the below picture on the flight home, the wind left our lungs, tears welled up, and there was a stark feeling of reassurance and pain, an eerie combination.

A good reminder that those we love are always with us, sending us signs, offering reassurance, and urging us to remember them. Thanks, Bert. Love you. And don’t worry, we will take care of her.

The Witching Hour

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I’m not sure if I’ve written about some of this before, so forgive me if I have…but right now I am just letting the words flow…

I remember so distinctly some of our conversations those last few months.  Twice a day visits, one each from Dad and I, that ebbed into one of us visiting once a day because we were running ourselves ragged and not even noticing it.  Conversations about things to come, how the world would be, and how the four of us may or may not move along.  But I can hear her saying over, and over, and over….”If you come after 4, it will be too late”.  “I won’t make it until 4…so come before then…” And in the most morbid of ways, it became our running joke.  And in my attempt to comfort her, to support her into the next stages, I promised that I would think of her at 4 o’clock and every moment between.

So it seems only appropriate that today I should wake up in the wee hours of the morning, feeling strangely wide awake though not in any shape to face the day.  I read in a book how sometimes people refer to this time in the early morn as “the witching hour” because nothing good could happen at 3 or 4 in morning (I wish I could attribute that thought to the author, but I can’t seem to recall which book it is from–but that is not my own thought).  To me this time is sacred–and I imagine because of its “name” it would be the same for certain groups of the occult.  But I consider it my own personal time where the distance, and space, and thickness of the world feels a little bit less between us.  And even though my sleep pattern gets thrown off, I am thankful for the moments I can sit at this hour and just be.

It can be difficult to remember.  Her voice seems to slip away from your ears and you wonder if you truly remember how it sounded: how you could here the smile in her voice before you saw it on her face, how you knew when you were in trouble just from her tone of exasperation, and the concern and worry that was never far from the core of her being because she loved fiercely her people and really people in general.

I don’t like today: because it slaps me in the face with the fact that she is gone.  Life has been hectic the last several months–there have been numerous changes at work that affect how I work and my typical processes for getting things done–I’ve had to adapt time and time again.  I say that because, in a strange way, its helped me cope.  I’ve been able to distract myself from the gaping hole in my heart.  I’ve been able to push aside some of the grief and not let it crumple me in a corner.  But that also makes me feel guilty for not letting myself be raw and vulnerable and real.  But that time has also given me much time for reflection as I look at how our congregation moves forward and evolves.  And in those moments of contemplation I wonder what her advice would be.  I recognize the ball of nerves she’d be as I share everything that is happening in my life and the (self-perceived) difficulties with which I’m faced on the day-to-day.

I don’t know exactly what she’d tell me, but I can imagine the sentiment behind her advice.  I remember the strength of her faith and her spirit.  I remember the compassion and love she had for me and my sisters.  I remember the fierce connection between she and my dad.  I remember the twinkle in her eye when she’d say something that was silly or was something that just barely pushed the envelope on its appropriateness.  I remember things that bonded our souls, those connections that are unbreakable.  I remember life chats snuggled in bed together.  I remember the multitude of shopping trips for new clothes: whether her taking me for school clothes or me taking her when she’d stopped driving.  I remember the way her cheeks would pink after one glass of wine.  And how her nimble fingers could craft up just about anything on her sewing machine that seemed ancient.  I remember how as she aged she looked more and more like her dad–and I think fondly about the fact that I will probably follow suit.  I remember the difficult days: growing up, as an “adult”, and in the last several years–because life simply isn’t life without the highs and lows.

And even in all of this remembering, it doesn’t make it easier.  But I am thankful for the witching hour and the way time suspends–even just for a few split seconds–so that I can catch glimpses of her, feel concentrate moments of her presence, and commune with my mama who I will never stop missing.