New years don't always have to be new starts

A year ago, today, I was baptized in confetti, surrounded by a million other like-minded crazy people willing to stand for 12 hours in a pen with no food, drink, or potty breaks to count down the Ball Drop in Times Square. 

The year prior to that day had been a rough one, and I was anxious to close it tight and start over. Actually, multiple years prior had each been rough, and every New Year's Eve presented the strong desire to start anew with the idea that "maybe this year would finally be the year!" I'd look back on the concluding year with sadness of unrealized dreams. Dreams of a child, or of a pregnancy, or of a healed marriage. 

When midnight rolled around, nonchalantly tick-tocking the transition from one year to the next, I'd tearfully lament the the previous year's disappointments. After 12 months of desperately clinging to hopes the year once held, I'd reluctantly lay them down and rush toward the future with renewed resolve to keep the faith, relishing the opportunity to escape the heartache of the previous year and start over with a clean slate, unblemished with pain.

This year, however, has turned out to be a really good one. I deliberately kicked it off in New York City, the best way I could possibly imagine, because I was determined to not have another disappointing year filled with heartbreak that I couldn't control. I maintained that conviction throughout the months that followed, and I've intentionally pursued growth and healing in every aspect of my life. I actively strove to become more independently healthy. And ya know what? I feel really positive about the progress and accomplishments I was able to achieve within the calendar's time span.

For the first time in about as long as I can remember, I'm closing out a year with satisfaction rather than frustration. I'm not anxious to escape the past as I run headlong into the future of hopes and dreams. I can look back on 2015 with pride and happily wrap a final bow on this year of discovering fuller potential of who I can be. I'm feeling the drastic difference between a fond farewell to times gone by and a good riddance to resented circumstances and experiences.

The year that began in Times Square has certainly not been an easy one. I have endured multiple growing pains while adjusting to a new, independent life post-marriage. But it's all been productive, beneficial, hard-fought, and earned with integrity. None of it has been a waste of time.

In 2016, I'm not searching for a fresh beginning to start all over from scratch. I worked hard for this progress, and I'm not keen to wipe the foundation away. Instead, I'm pleased to simply maintain and develop further what I've already been doing over the past several months. For the first time, I'm proud to claim the stories I acquired in 2015, rather than erase them and start over. I'm confidently walking into a new year with a lot of experience, knowledge, and capability in tow.

I don't feel the need to utilize a "do over." For once, I'm looking forward to finally appreciating a "keep going like you're doing."

That's a pretty nice feeling. 

Recognizing the New Me

Throughout the past several months since my husband left, I’ve had to start afresh in multiple areas of my life. For a long while, it felt like every place I found myself, every decision with which I was faced, and every experience I encountered was uncharted territory. I had no idea what I was doing in nearly every aspect of this new, single life. My world seemed to be a haphazard experiment in which I was constantly clearing fresh paths from chaos with little more than guess work while hoping for the best.

Somehow, though, I have actually managed to accomplish quite a bit. I’m very proud of many recent victories, and I’d like to eventually share some specifics on this blog. But until then, just know that I spent many moons lost, gingerly feeling my way through unfamiliar lands in the dark.

And then a year passed.

I fervently longed for that magical time warp, constantly thinking, “I can’t wait until a year has passed, so this won’t be the first time, anymore.” I wished I had already approached and conquered it all at least once before; then I could have easily known how to handle it again. Every new first time was so overwhelming, stressful, scary, and sad. There was the first Super Bowl without my husband to eat my chili-cheese dip; would I still make it? (Yes. I liked it, too. But I cried.) There was the first renewal of my zoo membership without my hubs to hold my hand as we strolled toward the elephants; would I still carry the pass? (Nope. Not as fun to go alone. So I cried.) There was the first Grammy Awards show without my best friend to enjoy the music performances with; would I still watch it? (Yes, but with a different, female friend. And she let me cry.) There was the first spring season without the man of the house to tackle the landscaping; would I still plant flowers? (Yes. I loved having them, and they made me so happy, that I don’t even think I cried.) And on and on and on.

Discovering what life looks like when I can’t depend on a partner, as well as who I am as an individual woman has been a difficult process. I’ve had to learn how to handle a budget and prioritize purchases on my own. I’ve had to figure out how to accurately operate a weed eater with my short stature. I’ve had to ask a friend how to replace the dead crape myrtle in my front yard. Among many.other.things.

But I successfully mastered all of these things, y’all! And more. I was determined to grow independent and prove to myself that I could survive on my own. I was frequently scared, overwhelmed, and stressed. I cried often. Like, for real, often. But I continued to trudge through the muck into my New Normal. Every day felt like a strenuous journey. Every week was a maze navigated alone. I learned a lot about myself as I discovered parts of me I had never realized were present. I gradually carved a new, independent version of Mindy out of the blob left behind by stupid divorce. I don’t necessarily regret or begrudge this experience; it has been and will continue to be very beneficial for me. But it's certainly an exhausting challenge, and I didn’t feel like there would ever be any relief from the effort it took to survive and to settle into this new, single version of myself that I never dreamed of or desired.

But then that first year finally passed, and spring came again. I entered into this new weather season for the second time with greater confidence. Thanks to the tests and practice of the previous year, I now trusted myself and my capabilities. I knew better what to expect from my yard. I was adept at mowing the grass. I had come to terms with weed eating enough to realize I needed to purchase a lighter trimmer that features a neck with an adjustable height. (Did you know they make those!?) And I knew how to plant flowers on my porch. I had done it all before.

The porch flowers. Those were the things that made me feel at home in my life for the first time in over a year. They were the first time I actually recognized the New Me. They were finally something familiar after the rebuilding had begun.

Last year, the flowers were a big decision. My husband’s absence was still counted in days and weeks instead of months or years. When flowering time came around, I was still dying and gasping for breath. I was drowning in sadness and suffocating under heavy darkness. I was terrified; I was hurting; and I was broke. I had done nothing at all except survive since the day he walked out the door. If something was voluntary or “extra,” I didn’t do it. I didn’t have the energy, strength, confidence, skills, or finances to do anything that was not completely essential to make it through to the next day.

But it grew warmer outside, and my heart broke to not have pretty flowers on my porch. I missed my spouse, and I also missed the flowers he physically and financially provided my house every spring. I was tired of having to miss everything. It felt like my whole life was in a constant state of painful longing and heartbreak.

I wanted the flowers, but I didn’t know how to plant them. I wanted them, but I didn’t know which ones would work in the area. I wanted them, but I didn’t think I could afford them or fit them into my rudimentary budget. I wanted the flowers, but they were extra, a luxury that wasn’t required for my daily survival. I wanted the flowers, but accepting the truth of the situation was painful.

But damn it all, I wanted the flowers.

I didn’t have any control over whether or not my husband was in my life, but I did have control over whether or not my porch was bare, and I ultimately decided I would have none of that! Living without him didn’t mean I had to also live without all of the things he did that made me happy.

So I got them. On my own. By myself.

And it was empowering.

I didn’t know what I was doing at all. I spent hours at the Lowe’s gardening center comparing colors, sun exposure, growing habits, and prices. I asked employees tons of basic questions. I shopped at Dollar General for pots, potting soil, and coco liners for my hanging baskets in an effort to stretch my budget.

And then I brought it all home and guessed. I didn’t have any practice. This was something my husband always did. But I wung it. And I must have succeeded, because they all lived and bloomed for many months.

I know that to many, this is so simple that it seems silly. And I get that. That’s fair. But for me, this was massive. It was the first time I voluntarily ventured out in pursuit of personal joy. I didn’t wait around for someone else to satisfy me or provide permission or consent. I independently decided the pleasures that flowers provided my life were worth the money, effort, and challenge. That I was worth it. This was the first time I made my happiness a priority, even though it didn’t benefit anyone but me. And in doing so, I claimed a part of my power and defined an edge of my identity. It was a big deal, and it felt good.

2014 Spring Flowers

I enjoyed those flowers all spring and summer and well into the autumn of 2014. I lovingly nurtured them by watering, rotating, and pruning them regularly. I invested my time, energy, and heart into my beautiful, blooming plants. All the while, I was solidifying aspects of my personhood. I was settling into the New Mindy right there on my front porch.

As winter 2015 faded, there was no question of whether or not I would plant flowers on my porch. Of course I would. This time, I didn’t have to wonder if I was the type of person who planted flowers to welcome spring, because I had already decided that about myself the preceding year. This was one of the first situations I came across where I could easily rely on my previous experience rather than having to start from scratch in the decision making process of who I was. It was such a relief.

My dad was visiting over Easter weekend, and knowing how important my flowers are to me, he volunteered to cover their cost, which was a massive blessing from the beginning. Since I didn’t have to stress about the strain they put on my budget, I could simply enjoy the ceremony of welcoming the new season and beautifying my porch. And even though I had done it before, this year, I still spent hours in the Lowe’s gardening center comparing colors, sun exposure, growing habits, and prices. However, this time I wasn’t stressed or anxious. I didn’t beat myself up for being such an idiot and not knowing what I was doing. I didn’t feel out of my league or overwhelmed. I wasn’t lost or in over my head. I had confidence in myself, understanding that this was simply my process. Some other people may do it quicker or be more certain going in, but this is how I pick out my flowers. And that’s okay. I knew that whatever I picked would become the backdrop for my entire summer, and I wanted to choose wisely. I was able to rest in that detail of my identity. (Thankfully, my dad was very patient with me.)

Once we brought the budding plants home, I slipped into my gardening gloves, dove into the dirt, and joyfully repotted all of them. I put each in its respective place across the entire front porch area and one on the back patio (to be enjoyed when I let my pup outside), admired my handiwork, and felt great about accomplishing a task I love. That was that. I was proud of a job well done. The end.

2015 Spring - back patio flowers and front door

However, unbeknownst to me at the time, my favorite part wouldn’t come until a couple days later when I would go out front to revisit and water all of my new blooms for the first time since potting them. Early in the morning, I knowingly filled the watering can at the spigot near my porch like I had done so many times the year before. And as I filled each plant with water, my heart simultaneously filled up with some sort of emotional nourishment. By the time I was climbing my step ladder to reach the hanging plants (yes, I’m that short), I noticed something happening inside of me that I couldn’t pinpoint but immediately welcomed. I was content. I was fulfilled. I was at peace. I was at home.

2015 Spring

After I watered the last colorful plant, I sat down on my rocking chair and curiously ventured deeper into the experience. What sensation was I feeling? What was it about watering my porch plants that made me feel so satisfied? I sat in the emotion, embraced the feeling, and explored it in my heart and mind.

And then it hit me: This was familiar. This activity. This action. This scenario. This chore done in love. This environment which brings me joy. This situation. This person that loves to care for flowers on her porch. This Mindy.

2015 Spring

For the first time, the New Me was familiar. I recognized her. I had seen her before. I had come to know her last spring. This familiarity of myself was so comforting.

I was finally starting to find myself. To identify myself. I was no longer searching in the dark and hoping for the best to come out of guess work and trial-and-error. This was me. This was the New Me. And for the very first time, the New Me wasn’t new. It was tried and true. Tested and proved. This was me.

This is me.

2015 Spring

After more than a year of searching to find myself in the mess of disaster, loss, grief, fear, and wreckage, I finally stumbled back upon something I knew to be true about myself. I am a woman who gains much joy from the beauty of her surroundings. I am a woman who greatly appreciates feeling God’s presence in nature. I am a woman who will actively pursue this pleasure and peace. I am a woman who plants and maintains a ridiculous amount of beautiful flowers on her porch. It’s only a small aspect of my identity, but it’s a certain one. Finally. And for someone who hasn’t known herself in a very long time and has been diligently searching to find herself, this first familiarity of my true self was monumental.

That morning after I watered 2015’s spring plants for the first time, I cried tears of happiness, as if I was visiting an old friend after years apart. I was so glad to finally see myself again. It had been so long just wandering around in the dark searching for me. And then, all of the sudden, spring came along and brought with it New Mindy, who was finally, finally, just Mindy.

Oh, that feels good. Let me just sit here in this for a moment… *deep breaths soaking it in while tears form in my eyes* #writingtrulyismytherapy

My beautiful house, Spring 2015

I’m looking forward to more of 2015, which I pray will present more familiarity of my New Normal. I’m continuing to identify aspects of my personhood and further define my identity as an individual.

My porch flowers were the first reassurance that I’m doing okay. I’m going to make it. I’m a real person. I’m a whole human being. I have actual characteristics and qualities that make me me, and I’m not just a shadow. I’ve survived a horrible year of pain and breaking and rebuilding from pieces, and I haven’t died. I’ve come back around to things I’ve experienced on this side of the fracture. I’m starting to think maybe there is life to be had on this side of the break, too.

And it seems as though the Mindy who exists on this side is a woman who will welcome every spring by spending hours in the Lowe’s gardening center and then intentionally filling her life with beauty and joy.

I think I might like this Mindy.

God paints His best masterpieces with clouds

I frequently find myself absolutely enamored by the sky. 

The beauty of God's artwork often holds my heart captive. I'll plaster my face to a window, crane my neck in the car, or sprint outside to the street, and then take somewhere around 45 successive photos as the appearance of the heavens gradually transitions. I'll blink away tears of awe as I stare in wonder for ridiculously long moments at a time. 

(For real. I'm extremely annoying to the people around me during these events. I make zero eye-contact during discussions and glue my gaze upward, determined not to miss a single second of the momentary beauty while it lasts.)

I find it such an honor to so freely witness God’s majesty. He makes His glory so readily available to us on a regular basis. I've observed a sunrise or sunset from start to finish in the short span of only a few minutes. If God can create something so amazing that is so fleeting, what more can His power do in my life? 

These have been my thoughts for years. Every sunrise. Every sunset. Hello, God. Good morning. I love you, too. Good night, God. I see you. I love you, too. You are powerful and wonderful. Thank you for demonstrating your love to me in this obvious and overwhelming way. I know You love me. I love you, too.

The other night, while I was sitting in my car on the side of the road to fully appreciate the majesty of the sun going down without causing a traffic accident (You're welcome, Nashville.), I was praising God for making His presence known to me when I verbally thanked Him for the clouds that were able to provide such a lovely canvas to display His masterpiece. It was this one, by the way:

And then I stopped short. Did I mean that? Did I really mean what I had just said? Was I genuinely thankful for the clouds in my life? Surely not. Clouds (both literal and metaphorical) are bad. Clouds block the sun. Clouds bring with them dark days and coldness and rain. Clouds are always unwelcome. They ruin plans and wreak havoc. Nobody ever wants the clouds. Nobody ever asks for the clouds. Nobody is ever thankful for the clouds. 

Are they?

Am I?

Then I realized that maybe I am. I started to pay attention to moments when the heavens most deeply touched my soul and spoke to my heart. I went back and looked through old photos of the sky I had taken over the years. I discovered they all had one thing in common: Clouds.

It’s on the clouds where God paints His best pieces. Yes, the clear skies (and calm times) are nice and enjoyable during the days free of rain and full of sunshine. You can see God’s light shining bright with no obstruction, and we’re able to enjoy His peace with no distraction. Our lives are smooth and uncomplicated.

But it’s on the clouds reflecting the sun where He displays the most glorious demonstrations of His love. It requires the existence of life's complications to fully witness God's heart for us.

Those same clouds that we curse for interrupting our smooth lives; the same clouds that temporarily block the sunshine; the same clouds that we wish would hurry and pass, while we’re frustratedly striving to bask in the warmth of His presence...

Those are the same clouds, that at the end of the day, God is able to demonstrate His most beautiful handiwork.

They add texture and dimension to His reflection. They tell a story. They tell His story. They tell our story.

Without those clouds that we love to hate, we get a rather dull sunset. There’s no blaring story in the sky as those days draw to a close. There's no portrait of His presence. There's no captivating image of His glory. There's no evidence of what He's helped us endure and overcome.

(The previous view from my front porch at the end of a beautifully sunny day is the first photo of a cloudless sky I can ever remember taking, and I only did so recently, after I had begun exploring the merits of cloudy vs. clear skies.)

Furthermore, the nights with the thickest clouds provide the most dense display of his presence. Those times in our lives when we truly feel that we can't even catch a glimpse of God's light through the muck hovering over us, allow Him the opportunity to exhibit His love in the most radiant fashion.

The following photo was taken on a specific evening of exceptional darkness in my life. I distinctly recall needing to feel His presence so desperately that I literally cried in anguish when I concluded that the very overcast sky would hinder His comforting and familiar display of love that night. My, how wrong I was. 

He not only reminded me that He was right there with me in the pain, but He made the entire sky turn breathtaking shades of pink and purple just so I could understand to what depth His love reached for me at that very moment. I ran out of the restaurant where I was eating solo, stood in the middle of the parking lot like a crazy person, sobbed as a child in the arms of her loving father, took seventeen pictures (literally; I counted), and finally gathered the courage to drive to and attend my first DivorceCare support therapy group. All because God spoke to me using the very clouds I had previously resented. What more can He do in my life using the exact pains and heartaches that I initially despise?

When it comes to clear and clouded skies, I wouldn't necessarily argue that either is better than the other. But honestly, this the first time I've ever said that. (I had not yet recognized this concept on that February evening in 2014 when I wept alone in the Wendy's parking lot.) For so many years, it was completely obvious that clear skies were superior to cloudy ones. Duh. I wanted life to be smooth. I wanted things to happen the way I had always expected. I wanted everything to fall into place just so. I didn't want the wrenches in my system, kinks in my hose, or clouds in my sky.

However, my countless photo albums poorly support this claim that I've preferred clear skies. And now, for the first time, I'm realizing that I truly am grateful for the clouds. I don't just endure them for the sake of survival, but I genuinely appreciate their presence in my world. They provide an avenue by which God can clearly exhibit His masterpiece. Maybe I shouldn't curse the cloudy days, lamenting the loss of my clear view of His sunshine; those cloudy days lead way to some truly magnificent images of God’s love. Images visible near and far. Images I can't wait to witness and share with others. I just have to hold tight until the sun goes down. Eventually, God will draw His most beautiful masterpieces on those very clouds.

I've certainly had more metaphorical clouds in my personal life-sky than I ever would have desired. But I pray that the hard times in my life (and yours), the situations that have blocked my convenient view of Him and have shrouded me in darkness, will eventually, at the twilight of each particular experience, become a canvas by which God can overwhelmingly display His majesty, His purpose, His presence. Maybe, even in the midst of the painful darkness and seeming distance from His light, I can still preemptively be grateful for the amazing story preparing to unfold at dusk. I can sit and rest under the gloomy, overcast sky and fully trust that those originally undesired obstructions are already preparing the canvas of the profound story of my life.

Without the clouds, there’d be no testimony. There'd be no reflection of the sun. There'd be no evidence of the journey. There'd be no story.

The bright days sure are easier, but the cloudy skies are the ones that convey the most captivating works of art.  

BTW. All of the photos featured in this post are pictures I have personally taken with my phone over the past couple of years. They are straight out of the camera with zero editing, color alteration, or filters. God really is just that amazing. And I really am just that obsessed.

Grown-Up Snow Day

[My beautiful, snowy house]

Today is a snow day. You know how I know? Because I said so. That’s why. And that’s the only reason why in my case.

There’s no one else in my life to tell me so, which means I have to declare it on my own. I don’t have a principal to call off school, and I don’t have a boss that will close the office for weather events. (It is tax season, after all.) I just have to decide for myself what is best. I don’t have anybody to bounce things off of or provide advice or suggestions in times like these. It’s all part of my new, single life. I, alone, am responsible for me. 

Duh. That’s clear. I know you just read that sentence like it’s an understood truth for everybody in the world, and could I just be a little more Captain Obvious, please. But take a minute and think about it.

Sometimes, don’t you share your self-responsibility with other people? And isn’t that actually oftentimes kinda nice? When I was young, there was always an authority over me who had the final say. First, it was my parents. Then, in addition to them, my school teachers and other officials. As I got older, I gradually assumed more responsibility for my own actions, but still, I had the guidance of other people to help me navigate through each of life’s obstacles. Eventually, that partnership came in the form of a spouse.

Now, even though I am positive that my personal dysfunction and insecurities led me to participate in a relationship where I surrendered more of my individual control than is ever healthy, much of me, like I'm guessing many of you, still enjoyed sharing the responsibility of my life with another human being.

But now I can’t do that. Now, it’s all up to me. If I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. If I want it done, I have to be the one to do it. And on days when I wake up to multiple inches of snow on the ground in Nashville, I have to personally decide if I’m going to go into the office or stay home. Sure, I take the news reports into consideration, as well as the actions of some close coworkers, but ultimately the decision is solely up to me.

So, this morning, as an independent, responsible adult, I woke up, saw the beautiful, terrible snow on the ground and still pouring from the sky, turned on the news, decided I’d wait a few hours before I’d risk the roads, and went back to bed. That sounds great, I know, and the extra sleep truly was, but I actually don’t want to be missing any more work. You see, I’ve already had to use a ton of sick time to cover the snow days from this unusual winter we’re experiencing, and I’m intending to save as much paid time off as I can in preparation of any unknowns that might crop up during the remainder of the year. When I skip work, I’m still the one who has to pay for it. So if I had it my way, I’d go to work today from 8:00 to 5:00 just like every other Monday through Friday and not have to worry about it. But today I had to decide.

I eventually woke up again at 9:00, which was truly fantastic; let’s be honest. But then I still had to figure out what I was going to do for the day. I equal parts wanted to spend the day tucked away in my pj’s snuggled up with my dog as well as go to work, earn my paycheck, and save that sick time for any unforeseen events in the future. Missing work and utilizing sick time ultimately hurts no one but me (although the office is essentially effected), and, likewise, going to work to ration my paid time off benefits no one other than myself. So I had to decide what to do. For me. By myself. #againCaptainObvious

I wanted both options, and I also wanted neither. And there was no other presence in my life to influence me either way. I’m not going to lie; there was a moment this morning I wished I could just follow instructions and not have to make any decisions. But that simply wasn’t the case. (I’m also not going to lie even more: There are many moments of many days that I wish I could just follow someone else’s instruction and not have to be an independent, responsible adult, having to make my own decisions. But now that’s never the case.)

So I decided to be a grown up and venture out into the white tundra to pursue my lively accounting firm smack dab in the middle of Tax Season. I had to decide whether it was time, whether I was ready, whether I wanted it, whether it was safe enough to risk, whether my primary responsibility was to my job or to my safety. I watched the final minutes of the news reports that mentioned slow traffic movement with surprisingly minimal accidents thanks to the Nashville cititzens who are heading advice to stay off the roads. I checked my maps app on my phone that showed yellow (slow) movement along my route to the office with no wrecks. I figured I could chance it. In that moment, I wanted to be in the office and all that comes along with that, more than I wanted to not be in the office and all that comes along with that.  #decisionsandconsequences

I got dressed, packed my lunch, said good-bye to my favorite pup in the world, climbed into my protected car, and pulled out of the safe garage into the fresh inches of snow. I received a boost of confidence when I saw a couple other tire tracks leading out of various driveways in my neighborhood, indicating that other people had also left their homes, presumably safely. I drove carefully on the side road, even though there is no one in my life to say “drive carefully” as I leave the house. I felt confident-ish enough on this freshly packed snow to make it to the office and get in a good day’s work.

Then I made it to the main road. I had to pass a car diligently attempting to evade the precariously nearby ditch. I had to turn down Taylor Swift and keep my hands on 10 and 2 to avoid treacherous ruts left behind by previous, brave drivers. I had to ever-so-slowly stop behind cars at red lights and then struggle to not spin out like those near me when we started inching forward again. I had to maintain control of my car when I slightly fish tailed on that downward slope near Walgreens.

And then I had to make the grown-up decision that this was not worth it. I wasn’t even to the interstate yet, and I was already feeling uneasy about the travel. I maybe could have eventually made it to work, but I didn't want to then have to drive back home in the dark on these same dangerous roads that could possibly have grown even worse over the course of the day. So I independently decided to slloooooowwly make a U-turn and head back the way I had come - a failed attempt at driving to the office, and a successful exercise in independent responsibility.

Nobody gave me “permission” to call it a day. Nobody listened to the details of my story and sympathetically replied, “Yeah, that’s not worth it. You shouldn’t risk it. Go home.”  Nobody was there to encourage me one way or the other. All of these things I took for granted for so long. Today, I had to decide what was best for me, by myself.

Today is a snow day, because I declared it a snow day.

I gave it my effort and still decided I didn’t trust my driving skills combined with my small car in these unsafe driving conditions. I came to the personal conclusion that I’d rather use 8 more hours (8 more hours!) of my sick time than attempt to drive to work and risk a potential accident.

I know this all seems so silly and trivial, but it's just today's current example of why sometimes it’s really weird being single. I know that people love and care about me, but on a daily basis concerning minute-to-minute functioning, my actions affect no one other than myself. Nobody really cared if I went to the office or if I stayed home. Nobody was frustrated or pleased by my decision to turn my car around, leading me to finally let out a sigh of relief as I pulled safely back into my garage. (Besides Chester, who acted like I had been gone for 58 hours upon my return.)

It’s strange knowing that there is virtually nobody else in the world who is even aware of what I decide to do on a regular basis, let alone who genuinely cares about it. There’s no other person who is as equally invested in my life, actions, decisions, and the coordinating results as I am. I don’t know if you can really relate to that unless you’re a single adult. I know I never could have before.

I went straight from school to marriage just like a “good little Christian woman’s” life is supposed to (another soap box for another day), and I never experienced true aloneness or the responsibility and freedom that accompanies it. Before, I would have absolutely said that each person is solely responsible for him- or herself, but I wouldn’t have known exactly what I was talking about. Yes, ultimately that is the truth, even in any sort of relationship. But sometimes, we take for granted how nice it is to be able to share that responsibility with someone else.

But then again, sometimes it’s nice to not.

Welcome to my life.