4 months ago, I packed my life in the form of 3 suitcases, a massage table, my favorite backpack, and along with Sully, drove 40 hours across the country. Or, as a little old lady from the Tom A. Finch YMCA told me, "Well you sure are gettin' outta town!" And that, we certainly were. I felt a bit of the "Dorothy" effect - mesmerized by the new landscapes and cityscapes we drove through, captivated by CA and its magnificent chaos, but equally experiencing many times of wishing I could slide on a pair of ruby red slippers and chant, "There's no place like home," because #adulting 2000 miles away is pretty freaking hard, much less, adulting on your own for the first time...well...ever. I like to think of myself as a go getter, unafraid of the world and its unknowns, destined to accomplish what I set my mind to no matter what the heck happens. But you know what? I also am a creature of habit, and sometimes painfully so. I absolutely thrive off of adventures, meeting new faces, feeling the high of a new and exciting experience, but inside? I totally host an inner hobbit who craves the simplicity and familiarity of the Shire. I have had so many people comment or PM me about my courage and bravery and how thrilling it must be - but the pure and simple truth is that I am not naturally ANY of those things. I get scared - terrified, actually - anxious, weepy when things don't go right, and 2nd guess myself a whole heck of a lot. You should have seen "Miss Brave" the entire month of July. I cried like a baby, got angry over really stupid stuff, and am pretty sure Sully and I wanted to mutually strangle each other or jump out a window on a multitude of occasions. Up until the day we drove off, I wanted to throw my hands in the air and quit. No, I am serious. Actually, I still am completely and utterly shocked we even rolled my Nissan Rogue out of Sully's driveway that morning. The night before, I had surrendered to the fact that either A) We were going to break up before the crack of dawn B) I was going to leave that boy high and dry and drive solo C) He was going to leave me high and dry and book a 1 way ticket. See that photo below? Those 2 cute, smiling, "Yayayay we're running on 2 hours of sleep but going to the land of sunshine and famous people and summer year round!!!" faces?
We looked back on that photo the other day and laughed. Sully speaks truth, "Look how good we are at faking it that we hated each other in that moment!" The first 2 hours of our 40 hour roadtrip, it was pouring down rain, I was crying and trying to force myself to eat 1/2 a banana, and of course, the lovebirds butted heads. At one point I literally said,
"We're only 200 miles down the road...I can turn back around."
But alas, thank you Jesus (and I say that with UTMOST sincerity), the stormed calmed both literally and metaphorically, there came a point - the first time out of approx. 928374923 that we stopped for gas - the clouds, parted, sun shone, we hugged a reconciling hug, and I said,
"I think we're going to be okay."
And from then on, we were. And on we went. A new chapter. A new beginning. 2 bank accounts absolutely drained. But we made it. I still remember the moment - after 4 hours of trekking through the desert from Arizona (and being absolutely convinced that we would run out of gas and get stranded like those crazy National Geographic tales) - driving into our new territory.
"What if as soon as we cross the border into California, there was suddenly water and a bunch of palm trees?" (Guys, ALL we saw for 4 hours...was 112 degrees on my car's thermo, 0 civilization - aside from a little community of campers and an old airplane - and miles upon miles of dirt, sand, and all things waterless. Oh, and windmills...so. many. dang. windmills.).
And BOOM! A sign read, "California Welcomes You" and angelic beams of sunlight shone through a cluster of palm trees and sparkling waters across the terrain. Way to speak things into existence, Sully. ;) It was more desert after that, but hey - gotta give CA props for the aesthetic "Welcome" effect as we crossed the border. Anyway.
Since then, wow oh wow - so much as happened. Whoever got the whole "God will never give you more than you can handle!!!" idea floating around clearly never uprooted to CA! Really, though - through my little slice of time on this planet + my adventures and mishaps and woes and "adulting" endeavors out here - I have learned that, YES, God will absolutely give us more than we can humanly handle. Why? Because we weren't created to carry it. I have learned, above all, that I humanly CANNOT carry the burdens and "toils and troubles" of this world - but He can. And with that? Read on, dear reader.
I moved 3 times within 5 months
(Ok, technically I'm moving into my new apartment in January...but I already signed in blood and packed my bags and drained a chunk of my savings again for the deposit, so it counts, right?!)
Orange County was my first stop. I still, from the bottom of my heart, owe so much gratitude and thanks to the wonderful family whose place felt like such a safe haven (Much love to Keith and Callie and Bradley!!!). I commuted 120 miles a day for work and almost 200 on any day I'd head to TMU for 2 months, was hit twice on the freeway, found what I thought would be my absolute dream apartment in the valley, unpacked my things once again and was ready to repack them within 2 weeks of moving in, shared living quarters with an honestly terrifying/crazy roommate (picture me as Laura in "Sleeping With the Enemy"...just...an OCD roommate) to the point of literally locking my bedroom door at night. I should have known better when I thought, "WOW! This apartment is too good to be true!" Picture this: A sweet little apartment complex perched on a mountain, with roads and $800,000 houses winding up to the tippity top of the mountain. It's in a quieter area of Glendale (ranked one of the top SAFEST suburbs of LA, mind you!), right beside a college with a track with #views, and as you park your car on the cul-de-sac at altitude, if you look really closely in the distance, you can practically see Mr. Darcy walking out of the subtle haze like "Misty morning". The sublet room is furnished, the rent is totally within starving artist reason, and the roommates seem cool enough. And yet, after Sully came with me just to look at it...we BOTH had an uneasy feeling. We thought we were just overthinking, because, "It all seemed too good to be true!"
And quite frankly, my dear, it was.
I'll spare the gory details about being tied up and bound to the secret, apartment cellar (jk), but I was fully aware that my roommates and I did things a little differently. I admit, I am 100% Type B, BUT - I am tidy. I respect others' items and personal space. I'm super go with the flow, and can adapt to environmental changes pretty easily (Wow; this sounds like an eHarmony profile). And hey! If someone has a certain way of doing things, if it's within attainable, rational reason, I'm down. Did I accidentally put my granola bars on your designated shelf? No prob; I can move them! Prefer I keep the 1 cup I use per day in my room vs. on the kitchen counter? Sure thing!
However, there comes a time in which things can become a little...erm...extreme...creepy, even. We created a group chat for communication purposes. One roommate was great; the other? Well, I quickly got the silent treatment, and to this day, I still haven't the slightest clue why. I should have known when I was making dinner my first night there, and I was barked at ("NO!") for almost putting the can opener in the wrong drawer.
But "Benefit of the doubt," I said. "Maybe things will get better," I said. "Just give it time," I said.
But alas, things did not. Suddenly, I was given the silent treatment. I was originally told that if I wasn't spoken to, it was just a need of "introvert time". Apparently that translated to deflecting basic, human gestures and even a good 'ole "Hello!" whilst entering the door. No words. No acknowledgement. Was I suddenly Dr. Malcolm in The Sixth Sense? *plot twist* And so, I just carried on my merry way. "Maybe I just need to keep being polite and kind and channeling #TheGoldenRule!" There was quite a series of unfortunate events took place, but there is one that haunts me to this day. *shiver* After a jolly good time of making pancakes and scrambled eggs with Sully, a terrible image flooded my phone...
...A spatula, fresh out of the dishwasher. But the issue: 2 flakes of egg adhered to it.
"Can we try and take better care of cooking utensils? This already went through the dishwasher and came out dirty. It's brand new."
I felt a Holy nudge to simply say nothing ("Slow to speak"). But after a week full of salty texts and demands, the silent treatment, and being reprimanded for turning off our smoke alarm when in fact, there was no fire, I brushed it aside.
"I'll try and communicate that to the dishwasher next time! ;)"
And as I laughed at my snark and closed my eyes to go to bed, someone approached my door.
Knock, knock, knock.
I scrambled to turn a light on. "Just a minute!" And before I could even reach the light switch, the door knob hastily rattled. WHOA; HOLD UP, TRIGGER! Thankfully, I had begun habitually locking my door every night, just in case. I unlocked the door, and it was like a moment in the movies when the goody 2 shoes gal does something stupid and gets herself killed. Luckily, I was only called a "Smart ass", cussed at for 10 minutes, told that the anger against me was so vast I couldn't be talked to, and nearly saw tears and sheer madness over a little black spatula, graced with 2 flakes of dried egg.
Did I mention this was over a communal spatula?
And did I mention this spatula was 1 of 3?
And did I mention that someone else actually melted one of the other spatulas? (LOL)
Slow to speak, AG, slow to speak.
I decided right then and there that my roommate was A) OCD like Laura's husband in Sleeping With the Enemy"*flushes apartment key* *Runs away to metro station* or B) Absolutely mad; plain and simple. Either way, I saw some colors I didn't particularly care to see again (the only other time, was when I was summoned to the living room and told the silverware needed to be put "Handle down", and cussed at for accidentally placing a dirty bowl in with the clean dishes.) I learned very quickly that the kitchen was a very sensitive topic. Along with the "roommate situation", I began breaking out in hives, biting my nails again (I knocked that habit when I was 14, people!!!), had never slept poorer in my LIFE, and always felt a sense of uneasiness whenever I returned...the same kind that Sully and I had when we initially toured the place.
Turns out? A friend of mine and her husband were having a freakishly similar situation at their place with a roommate. Together, we all began diligently searching and touring apartments. And as of December 20th, 2018...
We are free from the wrath of psychopathic roommates, kitchen purgatory, and have our OWN lease.
And what a glorious day that will be.
I experienced quite a series of unfortunate events
To put it shortly: I thought I would legitimately go broke at least twice and/or have to drain my savings (the freeway, I am convinced, is out to kill me), lived off of granola bars some days, and whole wheat pasta with crappy marinara sauce another. I just finished a cycle of living off of vegetarian chili for 3 days, but hey, let's just call it #Discipline. I barely slept for 2 months (remember the spatula incident?) and felt my body plummeting to adrenal fatigue hard.freaking.core. as a result. Often times, I was only able to work a full day of massage by the power of coffee and the Holy Spirit. I locked my key in my car...and also my bag with the SPARE KEY, in case I locked my main key in my car (facepalm). BOOM! $225 for a locksmith who wasn't actually a locksmith (lesson learned: NEVER assume that the first place you see on Google is legit). I scored a dream audition for a show that toured in Alaska, and left the studio ripping my sheet music in half and telling myself that I actually sucked. I was in 2 accidents on the freeway, nearly totaled my car, and when insurance didn't want to pay for either (Did I mention both also were not my fault?), I basically had a mental breakdown in my bedroom floor and repeatedly told myself, "I can't do this. I'm going home. It's too much." Life got hectic and my heart felt filled with more chaos than peace on so many occasions.
But I picked myself right back up, dusted off my hands, and kept going. I cannot even begin to tell you just HOW many times I really, truly, googled 1 way tickets back to NC, and had it not been for rational people in my life and the power of the Holy Spirit comforting me while I was mentally and physically breaking down and breaking out in unearthly hives, I would have peaced out from CA. Oh, and loneliness? Yeah, that's a thing too. In case you weren't aware, you can know 10 people out in Los Angeles, yet due to the wonderful thing called RUSH HOUR and "Everyone had the same idea to leave RIGHT NOW and take this EXACT FREEWAY....RIGHT NOW" and everyone at home being 3 hours ahead, and people out here being slammed with stuff to do (*raises hand*) and working crazy hours if they're entertainment industry folks, or...well...being 5 miles away, but 1 hour with traffic....there isn't such a thing as "See ya in just a sec!" unless you live in the same suburb, same-ish community, and it doesn't require the freeway. But the moment I really felt the weight of being swallowed by such a large city was this one:
(Ok, technically I'm moving into my new apartment in January...but I already signed in blood and packed my bags and drained a chunk of my savings again for the deposit, so it counts, right?!)
Orange County was my first stop. I still, from the bottom of my heart, owe so much gratitude and thanks to the wonderful family whose place felt like such a safe haven (Much love to Keith and Callie and Bradley!!!). I commuted 120 miles a day for work and almost 200 on any day I'd head to TMU for 2 months, was hit twice on the freeway, found what I thought would be my absolute dream apartment in the valley, unpacked my things once again and was ready to repack them within 2 weeks of moving in, shared living quarters with an honestly terrifying/crazy roommate (picture me as Laura in "Sleeping With the Enemy"...just...an OCD roommate) to the point of literally locking my bedroom door at night. I should have known better when I thought, "WOW! This apartment is too good to be true!" Picture this: A sweet little apartment complex perched on a mountain, with roads and $800,000 houses winding up to the tippity top of the mountain. It's in a quieter area of Glendale (ranked one of the top SAFEST suburbs of LA, mind you!), right beside a college with a track with #views, and as you park your car on the cul-de-sac at altitude, if you look really closely in the distance, you can practically see Mr. Darcy walking out of the subtle haze like "Misty morning". The sublet room is furnished, the rent is totally within starving artist reason, and the roommates seem cool enough. And yet, after Sully came with me just to look at it...we BOTH had an uneasy feeling. We thought we were just overthinking, because, "It all seemed too good to be true!"
And quite frankly, my dear, it was.
I'll spare the gory details about being tied up and bound to the secret, apartment cellar (jk), but I was fully aware that my roommates and I did things a little differently. I admit, I am 100% Type B, BUT - I am tidy. I respect others' items and personal space. I'm super go with the flow, and can adapt to environmental changes pretty easily (Wow; this sounds like an eHarmony profile). And hey! If someone has a certain way of doing things, if it's within attainable, rational reason, I'm down. Did I accidentally put my granola bars on your designated shelf? No prob; I can move them! Prefer I keep the 1 cup I use per day in my room vs. on the kitchen counter? Sure thing!
However, there comes a time in which things can become a little...erm...extreme...creepy, even. We created a group chat for communication purposes. One roommate was great; the other? Well, I quickly got the silent treatment, and to this day, I still haven't the slightest clue why. I should have known when I was making dinner my first night there, and I was barked at ("NO!") for almost putting the can opener in the wrong drawer.
But "Benefit of the doubt," I said. "Maybe things will get better," I said. "Just give it time," I said.
But alas, things did not. Suddenly, I was given the silent treatment. I was originally told that if I wasn't spoken to, it was just a need of "introvert time". Apparently that translated to deflecting basic, human gestures and even a good 'ole "Hello!" whilst entering the door. No words. No acknowledgement. Was I suddenly Dr. Malcolm in The Sixth Sense? *plot twist* And so, I just carried on my merry way. "Maybe I just need to keep being polite and kind and channeling #TheGoldenRule!" There was quite a series of unfortunate events took place, but there is one that haunts me to this day. *shiver* After a jolly good time of making pancakes and scrambled eggs with Sully, a terrible image flooded my phone...
...A spatula, fresh out of the dishwasher. But the issue: 2 flakes of egg adhered to it.
"Can we try and take better care of cooking utensils? This already went through the dishwasher and came out dirty. It's brand new."
I felt a Holy nudge to simply say nothing ("Slow to speak"). But after a week full of salty texts and demands, the silent treatment, and being reprimanded for turning off our smoke alarm when in fact, there was no fire, I brushed it aside.
"I'll try and communicate that to the dishwasher next time! ;)"
And as I laughed at my snark and closed my eyes to go to bed, someone approached my door.
Knock, knock, knock.
I scrambled to turn a light on. "Just a minute!" And before I could even reach the light switch, the door knob hastily rattled. WHOA; HOLD UP, TRIGGER! Thankfully, I had begun habitually locking my door every night, just in case. I unlocked the door, and it was like a moment in the movies when the goody 2 shoes gal does something stupid and gets herself killed. Luckily, I was only called a "Smart ass", cussed at for 10 minutes, told that the anger against me was so vast I couldn't be talked to, and nearly saw tears and sheer madness over a little black spatula, graced with 2 flakes of dried egg.
Did I mention this was over a communal spatula?
And did I mention this spatula was 1 of 3?
And did I mention that someone else actually melted one of the other spatulas? (LOL)
Slow to speak, AG, slow to speak.
I decided right then and there that my roommate was A) OCD like Laura's husband in Sleeping With the Enemy"*flushes apartment key* *Runs away to metro station* or B) Absolutely mad; plain and simple. Either way, I saw some colors I didn't particularly care to see again (the only other time, was when I was summoned to the living room and told the silverware needed to be put "Handle down", and cussed at for accidentally placing a dirty bowl in with the clean dishes.) I learned very quickly that the kitchen was a very sensitive topic. Along with the "roommate situation", I began breaking out in hives, biting my nails again (I knocked that habit when I was 14, people!!!), had never slept poorer in my LIFE, and always felt a sense of uneasiness whenever I returned...the same kind that Sully and I had when we initially toured the place.
Turns out? A friend of mine and her husband were having a freakishly similar situation at their place with a roommate. Together, we all began diligently searching and touring apartments. And as of December 20th, 2018...
We are free from the wrath of psychopathic roommates, kitchen purgatory, and have our OWN lease.
And what a glorious day that will be.
I experienced quite a series of unfortunate events
To put it shortly: I thought I would legitimately go broke at least twice and/or have to drain my savings (the freeway, I am convinced, is out to kill me), lived off of granola bars some days, and whole wheat pasta with crappy marinara sauce another. I just finished a cycle of living off of vegetarian chili for 3 days, but hey, let's just call it #Discipline. I barely slept for 2 months (remember the spatula incident?) and felt my body plummeting to adrenal fatigue hard.freaking.core. as a result. Often times, I was only able to work a full day of massage by the power of coffee and the Holy Spirit. I locked my key in my car...and also my bag with the SPARE KEY, in case I locked my main key in my car (facepalm). BOOM! $225 for a locksmith who wasn't actually a locksmith (lesson learned: NEVER assume that the first place you see on Google is legit). I scored a dream audition for a show that toured in Alaska, and left the studio ripping my sheet music in half and telling myself that I actually sucked. I was in 2 accidents on the freeway, nearly totaled my car, and when insurance didn't want to pay for either (Did I mention both also were not my fault?), I basically had a mental breakdown in my bedroom floor and repeatedly told myself, "I can't do this. I'm going home. It's too much." Life got hectic and my heart felt filled with more chaos than peace on so many occasions.
But I picked myself right back up, dusted off my hands, and kept going. I cannot even begin to tell you just HOW many times I really, truly, googled 1 way tickets back to NC, and had it not been for rational people in my life and the power of the Holy Spirit comforting me while I was mentally and physically breaking down and breaking out in unearthly hives, I would have peaced out from CA. Oh, and loneliness? Yeah, that's a thing too. In case you weren't aware, you can know 10 people out in Los Angeles, yet due to the wonderful thing called RUSH HOUR and "Everyone had the same idea to leave RIGHT NOW and take this EXACT FREEWAY....RIGHT NOW" and everyone at home being 3 hours ahead, and people out here being slammed with stuff to do (*raises hand*) and working crazy hours if they're entertainment industry folks, or...well...being 5 miles away, but 1 hour with traffic....there isn't such a thing as "See ya in just a sec!" unless you live in the same suburb, same-ish community, and it doesn't require the freeway. But the moment I really felt the weight of being swallowed by such a large city was this one:
I remember one night in particular. I had been rear ended on the freeway that morning, and my face hit the steering wheel pretty hard. After trying to nap some of the stress and soreness away, I woke up dizzy, nauseated, and having the strangest burning and pounding migraine I'd ever felt in my life. My dad told me to see a Dr. immediately. But PLOT TWIST! My car was undriveable, so I Ubered. And then urgent care wouldn't accept my insurance. So I Ubered to another. There goes $30 in 1 hour! A snappy woman wat the front desk told me in broken english they couldn't give me a diagnostic, and to get a CT scan at the ER. Hurrah; now I get to Uber to ANOTHER! It was dark outside, cold, my phone was on low battery, my head was pounding, nobody was with me, and it felt like going around in circles and getting nowhere. Anyone ever had a nightmare where you're running full force and getting zilch, zero, nowhere?! All of my worst case scenarios were coming true, and it was up to me to put on my big girl panties, be an adult, make the decisions, and navigate my panicky reality. I sat myself down on the curb and cried. Lonely. So lonely. Sully was in Iowa for an XC championship meet, and everyone else was 2000 miles away. There, in that moment, I truly thought that my time in CA had come to an end.
"God, I literally can't do this anymore." It certainly wasn't the first time I had said that...but this time, I meant it from the bottom of my heart. (Oh yeah - and when I got back, I scored a $50 parking ticket on my own street.)
...But I also experienced a whole lot of life lessons, pockets of joy, and God's goodness
"God, I literally can't do this anymore." It certainly wasn't the first time I had said that...but this time, I meant it from the bottom of my heart. (Oh yeah - and when I got back, I scored a $50 parking ticket on my own street.)
...But I also experienced a whole lot of life lessons, pockets of joy, and God's goodness
Along with every other snag, mishap, and things that didn't go as I humanly had planned - God met me in the kindest, most gentle ways. In every incident that I thought would surely be the end of me, but still held onto my mustard seed of faith, I was reminded, "You are being refined through this." There were days I feared I wouldn't have enough clients to pay the bills, or my savings account would deplete, or that THIS would be the night that my roommate would show her true colors and probably try and kill me with the silverware I didn't put "handle down" in the dishwasher, or that I came all the way out here just to be reminded of what a failure I was.
And then I realized that I was only working 3 days a week, and still able to fully cover my fixed expenses and put money into savings and even splurge on the cookie the size of one's face 2 doors down...and in freaking Los Angeles, the land of ridiculous taxes and all things overpriced. I realized that my client base had grown significantly in just a handful of months, and they trusted my work and found relief in it. I realized in the midst of a really bad day, that one of my favorite musicians - who I'd seen perform at least 3 times - had booked with me, and as soon as this person walked in, I thought I would fall over. I realized that I, the little 22 year old who thought she'd never make it and end up homeless or destined for doom or flying back home before she even got a chance to give her dreams a try...was actually making it. Thriving. I realized that cinnamon rolls actually weren't that hard to make, and mine could actually be dang delicious. I realized that the 5 people I was closest to out here in this city of wonder and failure and heartbreak and magnificent chaos were ALL people I knew from back home. And each of them, 3 being a family, all Divinely happened to be out here with me in this season. I realized that swing dancing is actually fun and rejuvenating after a sucky audition. I realized that Trader Joe's is the best thing since sliced bread. I realized that painful moments will pass, and that "Joy," indeed, "Comes with the morning." I realized that God's mercies were overflowing. Every. Single. Day. With every heartbreak, there came something redeeming attached. My eyes were opened to daily miracles, joys, and the sweetest ways God showed me His grace. Even on the days I neglected to crack open my Bible or sought how to humanly fix a situation...in a bustling city of millions...He never left my side. There were times I felt like I was praying to a wall, but equally those tender pockets of the day where I felt the Holy Spirit enfolding me. And yes - that might sound romanticized and totally feminine, but let me tell you: It left me in awe of how God was meeting me where I was at. There were so many days of sheer fatigue and exhaustion, and my mustard seed of faith relied on Him to be my strength and my shield and my protector and my Shepherd.
I realized, through it all - and for whatever is to come - that His steadfast love never ceases.
"Remember my affliction and my wanderings,
the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it
and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope.
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
'The LORD is my portion,' says my soul,
'therefore I will have hope in him.'" Lamentations 3:19-24
I realized, through it all - and for whatever is to come - that His steadfast love never ceases.
"Remember my affliction and my wanderings,
the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it
and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope.
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
'The LORD is my portion,' says my soul,
'therefore I will have hope in him.'" Lamentations 3:19-24
oh wow. dang. we need to be friends.
ReplyDelete(I’m totally not a nut, I found you through sully’s insta! tim, his teammate, is my bf.)