A Little Inspiration

Watch Him Turn a Sea into a Highway

One of my favorite worship songs of all time is “Graves Into Gardens” by Elevation Worship.

The bridge is my favorite part, and it goes like this:

You turn mourning to dancing

You give beauty for ashes

You turn shame into glory

You’re the only one who can

You turn graves into gardens

You turn bones into armies

You turn seas into highways

You’re the only one who can

To me, it’s a song about what God can do, and the seeming impossibility of it all.

Just the name “Graves into Gardens” suggests the ability to turn something sad and dark into something beautiful.

But the line that sticks with me most is “you turn seas into highways.”

It’s one that always conjures an image for me.

While I assume the line is in reference to when God used Moses to part the Red Sea, allowing the Israelites to escape Egypt, I picture it differently.

I imagine myself in the middle of huge body of water. I look side to side, seeing no land, no boats, no way to get to safety. I am treading water, and then God tells me to run.

“Run?” I ask, “don’t you mean swim?”

He assures me he means run.

“But I’m in the middle of the water. My feet aren’t even touching the ground. Won’t I sink?”

Start running.

And so I do.

I pump my arms and kick my legs, doing my best to mime running in the water. And sure enough…I start sinking. The frantic motion no longer allows me to tread water but concede to it. I start sinking and so I start panicking, but I still hear that call to keep running. So I do.

And suddenly, my feet touch the ground. I have traction. My legs still move slow, as the water adds a lot of resistance, but I pump one leg after the other.

And then suddenly, I have breath. I can breathe. I am no longer underwater. But I am somehow still touching the ground. I feel the weight of the water release me, starting at my shoulders and working its way down. The water is draining, the resistance is weakening.

Soon, the water is just a puddle at my feet and I’m running, full speed, on solid ground. I don’t know if behind me the water is parted, like the Red Sea, or if the entire body of water has simply disappeared. I just imagine myself running, free, uninhibited, on an open road.

This is how I imagine God turning a sea into a highway. How he can turn a scary, seemingly inescapable place, into a route towards something good. And while the way there might not make sense, or might seem to take us somewhere lower, somewhere harder, before we get there, God is with us and we can trust Him.

He can turn seas into highways, graves into gardens, shame into glory.

And He’s the only one who can.

I Am Not a Purple Unicorn

The other day I was listening to the Workin’ On it podcast with Meghan & Ryan Trainor, and their guest, Zach Pincince. At one point in the conversation, Zach said something that stuck out to me. It was a little nugget that made a piece snap together in my mind.

I’m going to expand on the idea that Zach gave.

Picture this:

You are at a party with some friends. It’s nothing crazy. You are moving from conversation to conversation, catching up with people you know, and introducing yourself to a few people you don’t. You are relaxed and having a good time. Then, during one conversation, someone tells you:

“You know you’re a purple unicorn, right?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, confused. This is a ridiculous question. Obviously, you are not a purple unicorn. You know this to be a fact. So you shake your head, trying not to laugh, and you let the person continue on their merry way.

In the aftermath, you probably tell this story to anyone and everyone who will listen, whenever it pops into your mind, but it probably doesn’t make you question who or what you are. You don’t drive home that day (or any day after) thinking, what if I AM a purple unicorn? You likely just shake your head with a smile and think, that was such a weird thing to say.

Now let’s imagine a different scenario.

You are at that party with your friends. Moving from conversation to conversation. It is a run of the mill social gathering. But then, during one conversation, someone tells you:

“You know you don’t deserve any of the things you have, right? You know you’re not good enough? That you never will be?”

Do you still scrunch your eyebrows together in confusion? Do you laugh it off as something outrageous? Or do you blink your eyes a few times, letting the words wash over you?

On your drive home, are you still thinking about it? Are you letting those words repeat over and over in your head, each time letting yourself believe them a little bit more? Are you rationalizing it? They wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t at least a little bit true, right?

For me, I would live out these scenarios exactly like this. I would laugh off the comment of being a purple unicorn, and I would let the comment that I’m not enough slice me into a million pieces.

Why?

Because the latter is something I’m afraid of being true. It is something that, at least a small part of me, believes to be true already.

Paolo Coelho said, “You are what you believe yourself to be.”

Which means that if I believe that I’m not enough, then, to me, I am never going to be. If that person walks up to me at that party, I’m going to hear their words as the truth—as proof that I’ve been right all along.

But, if I work to believe that I am enough—even though passing thoughts might say otherwise—if I fight to believe THAT as the truth, then it is, and that person might as well be calling me a purple unicorn.

In theory, both scenarios should end with you shaking your head, laughing in disbelief that this person would say something so ridiculous. Because both scenarios should trigger the same reaction, the same red flag, the same scrunched eyebrows.

Instead of waiting for someone to tell me I’m not enough, I want to learn and ultimately believe all the reasons why I am. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet, knowing what’s true and what isn’t, and I want to have the courage and confidence to defend that truth.

I want you to have that too.

So remember, you are not a purple unicorn (unless you want to be).

Let that weird, obvious fact be the thing that actually reminds you who you are—enough, worthy, able, etc.

Let it be the strangest, cutest battle cry against the insecurities beneath the surface, and the enemies that might be waiting around the corner.

I am not a purple unicorn, and neither are you, but we are so many good things, so many great things, so many things to be proud of.

You Can

Is there a place you’ve always wanted to go to?

A thing you’ve always wanted to try?

A bucket list item that you always bring up excitedly, but then follow it up with a gloomy, wistful “someday”?

Is there something you keep adding to your want-to-do list?

An idea bouncing around in your head that you never say out loud to anyone else?

Is there something you keep wanting to do or try or see or say or explore or learn that you keep talking yourself out of, saying, “but I can’t”?

I just want to remind you that you can.

I know there are obstacles. Some small, some big.

I know your calendar is full and you don’t have time, and what about all of your responsibilities or what if you fail or what if you embarrass yourself or maybe it’s too far or too hard or something only other people get to do, or maybe it’s just too expensive or you don’t have anything to wear or it’s just a crazy idea or WHATEVER.

I know all the reasons why not. Maybe not for you, for your situation, for your life, right now, but I know what it’s like to want to do something and have your mind tell you every reason why you shouldn’t or can’t or should just put it aside for “someday.”

I’m just here to remind you that you can make someday sooner.

That you can shape it. That you can make it happen.

The world can throw a lot of curveballs at us, and we can get lost in the chaos of those curveballs. We can watch our lives fly by. We can pretend like the rest of the world is only for other people. We can convince ourselves that our plans have no place in the future—only in our dreams.

But while we’re here, while we’re living these lives that are ours and ours alone, why not try or see or explore the things that stir something up inside us? Why live in the mindset of “I can’t” when the very loud and obvious truth is you can?

You can take that trip—maybe not today, this moment, but you can start saving for it, start planning for it, and make it happen.

You can do that thing—take that class, try that new hobby, climb that mountain, write that book, pursue that dream.

Think about the times you’ve said to yourself, “I want to try that,” or, “I want to go there,” or, “I wonder what that’s like.”

And then give yourself permission to find out. To plan. To start saving money. To take the steps forward to do the thing.

There are always going to be reasons why you can’t. But it’s important to remember that you can.

Look for the Heart Shaped Pizzas

When I was in high school, I was part of my church youth group. On Wednesday nights, we would get together to worship, hear a sermon, and then hang out and talk. The boys liked to skateboard and play tag and do stunts that would make me say, “that doesn’t look safe.” And the girls would talk and shoot basketballs and try to figure out what in the world it meant to be a teenager.

I wouldn’t be unique in saying that, for me, being a teenager was hard. It was confusing and awkward and terrifying. Nothing felt normal or safe or easy. And on top of the things I was going through in my own body and mind, the world threw a few curveballs at me that really rattled my foundation.

Death, betrayal, and new levels of fear burst through the bubble I’d been living in, introducing me to dark parts of the world I wasn’t ready for. Every direction I turned had a new mountain to climb, or hole to dig out of, or an empty room to sit in that used to be full.

Each shot came at me and I took it, though I didn’t really absorb the pain, at least not in a way I was able to process. I was sad and angry and confused, but I was also 15 and 16 and 17, just trying to get that cute boy to notice me or to pass my Economics final. There were a lot of emotions competing for the surface, and the fun ones were more enticing.

One Wednesday, when I went to youth group, we met in the Fellowship Hall, which is like a banquet room. There were round tables set up and we were assigned seats. Heart shaped pizzas sat in the middle of each table. I sat down in my spot, nervous, but hungry, and listened for further instructions.

The theme of the night was love. It was sharing the hard parts of our lives so that we might be able to help one another work through, overcome, or at the very least talk about them. I peeled pepperoni off my slice of pizza and then took a big bite. A few people at my table shared before me. They talked about fighting parents, divorced parents, difficult relationships with siblings or friends. I chewed on my slice of pizza and then had another.

When it came to my turn, I took a deep breath and then started talking. I assumed it would be like giving an oral report—simply stating the facts. But once I started, I realized how heavy it had all been to hold.

“It’s just been really hard,” I said. And then I burst into tears.

This shocked everyone at my table, as no one before me had cried, or even welled up. No one at any of the surrounding tables was emotional either. But I was suddenly sobbing. My youth group leader walked over and scooped me into a hug. She rubbed my back and I cried in shuddering breaths and sniffles. I kept trying to stop, embarrassed at the scene I was making, but it just kept coming.

As I leaned into her chest, the boy beside me was asked to share. To continue the process so people would stop staring at me. I listened as he shared a story of an abusive stepparent and then I instantly stopped crying. The grief that had literally spilled out of me was instantly swallowed by shame.

I felt guilty for being so overwhelmed by what I was going through, because clearly it wasn’t as hard as what he was going through. I was embarrassed for crying. I went home exhausted.

For years afterward, I didn’t cry in front of people. I’m still not good at it. There is still a shame buried deep inside me, something that tells me that if I breakdown I will look stupid, ignorant of the realer, harder problems happening around me. It takes me right back to that moment in the Fellowship Hall, feeling like maybe I was just weak.

I say this now, with dots connected, though it took me a long time to figure it out. To pinpoint the when and the why. I used to say, with a sense of pride, “I just don’t really cry.” I used to brag that sad movies never got me. I felt tough, cool, unique. Kim doesn’t cry. She’s so strong.

But I wasn’t.

I was just burying it all. The same way I’d done in high school. And even though it’s what I wanted LEAST, I was walking around with all of that weight, all of that pain, looking for another table with a heart shaped pizza to lay it all down on.

I think for a long time I resented that day. Absolutely HATED that I cried and that I got embarrassed. I fizzled out on youth group after that, just slowly stopped going. Not only because of that night, but I think part of me was terrified it might happen again.

I spent the next decade of my life scared to cry. Scared to be vulnerable. Scared to be weak.

But more and more over the last few years I’ve realized how valid it all was. How justified. How okay. That night I needed to let it go. To let it out. To admit that what I was carrying was heavy.

And no matter what is going on in the lives around me, when something feels heavy to me, it’s heavy.

When something feels heavy to you, it’s heavy.

Being a teenager isn’t easy, but neither is being an adult. Let’s face it, as time goes on, life gets harder and things tend to just get heavier. But I’m learning now that I don’t have to run from the heart shaped pizzas asking me to sit down and lighten my load. I don’t have to pretend to be strong. Sometimes you just have to peel off a pepperoni, take a deep breath, and let it go.

It doesn’t make you weak, it just makes you honest. And when you’re honest, when you’re vulnerable, when you’re brave enough to let it go, you find strength, you find peace, and then you can grab another slice.

Savor the Silver

On a recent episode of Couple Things, Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson and her husband Andrew East were talking about things they wish they knew when they were young adults.

I liked the episode as I feel like you can never get too much good advice. And one thing that stuck out to me was, “focus more on how your life feels on the inside than it looks on the outside.”

As an example, Shawn briefly told the story of her experience getting a silver medal in the all-around competition at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. She said that she was incredibly proud of herself and her performance, and felt like she’d done the absolute best that she could. By contrast, in the balance beam event, she won gold but felt like she could have done better.

After the all-around event, when being interviewed by the press, they focused on that second place finish. They asked her what she did wrong, or what else she could have done to secure herself the gold. But in thinking and reflecting on it, she was more proud of her silver than she was of her gold.

I (like many of us) don’t believe I will ever find myself competing at an Olympic level, but there are many aspects of my life where I catch myself believing that if I am not actively succeeding, if I’m not the best, if I’m not perfect, or if my life isn’t outright impressive to other people, I’m doing something wrong.

Why?

Because I feel like every time I talk to someone new, every time I sit down to talk to a friend I haven’t seen in a while, I feel like they’re going to react the same way the press did to Shawn Johnson. I feel like everyone is ready to ask me what else I could be doing and why I’m not doing it.

Are you really happy with silver?

But rather than silver they say something about my life that they find dissatisfying or unimpressive or just plain boring. Surely they could pick apart the things I like to do, or the path I’ve chosen to get here, or the biggest dreams I have for my life. Given the chance, anyone can make you feel like you are living a silver medal life.

But if that silver means I’m happy, inspired, content, and hopeful for the future; if it means I’m doing everything in my power to make my life a good one, and my days are filled with people and things that make me feel loved and accepted and grateful then PASS ME THAT SILVER BABY. Because it’s a gold to me!

Everyone’s opinion of what makes a “good life” or a “gold medal life” is going to be different. So it’s a waste of time to try and shape your life into their idea of what is “the best.” We are all actively competing in the “all around” life event, but the only person we’re up against is ourselves. We are the athlete and the judges and the press. We know what it feels like to give our best, and we know what it feels like to do our best. So why give anyone else a scorecard or opinion?

Do what feels good. Try and keep trying. Find what makes you happy. And strive for your own version of success. Focus on what your life feels like on the inside rather than what it looks like on the outside.

You Might be the Answer

It’s always easy to imagine that when you meet someone new or put yourself out there, things aren’t going to work out. It’s easy to imagine being rejected, which is why we often don’t want to put ourselves in that position to begin with.

Saying the wrong thing, tripping over your own feet, doing something awkward with your hands or your face, not remembering a single word, or worrying that nothing about you—no part of your life—makes you worthy enough for someone’s attention, affection or love. It’s easy to imagine all the bad things. Because it’s easy to assume they’re all true. After all, they have proven so, haven’t they? We all have that list of moments that live on in our minds, reminding us of the times we were less than perfect or the farthest thing from it.

But one thing I don’t think we wonder about enough, one thing we might never even consider, is that maybe we’re not time bombs. Maybe we’re not mistakes waiting to happen or dark clouds on our way to ruin someone’s day. Maybe, just maybe, we’re the answer.

Maybe someone out there, in the far future or on this very day, is looking for you. Hoping for you. Maybe the exact thing they need to hear is something you’re going to say. Maybe the smile or hug or text message or gift or shoulder to lean on is going to come from you. Maybe the answer to the prayer someone has been praying over and over and over is you.

Not because you are perfect or because everything went according to plan. Not because you never made a mistake or wore the exact right outfit or knew exactly what to say, when to say it and who to say it to. Not because you were cool or pretty or skinny or in shape. Not because you have everything together or nothing left to figure out. You’re the answer just because you’re you.

Isn’t a wonderful thing to consider that just by being you, day in and day out, you have the potential to make someone’s life better? You open the door for someone’s dreams to come true. You give someone that deep breath, that belly laugh, that safe place, that moment of connection, those butterflies in their stomach, that feeling of refreshment—of love, of peace.

Imagine that today, you are the answer to the question someone’s been asking, or perhaps the answer someone doesn’t even know they’re looking for. And all you have to do is be yourself.

Try letting those thoughts be louder than the ones telling you you’re doing it all wrong. They have just as much of a right to be heard. And they have just as much of a chance of being true.

Your Kindness is Never Small

Sometimes when I think about how big the world is and how many people are in it, and then how big the universe is and how much left there is to discover, I feel very small. I am just one person, in one place on one planet, in one galaxy in the universe. And when I focus too hard on being that small, it’s easy to feel powerless and inconsequential, as if what I do on a day-to-day basis doesn’t have a huge impact on everything else.

When I think this way, it’s hard to find inspiration to do good things, to show kindness, to dig deep and find empathy, or to reach out to someone who needs help. When you feel small, it’s easy to want to live small. It’s easy to let opportunities for kindness and compassion pass us by. Because what’s the point?

Thankfully, there is always a point. Always a purpose.

And I got a good reminder of that in a recent episode of the podcast, My Unsung Hero.

In the episode titled: Brenda Arnold’s Story, Brenda tells us about a time in the 1980’s when she went to visit her sister in Germany. She arrived on a weekday morning, and got to her sister’s house only to realize that she was at work. Without a cellphone or any knowledge about where she was, Brenda realized she was stuck. She sat down on the front porch, figuring she’d just have to wait there until her sister got home that evening.

As she sat, a few people walked by, asking her questions in German. She shook her head, as she didn’t know any of the language, and continued to sit there, nervous. Then a woman approached her, first speaking in German, but when Brenda again shook her head the woman changed course and asked, in English, if she was alright. Brenda was relieved and explained to the woman her situation.

“Oh no!” the woman said, “Well, would you like to come home with me? I’ll fix you something to eat.”

Brenda was taken aback by her kindness, but graciously accepted.

As they walked, the woman told Brenda that her husband had fought in World War II, and was captured and held in Louisiana as a POW for two years. While there, he was put to work on a farm but was treated very well and given plenty to eat. So when he came home, he told his wife that whenever they came into contact with an American, they would be kind to them.

So Brenda, who had come to Germany almost forty years after this man had come back from the war, reaped the benefit of this kindness. And not just any kindness, but kindness shown to him during an incredibly dark time in history. Kindness that was rare and perhaps unheard of in the throes of war.

And then, that kindness, shown to Brenda forty years ago, inspired me when I heard it on a podcast.

So that one act of kindness, 80 years ago, continues to stretch it arms and dig its roots. It mattered then and it still mattered. Everything we do, every small act of kindness matters.

The world is big, yes, the universe is nearly inconceivable, yes, but you are never small. Your life is never small. Your kindness is never small.

Take a Nap on the Floor

Yesterday, as I drove home from church, I began to map out the rest of my Sunday in my head.

It was 11:45 a.m. and I was trying to plan my day out by the hour. I thought about going for a walk, or even a run. I wanted to get some chores done, to write for a few hours, to try on the dresses I bought and decide which ones I need to take back, to finish a report, to start doing peer reviews in my writing class, to plan the next big vacation I want to take, to buy a friend’s birthday gift, to book flights for an upcoming wedding—and about 10 more things.

If I did all these things, I thought, it would be a successful Sunday, and I would feel good.

But even as I planned, I knew I already didn’t feel good. I’d had trouble falling asleep the night before and woke up feeling anxious. And with this to-do list buzzing through my head, I felt, for the most part, like I wanted to burst into tears.

I am someone who has often believed that being productive makes me a better person. That living “right”—exercising, eating healthy, achieving things in a timely and efficient manner, checking off life events in time with everyone else—means I am living a successful life. And on the flip side of that, when I am not getting things done, when I’m not doing everything “right”, I feel like a failure, or like I’ve wasted time/days/etc. I am quick to beat myself up over not getting things done or doing things right, and I am quick to assume that other people are judging me just as hard.

For example, I have an alarm set on my phone on weekends—weekends. This is partially because I like to get up at a decent hour and have time to take the morning slow and fully embrace my day off. But up until recently, I never fully admitted to myself that this alarm was also to ensure that I would not sleep in late and be deemed as lazy by other people.

This is a habit I am trying to break, it is a mindset I am trying to unlearn, it is an alarm I’m trying to turn off. I like to call this process untangling knots, and this is one that’s been double and triple tied for a long time. Having an unproductive day feels like making a mistake, being lazy feels like making a mistake, and I don’t give myself a lot of grace when it comes to “making mistakes.”

But yesterday, after I got home from church, and as I sat on the couch, feeling anxious and overwhelmed, I decided to do yoga.

My body was tired, my mind was tired. I had so much I wanted to do, so much on my mind, so much that was saying “if you don’t do this, you will WASTE your day!” But I rolled out my mat.

At the end, as I lay in savasana—which is just lying flat on your back with your eyes closed—I got tired. I told myself I should get up, I should get things done, I needed to get a move on my to-list or risk wasting the entire day. But instead, I grabbed a pillow and went to sleep, right there, on the floor. And when I woke up, I felt so much better.

Afterward, I walked into the living room and sat on the couch and watched the Dodger game. I did my daily bible study and then wrote this blog post. I ate dinner and then made banana bread.

A lot of my to-do list went unfinished, but I still felt good because I did things that served my soul. Things that helped me slow down and rest. Things that make the more traditionally productive days possible.

There are times when we need to buckle down and get things done. There are times when we can push ourselves to do things we never thought we could do. But what I’m trying to remind myself, is that the value of a day is not based on its productivity. My value is not based on my productivity. And neither is yours. Some days we can muster up the strength to check every single thing off our to-do list, and other days we might need to put the whole list aside and rest.

Both days are important. Both days will add value to your life. It is okay to make mistakes, it is okay to take days off, it is okay to sleep in on the weekends (or whenever your schedule allows.)

The only way to waste a day is to spend it in the past, regretting what you could have done, rather than spending it in the present, taking advantage of what you can do—even if that’s taking a nap on the floor.

Let’s Have a Funeral

I think it’s natural to do a lot of reflecting on your younger self. To try and connect to the person you were as a kid, as an adolescent, as a young adult, etc. It’s always interesting to recall the things you hoped for and dreamed about, and to notice the differences in what you expected to happen in your life and what did happen.

I think about my younger self all the time. I think about that high school girl, assuming she had it all figured out, convinced she knew the exact timeline of her life to come. Little did she know, things would go differently than she planned. Much differently.

The funny thing is, if she somehow contacted me now to ask questions about our future, I wouldn’t tell her that it’s bad. I wouldn’t tell her to be devastated for the way things have gone. I wouldn’t tell her that every hard thing we’ve walked through, everything that didn’t go our way, everything that we’d dreamed up that didn’t come true (either yet or at all), doesn’t make this future unsatisfying. It just makes it different.

Still, on my bad days I think about the things that didn’t (or haven’t) happened. I think about the ways my younger self might be bummed. And I think about the things that make me bummed. This future, while hopeful and wonderful in its own way, is different than what I imagined. And sometimes I like to harp on the things that could have gone differently, and on the things that might exist (or still exist) if they had.

But the truth of the matter is, they didn’t.

Things did not go the way I planned.

But things happened. So many things. Good and bad. And I became a better, stronger, more vibrant, confident and understanding person. If I’m being honest with myself, had I gotten what I wanted, when I wanted, I probably would have been lost along the way. And THAT (unlike some of my dreams that can still come true) might have been something I lost forever.

SO, I’m hosting a funeral. And it’s open.

You might have heard of an “open house” before, but this is an “open funeral.”

And by that I mean, anyone is welcome to join—to cohost their own.

Do you have any old daydreams that your mind likes to bring up whenever you’re feeling low?

Do you have any old pictures of your life that like to stand in front of your line of sight, tainting everything you have and making you focus only on what you don’t?

Are you ready to let go of your past expectations and embrace your current reality?

I am.

Quite frankly, I’m tired of my mind telling me that because x, y and z didn’t go as I planned: I’m not happy. Or that I’m a failure. Or that I’ve missed the window to find all the good things.

I’m tired of living in the imagined life I could have had, and I’m ready to live the life I’m in.

I’m ready to let that old daydream go. It was a good guess, a beautiful idea, but it’s not what happened. And the sooner I embrace that, the sooner I can find the beautiful here where I truly am.

Do you have any daydreams you’re ready to lay to rest? Do you have any old blueprints for your life that you’re ready to pull off the wall?

Let them go.

They’re not doing you any favors.

Who you are and where you are might not be what you expected, but then, life might have thrown you curveballs you never could have predicted.

Lay the old plans to rest, throw them six feet down. Say a few words and then let them go.

Don’t be afraid to be happy in this new reality, and don’t be afraid to guess again—to daydream again and again.

A Repost for My Fellow Tough Eggs

I don’t have a new post for this week. But I have recently been reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, and so this post from a few years back has been on my mind.

Re-reading it was a good reminder that being an introvert does not mean you are an incomplete extrovert. It doesn’t mean that you are less interesting or less important of a person. The world is made of both introverts and extroverts, so it is not our job to try and become something we’re not. It’s our goal to become and to appreciate exactly who we are.

Some of us are tough eggs. And that’s okay.

The world needs tough eggs.

Often when I meet someone new, or when I see someone for the first time in a long time, or sometimes for no reason at all, I feel very shy and quiet and unable to start, continue, or enjoy a conversation.

I put a lot of pressure on myself, demanding, THIS IS ON YOU, and make myself believe that whenever a conversation goes stale, or when someone opts to sit or stand with someone else, or when the stranger I meet at the supermarket doesn’t immediately fall in love with me like the movies told me they would, it’s because I’m boring or unlikeable or pathetic—or a healthy combination of all three.

Anyone else with me on this?

Anyone else wish they had that magic they see in other people? That ability to talk about anything and everything to anyone and everyone. That something that draws people to them without even meaning to. That ease.

I do.

And while I think it’s something I’ll always strive for, and as much as I believe that you can challenge yourself and grow and acclimate and learn, there comes a point when we have to realize that we are not required to be that kind of person.

We don’t have to be the person that knows exactly what to say all the time. We don’t have to talk to anyone and everyone about anything and everything. Some of us are simply tougher eggs to crack and you just have to give us a little more time.

So, to my fellow tough eggs, let me just say that I am with you. You are not alone in feeling like you should do more, be more. You are not the only one sitting there internally screaming, “SAY SOMETHING.” You are not boring or uninteresting or pathetic. You just need time. And anyone worth having in your life will give you that time. So be patient with yourself.

Be yourself.

And take these quotes from Quiet into consideration:

“Don’t think of introversion as something that needs to be cured.”

“There’s zero correlation between being the best talker and having the best ideas.”

“The secret to life is to put yourself in the right lighting. For some, it’s a Broadway spotlight; for others, a lamplit desk. Use your natural powers — of persistence, concentration, and insight — to do work you love and work that matters. Solve problems. make art, think deeply.”

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