Seasons

On more than one occasion in the past month, coworkers have seemed baffled by my outfits at work. I know what you’re thinking, Mom. No, it’s not because I look like a hobo, which has happened more frequently than I would care to mention. It’s because it’s fall. And that means that I have hit my stride. Lookin' fly in my many-an autumn inspired outfit.

As the evenings get longer, the nights colder and the drinks warmer, I always find myself nestling into the comfort of the season. Cardigans? Yes, please. Boot socks? All day. Flannel on men? Lord willing. It’s when girls stop dressing like floosies and dudes start dressing like lumberjacks. Essentially, it’s my paradise. 

Preparing for the season, much like Doomsdayers for the apocalypse, we hit the malls buying our body weight in riding boots and tights, corduroy jackets and even the occasional knit hat. Girls stalked Pinterest picking the right outfits to brave the cold (okay, 60 degree) weather that would soon hit Texas. I stocked my pantry with wassail, soup and my crisper with butternut squash and greens.  

Seasons are unpredictable here in the Lone Star State. You may be greeted with sunny skies and 70 degree weather on Tuesday morning, but in your sweat pants battling 30 degree skies by Wednesday night. To make it here, you have to get your meteorological bob and weave on. 

Many a well-meaning older woman occupying the pew next to me on a Sunday morning has given me wisdom about my ‘season of singlehood’, like it’s some pre-menopausal limbo erring on the side of a chronic illness that is quickly going terminal. 

“Bless your heart, honey, this is going to pass. It won’t always be bad,” she says, patting my thigh in that maternal fashion that only Baptist women know how, as if this moment in my life is for the worst, a wart on my twenty-something timeline. 

Though some seasons are cold, and others are warm, every season is needed to sew seeds into a harvest. 

The sweetest strawberries ripen after a frost has shocked their vines. Stress causing the juice to sweeten, the berry to turn a vibrant red. A season of rain, flooding the fields reaps a harvest full of rice, or if you are a redneck like me, possibly the fattest crawfish you’ve ever seen. What is typically seen as a catastrophic event, is a necessary moment for the harvests that feed our lives.

So why do we see our seasons as this cloud looming over our heads? Why do we shudder at the thought of a season without rain or a season where the rain never seems to cease? 

You may not be single. You may not be happy. Or you may be in the most joy-filled year you have ever seen. Regardless of where you are at, you are in a season. One that is meant to make your fields rich for the harvest, whether shocking or gentle, your fields are not your own, but land bought at a price, paid for by a King. 

Mediocrity is the result of sameness. Lack-luster crops are grown in seasons that see no change. Fields can't grow if they have constant rain. They don't produce a harvest if the sun always shines on them. Seasons are necessary for growth, sowing and reaping a harvest. Don’t shy away from them.

As I face the inevitable hills of my twenties, braving the valleys and the mountaintops, summiting on my weakest days, crumbling by my own stubborn desire to ‘do it alone’, upheld only by the grace of a salvation I don’t deserve, I find that the newness and freshness of each day brings me the most joy.

Could I live a life filled with consistency, my own personal Groundhog Day? Would I rather face the world scarless, no battle wounds to reflect the strength I gained during the hardest winters? Or can I bundle up for the cold, strip down and enjoy the cool waters when the heat turns up, and bask in the crisp autumn airs of my seasons?

You are always in a season, Dear One. That is what my God says to me. You are worth so much more than a common-place life. You are too important to be left where you are.

Backpacking Brazil

You know what always sounds like a good idea? Packing a backpack with a few tanktops and bikinis and heading to a foreign country with one of your best friends. My concept of a ‘good idea’ and everyone elses’ are apparently at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Do you even speak Portuguese? No, but I brushed up on my pointing and obscure hand motions before boarding the plane, so I’m feeling pretty solid.

Isn’t Brazil dangerous?  Have you even read my naked hobo story? Pretty sure I can handle it. 

Have you seen Taken? Fact: If there is anything scary movies have taught us, its ‘don’t be a tramp’. I’ve got that trash on lockdown

Besides one brief moment of panic in streets dealing with yet another barely dressed hobo (they dig me), Brazil made most vacations look like chump change. Spending my days jumping off stuff, meeting incredible people and getting 3^rd degree burns on my precious pale Gringa skin, the ten days melted into one another, forming an amalgamation of memories and life lessons that the states will never contain. 

Sleeping and sharing a bathroom with 12 strangers is a life lesson in and of itself. It’s what Real World would look like if it weren’t so scripted. You know what doesn’t happen in coed bathrooms? Anything cool. You know what does? A ton of pooping. Look, after eating several meals at a buffet that, though delicious, looks like it was cooked in a trailer park, things get real in the ol’ hostel lavatory. Add to the mix several large and drunk Argentinean men and you’ve got yourself one really rank party.

Brazil is not known for its modesty. Me being the incredibly awkward person that I am, would giggle every time a guy walked by in a speedo and blush for the women in thongs. Ma’am, I’m not sure you are aware of this, but your hiney is out in public. So consider me embarrassed when the Polish dude in front of us decided that he was so over the sunbathing and would like to do a quick change into his jorts. Who knew I was getting a tan and a peep show? Sir, sir, sir! You just dropped your drawers in front of ladies! Your man parts are you business, not mine. And now I feel like I owe you at least $2 Reals for the show.

I knew I would get funny stories and adventures while abroad, but what I didn’t expect was to meet people that would teach me more about myself than years of self-help books ever can. From the Argentinean hostel owners who gave us safety and comfort when all we asked for was a bed, to the Brit who taught us the ‘Queen’s English’, each person we encountered gave us a piece of their story. Each story, unique, broken, bruised and beautiful, was a glimpse into the world we tend to forget exists. Outside of our borders is a whole world that functions, thrives and loves, sometimes, I think, in ways we can’t begin to understand.  

Unplugging for ten days put me in a minor panic mode. No emails, no texts, no way to know if my work world was up in flames (as if I’m so important that my absence would cause even a ripple). Others were traveling for months at a time, a career not even on the radar until they finished accomplishing the things they wanted to. We live out opposite lives, basing our accomplishments on our careers and not on the experiences we have. Others view jobs as a means to an end.

When asked my priorities, I have to be honest with myself. I spend majority of my time in the office and the gym, coming home only to eat and sleep. In essence, this girl prides herself on success and vanity. Awesome. I committed the first five years of my post-graduate life to my career, putting other things on the back burner unless they just happen to stumble across my lap. What am I missing in those five years? Brazil, I did not miss. Though it was a ruthless lover, eating away my health and pushing me to my limits, it was a relationship I would not trade in for a casual 3 month fling with an all-inclusive resort filled with mindless entertainment. 

Every day I get faced with a choice: take the same path, or forge a new one. Meeting new people, hearing new stories, learning new lessons. It doesn’t take a 12 hour plane ride and a communal bathroom to find moments worth reliving, and stories worth retelling, and yet that is what I required to be reminded of the delight that can be found around the corner. Maybe, you and I should take the time to peek around the corner and see what adventures lie ahead?