Architecture of happiness

If I’m being really honest right now, I’ve looked to a lot of things in life with the expectation that they’ll bring me happiness. I've told myself if I could just have that salary, or that marriage, or that number on the scale-- that I'd be fully satisfied. That I'd know what real happiness was. 

Sometimes I’ve chased things to the point of exhaustion, but I’ve also chased some wonderful things. Because I’m a dreamer, and I love encouraging people to go after the dreams that are on their heart. But somewhere along the way, all the chasing (good or bad) caused me to fall prey to the illusion that I’m in complete control of my life. And while that’s a very seductive place to be— it’s also a cyclical one that's guaranteed to leave you unhappy and feeling like you're on a carrousel (although much less picturesque than this one). 

After relinquishing some serious control issues earlier this year, I’ve often used the metaphor of God being the artist, and my life being the canvas on which he creates. But I've still struggled to maintain a balance of letting myself dream big and reach for the stars, while remembering God is the man with the plan for my life.

In the parable of the talents, a master entrusts his servants with various amounts according to his ability. We learn that each servant uses those talents to grow what had been gifted. But the servant who did nothing with what he’d been given didn't grow or receive an abundance. He wasn't rewarded with “well done my good and faithful servant” like those who multiplied theirs. 

I’d have to agree that God wants us to be more involved in our lives.  No, it’s not our job to be the artist and try to steal the paintbrush from him, but I have to think we were created to do more than just exist and let circumstances be thrusted upon us like paint splattered on a canvas. 

I think that’s where most of us miss the mark. We either live under the illusion that we have control, or we helplessly exist, claiming we can’t do a damn thing. But I believe God entrusts us with the portions that we can control, and then it’s our job do so something with it. 

I recently switched churches, and we’ve been talking about God being the architect of our life. This metaphor identified a missing piece of the puzzle for me— the part that lets me be involved. Because In the metaphor of God as the artist, I’m merely a canvas, but in the metaphor of God as the architect, I get to help build. 

Now, if I fight for the control, I’m doomed— because It’s highly unlikely that a construction worker can build a stable structure without looking to his architect to draw the plans. And sure, God absolutely doesn’t need me to do what he wants to accomplish, but he's happy to employ me. He let’s me be an active participant in the story of my life. 

This last year I've learned a lot about what it means to create my own happiness. I think sometimes realizing all the things you can’t control makes you also realize all the things that you can. 

For example, I realize that I can’t control when I’ll meet my soulmate or if that driver cut me off and laid on his horn for no apparent reason in traffic. I can’t control if the economy is falling apart or if people make decisions that betray me. 

But I can choose to be happy about what I’ve been gifted. God has personally entrusted me with a beautiful season in life that I have a say in, and it’s a season filled with freedom. I have the freedom to pack up and move tomorrow if I wanted, to eat ice cream for dinner, or have sleepovers with my friends without asking for anyone else’s permission. I can pull the tequila bottle out of the freezer, cut up some limes, and have a dance party on the porch to comfort my best friend because she had a terrible day at work. I can listen to someone who needs to talk, help someone who needs a favor, and be generous with how I love people. 

And probably my favorite freedom that this season has given me is the freedom to do things like book trips to Paris (and London, and Vienna, and then back to Paris again) simply because God has wired me with an insatiable appetite for travel.  And he's also gifted me the luxury of nothing else to keep me from pursuing it whole heartedly. 

There’s a lot I’m still figuring out about where my life is headed— and that’s okay. Because this is where God has me- in an uncertain season of freedom and with a heart that’s hungry for adventure. And I’ve learned to be really happy about that, and to trust there is a lot he has in store for me if I'm willing to jump at the offer.

This trip that Sarah and I took to Paris had a ton of significance and left us both with tons of stories that I can’t possibly sum up into one singular blog post. But for the sake of this one, Paris taught me how capable I am of creating my own happiness and making my life a more beautiful story using the resources that God’s gifted to me.

These days, my happiness isn’t contingent on one particular thing, because I've learned there’s a lot of things that can make me happy. Sometimes they end up being what I had in mind, and other times they look really different. But I know now that what’s in front of me is what I have to work with, and I'm proud of what I'm creating out of it. And I'd like to think that God's response will someday be "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

Photo by Sarah Catherine Design

“Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings.” -Elizabeth Gilbert

Being still on bastille day

France has been someplace I've dreamt of visiting for years, and I was thrilled to learn that my first day I'd ever spend there was on Bastille Day (if you're not familiar- just think France's version of the 4th of July). When we arrived, we strolled through the cobblestone streets past stunning cathedrals. We stumbled upon local shops where I bought lavender soaps to bring home to my friends. We ate decadent macaroons that make me drool just thinking about. We walked along the port where hundreds of boats were tied up as the locals set up for the firework display that evening. The people there spoke little to no English, so we struggled through conversations when ordering lunch or purchasing rosé.

It was a wonderful day, but the most memorable part of my Bastille Day wasn’t my time on shore like I anticipated it would be. It was what happened just now on the ship before I came inside to write this blog before bed. 

I won’t get to publish this post until this moment has long passed, because I’m currently sailing somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea between Marseille and Cinque Terre. I could publish it now if I really wanted to. The boat has internet. In fact, it has endless things to fill my time: wine and casinos and Broadway shows and pools. There's even Michael Kors and Kate Spade stores on the boat (because God forbid I decide I want a new purse and not have a place to buy it for an entire week). It’s honestly overwhelming that in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, a place that should feel remote, I instead find myself able to zip line, play putt-putt or watch an ice skating show. So after dinner I opted to have a drink with my dad on the deck before heading back to the balcony of my stateroom. And then, I sat outside with a glass of rosé and watched the sunset instead.

We love distractions, don’t we? Not just on cruise ships, but in every aspect of life. We watch TV shows. We follow sports teams. We text people we’re not that interested in to avoid feeling alone. We browse through our social media feed for hours, flip mindlessly through magazines, or become a slave to Netflix. The options of activities we can engage in are endless, and we choose them practically all day everyday just to remain preoccupied. We're uncomfortable sitting still without something to do. We call it unproductive or boring, but I think that really we don’t know what to do if we’re not looking at another face, or another screen. 

So tonight I didn’t let my mind wander to thoughts that preoccupy me at home. I didn’t let myself scroll through all the pictures I’d taken so far (I left my phone inside altogether to avoid the temptation). I didn’t let myself try to plan my future or reminisce about my past. I just watched the waves dance and seagulls fly alongside our boat while the sun disappeared over the south of France. I was still. 

Why is this so hard for us to do? Why is it so rare? I for one, know that when I’m still God starts to reveal the things he wants me to change. He shines a light on the stuff that he wants me to do that sounds really scary. The stuff that I alone don’t know how to do. The stuff that requires me to surrender completely and depend on him.

It’s easy to run from these feelings by staying distracted. Because staring them in the eyes is scary. Actually, when you start to notice that God is moving you in significant ways, it's pretty terrifying. As someone who’s had her fair share of disruption already this year, more movement and change isn’t exactly what I would ask for. While there has been incredible beauty that’s been born out of the discomfort I’ve experienced, I’d be lying if I claimed that because of it I now suddenly welcome all change. That I’m totally okay with continuing to leave what’s familiar, or what I love, or what I know to embrace the unknown and follow where God is leading me. 

No. Instead, I shamefully find myself still clinging on to the bits and pieces of the life I saw myself living. I try to pretend that it only has to be a little different, not a completely new thing. I barter with God the way I did with the Spanish vendors selling fans on the streets of Barcelona, hoping to land on a deal that's as close to what I think I want as possible.

"Okay fine God." I tell him "I’ve wrapped my head around this curve ball I've been thrown, but that doesn’t mean I have to change EVERYTHING about my plans, right? Can’t l keep SOME of my security blankets? Can’t SOMETHING work out the way I had it all planned? Does the “perfect” life I saw myself living really have to be a completely different life altogether?"

This is what happens when I’m still. These are the questions that surface- the fears that arise. And I realize that the answers I find usually aren't the easy ones that I hope for. When I’m distracted, it’s easy to avoid. It's easy to pretend I didn't hear. But when I'm still, it all comes bubbling up. And God reveals the stuff that scares me. The possibilities that require a ton of uncertainty and room for failure before there's any hope of a happy ending. 

But I wouldn't trade tonight for all the lovely distractions in the world. Sure, I love watching The Bachelorette with my girlfriends or scrolling through my Instagram feed countless times a day (you do it too- don't lie). But being still is when the good stuff happens. It's when I find myself weeping in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea because I'm afraid and full of hope and excited and unsure all at the same time. It's when I realize how things really are and what they're capable of being. Being still allows me to hear who God is calling me to become and what he's calling me to do with my life. 

So ignore the text. Skip just one episode. Respond to the email tomorrow. But whatever you do, don't miss the chance to be present. To be in this moment where you are right now. Not stuck in yesterday. Not racing ahead into tomorrow. And not escaping to some fantasy that doesn't even exist. Be here. Be still. And be willing to listen to what God has to say. Because even if it's scary, I promise you want to hear it. 

Solitude

I'm an extrovert. I’m energized by groups. I love events, concerts, and the buzz of a large crowd (within reason). I love the hum of a full restaurant on a Friday night and the energy pouring out of people like the wine into their glasses. I love nights of squeezing too many people on the sofa with drinks and snacks and good conversation. I love people coming together: to celebrate, to dance, to be joyful.

But as much as I love all these aforementioned things, I’ve grown to really love solitude more and more over the years. 

I’m in Colorado for the week.  I contemplated calling some of my friends to grab lunch or go shopping in Denver when I landed today. There’s never a shortage of things to do while I’m out here, and my schedule usually fills up before my trip even begins.

But instead I opted to hop in the Subaru and drive north for an hour or two up to Estes Park. 

My grandparents took my dad and his sisters camping here when they were growing up. We came for a huge family vacation with everyone from both sides when I was little. It’s where my little brother took his first steps. It’s my first memory I can remember of being in the mountains. But I haven’t been back in over 20 years (which makes me feel really old to say), so I took some time to rediscover the beauty this place has to offer. 

I did some shopping downtown, visiting the taffy store where my grandfather would always load up on cinnamon salt water taffy. I scored some beautiful woven blankets from a local Native American shop. I sat outside scoping the Rockies while I ate fresh trout that had been caught that morning. And then I decided it was time to head up into the mountains and hike. 

I asked a frail older woman working at the register of one of the shops if she could recommend someplace that wasn’t too far away that would be a scenic hike. She pointed me to Gem Lake but warned me that it was a really easy trail so if I wanted a challenge it would disappoint. "But the scenery is beautiful, so that much will be nice.” There were some thick rainclouds starting to form and I thought a shorter, easy hike may be better anyway. 

I don’t know what kind of steroids Granny is on, but that trail is NOT easy. I'd like to think I'm in pretty good shape, but half a mile into my trek I was already gasping for air and breaking for water. About this time it started to sprinkle and I still had over a mile and a half left before I reached the top (not to mention the trip back down.)

I almost turned around. I was alone and I hadn’t seen any other solo hikers. Everyone that I sporadically passed was with their family or friends or significant other.  “Get out of your own head, Whitney” I told myself. "Tons of people hike alone". Moments later I heard two families chatting about a bear sighting earlier that day. I instantly thought of my dad repeating a thousand times to NEVER hike without bear spray when we were in Jackson Hole last summer. Pretty soon I was  creating news stories in my head about my abduction, or how I'd gone missing because I’d gotten lost, or how I’d tragically been slaughtered by a bear. 

I managed to quiet the annoying scaredy-cat voices in my head and press on. As I reached one of the first scenic overlooks, I was instantly grateful I hadn’t turned back. It was breathtaking. I saw an older couple approaching and asked if they’d mind taking a picture for me. The woman kindly obliged. As she handed the camera back to me she said “I’m sorry that you’re out here all by yourself.” The tone of her voice was kind but also sympathetic. You could tell she genuinely felt bad for me. I couldn't decide if I should be offended by her comment. I opened my mouth to say thanks but instead, blurted out “I’m not.” She smiled, now seeming more impressed than she was sorry (and frankly, so was I). But I realized that I meant it. 

Why would I be sorry that I’m by myself? This was my choice. This was what I wanted to be doing. I have the day off and am in one of the most scenic places on earth, dammit. I’m lucky to be in my shoes. 

Yes, I was alone. But I liked it in this context. You could say that’s a theme of the season of life that I’m currently in. It's a season of solitude- and that my friends, is very different than loneliness. 

Loneliness is accompanied by a feeling of emptiness (and typically, it stems from a place of feeling inadequate). Loneliness doesn't just have to be felt when you're alone. It can be when you’re in a huge crowd, a close circle of friends, or even being intimate with someone. You can have a smile on your face and appear to be perfectly happy and still feel incredibly lonely.

But solitude does not equal loneliness. Solitude is a good thing- and it’s often a choice. It’s opting to be alone with yourself: to dream, to re-evaluate, to pray, to explore, and forgive me for sounding cliche- but to find yourself. Solitude restores us. 

So today I marveled in solitude’s radiant glory, and I didn’t feel lonely for a second. Because how could I? I got to see some of God’s best work and most beautiful views. I got to take inventory of myself: How I’m feeling about my dreams. How I’m feeling about my friendships. How I’m feeling about the kind of person that I’m becoming. 

It was restoring for my soul. Because while I’ve grown to genuinely enjoy and appreciate solitude, this season has been one that’s honestly become laughable at this point. There’s been moments that are more excruciating than I ever thought possible. Moments that feel like right when I catch my breath, I get the wind knocked out of me again. It's not all warm, fuzzy stories of overcoming and growing and rainbows. 

Forgive me, but I’m about to make a cliché metaphor about this hike I was on, and how it parallels to my current journey in life. I have to do it- so deal with it. Because every time I saw a scenic spot, part of me considered saying "Good enough" and calling it quits. But I continued to climb. This decision prolonged the time that I spent alone. It made me more tired and more worn out. But every time that I did, I was always greeted with another view that outdid the last one. And I'm learning that's the case with life too. We can stay stuck in our current circumstances and deal with where we are, thinking it'll be good enough. Or we can keep going. Even when we're tired. Even when we're alone. Even when it would be way easier to stop. And when we do continue, there is always a payoff. There's always glory that's revealed to us. 

As I finally sat victoriously on the highest peak of the climb, I randomly flipped my bible open and couldn’t help but smile at the first verse I coincidentally saw. 

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are nothing compared to the glory that is to be revealed to us.”  - Romans 8:18

I’m starting to see the glimpses of glory in my life. Yeah, I keep getting thrown curve balls of more suffering that come out of nowhere and knock me right in the face. But the glory is there. It’s the glory that gives me strength to crave adventure and thrive when I’m by myself. To conquer loneliness because I know that I lack nothing. The glory that makes it impossible to miss God’s presence and power that’s working in my life. It’s the glory that causes me to be thankful for my solitude.

The coming weeks are already jam packed with moments of togetherness. I have dinner plans every night I’m here in Colorado. I have 4th of July parties to come home to before I leave a few days later for almost 2 weeks in Europe with my family. And as fun as all of those things are going to be, I’m so thankful for the time that I had alone with myself, and alone with God today. To be reminded that “alone” doesn't have to be a bad thing. That a season of solitude is a beautiful place to be. That it can make you more strong, more grateful, more adventurous and more hopeful than you ever thought possible. 

So if you find yourself “alone”, I hope you can find solitude. That you can look at this season as one that’s a blessing, not a curse. That you won’t rush through it, or lament about how much you want to be somewhere else, but that you’ll use it to become the best version of yourself. Because in doing so, there’s going to be more glory revealed than you even know how to handle.