Whitney Haldeman
This Week in the World: Week 10

Plan B

I'm finally home from Europe. I unpacked and put away my suitcase for a whopping 48 hours before I'll need to pull it back out and pack again. I'm heading back to Colorado in a couple days for another week, and I realized that in the chaos leading up to Spain and my time abroad, I never shared my post from the last time I was in Boulder. So let's rewind. 

I had plans to host my second goal workshop on a Tuesday night in Boulder, so that Monday I went to Chautauqua and found a spot in a field right in front of the flatirons. It was going to be perfect. There were wildflowers, blue skies and incredible mountain scenery. I bought some flameless candles (since I knew the park wouldn’t allow open flames), Mexican blankets, for us to sit on and tons of food and wine. I had planned and prepped and purchased  everything I needed for another beautiful night. I patted myself on the back and left to grab margaritas and tacos with a friend. 

 

The next day at work, one of the girls that was going to attend that night approached me and asked what the rain plan was. I blinked a couple times. “It’s not supposed to rain” I replied. “The forecast is completely clear.” She looked back at me with concerned eyes. “Have you been outside?"

 

The sky had gone from a beautiful clear blue to a deep, slate grey. Rain clouds were heavily hanging in the sky, looking as though they could pour open at any moment. And this was what I saw through glimpses of my tangled hair that the intense wind was blowing all across my face. I didn’t have a plan b. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

 

"Surely this will pass” I thought optimistically. "Meteorology is  usually pretty accurate with this kind of stuff, right? It must be forecasted to rain somewhere else and these clouds are just blowing over."

 

I loaded the Subaru up with all the food, wine, candles, blankets, flowers and everything else I had gathered and headed toward Chautauqua. Sure enough, not even a mile into my drive the first raindrop fell on my windshield. And within moments it was pouring. 

 

"I’m going to have to cancel". I thought to myself. I can’t have a dozen people huddle around my hotel bed and recreate the same night I had planned out in my mind. I stupidly hadn’t considered what my fallback would be ("Boulder has over 300 sunny days a year" they say). The forecast said it would be over within the hour, but the ground we would be sitting on would still be soaked and the sky would still be grey and cover the view of the mountains (which was the whole point of that location).

 

I was already appreciative that so many people that really don’t know me all that well signed up for the goal workshop in the first place. But now that the beautiful night of wine and candle light around the sunset over the flatirons wasn’t happening, I imagined the RSVP list would dwindle down to nothing. It was the perfect excuse for everyone to bail. To stay in with take out and Netflix on this rainy night. 

 

But that’s not what happened. 

 

One of the girls called and said she had just redone her front porch (which was covered) and that we could use that as a space instead if we wanted. I was appreciative of her offer and had a car full of food and wine so I figured why not? It was better than wasting it all if a few people still wanted to come. 

 

When I arrived to the house, every person who said they would come was there. Every single one of them. Even though we were running late. Even though plans had changed. Even though quite frankly, the whole thing had become a mess. They still showed up. 

 

“What can we do?” they all asked as I walked in with frizzy hair and wet clothes. 

 

They took the bags from me and started to slice the baguettes, open the wine and prepare the charcuterie. 


Meanwhile Shelby (shoutout for saving the day and opening your home) was sweeping the porch and hanging twinkle lights and lighting candles. 


Within 30 minutes the night had gone from a complete nightmare to a picturesque setting you’d see somewhere on Pinterest.  

 

Yeah, Chautauqua would have been beautiful, but frankly this was better. After a week  where people had really disappointed me back home, this night reminded me that people are still good. That failed plans don’t always turn out to be a catastrophe- in fact they can turn out to be a blessing. 

 

It reminded me that setting goals and making plans for our dreams is exactly what we should be doing (hence the reason I host these workshops), but so is being flexible in your approach to them. That life is full of plot twists and things working out differently than you think they will.  That sometimes your goal will fail and you’ll have to wing it and come up with a plan b. But that plan b is where we learn. It's usually the place where good stuff happens.

 

So thanks to my sweet friends in Colorado. Not just for still showing up when things fell apart, but for making the night even better than I expected it to be through your kindness. Thanks for laughing a lot, eating (and drinking) a lot, getting cozy on the front porch and for being open-minded to dreaming big with me. But most of all, thanks for reminding me that sometimes our happiest ending doesn’t happen until something else goes wrong.  


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Being still on bastille day

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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. 

say yes to adventures (especially in Barcelona.)

I knew my trip to Europe would be an adventure. It always feels that way when you go somewhere new and drink up a different culture. And starting off in Barcelona, I had plenty to work with: tapas, architecture, vino, beautiful mediterranean beaches… the list goes on. But one of my best adventures there wasn’t one that I expected. 


After dinner on our last night, my family and I went to the roof of hotel 1828 off La Rambla for some cocktails before turning in. It was Saturday night and the city was slowly coming more and more alive. I wanted to join the people around me and experience Barcelona's nightlife, but as I looked around our cabana, it was evident that my family was fading quickly. If I went out, I’d be on my own. 

About that time I made eye contact with a guy at the cabana diagonally across from me. He smiled, and we exchange glances a few more times over the next couple of minutes. He was with two other guys who looked shamelessly European and around my age. About the 6th or 7th round of eye contact, he waved me over.

I hesitated. If I’m being honest, I don’t usually bite when it comes to situations like these. I’m oddly prideful and  tell myself that I’m above being the desperate, googly-eyed girl that engages so easily (which in all reality probably just makes me seem rude and unapproachable to most men. I’m working on it). But for whatever reason— let’s call it the vino or Barcelona’s energy, this time I walked over. 

 

It turns out the guy I had been exchanging looks with didn’t speak a lick of English, but his friends spoke a fair amount (enough to easily understand me but still adorably failing  to make grammatically correct sentences). They were from Bordeaux, France on holiday for a few days. We drank champagne and talked for a while before they told me they were about to go out and invited me to come with them. 

 

Again, I hesitated. I’ve seen Taken. It was 3 tall, (and strong from the looks of it) French men- and then me. I was in a foreign country I was just getting the hang of. It was dark. And my phone was dying.There were plenty of practical, play by the rules voices going through my head. But my gut wasn’t threatened. It told me to go. So I did. 

 

I walked over to tell my family, and much to my surprise, my dad didn’t try to fight me. I know he respects that I’m a completely independent and self-sufficient adult. He knows that it’s not his job to tell me what to do anymore. But I still expected him to throw a fit for trying to leave with 3 strangers. But instead, he paused for a minute (still with a concerned dad face) then finally replied: “They seem like nice guys. But if for some reason I’m wrong- I want you to bite and kick and scream and yell, and then run like hell.” Needless to say, that advice from dad took my nervous voices from about a 3 to at least a solid 7. Nonetheless, I still went. We walked down the street to a hostel to meet up with the rest of their friends. Pretty soon I found myself in a room with about 12 French men. I had my guard way up. I subtly stood in the doorway and kept one foot kicked back behind me in case someone tried to close it abruptly. I had my head on a freaking swivel- ready to react to anything. 

They all talked to me like I was some exotic animal they had never seen before. “You AMERICAN girl?” (followed by sentences spoken to one another in French that I didn’t understand. Nervousness continuing to rise). 

My uptight, analyze the situation to be sure i’m safe attitude played out for a while, but slowly I realized I could relax a little. That they were really nice guys. My voices went from “BE CAREFUL! They might try to abduct you!” to sounding more like “If you say yes to adventure, you actually have to be okay with the adventure part.” 

 

Maybe they were just hoping to get lucky. Maybe they were actually interested in me. Or perhaps I’m naive to how affectionate Europeans are and they were simply being friendly  Regardless, I don’t really care because it was an incredibly fun night. We walked down La Rambla and along Port Vell, buzzed on Spanish wine. Julien chased me through the halls of the hostel with a bottle of cologne (and successfully sprayed me about 5 times. I had to get the dress dry-cleaned to get the scent out and my suitcase still smells like it). Maxim twirled me in the streets like a ballerina. We sat in the hostel and drank with other travelers from Australia and Russia. We met some Canadians at the bar who had been traveling through Spain since January (and we discovered we’d be in Paris at the same time next month). We took selfies and group pictures and I stayed out way past my bedtime. 

 


Yes, I realize there were potential dangers of me choosing to go out with these guys. My message here isn't to be reckless and ignore any voice of caution (so don’t go to Europe and be a complete moron and then try to sue me when things go wrong). My point is simply that at the end of it all, had I only listened to the paranoid voices,  I would have missed out on such a fun night. I made new friends from across the globe. I got to experience nightlife in Barcelona like I had hoped to. And on top of it all, my family ended up being locked out of our flat and didn't get back inside until after 3am, so I would have missed the fun AND been been miserable.   

 

So be smart. Use your head, and trust your gut. And when it tells you to be open to a new adventure, I hope that you'll say yes.