To The Moon And Back

To the moon and back. That was the response I never thought I would hear in this moment… let alone this lifetime. I haven’t felt this sad in awhile. Joy? I fight hard for it. Exhaustion? Its frequent. Anger? Of course. But sadness? I hate it with a passion. And yet here I am. So very sad.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

I imagine myself to be a lot like Jessica Jones. Able to kick ass, investigate the problems, has a passion for justice and fighting the “bad guy” but really struggling with the worlds view of me and unable to reconcile “following protocol.” Also bourbon. 

Don’t confuse this with me comparing myself to a hero. It’s the exact opposite actually. I am trying to identify why or who my cynical mind and broken heart resemble. Because Jesus is just too hard these days.

And now all the evangelicals are gasping because “does she still love God?!” and my friends who have never seen God in ways that make them believe are leaning in a little closer.

I think I have been distracted from a purpose, from a reason. I know what I have been getting out of bed for. I know that I have deep love and joy every time I get bear hugged by a kid or told by a parent they see change in their child.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

I’ve had the same nightmare for 8 years now.

Yesterday I felt like it was becoming reality and my body went numb.

There is confusion and loss and celebration happening despite.

Where I live. The community I found myself to be part of. Celebrates milestones a little different. Yesterday a lot of mine started college. And I happily took calls and texts explaining how classes went and that “they might like this college thing.” Today some turn 16 and I praise God they are here to see it. That she is here to see it.  

This community has mourned the loss and the pain for so many the past few months. Families afraid to walk down the street or answer the door. And then you have young dads bringing their babies to the center because they know they are safe and they can play ball and still be kids, even if it’s just for an hour. But I have to wonder how long I can keep them safe.

People I know and love keep dying.

People I know I am supposed to love, despite their evil, keep hurting.

I bury it. I avoid it. I tell myself I am still safe, better off, okay.

Then shit hits the fan and everyone thinks I am capable of being strong… at least I think they feel this way. 

Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t blame myself for when it gets this bad.

Interventions. Control. Lessons on boundaries. Tough talks. Sleepless nights.

One day it’s the news. Another day it’s your city. Then it’s your friend.

Some days you’re so busy trying to save the world you miss the very pain right in front of you.

But then… some rotten kid you least expect says, “to the moon and back.”

Boxed Up Thoughts

I wrapped another dish in newspaper and place it in a box that will sit there for a month probably. The dish came from a friend, newspaper and boxes too. Come to think of it... a good chunk of the things I "have" came from someone else. 
A collection of mix & match. 
Some things are well worn already. 
Other things, came well taken care of or still in the original package. 

I sat the dish in the box and thought of how many people I never let past the threshold of 305. Typical me... not letting people past a certain point.

I was only here for a year. 
A year that contained the longest winter of my life. 
A year of my own sort of independence and yet a new found dependence as well. 
305 was my statement that I could do it.
I could live on my own and not die I guess. 

But the part of me that needs to be reclusive, quiet, restful, introverted, etc. found it to be a new space to make me separate. Sort of the opposite of how the rest of my life goes. People don't like to describe me as reclusive, quiet, or introverted. I don't blame them. What proof do I give them anyway? 
305 was my proof. 
I was so caught up in having an hour here or a moment there, of silence, I forgot how to share space, resources, my home. 
Things I had been taught for years, not really in my first home, but all the others that followed. 
The ones who took me in. 
Showed me how to feel home no matter what the day, activity, etc. 
I put that dish in the box and I felt like I was being released of a season I needed to be in, in order to make it to the next one... this next one. 
Moving here I had a bit of rose colored glasses and thought I had fulfilled my childhood dream... and in a sense I did, because I got to know my community and my neighbors and myself. But now I know that there are more layers and levels to that dream. And this next phase is just part of truly fulfilling it. 

I want to have more people cross the threshold of my next spot, but only if I know for sure they will feel the same sense of home I have for years. I also want to feel content and confident in my awareness of needing some space or time to myself. I don't need a lot of it, trust me, I am on day two of "quiet" and I'm already losing my mind. But I am thankful for it all.

The next couple of weeks I will slowly pack away the few things that make up my space, take them down the road, and set up shop in a place that has a lot of unanswered questions. A place that has the ability to grow me even more than 305.

The Suns Truth

No one has to tell the sun to be happy. It just is.

It's big, bright, loud, warm, joyful.

You expect certain things from the sun because it has never proven before it could possibly be sad.

So you can imagine, I had no idea it would go like this.

The sun never stops being happy, but clouds exist, don't they?

Rainy, cloudy, cold, and silent days exist.

But when a person behaves like the sun. almost always.

You forget, the clouds have to come eventually.

And yet, why is it such a shock this time?

Why didn't we plan for this?

When places where you learned about yourself, that you called home, are torn down and dug up.

A dark cloud appears on a face that once shown like a sunset.

How did I not know?

A pain ripping through your stomach when someone rips back the ray of sunshine curtain you used to hide the darkness... pointing at it with a score board that mimics midnight.

I knew. I knew it. I avoided it. My lungs fill with weight unbearable.

People never really assumed you could hold on long anyway.

My body creaks with dust and guilt and stagnant pools only the moon can find its refection in.

But she is fire. She is light. No. She's something like acid rain.

I got burnt, literally. And I was stunned, because how can the sun burn itself?

Unless it was only pretending to be... I was pretending to be...

For so long I swallowed bricks and created a wall thicker than the strongest safe.

Good luck cracking a code I never learned to begin with.

Maybe tonight the sun learned it could be sad after all... or maybe it just finally saw the value in the moon.

This is the suns truth.

After trying to find comfort in the story she was always meant to be happy... you could still light up a room by sharing with the moon and stars. 

Thoughts on a Plane

Well. They did it. We did it.

Olivia graduated two weeks ago with her degree in Counseling!

Last week the non profit I work for, Lexington Leadership Foundation, turned 20. And a few days later we celebrated the Woodhill Community Center turning 1. Talk about full circle. Didn’t plan on telling anyone, but today is my 2 year anniversary as a full time staff member. Not to mention this summer will mark 12 years doing the dang thing! (That's a Chloe-ism for I’ve been around Urban Impact on an almost daily - weekly - monthly - semester basis for 12 years.) Come on y’all. That’s wild.

Michael graduated Saturday with a degree in Intercultural Communications and walked out with 4 awards!

This is just a reminder that the young people you think have something special in them, but it seems super far off for their goals to become reality, can actually make it happen. We (they) just need you to believe in them. Through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

We’ve been siblings for over a decade, Olivia’s had me her whole life of course. But when I think back to what it was like. Middle and high school kids. Sitting on the floor in the basement. No one knows what we know. No one lived what we lived, other than the handful of siblings that I see periodically. And I can’t help but get emotional when I think of who we are now. What we’ve accomplished. Failed at. How we argue better than the best lawyer you could buy. How we love harder than any love song you call your favorite.

20 years.

12 years.

2 years.

1 year.

All the years we spent in college.

Fighting to prove ourselves wrong.

Figuring out how to come back and face those we left behind to make needed moves.

I’m sitting on a plane, almost in tears, proud.

Proud of a good life.

A life you can go to bed tired in a good way.

This isn’t the end of a finish line for my siblings and I. This is a chapter closed and another opened. This is motivation to push for the next goal. For the next “you thought we couldn’t do it. But we did.”

My prayer, hope, and lifelong mission, is that I can create a similar bond, love, experience, for my kids, that has been done for us. I don't know how quite yet... but that's the cool part of this life. It just sort of happened.

Remembering You

Have you ever forgotten how to be yourself? 

No, this isn’t some wild rhetorical question... I’m being truly serious and about as honest as I can be. 

Have you ever forgotten... to be completely 100 % you. Whether it was for a moment, or a lifetime. 

Maybe a milestone hit or something tragic happened. Something was lost, someone... then you just woke up the next day and kept living. 

Kept moving. 

Your body was moving and words were coming out but it wasn’t you. 

It’s just a season, you say. Or this is part of the process. This is grief, growth, maybe even a little bit of both. 

You read books that tell you how to be you. 

You listen to podcasts, which are poorly done yes men episodes by your favorite person of influence who doesn’t actually have as busy a schedule as they make it seem. 

You laugh and cry and sleep and eat and nothing seems different. 

But somehow, you’re watching yourself... or whoever that person is. 

Live your life. Hang out with your friends, miss parents phone calls, and forget to turn the laundry over again.

It’s an out of body experience. 

You feel weightless, worried that you’re missing something. 

But then you realize you’re just remembering how to be you. 

You’re seeing the day in and day out as if you got a second chance at being you. 

Minus the books and podcast. 

Skipping the pre mid life crisis and needing to go on a hike you wouldn’t ever survive. 

You cry hard enough. 

Breathe deep enough. 

Say how grateful you are to remember. 

You were never perfect. 

You were never what those people thought you were. 

You are you. 

And being able to stand back and watch, is one of the greatest gifts, most people never receive this side of heaven. 

It’s not a reset. 

It’s another scene from the movie you direct and star in. 
I thought, for so long. 
I was moving in slow motion. 
Trying to solve an unsolved mystery. 

My own heart. 

But the greatest realization was that I didn’t need to fight for it like so many have tried. 

I haven’t forgotten who I am, 

I just forgot where I put the key. 

my sister

She is the lover of those who are vulnerable.
She is the fighter for those who don't have any fight left.
She is the quiet spring shower you didn't know you needed.
She is my sister.
She is Olivia.

I remember the first time I had a friend that wasn't "our" friend. And I think that's when I started to lose my "cool" factor as a big sister and moved more into the "get the heck out of my life" stage. For a long time I was afraid I would never leave that stage in her eyes.
I had friends.
She had friends.
We grew up.

Years and Months and Weeks and Days go bye.

The love never went away.
The joy and support never went away.
But I knew there would be a moment someone would think they loved her more than me.
And I will fight them for that till I die... but right now, I am thankful for the ones who have stepped in and loved her when I wasn't near. When I couldn't listen.

                                                                                -

Last night I lost my breath and couldn't hold back the tears because I was so proud of my sister.

I was proud that she remains to be the girl who loves the vulnerable.
     ... she continues to be the girl who fights for those who can't fight.
     ... despite all the world has thrown at her she stands tall for what she believes in.

The world needs more like her, offering safe places, resources, a hug.

I have chills thinking about her next big moves and all the things and people she will impact over time. But it turns out... I was never the "cool" sister after all.

She is.

Deja Vu

I just cried in my car for 30 minutes.

Partially because I am exhausted and haven't slept well recently.
Mostly because I sat outside two of my favorite humans houses and listened to them debrief about what's been on their hearts lately.
It sounds simple and something I would do pretty often actually... and it is, in a way.
But today was hard.
This month has been hard.
When I thought I didn't have anything left in me, they gave me the opportunity to listen and respond.

Just like someone did for me a decade ago and every day since.

To just take a deep breath and acknowledge some parts of this life overwhelm us.
Parts of this life make us want to never go home, because the definition of home has changed.
We get excited that opportunities come our way or our regularly scheduled program is mixed up for something new and vibrant.
This life requires blood, sweat, tears, and really uncomfortable scenarios, because those things make us who we hope to be one day.
No one ever said working out and ripping muscles would be fun.
But we do it so they can stretch and grow and build up to become stronger.
I'm here to tell you our muscles have been stretched.
Our eyes are tired.
Our hearts have found a home in each other because the home we've known is foreign.
But I refuse to give up. 
Our stories have come to this place for a reason.
No one in this family ever came and stayed this long because it was easy.
As a matter of fact, many leave because it is not.

They have reached a spot I know very well.
I want to hold my breath for them or lead them the way or close my eyes till it's over.

But I cannot.

They didn't do it for me back then, I won't do it for them now.
I will show up. Listen. Pray.
Respond occasionally.
And hope.

Those who sit, staring directly at a torn muscle, sharing the highs and lows of life, breathing cold air that somehow reminds them of the fire in their chest for something bigger.

That is why I am alive.
That is why I have them, and him, and her, and those people to thank.
Because I was once in that spot.
Hoping they would see me one day.
Wondering if this home could last.
Wondering if I could save mine.