100 Days

100 Days without coffee. 

Actually, 107 Days without coffee. I'm a little late with the post.

For those of you who know me, you know I'm a little bit in love with some good coffee.

I prefer it to be black like the night sky, a strong dark roast, or bourbon infused if I'm in KY.
No cream, no sugar, and definitively no syrup... y'all aren't real coffee drinkers P.S.
And if you really know me... you'll remember that time I drank literal cups of espresso in San Diego for 4 months and almost died when I moved back to Knoxville.
Shot in the Dark. Black Eye. Or Dead Eye... whatever you call it, I was drinking it.

Coffee mugs in my car. Coffee mugs in the office.
Coffee stains. Coffee grounds in the sink.

Then something crazy happened.
I stopped drinking coffee.
Cold turkey.


107 days without waking up with a headache, already thinking of coffee, having a clear mind.
107 days where I ended up saving over $200 by not buying coffee grounds, coffee shop drinks, etc.
107 days where I wasn't shaking by lunch time.

It started with being really, really sick and knowing something needed to change.
So my smart ass decided to quit coffee and dairy cold turkey.
The next few days I was sicker than I'd like to admit.
The withdrawal alone was awful, having to purge so much from my body, was awful.

For 8 solid days I prayed and prayed for strength... but if I'm being honest... I also prayed that  I would be struck with a sign that I didn't need to follow through with this and I could drink 3 cups of coffee with 2 shots of espresso each day again...
The first 8 days I woke up so angry I had told people what I was doing... because now there was accountability!

But on day 9?

Day 9 I didn't think about coffee. or espresso.
I thought about what I was going to eat for breakfast (that was new.)
After that I sort of stopped counting... and I told myself "September."

For the whole month of September I would be free of the black gold I loved so much.
September past... October past... November came along and it was just cold enough that towards the middle I thought... I can be done with this right?

Wrong.
100 days was just around the corner.
I had to make 100 days.
As if that made me special.

The small things in life always impress me the most.
The idea that you NEED something that isn't an immediate, life altering necessity, is honestly bogus.
People tell me all the time they couldn't do this... I just roll my eyes and tell them "I couldn't do this." But here I am, under blankets,
layers,
winter is HERE.
And it is day 107.
Who knows how long I will go?
I don't.
All I know is, February will be 6 months without "NEEDING coffee."
I haven't looked back once and you want to know something?
I honestly have more energy now then I did then.

Maybe one day we will reunite.
But until then my coffee mug collection is seeing a lot of herbal teas and whiskey!

Finding Dreams

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Dream Big!

Raise the bar.

Achieve your goals!

You should work hard for what you want.

Be patient it will come.

Do you want to be successful? 

Congratulations!

Silence. 

No one tells you what happens after you achieve the goal or see dreams come true.
After the lights and magic turn off, and the confetti falls, on New Years Eve in Times Square, city workers come through and clean it all up. You wouldn't even know one of the worlds biggest parties had happened their the night before. That is how it feels when you achieve certain life goals. The build up to get there is exciting, you have something to look forward to. But once you get there. Once the big moment happens after possible years of working and waiting. You finally made it.

"Now what?"

Well... no one actually says that to you. You feel like that, secretly... but the image of happily ever after is all people have for you. There are no more next steps or what happens when the confetti is done falling.

Real life. That is what happens. As a matter of fact. Such real life that you will begin to forget you can achieve different goals. You can still dream. You can still work and be patient for something totally different. But no one told you. No one told you that you could feel or do those things. People ask how things are... you respond. There is a tinge of sadness when you begin to think this thing you worked and longed for your whole life just remains one way. Almost as if your dreams just got turned off because you won the golden ticket young. Imagine being full of dreams and excitement only to achieve it and feel pressure to perform and no longer dream. Imagine Peter Pan growing up. Or Alice leaving Wonderland. Or Ariel on land forever. That is how it felt until one of our own shook the dust from my eyes.

"Now what? This wasn't the end, what else are you dreaming up?"

A great awakening I didn't even know I needed. 

A sweet kid to remind me of my own dreams. 

To shove me out of my own robotic trance. 

To push me in a direction that makes me uncomfortable, but allows more growth. 

I want to be bold again.

To write something down and work and wait for it.

To know that this isn't the end.

That this ebb and flow doesn't always mean forever.

Real life is not leaving me, but the dreams don't have to disappear either.

People forgot that we were not built to be managers or to-do list keepers.

We were built to experience the greatest versions of people.

So while my dreams are being cultivated and put into a thought, we ask each other 

"Now what?" or "What's next?" we help each other feel the magic of confetti falling, 

and then show up the next day to walk through the reality of what it means when the lights turn off and you're left to deal with all the new.

Somewhere in the midst of my darkness and his question I realized my new dream was to stand alongside peoples life marathons and cheer them on.

To offer water and a snack, maybe even a hug.

I think I am tired of the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" question.

I'm ready for people to ask who they want to be today.

911 What's Your Emergency?

It's not uncommon for me to follow flashing red and blue lights.
This time though, there were too many.
And on a street I know well.
I turned around, like I would any other day, and made my way through an almost blinding sea of lights, people.
Tevin leaned out the window to ask what was going on and the next few moments felt like an eternity.

"A kid was just shot."

Everything in my body wanted to scream and cry but all it could do was run and find where he/she was. Someone on the sidewalk said "he is one of the boys at Crawford, you know him." 

My body started to shake. 

I was forcing myself to take in deep breaths and managed to dial Marcus's number before I got sick... I could feel my stomach twist into knots. 

I asked the police officer standing in front of a town houses fence if he knew who it was, 

I needed to know who it was. 

I heard the boy cry and curse in pain behind the fence.

I recognize the voice and shove past the officer saying, "That's my kid!"

After pushing past a few more officers, I saw him laying there in his own blood, trying to hold back tears and answer the officers stupid ass questions for the 5th time I'm sure. 

"Chloe, oh my god?! what the hell?!" We hugged and sort of laughed cause we hadn't seen each other all summer. 

Yes, one of my kids, no he wasn't from Crawford. 

Already people just beyond the fence were making up stories and that pissed me off. 

Tev asked what happened to him, I hadn't even realized he had followed me past all those officers, I was so focused on finding the kid... 

I was thankful and nervous he had followed me.

Familiar pain, and avoidable images will now be engraved in his mind.

I wish I could have protected both of them. 

He starts to explain what happened, then immediately changes the subject to a fight he had gotten into at school, and how he had been suspended for possession etc. 

He apologized to me for it all. 

This 16 year old, who has just been shot, apologized to me for not doing the right thing in school.  

I hadn't cried up to that point, but I was pretty close after that. 

I convince him to tell the police what he knows, something we have worked on in the past... authority.

Tev and I both look at each other in fear we know exactly who did it. 

That's the crazy thing about our hood. 

It's small, close knit, but the dividing lines are in thick ink.

I swallow hard and try not to think about it.

I had been holding his hand this whole time waiting for EMT's to arrive... even the cop standing behind me radios in, "for the love of god where is the ambulance its been over 20 mins!" 

It's a shooting in Woodhill... 

I guess I wasn't surprised all the cops in the area showed up a half hour before an ambulance. 

I think the more alarming thing was no one tried to stop the bleeding during that time.  

When they finally arrived they made me move away from him while they cut his jeans up and took a bullet out of his leg.

I never want my kids to be in pain... when he asked for anesthesia we smiled and said "you're tough, you don't need it." 

Over and over again I told him he was okay. 

Maybe I was trying to convince myself we were all gonna be okay too. 

I tried to make Tev leave as he watched a friend of his scream and flinch in pain. 

He didn't move. 

I followed them as they took one of my kids into the ambulance.

I felt all types of emotions up to that point.

But the second they shut that door and I turned around.

I was full of anger.

Looking around  the block I saw dozens of faces I knew. 

Faces that should be getting ready for bed, it was a school night.

I hugged Rona, thankful it hadn't been her or her kids too, knowing she saw it all go down.

My kids always find it weird for the first few months of knowing me how quick I am to say I love them... this is one of the reasons I do it. 

Whether they hear it from anywhere else or not, 

I will make sure they know they are loved, no matter what. 

Because unfortunately, as much as I want to be able to protect them at all times, I can't. 

I took Tevin home.

When I walked through the door to my apartment, the tears started to fall.

I didn't realize before I had his blood on me.

I felt sick all over again.

This could have been so much worse.

Every time I tired to close my eyes I saw him laying on the ground again.

Wide awake all night.

I asked God what the hell he was waiting on.

The next morning cops were all over school.

Kids had been talking about it.

My fear of knowing who had done it was confirmed. 

My heart was beating fast with more sadness than anger again. 

And despite how painful and chaotic it is, was, everyone still goes about their day like normal.

The only difference is? 

The ripple effect has begun in our community.

So instead of going about my day like normal, I do what I can to redirect the aftershock.

I won't apologize for it.

I won't ask for help.

This is just the ebb and flow of sin and hurt and hopelessness 

mixed in a pot that someone just shook up.

If you act surprised about it now, you were never meant to be here in the first place. 

So while you ask me sympathy questions, 

I'll have my ears to the ground in hopes there isn't a next time.

#305

 Part of me is hesitant to write about this one.

Most of the small things in my life feel big, 

and the big things are self explanatory.

But this one is different.

This one mattered more to those close to me, 

proximity close, that is.

And if we use deductive reasoning, 

proximity close,to Chloe means, 

close close.

I tried counting the days here in 305.

It was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

The transition here was so muddy,

the beginning and the current and the old,

all blur together.

Putting rent money in a savings account 

for almost a year

is not what they tell you will happen 

after you graduate college.

But I waited.

Even as the opportunities presented themselves,

I waited for the next right move.

Whether you count the day I got the key,

or the day I slept here first,

or when I came back from the West Coast.

305 has been my own.

Still a bit awkward,

poorly decorated.

It screams "that girl is a minimalist"

until you see the shoe boxes in the corner of my closet. 

I pray this weekend I can will myself to pay full price for a nice dresser,

 instead of waiting yet another month for a cheap secondhand one.

I am thankful for all the unmatching items that came to me and 305.

I am proud of myself for buying a few necessities,

 planning what I can live without,

 what I can live with,

 and budgeting everything 50 times a day

 to make sure I would survive beyond the first month.

Nothing makes me happier than walking to my mail box

 and getting surprise hugs from kids

 sneaking into the pool.

Or how my 3 minute drive home usually takes

 30 because I stop and see everyone I love along the way.

From hanging out at the park,

to driving to the "hood store"

to having a patio that backs up to the cut

 all the boys use to get to the other end of Woodhill.
Not to mention having a yellow car,
so everyone knows where I am at all times.
Which means, windows down,
 waving, yelling,
 making frequent stops.
Yeah... I was being serious about the 30 minute thing.

305 feels like the place I never accounted for.

The place that is going to prove me wrong,

 and absolutely right at the same time.

I tried on my own terms to get here for so long.

And that's why I'm hesitant to share this season,

 this experience.

305 is very new.

While at the same time, so natural.

  I just want to live awhile before I tell its story fully.

This Time Last Year

This time last year... there were only studs up in our new home on Codell and the frustration continued as we felt set back after set back pie in front of us.

This time last year... there was a gravel pit where our gym should've been.

This time last year... he turned 40 in the parking lot, and we celebrated.

This time last year... it was my first school year on staff at LLF and instagram will remind you of the anxiety and breakdowns that happened leading up to all those meetings, introductions, and pitching what my blank canvas could become.

This time last year... we had no idea who any of the family we've rolled with, everyday for the last 3 months, were.

This time last year... living in Woodhill was just a childhood dream.

This time last year... there wasn't a teenage boy in their home.

This time last year... we were doing a lot of the same things we are doing now, just all over the city. Loving, listening, basketball, van rides, goal setting, discipline, praying, laughing, academy, making connections, etc.

This time last year... we had a plan, then another one, then another one... and we almost lost our minds when all of them were crushed before they could even develop.

I not usually the girl that thinks on the past often unless someone reminds me of it, or it's a really good story to share. But this past year is one I can't really forget easily.

Fresh out of college, brand new building, countless new faces that have become familiar.

Some days I wonder where the time went.

Day like today, especially.

I am thankful for how hard this year was.
How beautiful it was.
How it set us up for more hard years and even more beauty throughout.

It makes me think where we will be a year from now...
But for right now, it's time to take a deep breath, enjoy the still and quiet for a few hours, before they all get off the bus!

love to give

I honestly can't remember what the gaps used to feel like before them.

They don't allow for much room.

We are adjusting to it.

I told her I got the better end of the deal, because after he left them...

he attached himself to me at the hip and we haven't looked back since.

Now I wonder if there was fine print to that deal...

Growing pains don't look the same for everyone.

But when you're us, you know how to read the signs and feel it coming before you turn the corner.

This was a step forward and five steps back in a lot of ways.

And I fight myself on what I... what we all chose, everyday.

I want to say I am still learning myself, I still have a long way to go...

I can't blame anyone but myself.

But I know not all of this is to be left for me to carry.

Seasons change.

They will come back, they will.

Home has always been them... always been us.

And I will not ever regret those moves forward, to morn the steps that we lost.

I will remember the ache this left inside of us and do what it takes to make sure the fine print comes out bold, and we all know that the family grows.

And there is always love to give.

Her Name is Hurricane

"Everyone who meets Chloe knows that she is a spinning hurricane that just sweeps through your life and then you wonder when she will hurricane back around."

I feel as if I should apologize. I never really thought my hurricane-ness was as bad as it sounds when others talk about it. I take over. Invade. In a good way mostly... until the one time I turned around and saw some of the casualties I left behind me. But I can't get back up close to provide aid...
I'm an aftershock waiting to happen.

The sunshine.
The smiles.
The laughter.
These are all the eye of my storm.
Take a few steps in either direction and you are asking for major damage - all in love.

I've learned to suppress and hold things back in a dark place until I am ready to deal with them. I call it the Scarlet O'Hara syndrome. "I'll think about that tomorrow."

The city... that is where I resolve things.
That is where I allow myself to swift through those tucked away thoughts and experiences and revive my soul, in order to go another round of war with this world.
This city, however, has an extra dose of healing.

Sun.
Sand.
Open skies.
The food, music, pace of life... these are all things that help my hurricane-ness catch a break.
At least I thought so.

But he reminded me, that isn't the case.
That everyone is still dealing with the aftermath of Chloe from 2 years ago...
My heart wasn't ready for it.
I came here to repair another cities scars, not this one.
He thanked me, we celebrated his new life in Christ. I was so blessed to witness it.
But he didn't leave out the parts where I knew what I was doing.
This is where my "I think I need to apologize" statement comes in.

What I try to block out and keep in the dark.
When I come here to deal with everything but that...
Still, it is a reality.
Much like when America forgets those impacted by storms, those in poverty across the street from us, I wanted to forget my own body count.

"Thank you for what you did for us. Thank you for seeing us."

My stomach was in a knot.
How can he say that when my own blood feels differently?
Add another body.

People wanted me to come here and rest, to prepare to thrive when I return.
That is usually how this goes.
"She leaves, cries, comes back, and we are good."
This one feels different though.
This one feels more like a separation has taken place.
Welcomed, received, expected... but I know there is a space here that once was, not is, anymore.

A man on the plane asked what I like to do for fun, when I'm not traveling the world, loving people.
I wish he knew how much fun I have doing that... because nothing else measures up.

Part of me is upset at myself for going through it all again.
For remembering.
For feeling it deeply, despite knowing the page has been turned over for awhile now.

Deep breath in. Closed eyes. Jump up.

I faced the waves so I could be free of my own hurricane, if but only for a few hours.

Our New Normal

He walked in the gym early this morning, ready to go. He asked where the kids were and I looked at him funny, "What do you mean? We don’t have camp today.” I could tell he was disappointed. We quickly decided breakfast needed to be made & some cleanup around the building could be taken care of. We called for some backup and made it happen. I’m not sure how many teenage boys wake up early on a Friday morning for camp that isn’t happening, just to stick around and make breakfast... but this is our new normal...

Our new normal looks a lot like teenagers asking me for the keys and taking every chance to practice driving in the neighborhood... Instead of corralling a bunch of kids to put on their seat belts. As much as I loved van rides, I don’t miss them this summer.

My wall at the office is full of goals, dreams, and personal perspectives. It doesn’t look cute or well organized like my coworkers walls. But it screams reality. It is the true reflection of this group of young people, of this family. Scribbles, broken thoughts, deeply rooted passions. I hope no one makes me take hem down.

The kids know if they make it up to the office they are either about to get a speech from me, or they are about to get a speech from me. But it always ends with a hug or high five. Our new normal feels like the old normal when it comes to expectations, and leadership, it just happens to be new faces following through with those expectations, and surprising us with their leadership.

My boys raid the kitchen daily. My girls ask to hula hoop and braid hair nonstop. Parents hold me accountable just as much as I hold their kids accountable. We expected the family to grow... over time. What we didn't expect, what I was not ready for... is the new normal. But I wouldn't really change it for anything. I'm glad I found room in my heart, and I'm glad they found room on the couch... because I don't think any of us plan on leaving anytime soon.

I fear the last day of summer. This is nothing new. But the new normal looks a lot like preparing for Fall in the biggest way and I don't have the confidence in myself to execute and deliver results like I should.

But, at the same time, our new normal says that once the summer ends, and the school year arrives, our chaos will find its rhythm and we will be alright. This has really always been the case... now it is just amplified with fresh paint and a new address.

I haven't been able to express in written words just how this season feels... or maybe I'm just too busy living in it to share... either way, what I know is, this is our new normal. and it is good.

grown kids love

It's interesting...

the older kids get. the less *climb all over you and ask 100 questions* moments there are.

for years that's all I ever knew. 

fight for who sits in whose lap. 

who gets to hold my *insert item here* for the day. 

you know the drill. little kids love to love you. 

or act like they don't like you just so you will go the extra mile for them to like you!

that changes as they get older. 

less hugs. more head nods.

less giggles. more hard conversations. 

this is the world I've been in recently. 

they don't hate me... at least not all of them. 

they just can't sit in your lap or want to play games anymore.

and they for sure don't scream your name down the hallway. oh no.

the love. the loyalty. is expressed much differently now. 

who shows up when asked.

who comes around even when they aren't asked. 

the ones that remind others what I say should be listened to...

this is how they show their love or their loyalty most days. 

today was tough.

today I told myself I would do anything for my kids. 

no matter how old they are.

no matter how they show love. or where they are from. 

or if they check a certain box on an application. 

I was going to do whatever to make sure the bad couldn't get to them

...at least today... 

at least in the space I told them they could be safe. 

and when threats came our way

... my way... 

just as I had jumped in, they jumped faster. 

They held me back from making a mistake I would regret.

I didn't want the bad to touch them, not even come close. 

and yet, there they were, defending me, 

praying they kept their cool and wouldn't lose out on their opportunity. 

I was blown away. 

No, they don't scream or chant my name to eat a weird snack like the little ones do.

But they have my back. 

And I will forever have theirs. 

We have a long way to go, but tonight, I am thankful for how my grown kids love. 

There's More to This Story

To the last 24 days of my life

You waited for this day for what feels like your whole life

Tears. Laughter. Great big hugs.

Answered prayers coupled with prayers we will just have to accept the answers to.

I wish I could tell you in words how much my heart has been exploding open... while still having the capacity to lock some out. 

Day in and Day out hard truths we always give or receive.

We are hearing their stories for the first time.

Raw and ready to be held.

We are turning the page to our own story.

Wondering how we are so blessed to see good days like these.

So often people cheer and applaud for me, on days like this, and I shake my head.

This was always in them. We should cheer and clap for them.

I see the darkness and the brokenness and the loss and the different as motivators for us to be here.

To remain in a space that has always felt like home. 

It never developed over time for us. 

I didn't pray about it.

I never asked God to show me where home was. 

It was always here. 

Always them. 

So no, I don't deserve applause or cheers for doing the easiest thing I could be doing. 

Showing up. Loving. Crying. Laughing. Reminding.

And standing in the middle of the wrong path giving some kid my side eye like, 

"I wish you would go down this path! See what I do to you."

I'm exhausted. 

I'm not sure what just happened the last month. 

But I can say I wouldn't want to live another life. 

No amount of unforeseen circumstances, late nights in this city, brutally hard conversations, or missed deadlines will prevent me from seeing the good days. 

Because they are really, really good days. 

And there's more to this story.

This is why I do what I do.

They are my why. 

I Don't Want To Talk About Our Last Days

I don't want to talk about our last days...

I woke up in a fog this morning.
Eyes still puffy from the night before... chest heavy from all the weight it has taken on recently... When I know good and well I shouldn't keep allowing it to take on more.
I managed to get myself through the morning and into the school for our "party" in room 006.
That damn portable felt more like home than a damn portable most of the time.
This isn't the end.
You will still see them.
They will be okay.
You will be... okay.
There have been a lot of first days this year... and with a lot of firsts, come a lot of "lasts," and I don't like it!
I still have a hard time with change... probably always will.
This year I got close to a lot of kids in a short amount of time.
Some were already part of the family... others were sent my way cause Jesus and a few counselors agreed it would be good for all of us if we hung out some.
Monday - Friday I was in a school.
In classrooms, in the office, in safe, in the cafeteria, in the hallway...
More and more I grew accustomed to who and where I needed to be, and the kids did the same with me.

This morning I woke up in a fog.
I knew the last, last days were happening.
Preparation for the summer, and next fall, will be at the forefront of my world.
But this morning... I wanted to remember how this year felt.
How all of those firsts won't be like anything I experience again.
And how learning all that I have, not reaching specific goals I set for myself, don't measure up to or negate the fact that my family just got a lot bigger.
And the partnerships made will hopefully last beyond my time here.
I hugged. I cried. I screamed. I laughed.
I am thankful to be their Ms. Chloe.

No, I don't really want to talk about our last days...
Those haven't truly come yet... I won't let them.

A Year Later

It's been a year since I walked across that stage.

A year since I decided to go back to Lexington.

A whole year has passed and I'm not really sure how to measure it.

There were no semesters. No classes. 

Yet, still so many tests, failures... and what I call small victories.

If there were an award for isolating yourself... for padding yourself in such a way... in order for nothing, no one, to enter beyond a certain point... I fear I would be the recipient.

I haven't truly allowed myself to sift through all the brokenness. To acknowledge that I am broken.  

A year ago I was discharged by my therapist and despite the fact another friend had to practically drag me there months before... I was confused. I felt like I was losing the only space I had allowed myself to be fully broken, vulnerable. I didn't see the growth she had seen in me. 
I had to be honest with myself. Everyone else, well they can see right through me, or claim me as a mystery they want to solve...

A year later and I don't regret that space... I also don't want to go back to it. I am not ignorant though.
I know what it feels like to be under the water too long. I know the feeling of telling yourself you can do it, when truly, you cannot. 
With an Indie-Folk Ballad playing in the background, I have looked myself up and down in the mirror, receiving what my body tells me. Accepting the truths no workout or self help book or meditation could have aided in.
Just me and my body. 
Knowing that all bright suns have to set at some point. 

I am okay.


A year later I am still in my parents house.
A year later I am still waiting for the community center to be opened in Woodhill... just days away.
A year later I have seen my team come together in strong numbers, passion, experience... to falling in a dark spiral, to leveling out... to just showing up each day, giving it all we have, and wondering what our future could be.
A year later and I have decided situational friendship is true. I don't feel sad about it either way. I've just become more cautious. I don't enter spaces I doubt will be genuine beyond a certain occasion unless forced.
A year later and I have humbly learned it takes a lot more than a big heart to make anything in ministry happen, and happen well.
A year later and I have met some amazing young people that blow me away every single day. Young people that are facing things that would keep you up at night. Young people I would sacrifice everything for.
A year later and I wonder if I set people up for failure once I left.
A year later and I have no regrets.
A year later and I am looking forward, always... really I have a hard time looking back most days. I don't know how people do it. I am better off just looking forward, gracious for the time I had behind me, of course.


I think the reason there is no true way to measure this past year... or many years after this one, is because everyone is having the year they have. We aren't running the same course, at the same pace anymore. Maybe I never was. But I know now, for sure, that your land marks are not mine. And I am still fighting for what mine look like. I think I learn something knew at every sun set. And tomorrow, a bright sun within me will rise again, allowing me to mark a new journey.

The Caged Bird & I

I once read a poem about a caged bird and I sobbed. 

The thought of it being created as a free thing, and getting trapped into confinement broke my heart at an early age. 

My mom told me one spring if I played in the rain barefoot I'd get sick... but I was created to be free like the bird, so I dared the previous warnings and didn't regret it once a cough settled into my chest.

I have ignored almost every word of caution since...

From bed to bed, couch to couch, house to house, city to city, I go.

If not for adventure, what?  My soul asked confused.

Chaotic routine hit me like a baseball bat cracking as it hits the season opener.

This free bird saw a cage like shadow and swore she could manage... but it loomed.

Needing rest. Forgetting to exhale. My eyes remain in a flash flood zone.

No identifiable timeline, no recognizable season. I feel the need to move sluggishly and quick, all at the same time. No way of telling right from left.

The bird sought out a landing spot... just for a minute... just so she can gather her thoughts.

That's when he saw her... and put her in the cage. 

I wonder now, how long that little bird survived after entering the cage.

It's awfully dark in here.

See You Soon

I can't make any promises that when you read this or look at the pictures... you won't tear up a little. 

I know I did.

This is a picture of JoQuan and I at his 5th grade graduation. That was a huge day for him because he got the award for reading... two years before that, reading was the worst thing you could have asked him to do.

Tomorrow JoQuan will get on a greyhound bus and start a new chapter in his life. 

A sophomore in high school... I can feel years passed inside my soul. The good, the bad, the ugly. That is what we all signed up for. I wouldn't trade it for anything. 

Even when the ugly means you gotta chase a kid down the street, loosing earrings along the way. 

Or tough phone calls. Or school meetings. Or nightmares... 

I want to believe this is the end of an ugly chapter, and the start of a really beautiful one.

 But only time will tell.

And that time apart, selfishly, feels like too much.

He is joy.

He is laughter.

He is the best friend you could ask for.

And even though he asked to be my boyfriend in the 3rd grade... he settled for little brother.

And we never looked back.

"If I wear this hoodie... it means you can't leave."

This was one of the last Urban Impact camps before I went to college.

Despite how hard those days preparing to leave were... 

I knew it was the right decsion, for myself, and for them.

JoQuan has told me he is prepared and ready for this next step. 

He knows what needs to happen in order to succeed and come back.

I don't know where the time went...

I tell stories about how your anger took over sometimes.

How your fists would ball up and you would roll your eyes and do everything in your power to not cry over little things... but big things had piled up... so you let them fall anyway.

I tell those stories because of how wild they seem now.

How light and life enter the room when you are there.

How you instigate and keep the peace all at the same time!

 If someone would have told me that the 3rd grader with a huge mouth, silly jokes, and skater boy style, would have turned out to be this young man below... I'm not sure I would be shocked... 

I think I would understand. I think part of me would be really proud, and part would be really sad. 

I probably would've said something like, 

"He's gonna go places... if he would get out of his own way." 

And he is doing just that.

Forever the Loves of my life.

Forever the reason I age 10 years every week.

Love you, J.

We'll see you soon.

And We Will Live

Your favorite fairy tale growing up probably involved a prince saving the princess.

Maybe it ended saying, "Happily Ever After." 

Or maybe you are the young feminist that liked more of a heroin that held her own... 

saving the people she loved most. 

And the music was triumphant in the background. 

Bump that.

I knew early on, no one was coming to save me. 

I also knew that "saving the people I love" would end up killing me before I did any real good.

And that music in the background? 

Yeah... it's trap beats. 

Making references to the very things causing harm to the people I love. 

But here we are.

Here I am.

Always coming to this white screen after a long stint of time spent in the world. 

I come here when I no longer feel. 

I come here when I fear that my words are being swallowed up by darkness... 

the opposite of a happily ever after.

I know death.

I know threats.

I know crying voices on the phone.

And I am tired. 

Tired of coming home to explain myself. 

Tired of explaining everyone's actions. 

Black. White. Brown. Blue. 

Perhaps if we had a panel...

Maybe we should strip away more rights...

Include those that have prior experience in life or death situations... 

Bump that.

I intimidate people.

At least that's what the people tell me whose friends won't approach me first.

"Good." I laugh it off...

I didn't know I was supposed to be Miss America in the grocery store. 

I've separated myself from a lot of people recently...

Maybe we drifted apart.

Maybe I wanted it this way. 

"Chlo... you know those dudes are a distraction anyway." 

My high schoolers are smarter than y'alls relationship counselors. 

I tell them, "You right... it's just me and y'all." 

But when you see me, doing my thing, unapologetic... and you feel threatened... don't be, 

Use that as motivation to do exactly what you want to do, no apologies. 

Then you will understand why I will never have that taken from me. 

-

I've had a hard time falling asleep this past month. A hard time getting out of bed. 

Things that have been long awaited, are just out of reach.

It has taken every ounce of my being not to yell, kick, scream, cry, and curse everyone out.

Forgive me... I probably just need sleep, or a cookie. 

There are just some thing that I cannot seem to find patience or grace for anywhere. 

I don't want to be like that anymore.

But there is no hero to this story. 

No white horse. 

No triumphant music.

It's my tribe, me... and a lot of trap beats. 

We will live in a story full of happiness, and unfortunately, a lot of darkness too. 

We will fight everyday to thrive in a place that doesn't believe we can.

But it is our story to tell.

And we will live. 

IV XXII

Currently wishing I had something profound to say.

Wondering if the last two days will be engraved on my heart anymore than the last 8 plus years.

I've been told not to take it for granted.

There haven't been any tears this week.    Just a lot of sweat and maybe even a little blood.


There is still much to do.    Always.

You would think, after all this time.


But of course, I am built to finish a job that is set out before me.    Help those in need.

Do first.   Feel second.    Even when the second comes in heavy, and lingers.

                                                                              -

Then I was the last one.

And the silence gave me such peace.     I moved about the building one last time for the day, turn out the lights, throw away the trash.

I let out a sigh of relief.     Because for the first time, in what seems like forever, I was home.

And the significance of locking the door behind me... hit me like a ton of bricks.

Write It Down in 20 Minutes

Write your thoughts for 20 minutes... go

I've been nervously picking at the clear coat on my nails for over a week now. 

I turn right on Mulberry now, instead of Codell, just to make sure the sign is still in the yard.

I wake up 30 minutes earlier some days to make it through a circuit or two.  

Other days I swallow hard and peel myself out of bed - even though my body feels too heavy.

The days on the calendar keep passing me by in slow motion, until I open my eyes a little wider, and realize I've been going through landmark type events and all the emotions come at the same time.

I've done a lot more listening and reading to other peoples thoughts and experiences recently.

Not as if I didn't do that before... I've just made more room in the margins for it altogether. 

The rain finally stopped today.

For how long... I'm not sure. 

I saw the sun today, and my skin started to dance.

This feels real.

I have to woo important people sometimes... in order to remain relevant, and on the front lines. 

It doesn't exhaust me like it does some people. 

That doesn't negate the fact it truly is exhausting. 

The kids spent a good amount of time in my parents house the last two weeks.

The silence doesn't hurt them like it has me... and that moved me.

People have their favorites... that's cool.

I'm usually still immature enough to wish I was their favorite.

At least that is what my friends tell me. 

I don't disagree though.

I found a place that sells coffee and books and refuses to be gentrified by those around it.

A place that doesn't deny its culture, or have really loud pop music playing or baristas that should just stop talking.

A place that cares about its neighbors, not the status quo or who is driving in for a latte only to comment on

the "crime in the area." 

Then I over heard they are having a hard time staying open and have until March to figure things out.

Isn't that how life goes?

January + 2

It was before today when I thought there is no escaping it. 

News Channels.

Social Media.

Coffee Table Conversations.

Then it becomes your reality.

And you wonder how you got so lucky to see another day.

I remember walking down the path he led us on, for what seemed like an awful long time, because the bus couldn't get through such a narrow and muddy foot path. This isn't where she and her brother lived the last visit made to Bolivia. When I saw the structure she and her family lived in...
Her brother was quite the show boat and eased the hurt I had within, almost like a nauseating feeling slowly subsiding through distraction. "I am blessed." I heard it being translated behind me. And that is when I wish I knew God like she did.

I've known tear drop tatted, gang and brotherhood branded, men who would drop dead if they didn't hold the door open for a lady, or push her chair in at the table. Never speaking to me as if I was less than them, never leading me to believe their past was as dark as it truly was. "You don't know my moms." They would say. They, the ones with blood on their hands, and regret in their eyes, knew better than to disrespect their mothers and not be gentlemen. Back then I am sure I assumed how they must feel lucky to be alive.

It was June. And anyone over a certain age had sat around a patio table in the backyard. Old friends catching up. Once neighbors, now just kids swimming in a pool while their parents talked war. I can't help but think this was our own little version of Gone With the Wind in modern times... imagine with me. All us kids had ever known of our fathers pasts were military related stories and "we never had that!" remarks. That was their "cul-de-sac" bond before we ever made it to the suburbs. I remember their dad pulling out a camera and playing back a scene caught from a firefight that made the wives jump and cover our eyes. "Yep. Sure saved a lot of asses that day." Everyone cheered. I guess I was thankful too...


I'd like to be honest here and say, a lot of people blog to share their lives with other people. Which I believe is great. But I also think they are hoping for a guttural, emotional, active response to those shared pieces of their lives. The edited versions. The ugly parts they are willing to share. And the wins they can't let you miss. I get it. But I can't help but tell you I don't give a damn about who reads this, who doesn't, if it's shared, or if it collects dust till the internet archives shut down. I live my everyday life in story book form. Partially because I truly believe I am Peter Pan incarnate. But mostly because I live a life worth reading about one day. Not a Biography about me... hell no. An indie film / gopro style / collection of moments. Where Humans of New York meets Humans of Woodhill. You feel me? Doesn't matter.

I wrote for myself in January. 

I wrote about the hardest things I have ever written about. 

Chicken scratch.

3am.

Run-on sentences.

Story form.

Poems. 

I read prompts to guide me.

Some days I just wrote about how every day in January felt like 10.

I didn't want to share it. 

I still don't.

But what I feel like needs to be said is... in the midst of my heart breaking, constant set backs, horrible communication, misjudgment, exhaustion, no direction, and an overwhelming feeling like a fog inside me would never be lifted... in the midst of that, I still celebrated the lives of the ones I have here with me. I cheered on at ball games, choirs, spelling bees, in the classroom. I included my own blood more. I took my own health serious. I hugged friends. I read some good books. And I never stopped telling our story. Our story of resilience. Of perseverance. Of patience. Of how it isn't luck we are alive - but a beautiful challenge. Because too often we look at a casket and think of what they could have accomplished, or what they achieved, and mark the whole life as just that. How dare we. It wasn't until several close to home school shootings, bomb threats made to a school while we were in it, and an accidental school lock down, that I realized those people didn't think they were lucky to be alive either. They were in question of their lives each and every day because of what they had been through in poverty, prisons, gangs, black or brown skin, war, constant threats being made to their lives and surviving wasn't luck, it was God. And they were going to honor every breath he allotted them. Until it was taken by whatever force that should come.

January felt like a constant threat on my life. Not in the same way I felt laying on the ground under a table praying my babies in the auditorium were okay. More like when a bandage has absorbed so much blood it no longer has the same effect to the wound than a freshly tied bandage would. The very things I thought would last, sustain life, and push us into a new season, were some of the very things that stunted healing, caused pain, and inflicted more grief. There wasn't any point in sharing details of the wins or losses because nothing flowed. Words felt boxy when this season just needed to settle somewhere. People who know families like the ones I do life with know what this January felt like. Just 31 more days tacked on to 2017. And no one needs to dwell on things like that. But if we didn't grow from a season like this one! Where the vines that choke out any fruit are finally cut away, and life can continue again in that tree. That is what I feel we will eventually move toward. Where the vines will be cut away, water and sunlight will pour into our roots, and fruit will be the focus again.

remember how this felt

I was doing so well before the crash -
the converging of truth and memory -
the colliding of recycled heartache and the never ending taste of forward thinking -

I'm not the type of person to remember a date on a calendar and the events that took place.
Instead, I remember seasons, broad feelings, I can picture the importance of a memory as if it were another person sitting at the dinner table... but never just a significant date. From year to year I can recall the season I was in, and then look at the present time to identify the changes, or stagnant waters, within my own soul.

Physically, Emotionally, Mentally, Spiritually.

I am almost always met with warmth, joy, sunlight, and in very Chloe fashion, "started from the bottom" plays softly in the background of those thoughts. Only on occasion do I feel cold when I look back to past seasons. Rarely do I feel like I moved backward or just sideways.

But like I said, I was doing so well before the crash.

01/?/18

Resistant.
Reluctant.
Fog.
Melancholy.
Anxiety.

Perhaps if I would have worn a different dress, read more books, talked less about rap or food deserts, maybe if I would have saved money, planned this more in advance, made more lists, cared less of what everyone thought.

Here I am.
Reading Strategic Plans, contemplating what turn I made way back when.
Breathing in and out to a forgotten rhythm that reminds me of that way back when.

Today I woke up with swollen and hazy eyes.
Passing the same corner day after day, even years later, still stings.
Reminds me of my humanness.
I can feel what I felt then, now.
Combine it with what I feel now, and the impatience is strong.
I know what this week is in another city.
And the darkness tells me it's shameful to long for one place, when the prayer I prayed for years, is finally tangible in front of me.
Reminds me of my selfishness.
Managing to acquire frequent flyer miles, all across the globe, without leaving my parents house.

I said above I was doing well before the crash -
I'm not sure what I meant by well, but I do know this ship didn't pack a single life preserver, or rescue boat. It's just me and my doubts out at sea... and we know how that went for those dudes in the Bible.
I have been caught between the greatest miracle of my lifetime and absolute human sin.
Isn't that how it goes?
At this time, people older than me explain how to handle life differently than them.
People my age fake it till they make it... whatever "it" is.
And all the sweet but sour ones, younger than me, remind me that both being prepared and having the time of my life is crucial.

There is no white flag here.
No goals set. Yet.
No crazy, dark espresso epiphany, hiding in the depth of an old theology book.
This. This is just another day on the calendar I won't ever pick out of a lineup of important dates.
But I promise you, I will remember how this season felt.