Starting over. Again and again and again.

I think I really like the fact that we live in a fast paced world and we are never just standing in one place. I’m alright with the stillness and the beauty in that, but I believe it to be just as spectacular when we turn the page. We take that next step. If you are anything like me, I take that giant leap and then I take ten steps back and sometimes five more steps back and then I take a tiny step forward. This life is crazy, man. I find that I am constantly changing in my relationships with my friends, what I want and don’t want in a significant other, my role as a mother, and religion, and countless others. Now, do I believe that we really ever start over? No. In essence, sure we do. But realistically we don’t.   My life is happening and a good portion of it has already happened. Rather than allowing all of life’s little hiccups to keep me from moving, I have this overwhelming desire to move forward and start over. I wish things just came easy to me. I wish I could read a chapter in a book and not have to go back and read it over three more times for it to stick. I wish relationships came easy to me and that I could communicate with ease and trust without borders. I wish my daughter would get up as enthusiastically during the week as she does on the weekends. But, this life doesn’t really happen with perfect ease.

Relationships terrify me to the core. I have experienced some very hurtful and unhealthy relationships in my life. I would be a liar if I said that those experiences have not hindered past relationships. I have a tendency to carry that baggage with me wherever I go. I’m not talking carry on luggage, because we all have that. I’m talking paying extra to check in my luggage which oftentimes is accompanied by an over limit charge. I bring it all. I am an artist at heart and I tend to believe that beauty comes from chaos. I can’t write when I’m happy, and I do my best work when there is noise surrounding me. I have this belief that the yelling and fighting somehow signifies passion and making up is so much more greater and it makes you feel alive. In recent months, I have found that I am more in love amidst the calm. There is such beauty in the lull of the tides. Although I am so grateful to have finally come to that realization, I’m human. And relationships scare me. There’s a vulnerability to them and I sometimes create walls because I  think that makes me brave. When I love, I truly love, and when I hurt, I really hurt. Building walls work well to keep people out. But I have found that when you don’t have them, things seem to happen organically and without reason, and sometimes even better than before. I’m a work in progress.

Religion. So taboo to talk about, right? Or at least that’s what we have trained ourselves to believe. Well, it’s my blog, so I get to write about whatever my little heart desires. So, religion to me has always been an enigma. It’s super scary and unknown and confusing and strangely beautiful. I was baptized when I was a baby because that was the thing to do apparently, and my mom believed in it, so that happened. I do remember going to church every Sunday morning with my mom when I was little. The only strong memories I have were wearing pretty dresses and sitting on a wooden pew listening to some old man preach about a book. I remember playing with dolls and coloring in some kids play room where people would sing about God and “this little light of mine” and had us dip our pretzels in dirt because “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt.” I always thought that God was an old man with white hair and a really long beard and he lived above the clouds and basically looked down upon me. Going to church was just something we had to do. We never really talked about anything at home about it. We would just get dressed up, go to church, and come home and change into our play clothes and ride our bikes. Through the years, I stopped going to church and as life threw curves my way, I fell more and more out of touch with God. I didn’t see Him anymore when I looked up at the sky and those childhood memories got pushed to the wayside. I had no problem telling anyone I encountered that I don’t believe in organized religion and the Bible was just a whole bunch of made up stories that people felt they needed to believe so that they felt a sense of purpose. I was also in a marriage that was so far from faith based. To this day, I don’t know what he believed in, he never knew what I believed, and that’s how we lived our lives. After my divorce, my sister asked me to go to church with her one Sunday morning. I was living with her at the time, and I agreed to go, because I thought it would be rude if I didn’t. I ended up going every week with her and I would whole heartedly listen to every word the preacher said. When he spoke of this illusive “God” I changed the wording in my mind. While I didn’t believe in God, I believed in the words that I was hearing. After a few weeks, my other sister suggested I attend this little church closer to my home and I said yes. From the moment I stepped foot into that gathering, I swear it was the strongest sense of home I have ever felt. The youth pastors gave my daughter a Bible and hoped that the words came alive for her. I felt this overwhelming desire to get lost in the scriptures and relate them to my life. Religion isn’t for everyone and I love that there are so many sides to the spectrum on faith. I am confused by it on the daily and it’s challenging but it’s my path and I get to pace myself without anyone telling me to hurry up or slow down. I may fall in and out of love with Him and I might fail Him a thousand times. But that love is constant and my one true thing. It’s a relationship based on revival and new beginnings and is truly teaching me how to trust and love without borders.

I think we have this dreamy expectation of starting over. I feel like it’s our little way of building those walls after experiencing some sort of defeat. Welp. That sucked. My marriage failed. So let me build that wall, get stronger, and never ever let that happen again. But that’s not really how it works. At least, not for me. I believe this life is a series of moments which make for very high times and very low times. Sometimes if we are lucky, we will actually notice the in between times, but those times don’t produce much current so oftentimes we just sort of go through the motions. It isn’t until we feel those abrupt movements when our lives are shaken that we realize it’s time to start over. I am so glad that I have finally got to the point where I’m ok with starting over again and again and again. I don’t have this dreamy expectation that whatever mistake I made will not repeat itself. I actually look back at my life and my past experiences. Sometimes I cringe. Quite often I cry. And more often I laugh. I appreciate all of my little stepping stones. They have led me to this silly little life of mine and this ever changing journey I’m on. This life is pretty dope.