curveballs

It’s Saturday afternoon and I'm finally sitting down with a glass of wine in the United Club at DIA to write a post that's 2 weeks overdue.

My time in Colorado is always jam-packed. When I'm not at the office, I fill my time hiking, trying a new restaurant, catching up with friends, or exploring another mountain town. But even among the busyness, I always manage to find time for the blog. Except this last week. This week, I was fielding curveballs.

I’m a very confident traveller in general- but especially so when I come to Colorado. I know the average time it takes to get to and from DIA depending on what time of day it is. I know how long the security lines will usually be. I know what restaurants I need a reservation for, and which ones I can walk right into. I even gave recommendations to hikers at Chautaqua this morning about which trails had the best views or moderate level of intensity. 

But even the most avid of us travelers can feel disheveled when a curveball comes our way. And this last week, I realized I've been thrown a lot of them lately.

When I got to Denver last week, I realized I never got a confirmation email from work about my ground transportation like I always do leading up to a trip. So I called the office and learned that the person who usually coordinates my travel details was on vacation, and the temp filling in wasn’t aware of my usual accommodations. They apologized and asked me to expense a cab this time. Regardless of who picks me up, there's always a fleet car waiting for me at the office so I can get around Boulder for the week. But when I got to the office, I learned she hadn't reserved that either. 

Long story short, I was stuck without a car, and forced to take a cab or Uber everywhere all week. At first glance, this felt like an annoyance, because I've always had the freedom to drive myself as I please. But it didn't take long for my attitude to adjust.

I spent the week being driven by people who were kind, who shared their stories with me, and who made me feel more connected to humanity than I would have otherwise. On multiple occasions I had the same drivers that I had a day or two before, and they always remembered me. I even had one woman offer to pick me up at 5:55am for yoga the next morning because she knew not many Uber drivers were on the clock and said cabs in the area could be unreliable. I left realizing how much richer my week had been from being forced into conversation with strangers multiple times a day. 

And then I started thinking about the other curveballs I've been thrown while traveling lately. How at first glance, all the things that seemed like an annoyance ended up being pretty awesome. Like when I failed to pack for the right season when I went to Paris, but ended up with one of my favorite coats I've ever purchased. Or when we missed our train to Reims for a champagne tour, but ended up talking life at Tuileries and enjoying the best weather we had by far the entire trip. 

Photos by Sarah Catherine Design

Curveballs can seem like a giant pain in the ass at first glance. They throw a kink in our plans and seem to set us back. And so naturally, our first reaction is to curse them. But if you can manage to play the tape back and watch it in slow-mo, often times you'll see silver linings that we tend to breeze right over- like the kind driver from Nepal who works late shifts to send his daughter to college at Nebraska, or the beautiful detail of the mountains you're freed up to notice when you're not forced to focus on the road ahead. You'll realize that staying at the office until 7:30pm leaves you laughing and getting to know your co-workers even better, or that your favorite pastry in Paris was one you found because you missed your train. 

I want to keep learning to notice the diamonds in the rough. I want to practice flexing my gratitude muscle no matter how inconvenient something may seem. I want to roll with the punches and always trust that something good is buried in whatever circumstance is in front of me. So <insert witty sports metaphor about baseball, because I don't have one> and send some more curveballs this way. I'm ready for them. 

new seasons

I landed in Paris with a suitcase full of airy floral dresses, soft knit cardigans and (one) light weight jacket. With predicted temperatures in the 70s, I'd been anticipating sunshine and perfect weather. So you can imagine my state of surprise when I walked off the plane to a crisp 56 degrees and grey skies. 

Photos by Sarah Catherine Design

After a day of unexpected shopping for scarves, sweaters and coats, Sarah and I joked that not only did we arrive to a new country, a new culture, and a new language, but we arrived to an entirely new season. Gone were the days of swampy, hot summer. It was fall. 

Photos by Sarah Catherine Design

But even beyond the change in literal seasons, Paris seemed to kickstart a new season for me personally. I've been back in the states for a month now, and I've felt lighter and happier than I have in a long time. And it all started while I was there. 

I don’t know about you, but any change in seasons almost always happens like this for me- literal or metaphorical. One day, the noticeable difference seems to hit you out of nowhere and boldly declare it’s arrival. And for the most part, the energy in the air is buzzing with excitement when it does.

We all look forward to pulling out our sundresses after a long harsh winter or overloading our grocery carts with pumpkin spice everything as soon as it hits the shelves. New seasons of T.V. shows prompt us to host watch parties with our friends and flood our news feeds with delight for each one's return. And even the least diligent student would likely confess the joy they find school supply shopping come August. 

The English nerd in me is a sucker for symbolism, so I couldn’t help but meditate on this idea of new seasons (both literally and figuratively) during my time in Paris. What is it about them all that makes us so giddy? 

I think it's really as simple as this: we all love a fresh start. We love to usher newness into our lives- sometimes to be reminded that things are no longer as they once were, and sometimes just to diversify what is already good. 

Photos by Sarah Catherine Design

Sure, I loved having an excuse to stroll the Champs-Élyées buying Parisian scarves and coats so I could bundle up after months of sweating with little relief. I loved seeing the leaves along the well manicured boulevards start to turn gold, adding complexity and depth to the one shade of green I've seen all year. And I loved relying on a piping hot espresso from our neighborhood café to warm me up every morning. 

But I also loved buying hand-painted fans from vendors to escape the heat in Barcelona this summer. I loved wearing breezy sundresses that let the sun kiss my pale shoulders last spring in Rosemary Beach. I loved ordering a chilled glass of wine by the Mediterranean Sea in Cinque Terre or Capri. And I'm not above admitting I got teary-eyed when I saw the first green bud on the tree outside my window after a long, brutal winter (but I've also cried from a dog food commercial, so there's that). 

I don't know what season you find yourself in right now. And I don't know what kind of season is up next for any of us. But I do know that there are seasons for everything: planting, uprooting, healing, building, weeping, laughing, mourning, dancing and everything in between. I suppose if we had control over the theme of each season, there are several we'd never choose for ourselves. We'd probably skip the brutality of winter and summer altogether and live in a perpetual state of spring and fall. But there are valuable lessons to be learned during all of them.

So far, I'm loving the seasons that I'm in now: the freedom of spirit, the adventures, the joy, and indulging in all the fall clichés like sweaters, cider and Hocus Pocus. And while seasons past haven't been nearly as fun, I can honestly stay (in hindsight) that I loved them too- because they're the ones that taught me important lessons, refined my faith, made me stronger, and showed me what it means to be content in all circumstances. 

I don't know what lies ahead. But I do know I'll experience another winter, another time to mourn, another time to celebrate, and plenty of other seasons. But for now, this is the season I'm in. And any season that kicks off in Paris, is one that I have pretty a great feeling about. 

choose love

There’s been a lot of negative attention in the news these days. Arguably, more than usual. Controversy seems to sell even better than sex, so naturally our culture responds by magnifying anything that has some drama. We’re constantly hearing about shootings in schools and movie theaters, the long list of couples in the spotlight who are calling it quits, or the divisive state of our political candidates. We develop polarized stances on issues that tear us apart like gun control, race and same sex marriage. But we don’t stop there. We dissect far beyond the issue at large. We pick and cut and poke and stab all the way down deep to anything that’s remotely associated with each topic. Even fast food restaurants are tied to an issue (I’m still reading about Chick-fil-A how many years later?)

Even on a more shallow level, it’s become all too common for us to find humor in cynicism. We read articles about the kind of people you hate on Instagram. We follow influencers on social media or reality TV, pick them apart and laugh at them. And yet again, we don’t stop there. We take a snide comment made from one human to another, and then feel empowered to take it to a public audience on the internet via a tweet or a status.

I typically try to refrain from participating in the banter of it all— the complaining, the rolling of the eyes, the Facebook rants, and all the various forms of negativity. I’m often too exhausted or depleted at the end of each day to bother using any remaining energy on weighing in one way or the other. Liking someone's status that I can nod my head “yes” to is about as good as it gets. And if I’m being really honest, I’ve refrained from letting myself think too long about a lot of these topics (which do matter, and which I should care about) simply because of the positions that come with each belief. They make me not even want to go there. Because believing THIS signs you up to be in THAT group of people. You’re slapped across the forehead with a label before you can barely get a sentence out of your mouth. And while I'm not ashamed of claiming anything that I do believe, these complex issues are categorized in a two-dimensional way, leaving us all forced to over-defend or over-explain ourselves. It's exhausting just talking about it. 

The thing is, I really do believe that it’s important to know what you believe in, and to stand firmly by that. So that’s what I’m doing here. But this stance isn’t to coax you to take my side on a particular issue, to tell you why your opinion is ignorant, or to validate a belief of mine with some inspirational quote or recent poll that discredits yours. My simple hope for bothering to write this at all is to encourage you— whoever you are and whatever it is you believe so passionately, to do so with more love. 

You see, the people we don’t understand, the people who aren’t very nice, the people we disagree with, or the people who believe much differently than we do… they’re not going to go away. If you escape one, you’re sure to find another. And if we let ourselves respond to every offender with an equal response, we’re bound to leave each other angry, resentful, self-righteous and deeply wounded. 

I know they can make you mad. I get what it feels like when the emotions bubble up inside you, and you want to scream. How all the common logic you could ever muster seems to shine the brightest floodlight on so much unintelligence or stupidity. 

But I have to believe that people are doing the best they can. Sure, we could choose to believe differently— but do you really want to? Call me naively optimistic, but I want to live in a world where people believe that each other are good. A world where me tapping my foot and sighing impatiently at the Post Office is because I’m stressed and overwhelmed, not because I have a mean spirit. That when I feel bad about doing it later, I can believe the people around me assumed I was just having a hard day, and not that I’m a bad person overall. That regardless of how different an opinion may be from yours, it was likely formed because of many complex circumstances (whose roots go down deeper than the eye can see), not just to piss you off.  

Maybe you don’t spew hate. Maybe you’re patting yourself on the back right now because none of the aforementioned things has left you feeling guilty. And while guilt is the farthest from my motives here, I do challenge you with this. Could you be loving more? 

Saying you’ll do this- love people more and assume they’re doing the best they can, makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. It sounds good on a bumper sticker. But it’s important to note that it doesn't come without a cost. 

First, it will require you to listen. To actually listen— not just wait for your cue to jump in with a counterpoint. We can only be loved to the extent which we are known, and the same goes vice versa. How can you ever love someone if you’re too busy building a case against them or trying to disprove them?

Second, it will require you to habitually make choices that go against what feels natural. This means biting your tongue. It means letting go and moving on when you know you could probably win the argument. It means doing it again and again and again every time— instead of keeping some distorted “more good than bad” tally in your head.

Lastly, it will require you to be vulnerable. Vulnerability (by definition) is to be susceptible to being wounded or hurt, and open to moral attack or criticism. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt that they’re doing the best they can and loving them means they may take advantage of you. They may call you weak or respond with other insults. They may question your motives, or speak ill of you. But somebody has to lay their weapon down first if peace is ever going to be made. 

None of the requirements above are easy, and I’m far from mastering any of them- so hear me when I say that this isn’t any kind of attempt at self-praise. But it’s my hope that we can all do a better job of putting these into practice. Because I believe it’s the only way to make the world more a bearable (dare I say wonderful?) place to live.

My hope isn’t to change any of your opinions. My hope is that regardless of your opinions, I can love you well. No matter what you believe about gun control, the presidential candidates, selfies, breast feeding, SEC football, GMOs or even something as important to me as my faith in Jesus. I want to expand my mind beyond the capacity of my own understanding. To listen to what you have to say. To assume it’s the best you can give. And to love you where you are. And I hope that you’ll find yourself able to do the same. To me, and to others around you. 

I know I said I wasn’t here to share an inspirational quote, so I guess this is the part that makes me a liar. But I’m encouraged by the thought that I’m not alone in this hope- that we all prefer a world filled with more kindness, more compassion and more love.

So let’s be mavericks. Let’s lay our weapons down, treat hate with kindness, and tear down walls that have kept us apart. Let's love each other relentlessly. Let's do the very best that we can.