Life has seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down all at once over the past couple of months.
My work projects haven’t been coming in as consistently or as spread out as I would have liked (yayyy freelance life!), so during the ebb and flow of work and spin class I find myself either scrambling to pull deadlines together or left sitting in the empty silence of a day wide open.
During these quiet what-am-I-doing-with-myself moments, my mind wanders. As as excited as I am for a fresh start, nostalgia does have its sneaky way of taking over.
So for now? I am learning to appreciate these slow San Diego days as much as I can before I make my big move to San Francisco next month.
Tomorrow I turn 25. During the course of this past month, I made a couple of changes. Big changes. It’s still me, yet everything feels a little different, a little new. I’m a little discouraged when I find myself feeling like I need to defend the fact I am not having a quarter-life crisis, I just simply hit the point where hard decisions needed to be made and I couldn’t push them off much longer.
There’s of course a whole post on this written in my head, but I’ll sum it up with this today: I’m ready for a new year, new stage, and a fresh start. I’m confident in where I am at and I firmly know God will lead me to where I need to be. Bring it on, Big Man!
Here’s what else I’ve been up to this week:
I can honestly say I’ve felt almost every end of the emotional spectrum this week.
I feel like I say this every time I write, but maybe this is just me learning what growing up in your 20’s is all about: feeling those high highs and low lows, sometimes multiple times a day. The inexplicable feelings and unmade decisions and foggy next steps that eat you alive at 2am. The spontaneity and desire to rebel coupled with a need to have it all under control.
Sometimes I almost feel like I am back in my teen angst-y middle school years. And I am, still, in a way. Just without the skateboard and the broken curfews and the need to dye my hair black.
This week started off with a beautiful Saturday, fading into a rainy Sunday & Monday that finally brought hints of fall to San Diego. The days quickly heated back up again, but for a moment, there were seasons.
Fall made have faded back into proposed 90 degree weather, but for me, that rebel need for transition and excitement still runs strong.
Long live the pioneers
Rebels and mutineers
Go forth and have no fear
Come close the end is near
And I say hey, hey hey hey
Living like we’re renegades.
My renegades. With renegade windy hair + clothes. This love is true.
I’ve always been a homebody. A creature of comfort. But a rebel? Not so much.
With the exception of my middle school punk-rock days of dark eye makeup, black nail polish, and badass snowboarding and skateboarding accidents (that I sometimes relive in my current throwback music obsessions: Pop Punk Powerhouse on Spotify + Sum41), I was a good kid. The responsible one, like I said before.
Growing up, I became very used to the confines of my safety zone, each wall I knew by heart. I could run my hand along the velvety, padded cushion that kept me in tact, and I knew where my fingertips would find every rip and tear and loose seam attempting to hide its imperfections. Now? I find myself running full-speed at these padded walls, gripping their edges with white knuckles as I try to decide where I want to break free, where to rebel, once more.
For the longest time I often tiptoed around the box of good, around the rules that kept me there, without ever quite needing to find how to get to the great. Sure, the good was pretty great. But the thought of exiting my safe zone? Of breaking a rule, and- gasp- getting into trouble? Well it just didn’t seem necessary. I’m cool here, right where I am at.
But as I got older, I realized the reality of the words I now tell every spin class I teach: all the magic you want? It’s there, on the other side of our comfort zone. And sometimes? You have to break a few rules to get to the great.