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.