Musings on Looking for Love

Hello, my name is Shannon and I’m chronically single. Being a part of the softer sex, we women are often times expected to be half of a twosome, part of a couple, part of this “thing” that people grow up and do in their adult lives…you know, the house, white picket fence, two point five kids and dog. It’s the American dream…yet I am alone. I can’t tell you the countless amounts of hurtful questions I have been bombarded with that I can’t possibly answer, though I try to answer with grace, that I’ve been asked such as “why are you single?” and “why hasn’t any smart man snatched you up yet?” or how about “how is it that you, being so beautiful and talented and you have your act together are single?” All of these were (probably) well intended questions, but they made me begin to resent my circumstances and the God whom I started to blame them on. I began to feel completely unlovable which began a dangerous downward slide in my life.

I’ve felt every emotion known to the human race in the quest for love. I have overcompensated with a tough exterior; I have been heavy-hearted and laden with grief, showered upon with sheer “wanting” to be loved. I have been a spokesperson for the single lady and I’ve flooded many a pillow, many a night, with tears. I am woman. I was made to love and be loved. I was created with a sheer desire to have this in my life.

I don’t have all of the answers, but I don’t believe that I serve a God who punishes men and woman with singleness. For a long time I did think this…I thought if I just become good enough then God will give me my man. The longer I felt this way I became more and more unhappy with my circumstance of singleness. I used to pine for a relationship with a man every second of every day. It was all I could think about in my free time. I thought about the reasons I didn’t have a significant other. I thought about how I could get a husband. I thought about the fun things we would do together when I had him. I thought about how great my life would be if only someone loved me. I cried constantly when I was alone. I was wretchedly sad and I felt like I had a huge hole inside of me which I was trying to fill with anything and everything that would take away the loneliness. I was literally consumed with the lack of love in my life.

One night I felt impressed by God that I couldn’t fill the hold inside of me, which I had likened to the size of the Grand Canyon, with a salt shaker. It just wasn’t going to work. I could shake and shake every second of every day and I still wouldn’t be able to ever fill it up, no matter how much I deposited into that hole. That thought moved me. It shook me to the core.

I wish I could say that was an epiphany that turned my life around and that I was changed from that day forward, but honestly, I continued in my self pity, searching and begging God for love. I latched on to any attention given to me by someone that I felt I could share a life with. Don’t get me wrong, I turned away many offers for dates throughout this time because, after all, I am selective, but still I continued in my state of anxiety, scouring the internet for like-minded believers who were single and talented and attractive.

It was much later from that day that I found myself living a life that wasn’t consumed with the desire for love. I have the secret and it’s so simple I can’t believe it myself. Are you ready to hear this? It might make some of you angry, you may roll your eyes and scoff…but it worked for me. My secret was I started living for me right now and not for him in the future. Simple, isn’t it? Too simple, actually.

The way I found peace was to love myself and to love others. I became involved in the ministry of music and in the ministry of the youth group in my church and it changed me. I found myself, instead of pouring over websites on how to find love, pouring over websites about teen ministry. Everything I picked up and read, or heard or came across in one way or another, I tried to find a way to make it teachable and relatable for these kids. I also found myself at the piano many nights, well into the night, learning new songs for our worship service. It changed me.

So today I am not afraid to be alone. I read this recently on a blog from the Good Women Project and have paraphrased it “I haven’t met him yet, but I already have my partner. I’m not saying I don't want to get married. That is one of my greatest desires, but it doesn’t control me. It’s not in my hands, it’s in His.”

I truly believe this. I know now that I am fully and completely loved…with, or without a man to hold my hand.

Are You Content Kicking Rocks?

I met a man named “Faith” today. Faith…walking tall on two legs. Faith…smiling and holding a conversation with me. Faith…asking me my name and holding on to my hand in greeting. Faith…looking directly into my eyes. Faith...living, breathing and softly speaking. Faith…saying he was going to remember my name because the next time he saw me he wanted to call me by it. It makes me ponder how alive my faith is. Does my faith appear in manifestations to others, what about to my problems? Do my circumstances recognize the faith within me, around me, coming out of me? Faith is, by definition, a strong and unshakable belief in something, especially without proof or evidence. The Bible tells us that God has dealt to each man a measure of faith. What this means to me is that the all-knowing God, who is outside of time and space, who simultaneously sees our beginning from our ending, knew exactly what life would hold for each of us. He knew exactly how much faith to plant within us to sustain us. I challenge you to open the lid of your Pandora’s Box today and let faith escape (along with hope). I challenge you to focus on the possibilities, not the problems; the potential, not the challenges. I hope you aren’t content with kicking rocks, rather release your faith and move mountains.

Fear of Recycling

Today I emptied my recycle bin at work. This is always kind of a big deal for me because in the past I have recycled prematurely and ended up needing the “stuff” that I thought I didn’t need. My bin becomes laden down and so full that I can barely carry it to the receptacle. This physical act set my thoughts into motion. How many times have I held on to things that I do not need? Things that no longer serve a purpose in the fear that I might need a bit of it again…someday…possibly…probably not, but maybe…you never know…better safe than sorry? We all have different “stuff” in our lives that needs to find its way to the recycle bin (the big one that’s for good). Do you have the courage to let some things go today?

Would the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up

How much someone weighs is a real issue in today's society. It's a very taboo subject, one not broached by many because to admit that you have a problem is a weakness and it's not deemed cool to talk about weight (it makes people uncomfortable), but babycake, everybody see it anyway. We not bliiind. With that in mind I'm just going to go for it. I'd like to put a disclaimer out that I am a confident person who likes myself immensely. I think I am beautiful inside and outside the way God intended me to be and confident. I have talents and a lot of people like me in spite of my flaws; however, I am struggling with my weight.

Okay, so real-talk here...and I'm not looking for sympathy or fishing for compliments or lies. I don't want them. Brandi imma smack you if you tell me I look awesome one more time (love you), but dude...seriously! I got fat...corpulent...plump - however you package it, it's going on inside my body. I stepped on my scale last night and totally freaked out. I don't really know when it happened. I've noticed that my clothes don't fit - as in "I can't wear that anymore" don't fit. I feel gigantically uncomfortable in my skin. What made me step on the scale in the first place was a picture taken of me and the girls last week. I love the picture with those lovely ladies...but who is that in my clothes? I don't recognize her. I know it's me because I have amazing hair and that's my hair...um, and I was wearing that outfit, but mama mia...baby gained some poundage. There's a thin person under there begging to come out. My face is so...puffy. It looks like someone put an air hose in my mouth and blew me up. I don't look like myself (or at least how I view myself). I look like the person who ate me. It's not really a laughing matter, either. In all honesty, I'm pretty disappointed in myself. So instead of sulking in the doldrums and becoming depressed and turning to food for comfort, thus causing the vicious cycle to bountifully increase my derierre, I choose to take charge, become proactive, or rather retroactive, and get this weight off.

We all know the way it works...diet (hate that word) as in watching what I eat and making healthy choices, exercise, lots of water, counting calories, minimizing salt intake. There are tons of ways to do it. There are oodles of plans to choose from from fad diets and temporary "quick fixes" to the tried and true techniques that nobody wants to take the time to do. We live in such a fast food, fast paced, results right now society. Unfortunately it's the fast-food choices I made that helped me on my journey to Obese City. I want a lasting, albeit slow, weight loss because it is my true desire to be healthy. More than looking good, I want to feel good about myself, but don't let me fool you...I want to look good, as well. I'm used to being a cute little thing with these almost nonexistent dimples in my cheeks when I have that darling little lean face. So I'm totally out of my element.

As with any "Oh my God" moment, I have to assess the situation and ask myself what are the factors that got me here so I can change wrong behavior. It's all part of the process...figuring out what I'm doing wrong and make a conscious effort to do the right things, subsequently implementing changes for a healthy lifestyle. I know exactly what I've been doing wrong and vow to stop immediately. Y'all don't need a play by play here. It's easier said than done, but it's a challenge that I'm up for.

I realize there are right and wrong ways to go about anything, so I want to assure anyone who cares that I will be doing this the right way. It will be a slow process. I'll be proud some days, disappointed others. I'll be energized and cranky. It all comes with the territory. I realize that poundage comes off like it goes on, gradually, but I also know what to do to help myself.

For me, accountability is key. If you don't like this, don't read it. I'm sure there will be snarky comments made by fat and thin people alike, but it's my blog and I can say anything I want. You don't have to like it and you don't have to read it. This is for me, and for other people who are currently strugging with weight issues and are looking for inspiration, who want to make a life-altering change. I encourage anyone who is at an unhealthy weight to join me in talking to your doctor and getting on a healthy food and exercise plan that works for you. So raise your glass (of H2O) and here's to healthy living.

Here goes something!

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

It is a well circulated persuasion that the grass is greener on the other side. I have personally lived under this assumption for many years, working toward tomorrow, living for those dreams that are just outside the grasp of my fingertips, yet very vivid to my imagination. While I think it is admirable to have lofty goals, I have begun to see the error in my aspirations to save the best China for special times. I have been impressed to begin living for the now.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda...I'm not one of those people who live with the "no regrets" mentality. I do have regrets in a lot of areas of my life, unfortunately. I don't (regularly) obsess about my choices and mistakes. I put forth great effort to live with balance and I'm pretty easy on myself, realizing that I am human and I will make the wrong decisions. Many times I have been found wanting and I didn't quite know what to do about it. I've been blessed to be happy by nature, slow to anger, very quick to forgive. (God is good.) I'm even tempered and strong, yet of a pleasing nature. I've made decisions based upon what I thought others would be pleased with and sometimes come out completely miserable with my circumstances. Begrudgingly I'll admit that I do follow the road to "shoulda" and envision how my life would have been grandiose and more fulfilling had I only made a different decision. I often take on too much because I'm eager and single (so of course my life is super easy! - another blog, another time) and I forget to take care of me. When I'm stressed because of this I tend to alienate myself from other people and the tiniest bit of compassion from someone breaks the dam and floods of tears stream from my eyes as I've reached the point of no return. I have to thoroughly assess myself and begin to pull the roots of bitterness that are snaking down into the deep places of my heart.

Bitter, you say? Isn't that a sin? Yes, I get bitter. I'm not proud of it, but it happens. I'm human. It's not easy to admit the carnality that so easily besets us, but for me to be successful it is important to starve those roots and remove them before they take over and mar what God has set as beauty. Of course that is much easier said than done. I have been wronged and I have wronged others. There is regret in that itself.

Recently I gleaned from the wisdom of a friend. She heard a sermon about living in the "now". In the book of Matthew when Jesus performed his first miracle of turning the water into wine, the remarks were not that "you saved the best wine until the end" rather "you saved the best wine until NOW". As her words cascaded down me like a cool stream running down a mountain, taking with it the debris and leaving a clean path in its wake, I received a confirmation to my soul-searching restlessness. I have been at war with myself. The lilt of her words gave me the courage to stop the frantic planning and seeking for the accomplishments of tomorrow. As commonplace as it sounds, I should give today my best go. I should wear my favorite shoes and don a darling hat. I should go ahead and take that trip or get that pedicure. I should smile more and I should spread kindness and compassion always because someone needs it today.

So what now? I'm turning THIRTY in 30 days. I've been saving the best of myself for someone else, for something else, but now that I'm cognitive of it I can change. I'm promising that I will not live my thirties in the shadow or mirrored image of my twenties, neither will I live for the accomplishments that I'm sure to gain in my future. I'll embrace today and all of the wonders that come with it. I'll celebrate the small stuff and enjoy more fully the little blessings that I so easily take for granted. My heart and my house are open. That doesn't mean that I will not continue to have dreams and plans for I find them important. Instead, I will do more to put those plans fo the past into action now and begin living the dreams I've had for so long so I can replace them with newer, bigger, better ones.

Thanks for reading. I hope you start living for today, as well.

Details of my open house party at my beautiful, historic home coming soon!

Feline - Friend or Foe?

To say that I am not a cat person is a gross understatement. God, in His infinite wisdom, made me allergic to them so I could have an easy scapegoat in lieu of offending cat lovers. I have started speaking out against cats and their wily, wicked ways. I’m going to talk about the spawn of satan meow.

Earlier this year I was at a friend’s house to watch movies. He went upstairs to take a call from his girlfriend and I was left alone downstairs with his two very territorial cats. The big one, let’s call him “Monster”, crept toward me, his black and gray tail flicking back and forth. Our eyes were in a deadlock and neither of us willed the other to look away. (I’m good at staring contests.) Being a polite person, I have taught myself to take my shoes off when enter someone’s house, as to not track anything in from outside. In my peripheral vision I noticed I had worn flip flops that day, so I didn’t have the protection of a pair of socks. Drat. This Monster started pacing back and forth in front of me on the couch, both blocking me in while subsequently claiming his territory. I knew he could feel the fear as I projected an invisible wall of protection around me. He stopped pacing and very gingerly moved toward me. We still haven’t broken eye contact, mind you. He stops at my feet and lowers his nose to my toes. By this time my heart is pounding so hard, rushing my blood through my body so fast that I’m starting to feel light headed. I realize I’m holding my breath and slowly release it in a soft “whoosh”. I’m standing by now, my entire five foot three frame towering over him, letting this creature sniff my feet. He seems to bore of me and I gingerly sit down on the couch, his couch I presume, and tuck my feet under me Indian style. The Monster’s interest has become piqued by something other than this new stranger with a mess of hair that I’m sure he’d like to get his claws in. I’m delighted in his absence and start to relax.

Not long after, as I’m waiting for Casanova to tire of his conversation with Miss Lovely herself, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. Who says cats are the only one with extra preceptory censors? The darn thing is back again and staring at me with his quizzical and satanic eyes. I decide to call the truce. “Hello cat” I quietly say in the most even, soft and melodic tone I can muster. I’m met with a violent HISSSSSSS and I decide it’s time to get away from this evil creature before some real harm is done. I survey my surroundings. It’s a small apartment and all of the downstairs rooms are opened to one another save the bathroom by the door. Aha! I rise from the couch and make my way toward my sanctuary. The Monster follows me, weaving in and out of my legs as I’m making my way across the floor. I duck in the bathroom as quickly as I can and pull the door behind me with a start, almost taking a cat’s face with me. That would have been good luck, for me, at least. ‘Home free’ I think! It is at this time that I first hear the frantic scratch of a paw coming under the lip of the door. “Oh God!” I squeak. The thing is trying to claw his way under the door. This goes on for a minute and I’m laughing amidst tear filled eyes as I’m documenting this occurrence on my facebook to get my mind off of the severity of the situation. “Cat got your tongue” has suddenly taken on an entire new meaning. I had originally planned to stay in the bathroom for a few minutes, but there was no way I was going out there now without reinforcements. I could hear Casanova’s soft voice in the rooms above me and I wondered why he even invited me over anyway. By this time it’s been a good fifteen minutes. I thought guys didn’t like talking on the phone. I stay holed up in my prison for what seemed an eternity planning my escape until finally I hear “Shannon? …..Shannon? Are you here?”

Oh glorious! My name has never sounded so sweet. “I’m in the bathroom.” I say, relief flooding through me. “I’ll be right out.”

This is just one of my many run-in’s with such monsters. I realize it’s ridiculous for me to have such horrid and vivid daydreams of a cat pouncing on me and shredding my skin, but have you ever seen a couch that a cat has gotten a hold of? For that matter, a shredding pole? Are they even called that? I wouldn’t know because I’m not familiar with cat terminology and have no interest in becoming an expert. I have found cats mean, sinister, untrustworthy, unfriendly and unsociable. As I’m not one to generalize or stereotype anything, I would like to make it clear that I do not think every cat in the world is evil, but I do not enjoy the company of a feline friend. I hope you have wonderful cat stories where they’re sliding down rainbows and kissing butterflies and being the best pal you could ever ask for. As for me, I won’t be a cat lady, no matter if I am a spinster.

Thirty is a Dirty Word

I’m twenty nine. At least I can say that truthfully for a few more days. I feel like I’ve been yanked from my life at the speed of light and have been placed into the witness protection program without even getting to say my sappy goodbyes or give kisses and hugs to the ones I love. Gosh, sometimes life is so strict. I’m bound for this scary and dramatic new destination. I don’t know anything about it and I’m being drawn to it with the force of a magnetic field even though I’d rather fight it. Thirty is a dirty word.

Last night I counted up how many days I have left in my beloved (albeit tumultuous) twenties. Unfortunately, my almost thirty year old brain already forgot. Tick-tock goes the clock and I’m standing in my red stilettos watching the second hand as it turns in a perfect circle while everything is buzzing around it. It’s quite movie-esque. Everything in the room is white and sterile except for the blur of people in black and subsequent shade of gray going by so fast that I can’t make out any faces. I’m in black too, of course. Hello…I’m in mourning. Maybe I have a new accent, too. I’ve been listening to a lot of books on CD during my commute and find myself slipping into an English accent which fades to Australian to Brooklyn and back again at the most inopportune times.

For as long as I can remember I have sworn to myself that I wouldn’t be the “person” whom I’m becoming…maybe it was even born on the day my mom turned thirty and, to everyone’s dismay, and my ignorance is bliss mentality, she received a black balloon. Two things about me: I love black and I love balloons. Black is classy, elegant, cutting edge and let’s face it, it’s a good color scheme for most people to wear. To my mom this black balloon was a bad thing. To me it was a lesson learned. Don’t send black balloons to mom. Check. I digress. As I was saying, I have had this internal pact with myself to be happy, delirious even, and to satisfactorily enjoy every age for the new adventures it would bring. All of them are beautiful in their own right, after all.

So why am I freaking out? Why are there so many conflicting emotions coursing through my body? Haven’t I, for years, thought 34 (or was it 32?) was the perfect age? After all, a 32 (or was it 34?) year old is taken seriously, has their act together and is respected in positions such as the one I hold. I got through the potty training and that awful awkward pre-teen stage when my teeth were too big for my face and my frizzy hair was tamed into a braid with balls at the top and the bottom (let’s not forget the headband). My rotund little body was shaping into womanhood while wrapped in gauchos and stone-washed coolots that were placed at or above belly button level because that was the style. Gosh I was cool. I wore double slouch socks with the colors inverted and as dorky as I look in those pictures, I got through that and I enjoyed myself. It was during those years that the dreams and hopes began to bloom and my perception of my adult (twenties, mind you) self became solidified. I’ve always known exactly how I wanted to be as an adult. Also, I had this precarious notion that by the time I reached thirty that I would be a married woman with the cutest little curly haired kiddos this side of the planetarium. I would speak at least one more language. I’d be well traveled and wildly successful which brings me to emotion number one: Grief.

Yes, I’m grieving the loss of my twenties. Be not deceived, I’m not afraid of being thirty years old. To quote the age old adage “you’re only as old as you feel”, or “age is just a number”. Who wrote those? Cliché, as it may be, doesn’t help me in my panic driven ‘twenty nine for a few more days’ state. I’m figuratively holding on to a “2” and a “9” like you see in photography studios. I have my legs wrapped around the nine with the hole of it hooked into my foot (just in case) and am tenaciously holding on to the two in a ferocious bear hug daring anyone to mess with me. Age doesn’t care and I won’t be a poser. I’m grieving the loss of the dreams, hopes, aspirations, milestones, stuff, and the person I was supposed to be and have not achieved. In many ways I have far surpassed some of those dreams and others can I really help? Life hasn’t given me that hand in this game. Looking back over the years of my twenties, I have had a really good life. It’s been full of drama. I’ve been fiercely happy and extremely sad. We’re all products of our environments and our choices. I haven’t gone all of the places that I have wanted to go, and I haven’t birthed or adopted any children, but there’s still plenty of time, right? Unless I die of some freak accident or come down with a disease that is fast acting I will probably live to see a lot more days. Therefore the grief is mingled with another emotion: Hope.

Hope is what I’ve been dwelling on all year long. It has been an unspoken resolution and I find peace, and well, frankly “hope” in it. So now I’m on to the privilege of making my thirties better than my twenties. In some ways I can see the blessing in my growth. I really don’t care as much about what other people want and the people pleaser in me isn’t as important. I’m taking care of myself. So what am I going to do to reach those twenties and now, by default, thirties goals? Well, of course I’m older and wiser, so I’m going to start documenting this journey and we shall all see where this road leads. Look at me getting a head start now. I am doing this for me not for you, but if you want to read, I’d be honored.

I realize that to open my arms to this new and exciting life I must let go of the two and the nine. As for the next couple of week plus a few days I’ll be reveling in the glory of being a twenty-something.