Thirty.

It’s been said a hundred times: Thirty seems SO OLD until you get here.

If I think about where my mom was at thirty, or even where I assumed I’d be, my life seems totally off track. I always figured I’d be married, be done having kids and totally have the hang of running a household. At 24, I was well on my way, and then I essentially decided to start over. I could easily be allowing myself to have a nervous breakdown today because of how far away from those goals I am now.

However, I refuse. I am not old. I am not even halfway done living. And while I may not be married, I may not even reach my new goal of done having kids by 35 and my house is a mess 90% of the time, I have so much that I didn’t even realize was important.

Getting off track has really forced me to figure out who I am. I’m more confident in myself than I have been since I was a kid. I have deeper, more meaningful friendships. I’m living in such a way that I won’t have to look back in two years with a heart full of regret. I’m constantly self-aware and looking for ways to improve. I’m eating healthier. I’m spending more time on my faith. I’m living in the city I love. I can finance multiple vacations in one year without going into debt. I’m more compassionate.

During our girls’ trip this summer, Erin pointed out that THIS is the time when good things are happening. Three of my friends have just gotten dream jobs. A few more are getting married, and I believe they will reap rewards from waiting a little longer past college. And yes, some of my friends have one or two kids and are flourishing as moms. I know it will happen for me.

Why on earth do we think we have to have it all figured out before we hit thirty? If your twenties are all about finding yourself, then your thirties are all about being your awesome self.

So to everyone who’s about to join me in the fourth decade of life (okay, typing that was a mistake, it sounds horrible), get ready. Thirty is not the new twenty. It’s better.

Note: Did I write this entire post in an effort to avoid that nervous  breakdown? Possibly. At least I know myself well enough to know I needed to.  

The Path of Most Resistance

Nobody said it was easy / No one ever said it would be this hard
-Coldplay

My first night in St. Louis included a 2 am wake-up call by tornado sirens. Huddled in my 5’10” basement, I watched as water seeped in and puddled on the floor. Tears welled up in my eyes. I hate tornadoes, and this was hard. Two hours later, I woke up again to the sound of hail hitting my already rattling windows.

A couple of days later, after my landlord finally installed my dryer, I was relieved to catch up on laundry. I had gotten all caught up before moving my first load to the new apartment, and after more than two weeks, I was out of everything. I ran down to pull out my towels and discovered … they hadn’t dried at all. My landlord came back and realized that the gas line wasn’t hooked up. The next time I used it, it was leaking gas. Over the next several uses, I learned that only one setting actually has heat, and it doesn’t shut off automatically. I should mention this all spanned about three weeks. To date, I haven’t gotten totally caught up. I don’t mind doing laundry, but this is hard.

When we tried to install my cabinet shelves, they didn’t all fit. The first time I used my dishwasher, it didn’t drain all the way. My antique lock broke, and I locked myself out overnight. My bathroom mirror was up so high, I could only see from my chin up. The first time I used my oven, it set off the smoke alarm. I loved the idea of a newly renovated apartment, but this was hard.

Once I learned to sleep through the rattling of my bedroom windows and the traffic on my street (which had appeared desolate when we first viewed the place), I was awakened by a whole new set of noises. Creaks, pops and groans seemed to echo through my house at random, all night. By the time I realized it was caused by the heating duct work of two apartments snaking across my basement ceiling, I had worked myself up to the point where I was lucky if I got five hours of uninterrupted sleep. Sleep had become stressful. Even knowing it was the heater, and that the noises were worst right after the heater turned off, every noise sounded like someone was in my back stairwell.

I sat on my bed and had Jeremie open and close both the front and the back door so I’d know what it sounded like. It sounded nothing like the noises at night. I slept about three hours that night. After waking up every hour the next night, I called Jeremie at 3:45 am, desperate for any distraction. He remarkably woke up, even though he’s the heaviest sleeper I know. Fifteen minutes into our phone call, someone tried to break into his house. I’m not even kidding. He heard two loud bangs on his front door, his dog went crazy, and he called the cops. Nothing else happened, but the next day we saw two muddy kick marks on his door.

I’ve wanted – so badly – for YEARS – to live in St. Louis. But man, this is freaking hard.

I finally said out loud what I’d been embarrassed to admit. When I lie in bed and hear those noises, even though I know it’s just the heater, my tired mind goes to ridiculous places. Here’s some example dialogue: I wonder why the last lady moved out of this apartment after 20 years. Maybe she died. Maybe she died in this apartment. Maybe she was murdered. Maybe that’s why my landlord renovated. Maybe she doesn’t like that I’m living here.

In case you’ve ever had thoughts like that, try telling them to someone else. Their reaction will help you realize how preposterous you sound. Those thoughts out of my head, my parents came to visit. They had several suggestions and ultimately loaned me a noisy fan. Finally, I’ve slept through a couple of nights now and I’m hoping I’m over it.

They say it’s not worth having if it’s easy. They say good things come to those who wait.

I could have chosen not to get a divorce. Say what you will about whether it was the right decision or not, but I definitely chose the hard way.

I could have skipped DivorceCare, but I wouldn’t have learned anything from my mistakes. I could have rushed into marriage with the first viable candidate and been past all of this a long time ago, but I would have ended up exactly where I started.

I could have stayed in Jeff City, but my life would have been stagnant. I could have looked at apartments in the suburbs, but that would have been giving in to fear. I could have moved in with Jeremie, sacrificing everything I’ve been trying to build within myself for the past two years. I chose the hard way.  

I believe that when you push yourself, you grow. When you choose the hard way, you learn more about yourself. When you deal with difficulty, you become more confident in your abilities.

When I started considering changing my life, I remember thinking that just thinking about it was hard. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I know I am changing. I am growing, and I am a different person than I was. I’m choosing to do things on my own. I’m making the life I want. Not because it is easy, but because it is hard.

Goodbye, JCMO!

With as much as I've complained about Jeff City, I've found myself pretty nostalgic the past couple of weeks. I've lived/worked here more than half of my life. I still think I'm meant for a bigger city, but there are a lot of things I'll miss. Yes, they're mostly food-related. So I like food. There are worse things.

- Arris' Pizza and now Arris' Bistro (on my brain because my parents treated me tonight)
- The chocolate chip cookies at Brick House Deli
- Katy Trail
- My parents
- The spiral-cut homemade chips at Lutz's BBQ
- Chim's Thai Kitchen (seriously the best Thai I've ever had)
- All the Cubies in Cubeland
- My three-minute commute to work
- Having a dishwasher at work
- El Jimador and marg nights with Katie Lynn
- Pizza and wine nights and long talks with Johanna
- Chipotle lunches with Rob
- Walks on the greenway
- My apartment: the ridiculously low rent, garage and 40 square-foot walk-in closet especially
- Being able to walk to Barnes & Noble, Old Navy and Pier 1
- My parents. Did I already mention that?
- Having only a "rush minute"
- The sunsets
- The tiny sailboats on Binder Lake
- Schaefer House
- The enthusiasm of Jays sports fans
- 4th of July
- Summit Lake Winery

I think Jeff City will always be the place where I grew the most. It's where I struggled to make friends and eventually evolved into a confident, happy teenager. It's where I rebelled and probably scared the crap out of my parents a few times. It's where I got my first job and my first REAL job. It's where I had my first date and my first kiss. It's where I first fell in love and first felt real heartbreak. It's where I learned to drive. It's where I danced in the Capitol fountains the night before moving away to college. It's where I got married. It's where I first lived alone. It's where I struggled to pull myself out of depression after the divorce. It's where I have felt safe. It's where I have felt at home.

In less than a week, my only possessions that reside in Jeff City will be a drawer full of Babysitters Club books and a few boxes of old schoolwork. And years and years worth of memories.

Goodbye, Jeff City. Thank you for loving me even when I didn't love you back.

Letter to No One

I had to drive to Branson the day before my birthday, alone.

I spent the whole trip replaying other road trips we took. It made me think of the times we laughed until we couldn’t see the road through our tears. But it also made me remember the times we fought and sat in silence for hours. Mostly, it just made me sad.

My heart still speeds up every time I see a red Chevy truck. What if it were you? Would you acknowledge my existence? Would you pretend not to see me? Would you use the opportunity to drive the dagger even deeper?   

I still think of you often. My aunt Glenda still asks about you. People will talk about you sometimes and I never know what to say. One of my World Games athletes still asks about Duke and Izzy every time he writes on my wall, even though I’ve told him several times that I don’t have them anymore. Their picture still sits on the shelf in my cube.

We spent Christmas in Spokane. I was there just over a year ago, but somehow, this time it felt like you were haunting me. You were my own Ghost of Christmas Past.

“No, dear brothers and sisters, I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing:  Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead.”   Philippians 3:13

“Be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”   Ephesians 4:32

Sometimes we feel that if we can forgive, then we can forget.  Forgiveness is not really about forgetting (which is often impossible), but about surrendering your right to hurt another person back.  Forgiveness allows you to release the bitter desire for retribution and frees you from anger, hurt, and bitterness.  After someone has wronged you, time will either harden your heart, making you bitter and unyielding, or it will soften it, giving you a desire for healing and restoration.  Willingness to forgive is the only way to achieve these. 

Forgiveness is a hard thing to describe. I’ve forgiven you for all of the pain from the marriage and divorce. You say you’ve forgiven me, but it feels like all you’ve done is try your hardest to forget. I want to forgive, but I’m not free of the hurt that followed after the ink dried. I guess I don’t know exactly where I stand. There’s a fine line between forgiveness and letting you take advantage of me. At some point, I have to look out for myself, and I think I’ve reached that point.

I refuse to forget, but I AM looking forward to what lies ahead. I’m moving, all by myself. I think you’d be proud of me. 

I hate it when something happens that reminds me of you, but I can’t tell you about it. Maybe that hurts more than anything.

Recently, I read A Severe Mercy. The author and his wife come to God after being atheists. The wife comes a lot further than the author, who is still distracted by worldly things and more in love with her than with Jesus. She dies. After her death, he realizes that God was using her to speak to him. If she had lived, he never would have fully turned over his life. I know God doesn’t punish us, but I know that He uses situations to teach us powerful lessons. I had to be completely broken to get to where I am now. I still have a hard time believing that this was his plan for me, but He knew this was the path I’d take. He knew this was what it would take to bring me to him. The divorce was my own severe mercy. I hope you’ve found yours.

Note to anyone who’s not No One: I am at peace with my life. I’m not looking for sympathy. I find healing in writing, which is why I started this blog. I’m going to continue to be real on here, and sometimes that means I’m a little sad. I want this to serve as a true account of what it’s like to go through a divorce. I want people to know that the pain is deep, and it lasts long beyond what you could imagine. I want people to find God without having to go through this.