Month: June 2020

This chapter HAD to be called Zoom. During the next week of my trip, I spent about 35 hours in Zoom calls.

The first Zoom started that Friday on my drive to Indiana from Michigan (if you missed the first part of the saga, you can find it here).

Now for all you rule followers and risk-averse people, I know I know. Zooming and driving is probably sort of dangerous, but I’d like to think I did so safely (on mute, video off, and just listening – until breakouts where I did participate a little).

And I’m so thankful I did. These calls feel like coming home.

I had been so nervous to tell people I was road tripping, mostly because I felt guilty for leaving and because I didn’t want the judgment that seems to come with anything COVID related. (Guilt. That followed me around for a majority of my adventure. But we’ll come back to it another time.) But my tribe encouraged me and saw my heart behind the decision. And if anyone was judging, I couldn’t tell haha!

By the time the call was over, my heart was full. So, to any of you reading who are in the Forge tribe, thank you for showing up and being consistent. It means more than you know.

That evening, I sat down at my first restaurant since working in one in mid-March. I was eating food I didn’t cook at a table with friends that I don’t live with. And I cried. It was beautiful.

After dinner, we adventured by way of sunset chasing. Have I mentioned how perfect Midwest sunsets are? Because wow. The sky is so big and you can see it for miles and miles. Sitting along the road, we watched as the colors danced across the sky and faded to black.

There’s something spiritual that happens inside me when I watch a sunset. I’m overwhelmed by the creativity of God all while being reminded how constant he is.

As the weekend came to a close, I began prepping for conference week. We had spent hours learning the ins and outs of Zoom in preparation for this. And I was nervous. The moving pieces, the desire to do well and be helpful BUT I was also excited. I worked with an incredible team of leaders who taught me tons about leading and speaking and being.

I’m so thankful for the opportunity to be part of this event. It revealed something in me that I hadn’t fully identified in me. There’s something so refreshing about working at something that has an defined ending. I think that’s what I miss about working in the restaurant. Every day, I’d go in, so a task, close it down. And that’s it. There’s no work to take home. And you come in and do it all again. Now, if that was my ONLY job, I think I’d be miserable. But by balancing a task job with my role with Forge, I feel like I get to exercise both the building/dreaming up something and the details of tasks.

Indiana gave me confidence professionally.

Indiana also made me get honest about my own mental and emotional state.

“You’re heartbroken,” was my friends response to my past several months (maybe even year?).

It was as if a thousand little light bulbs went off in my brain. Heartbroken. It made sense. And finally gave a name to what I was feeling. The loss of community, friendships, normalcy. The grief of a hurting city, of a traumatic experience, of living in quarantine for so long.

I recently read a book by Emily P. Freeman called “The Next Right Thing.” She has a whole chapter dedicated to naming a narrative and the importance of names. In it, she says:

But a name is more like a song than a definition. Sometimes the song is all you need. Other times, you play that song on repeat to let its melody smooth the jagged edges of your soul. If you take time to name something that has remained unnamed within you—a fear, a loneliness, a heartbreak, a dream, or a regret—resist the urge to grab and go. Instead, give that name some space to rise up and take shape. Then get curious about it. Hold it in the presence of Jesus. Ask him for direction and wisdom. Let yourself be a gatherer of information when it comes to what’s happening beneath the surface. Name it, but don’t force a definition.

Freeman, Emily P.. The Next Right Thing (p. 40). Baker Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

My knee-jerk reaction is to grab and go. “Well, I’ve named it so I can move quickly past.” But during this trip, Jesus has been ever so gently reminding me to sit with it and do the hard work of identifying what’s beneath the surface. And having my friend sit with me as we named the plot point in the grand story arc of my life was a gift to me.

I’m still not on the other side of this discovery. I’m still pretty heartbroken. And the reality is, I don’t know when I won’t be anymore. But what my counselor keeps reminding me is that it’s okay, even when it feels like I should be seven leaps ahead of where I am now – that these feelings are valid and the way to the other side requires patience in the process.

In Indiana, I left behind work (for the remainder of my trip) and connection via technology (social media, texting generally, etc.). I needed space for my soul to rest.

Next stop: Kansas.

Saturday, May 9 broke me.

I got an alert on my phone that said NYC would not begin reopening until June at the earliest. And I cracked. Throughout quarantine, I optimistically added the end of PAUSE to our shared dry erase calendar in the kitchen. And every couple of weeks, disappointedly, I erased that date and moved it further away. But this extension felt heavier than most. And I couldn’t do it anymore.

After I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor to cry, I decided I needed to leave the apartment for some fresh air. It wasn’t particularly warm that Saturday, but the sun was shining and there were fewer people out from the days prior. After grabbing an iced coffee and heading towards the East River, I called a friend to begin processing what I was feeling. (Side note: I can’t usually start processing without a good verbal processing session first. And I’m really thankful for this friend, who doesn’t judge my unfiltered thoughts and listens to my heart.)

By the end of that phone call (and about 40 city blocks later), I decided I wanted to go on a road trip. It would be the perfect way to get out and start processing my own emotions and to find clarity around some decisions.

After a quick call to my parents and a good friend in the city, it was decided. I was leaving NYC for an adventure unlike any other. The tentative itinerary was to drive from NYC to Allentown to Michigan to Indiana to Kansas to Colorado, back to Kansas and a final stop in Knoxville (or someplace along the way) before driving back to the city.

And so began a four and a half week long road trip. One that was uncharacteristic for me – an adventure without a firm plan, shaped and crafted along the way.

I wish I could name for you all of the emotions I experienced as I pulled away from NYC. Relief, grief, urgency to leave, fatigue. More that I don’t know how to explain. I cried a lot my first night away. Feelings of guilt and weakness and grief and exhaustion flooded over me. My soul longed for space away to process, to not think at all, and to be alone.

The first 560 miles were freeing and also challenging. I got to pick things for myself – music, podcasts, snacks, stops. All of it. This began the start of my long struggle with feeling selfish. Selfish for leaving, for buying my snacks, for not making a stop to see everyone (but more on this later).

Throughout this first long drive, I listened to a really great podcast on the growth journey for Enneagram twos. In the podcast, Beatrice Chestnut talked about the growth work for twos. And she said something that continues to stick with me (and here’s the gist):

There is freedom to stop caring about what every person thinks of you. When we need external approval, we often abandon our own self to align with others – turning ourselves into someone else for someone else. When we realize we’re doing it, there’s often a deep sadness that comes from betraying yourself.

I felt that on a deep level. So naturally, I cried. This began the start of a long, month long journey of rediscovering myself and of letting go (way more on this later).

After 8 or so hours in the car, I arrived in Michigan. Watching a perfectly yellow-orange sunset over the Midwest brought my heart joy. I’m so grateful for the hospitality of a friend and her family for letting me crash that night. The next morning, I had my counseling call to lay out my hopes for this trip and then I was on my way to the next stop – Marion, Indiana.