As long as you want to be

I've never really liked flowers, and there's one I really don't want in my life.

Goodbye, pansy.

I've mentioned this before, but I have a history of being nearly incapable of feeling completely comfortable around guys I'm interested in. I always try to hide my feelings, and I constantly have friends reminding me of how ridiculous I'm being and that there's nothing wrong with a guy knowing how you feel about him.

But they weren't in my French class in high school.

When I was a junior, I had a crush on one of the guys in my class, and I did everything I could to make sure he had no clue. Against my better judgment, however, I let some of my friends talk me into letting him know. Well, I wouldn't be the one to let him know, but we concocted a plan to let someone tell him. (Yes, I realize how silly it all sounds, but we were high school girls, so I really can't explain much more.)

I remember the day after my friend's boyfriend told him—I sat in my desk and felt my skin turn red and my whole body get tight (I also felt like I was a little bit on fire) as in my peripheral vision I saw the boy and his friend chatting in whispers near a book shelf and then turn to look at me. I couldn't look at them directly, because I was certain whatever they were talking about wasn't good news for me.

I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but French class in that moment.

The next day I found out from a friend that he wanted to make fun of me, but his friend who had been talking quietly with him had talked him out of it. God bless him. It's not the making fun of me part that bothered me, because I don't really care about that, but it's the fact that me liking someone led him to want to ridicule me—as if I weren't good enough for him, and that warranted public humiliation. I know he was just an immature high school boy, but it was something that stuck with me and made my reasoning for hiding my feelings seem even more justified.

And it's something I've had a difficult time growing out of.

I consider myself a very confident person, but there is something about my history (or lack of history, rather) with guys that somewhat diminishes that and always leads me to assume that anyone I'm interested in will never return that interest. I was talking about this with my sister the other day, and she told me I should just let guys know when I'm interested and not worry about whether or not they feel the same. If they do, things might work out. If not, then move on and forget about it. I reminded her that I would probably still be a pansy, and her response hit me pretty hard: "You're a pansy as long as you want to be."

Preeeeeaaaaccchhh.

What she said is so true in so many areas of life—you can be afraid and remain in your fear as long as you want, but you also get to make the decision when you want to be brave. Honestly, it's scary to me to think about having those feelings again of my blood rushing and my palms sweating, not knowing how a person is going to respond knowing how I feel about him. It's even scarier to think that I could be so repulsive to someone that he would rather laugh at the idea of dating me than just simply say "no thank you." And so, rather than ever expressing my feelings, I choose to be a pansy and never let people know what's on my heart.

But you're a pansy as long as you want to be.

I hope that in the future I can be brave. I hope that I can make the decision not to be a pansy anymore. I hope that I will take my sister's advice. I hope that I will always remember that someone else's opinion of me doesn't even matter.

Because I am adored by the only One I'll ever need.

I hope that you, too, will not be fearful of telling people how you feel about them. You are valued. You are loved. You matter. Maybe you'll get rejected. Maybe you won't. But you'll never know unless you make the decision to be brave. Because you're a pansy as long as you want to be.

And I don't want to be.

Let's dance forever

I feel the need to address a serious problem in our society today: there's not enough dancing.

And it needs to change—soon.

I love dancing. I never took dance, and I probably wouldn't have been very successful, because I'm not very good at organized and structured dance. I prefer to make the moves up as I go. But dancing doesn't have to look pretty to be beautiful—it simply needs to be natural.

I was on an elevator the other day with a mom and her young daughter (she looked maybe 4 or 5), and suddenly the girl burst into some spontaneous dancing when another woman's phone began ringing. The mom looked at me and apologized before telling her little girl to stop busting those moves (though she didn't use that wording). I told her there was no need to apologize and that the world needs more dancing. The little girl looked up at me and said, "Let's dance forever!"

She's got the right idea.

I think a lot of people don't dance much because of the fear of what people will think of them. But what does that matter? If everyone danced more, we wouldn't have time to analyze everyone else's dancing. Taylor Swift gets it, though. She frequently dances at awards shows to the live music, and people continue to ridicule her, and she continues not to care. You know why? Because it doesn't matter.

It was a really good song

I love the John Michael Montgomery song "Life's a Dance," because it's such a great analogy.

Life's a dance you learn as you go

Sometimes you lead; sometimes you follow

But don't worry about what you don't know

Life's a dance you learn as you go

In life, you don't always have structure, and you don't always know what your next move is. Sometimes you really just have to move along to the beat—and you may look completely off-beat—without caring about what the world outside is thinking. You may look like a flailing monkey, but those might be the perfect moves that make you you. You may step on your partner's toes when you're trying to two-step, but nobody is perfect, and the people who care about you aren't going to let your mistakes ruin a good song. Just dance.

Because dancing is BOLD.

Lee Ann Womack gets it, too, and she sang about it:

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance

Never settle for the path of least resistance

Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin'

Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'

Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter

When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I HOPE YOU DANCE

It's easy to lean against the wall or stay in your chair and avoid the dance floor, but it takes courage to get out there and dance. And life needs more people choosing courage. Because you're going to come across opportunities in life when you have to make choices that let you either do things that are BOLD or play it safe and choose not to risk anything. But some risks are simply worth taking.

Like dancing your heart out.

I hope the little girl from the elevator continues to dance when she hears cell phones ring and whenever else the opportunity presents itself. I hope her mom learns from her precious daughter and follows her lead. I hope more people take the chance and stop caring about their images and just dance, instead.

You just might find courage you never knew you had in so many areas of life if you'd just dance. 

Let's dance forever.

When you're in uncomfort zones

I sort of don't like admitting this too often, but I don't really enjoy being taken out of my comfort zone.

At all.

Over the weekend, I went to Portland for a conference. Let's get one thing out in the open: I'm not a huge fan of traveling. Call me a homebody, but I just prefer to be in the comforts of what I know best. But, I really needed to go to this conference, and the somewhat dreaded day of departure finally arrived on Friday.

I flew standby on a buddy pass—thanks to two very generous friends—but the idea of not being guaranteed a seat on the flight gave me a bit of anxiety. Uncomfort zone. (I know "uncomfort" isn't an actual word, but from here on out I'm referring to all of the situations that made me uneasy as "uncomfort zones.") Thankfully, I was able to make it on the first flight to Portland, though we will return to my standby anxiety in a bit. (You can chalk that up as foreshadowing.)

When I got to Portland, I caught a shuttle to my hotel, which turned out to be a much shadier establishment than the woman on the phone who made my reservation led me to believe. The television didn't even get ESPN. I wasn't able to watch any SportsCenter. Uncomfort zone.

I had some time to kill, so I took a nap and then went for a run before I had to head over to the college where the conference kicked off on Friday night. When I got back, I asked the guy at the hotel front desk what the best way to get to my destination was, and he told me to hop on the bus that picks up right in front of where I was staying. Public transportation is big in Portland, and I haven't used it regularly since my sophomore year at Texas A&M. But, I can assure you that the College Station system isn't very comparable to what I was about to deal with. I knew nothing about the city, had no clue what stop I needed to be on the lookout for to get off the bus, and I didn't know the time schedule at all. Uncomfort zone.

After what seemed like a pretty long time, I got out my Google Maps to see how close we were. According to the blue dot, we were going the wrong way. It turns out I was on the wrong bus--homeboy at the hotel failed to inform me of a bus change I was supposed to make. The driver directed me what to do, and I got on the right bus, but it had a very roundabout way of getting to the college. My overall bus trip was one hour, 27 minutes.

Important note: The college is 4.1 miles from the hotel.

I was a bit exhausted

A very large man who reeked of smoke (major uncomfort zone) sat down next to me and began typing away on his little device. I figure it's wise to know a bit about the individual next to you in such a situation, so I started snooping to see what he was so busy using only his two index fingers to type. First, he was commenting on news articles. I saw the phrase "dirty republicans" and figured he must just be really into politics or something. But he moved on pretty quickly and was then on some site called ourtime.com and typing in a box that said "flirt sent." I chose to stop reading his screen at that point. I was grateful when he busted out his Wild Cherry Pepsi, because the smell of the soda helped drown out the stench of cigarettes just a bit.

I kept wondering how much longer I had to endure this ride—why are there so many flippin' bus stops?? I'm generally very punctual and began to worry that I would be late for the conference. Uncomfort zone.

Overall, the conference went really well, and my reason for attending was fulfilled. I even got rides to and from the remainder of the conference and a ride to the airport Saturday night (yes, I rode with strangers, but I chose to trust the conference attendees over mass transit). But there was still that truth that kept surfacing the entire trip: I'm too attached to my comfort zones.

And things didn't stop there.

I only had my hotel for one night, and for various reasons I had to stay at the airport Saturday night until my 5:40 a.m. flight to Denver on Sunday. If you want to talk about a real uncomfort zone, we can talk about sleeping across airport chairs and using a pair of jeans as a pillow. There were no open seats on the connecting flight to Dallas (remember, I was on standby), so I had to buy a ticket on a different airline to get home. (God bless my brother for helping me out on that one.) But there was only a 45-minute window from when one plane landed until the next took off for me to get from one terminal to the next and all checked-in and situated. Uncomfort zone.

There were so many points during this trip when I wanted to cry, and I think the main reason boils down to me being completely taken from the place I'm most comfortable. I can't say I enjoy admitting my flaws, but this is something that's not so great about me. It really hard to be in places and situations that make you feel uneasy. It's scary.

And those are times you have to be brave.

I think God uses uncomfort zones to help us grow. I can't say I'm a completely changed woman from this trip, but my eyes were open in so many ways—particularly in my aloneness. Because I'm not alone. I may be the most single person I know, but I had so many people surrounding me: Erik and Jade, who gave me a buddy pass, walked me through the process and got me on flights; my friends Laz and Disco, who were checking up on me, offering endless support and encouragement and keeping me entertained with their antics; my mom and dad, who put up with my crazy decisions and still always try to help me; my brother, who didn't hesitate to take care of me and ensure I'd get home before Monday; Helen, Jill and the other woman whose name I didn't even catch (I know, it's horrible), who gave rides to a stranger from Texas; and my sister, who gave up part of her Sunday to pick me up from one airport and drive me to another so that I could get my car.

I may be taken out of my comfort zone every now and then, but the love I'm surrounded with can overcome any anxiety a person can feel. Because love is that powerful.

And that's a comfort zone that's with you no matter where you are.

You can't truly capture the moon

Things in space are so far away, but I think some of them are a lot closer and similar to us than we ever imagine.

Like the moon.

I was running one morning recently and noticed how beautiful the moon looked. At first I wished I had a camera with me to snap a picture of it, but then I remembered all of the times I had tried that before and how unappealing those images had turned out.

There have been many instances when I have attempted to take a quality picture of the moon and completely failed. I’m convinced it’s not really possible—especially with just an iPhone. I read an article that credited the reason for the moon not being so photogenic to the fact that the moon doesn’t shine on its own and is instead illuminated by the sun, which is a lot more powerful. This results in a tremendous glare, and your picture of the moon looks like a floating blob rather than the beautiful depiction you see in real life with your eyes.

I think the moon is a lot like people in the way it’s portrayed in pictures: what you see isn’t an accurate representation of the truth. A lot of this has to do with social media. It’s so easy to cover up who you really are and let people believe you are someone different.

Looked better in person

But why?

Why is it so tempting to be people we’re not? We can post pictures of us when we look our bests, and we can convey these positive images of ourselves, but why are we so ashamed to hide the truth? Rather than posting anything at all, wouldn’t it be better to be your true self in the real world? I mean, the moon has proven it’s a better sight, anyway.

It can be a real challenge to be authentic all of the time. Because it’s scary. Being completely transparent is a bold thing to do—people will know who you really are. You won’t simply be a portrait of what you want to be or how you want others to see you. You will genuinely be you.

And I honestly believe there is nothing wrong with that.

When I was in middle school (quite possibly the worst stage of life one must endure), I tried so hard to fit in and be like everyone else. I only wanted to wear certain brands of clothing and thought I was only supposed to hang out with certain groups of people. I was even afraid of saying certain things or not saying certain things—I mean, if I wasn’t using the “cool” lingo, then it meant I wasn’t “cool.”

Looking back, I really don’t like the person I was then. I wasn’t even content with being in my own skin all of the time. Thankfully, somewhere along the way I learned how to be me—and I’m perfectly comfortable being the flawed individual I am. I don’t want to try to cover up who I am and try to fit in with others. I know it can seem a bit easier to feel this way once you leave those adolescent days when you’re constantly surrounded by peers and the pressures of growing up, but even adulthood brings with it struggles and influences of its own.

Think about how many times you’ve heard the answer, “Fine, thanks. How are you?” when you ask someone how he or she is doing. But, is that person really doing that well? Or is that individual hesitant to share the truth that life is actually really rough right now, and every day is a battle? I’m guilty of this at times. I’ve always had trouble showing my emotions—I can barely even cry in front of myself—and don’t always want to let people know when I’m going through a difficult time. But why? The people who truly care about me are going to love me regardless of my faults and help me through whatever I’m facing in life. And the people who don’t really care? Why should I care one inkling what they think?

You were made to be you at all times, and it makes no sense to try to be someone else, whether it’s online or in person. The moon’s radiance can’t be captured as well in a picture as it can be seen with real eyes. Your radiance just isn’t the same when it’s seen through rose-colored lenses and not authentic eyes.

It’s good to be like the moon—people would rather see the real you than a blurry version, anyway.