top of page
Search


22.


The year after the last fun birthday. I guess I'd still have something to look forward to if I had an gnawing aspiration to rent a car, but unfortunately that one didn't make my bucket list. So celebrating my 21st birthday last year was the final hurdle of exciting, coveted birthdays.


I've felt especially introspective in my old age lately. I keep thinking about how dissatisfied we are with the constant changing of what drives us.


You dream of 16 and driving. You dream of 18 and freedom. You dream of 21 and doing the same thing you've been doing since age 18, but legally.


Then comes 22. For me, having been out of college for a few years, I haven't experienced many big life changes as of late. A few different living situations. An exotic new Kia Forte.


The small detail of my recent engagement.


(pause for crowd reaction)


It's such a hard thing to put in to words when your life story is being written before your eyes. Once upon a time I had dreams, an outline to the life I hoped to one day stand in the middle of. Now, I look around and slowly, the black and white stencils in my mind have become beautiful and vibrant memories of the life I'm creating.


The degree I once dreamed of now sits collecting dust in my closet. The man I once prayed for sits at the other end of the couch. The diamond I used to fantasize about now glitters on my left hand, where it has no right to be so dang beautiful.


Where there was once only a daydream, now there is a memory. With my engagement fresh on my mind (and my Instagram feed, as everyone who follows me now wishes I'd shut up about it) I can't help but sink into a pit of nostalgia.


Every moment that we dream of will one day be etched into our minds as a distant memory. The first kiss that my friends and I giggled and guessed about when we were supposed to be sleeping finally came. My driver's test that I yearned for every night for years blew by. My high school graduation went by in a flash.


My first car is some other 16 year old's prized possession. My prom dresses haven't seen the outside of their garment bag in years. My first apartment now only exists in pictures.


I never have to wonder what it feels like to look down and see the love of my life down on one knee. I don't have to look at Pinterest to see engagement rings. I don't have to wonder about the eyes I'll look into when I wake up in the morning, thirty years from now.


I can see them all right in front of me. The most beautiful mosaic of memories, forever burned into my memory like the shooting star only a few people are lucky enough to see.


I vow to never take for granted the life that is in front of me, the reality that only existed in daydreams even a few weeks before. But then, haven't I sworn that before?


There was a time where the mere thought of driving on my own seemed like the pinnacle of life and freedom. I pushed that 2002 Acura to its' limits. Then that quickly dulled, and I couldn't move out fast enough. Two weeks after graduation and I was sleeping under my own roof. I got accustomed to that, and needed my diploma. I studied my life and time away until it all paid off and I was a college graduate. As it turns out, even that can be short lived.


Every milestone that I have begged for and bargained with the universe to just please let me have, I've let slip to the back of my mind and out of my head entirely. The things I used to once fall asleep wishing and praying for became my reality, then faded to my past.


I vow to never take for granted the life that is in front of me again.


I never want to take for granted the fact that I can drive myself to Andy's at 11pm and don't have to ask permission. There was a day I would have sold my soul for that. (I never said I wasn't dramatic)


I refuse to complain about the job I studied so hard to get, even when it leaves me with tired, strained eyes and a brain that refuses to solve any more problems.


I never want to stop feeling the pure elation I felt seeing my engagement ring for the first time. I want to remember the feeling of importance, of wearing something so carefully chosen for me and so deeply symbolic.


I won't allow myself to take for granted how fleeting life is. My excitement is fickle and my gratefulness is short lived. I can only covet one thing for as long as it takes me to dream up the next. That's what I'm leaving behind this year.


22 may seem uneventful, but there was a time I would have given anything to jump to where I am now. Most likely, there will come a time where I'd give anything to come back to this moment. In my quiet apartment, without a care in the world besides catching my flight on Thursday.


All the memories of 21, thank you for being so messy, beautiful, painful, colorful, lovely.


All of the daydreams of my 22nd year, I can't wait to see you come to life.



When quarantine first began, four score and several Netflix binges ago, I remember having a significant thought when trying to focus on the positives. It was a frustrating time for many reasons, but this particular meltdown was due to the fact that I had cancelled four consecutive trips that had promised to make my summer the most eventful one yet. I remember pouting and thinking that all of my tourist blog research to find the best latte in Nashville was all for naught. Mid-pout, I caught myself thinking, do I even know the best latte in my own city?

You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this trivial insight into my mind, but fear not, we’re getting there. I sat, dumbfounded, wondering how much else I’ve been missing in my own zip code. Granted, the very reason all of my trips were cancelled was because of a virus, so not all of the usual entertainment options were on the table here. Closed restaurants and occupancy limits didn’t deter me, however. I was determined to have a delicious and beautiful summer, and that I did.

I found out that there’s an amazing coffee shop that grows all of its’ own produce and grinds its’ own beans only a short drive away from my front door. I found smoothie bowls that looked like they came straight from a Los Angeles foodie blogger’s Instagram page. I found a local gem that makes authentic Dutch food and realized that Dutch pancakes might be better than American. I found out that the most breathtaking sunsets are painted in the sky above the field right behind my parent’s house.

(I swear, not all of my epiphanies are about food)

After a summer of DoorDash deliveries, long walks, and my continuous coffee tour of Springfield, I feel contented. I may not have logged the miles that I had originally planned, but that’s okay. If I hadn’t had my nose buried in Pinterest, figuring out the best photo locations in Eureka Springs, I might not have walked past all of the beauty right in front of me for so long.

As I was sitting last weekend with a belly full of locally made Portobello Ravioli, my mind slipped into one of its’ frequent and unnecessary analyses of the world around me. I was thinking of how different the picture of my year looked than the reality of it, but how they both were so beautiful. I couldn’t imagine trading some of the memories I’ve made by a quiet fireside with my people these past few months, not even for the best life music on Broadway Avenue.

Somewhere along the winding road of my mind, I started to think about how there is a strong parallel between the picture of my summer and the picture of myself when I conjured them both up at the beginning of the year. They were supposed to be glamorous, busy, full of life and a blur of excitement and achievement.

Fast forward to mid-August, and now all of the goals I set and the trips I had planned are all full of postponements and cancellations due to the current state of the world and the fact I can’t leave the area without quarantining for fourteen days.

As a goal-oriented person, New Years’ is like Christmas for me. Not because of the free champagne at the club (at least not anymore), but because of the new beginning. When I sit down with the new planner that I will inevitably get for Christmas every year and a smooth pen, I feel like I’m eight years old again and Santa just asked me what I want this year. Except it’s me, asking myself:

What do you want this year?”

At the end of December 2019, I could think of a lot of things I wanted. Just about every interest of mine had a lofty goal tied to it. I had financial goals, creative projects, fitness milestones, you name it. I had the list typed, printed, and pasted in the inside of my journal so I could renew my motivation every morning. I was going strong until… you know the story. Suddenly, the majority of my goals went from being something challenging but attainable, to something that wasn’t even remotely feasible for this year.

I know that as far as this year goes, I was pretty lucky. I didn’t have to postpone a wedding, I didn’t lose a job, I have a healthy family and a cozy apartment to quarantine in. Don’t mistake this as me taking my immense blessings for granted. BUT- I’m going to complain anyways.

For me, losing my goals was like losing my compass for life. Without being able to follow my action plan (which was also typed, printed, and pasted on the inside of my planner), I wandered aimlessly through the first few weeks of quarantine. Each goal was so carefully curated and planned and worked towards, that the prospect of having to even postpone it for a year was devastating.

Fast forward from April to now, mid-August. I’ve still been doing a lot of aimless wandering. I’ve set smaller, more short-term goals for the meantime, but nothing groundbreaking. Nothing to get my compass back.

I’ve struggled a lot. I can barely sit through a movie without needing to have a secondary task or losing interest. This slower pace of life that should be a blessing to our overstimulated and overworked society felt like a pillow held against my face. I couldn’t breathe. Everywhere I went, there was a constant nag at me, reminding me of what I should be doing or what memory I should be making. The milestone I should have hit on the road to crossing an item off my goal list. I was restless, fidgety, grouchy, crotchety, just generally unpleasant. I couldn’t find peace in my own mind when there was a constant itch to just be doing more.

It hit me, right in the middle of that Portobello Ravioli.

Maybe I’m just defining more wrong. I wanted to be going on more trips, and attending more networking functions, and planning more events, and going to the gym more often, and seeing more of the world.

Maybe, just like I overlooked the Dutch pancakes, I am overlooking something I’ve been missing out on this whole time. My travel bug kept me so keen on trying the food made in other cities that I never stopped to consider that there might be a hidden gem only minutes away from me. My need to do and be more kept me moving at such a breakneck speed that I never stopped to realize what beauty can come in the stillness.

Maybe, for this season, I don’t need to have my eyes glued to my compass, intent on pushing through the forest of achievement. Just maybe, if I look up from the compass and look around me, I’ll find a place that’s worth staying for a while.

In this place, I’ve heard my Grandpa’s war stories that I never bothered to ask about before. I finally convinced my little brother to let me take his picture (ladies, thank me later). I stayed up until 4am talking about everything with the love of my life, because for once, we had nothing to do the next day and we could. I did a puzzle with my Momma (and soon realized I despise puzzles) and sat under the stars with my Dad. I watched a friend dive so deep into her relationship with Jesus and saw so many beautiful moments along her walk that I never would have if I kept on at my breakneck speed. I learned to love my bare skin. I filled pages and pages and journals and journals of prayers, thoughts, frustrations, and nonsense. All written in the cursive that I’ve finally had time to perfect (for the most part).

It tugs on my heart to think of all of the sweetest moments I would have missed if life had just gone according to plan.

I regret all of the spring nights I went to bed huffy and angry that I had yet another cancellation, yet another disappointment. I wish I had taken the time to see that every empty space that was created was a space that God was going to fill with more love and simple beauty than I ever could have defined in my planner.

As ready as I am to put all of this years’ chaos behind me, I hope I never stop pausing to look around me. Charging ahead has its’ place in life, but no goal is so important that the journey shouldn’t be enjoyed as well. I wish someone would coin a phrase to capture that, something like ‘pause to admire the foliage’ …?

I am still working every day on being okay with this new pace of life. I still daydream about booking the first flight as soon as it’s safe to do so, and my bucket list will probably keep growing. But, thanks to the loveliest combination of quarantine and a pasta-induced deep dive into my own subconscious, I am learning to look for the beauty in the now, not the next.

“Doing nothing often leads to the very best of something.”
– Winnie the Pooh


We all wear masks. Literally, in the age of COVID-19, we are all required by law to wear mask. However, long before this new way of life took over, we still all hid behind our masks. They just weren't as obvious as the cute floral ones we get off of Etsy now.


My mask? Mine is lovely. It is polished and pretty with a smile painted on. I'm fine, why do you ask?


It has bright eyes and a healthy glow. Can't you see how perfect my fitness routine is? You can basically see the word discipline written on my forehead.


There isn't a dark circle or bag under the eyes, why would there be? Every night I drift off to sleep peacefully, not a care in the world.


When I wear my mask, my voice doesn't shake. I stand taller. I am confident and assured. Of course I know what I'm doing, don't you?


My mask has a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Words that cut are quick off of my lips, but surely nothing can pierce my own thick skin. You really think you can hurt me?


My mask is beautiful. Successful. Proud.


My mask is deceptive. Distorted. False.


At the end of each day, when I lock the door behind me and I'm alone in my home, it is safe. I don't have to wear my mask anymore. I don't have to pretend it isn't smothering me. I don't have to pretend at all.


When I take my mask off, I am not lovely. The word that comes to mind is haggard, actually. Underneath the mask, I am painfully, undoubtedly human.


My eyes are dull from a day of staring at a screen. It's a 50/50 split between a screen I stare at to pay my bills and a screen I stare at to distract myself from them.


My face is fighting to be the same shade as the rest of my body, but never quite gets there, no matter how many summer days are spent in the sun. My pale cheeks have scars from the days that adolescent hormones wrecked them, a constant reminder that past insecurities never really go away.


I finally stopped flinching as I take my jade roller out of the freezer and roll it under my eyes, a last ditch effort to rid my face of the swollen circles that always greet me in the morning. Every day, as the cold roller sends a chill down my spine, I swear to myself that I will get to bed earlier that night, and every night I lie awake, anxious thoughts and a restless mind wrecking any hopes of beauty sleep.


Some nights, I drift off to dreamland without a fight. Other nights, I question my decisions, my path, my mind, my plans. I wrestle with thoughts that I'm not doing enough. Thoughts that I'm not enough. The darkness of my bedroom is no match for the darkness that catches up to me when I've finally given up on counting sheep.


Without my mask, I am defenseless. I have nowhere to hide. At my core, I just want to be loved. More than success, more than attention, more than anything. I seek approval like I seek water at 3am, waking up from a deep sleep. I am desperate for acceptance, validation.


Am I doing okay? Do you really think so?


When my armor comes off, the wounds inflicted by the world open up. Even the thickest skin can be pierced by the right weapon, and mine is far from the thickest. Tears held back can hold more pain than tears cried. Without my mask, I don't hold them back.


My mask is meant to protect me. My mask is meant to impress you. My mask is supposed to make everything better.


So why is it suffocating me?


 

This piece seems particularly dark, so let me add a disclaimer. I am, generally, a very happy human. I am surrounded by blessings and beautiful people. I am genuinely, truly, happy. But not all of the time. We all have our struggles and our baggage, and I am no exception. I wanted to personify the way we all hide behind a "perfect" façade, especially in the age of social media.


Personally, I'm tired of wearing my "mask", I'm ready to embrace all of my jagged edges and ugly truths.


xoxo, Hannah



bottom of page