Love, safety and hydroplaning

It was supposed to be just an ordinary day. Fun, to be certain. An opportunity to bond with my little brother, certainly. But really, I didn’t expect anything abnormal to happen.

I was going to take my youngest brother to Nordstrom’s to get him the pair of TOMS I promised him for his birthday, followed by lunch at Whole Foods (read: free samples at Whole Foods), and then a leisurely trip back home.

You know something’s bound to happen when I start expecting my day to go exactly as planned.

It was drizzling this morning when we left home – not the downpour of Biblical proportions that had been predicted. My mom still cautioned me to drive safely. So I did. I really was focusing on being a defensive driver. You know, checking my mirrors, going a bit below the speed limit. My 1988 Volvo was chugging right along.

We were about halfway to our destination when everything went haywire.

I was sitting at a red light, preparing to make a left turn. The turn is pretty tight, and people tend to fly through this particular intersection like nobody’s business. So I told myself, “take it slow, Lauren. Be extra careful.”

I inched out into the intersection, took the turn and then straightened out my car. Perfect. I gave myself a little pat on the back, and slowly eased onto the gas.

Then it happened.

My car suddenly slid into the right-hand lane, narrowly avoiding crashing into the cars in front and in back of me.

“We’re hydroplaning!” my brother exclaimed fearfully.

I turned the steering wheel to the left. Somehow we made it back into the left-hand lane. But I hadn’t gained full control of the vehicle.

We continued to hydroplane – no brakes, no steering – oh, God.

My brother gasped. A sustained cry transpired from his lungs. Something between a wailing fire engine siren and an elongated sob. This was a cry coming from deep within him that shouted, “Help us! Emergency!” and screamed, “I’m scared!”

I pumped the brakes.

Boom!

I whipped my head around – had we been hit by the driver behind us?

No, that wasn’t it. But what…

Bah-bah-BOOM!

Panic.

We were on the other side of median, facing oncoming traffic.

The thudding noise I had heard was that of my own tires as they hit the median and rolled over the river rocks that covered it.

I slammed on my brakes and was relieved to find that they worked, as I pulled the car as close to the median as I could.

We were sitting in a left turn lane, facing the wrong direction, staring at cars coming down the busy boulevard toward us.

But we were OK.

For a moment we lingered there, my brother and I, parking break engaged, emergency lights flashing. Completely shocked into silence at what had just happened. And then came the hysterics.

My brother was shaking and whimpering softly. “Oh my gosh… Oh my gosh…”

I finally let out a quick sob of relief, as I turned to my brother.

“It’s OK. We’re OK… What the crap, I can’t believe that just happened…Thank God you’re OK.”

A sigh of relief. An embrace. And a prayer.

“Thank you, Jesus. We’re OK.”

What now? We were stuck in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. And I had no cell phone. Awesome.

Suddenly, two UPS guys appeared on the sidewalk, waving at me. I motioned them over.

“Put your car in neutral,” they told me. “We’ll push you.”

I pulled into a nearly-empty parking lot and stopped to examine the damage inflicted on my car. The shifter was knocked slightly out of place by the sudden jolt. Otherwise, my car wasn’t noticeably damaged.

A gas station attendant lent me a phone.

“That’s a bad spot,” she told us, gesturing toward the intersection. “There’s oil and it’s slick.”

Yeah. I noticed.

Apparently, she saw an $80,000 car do the same thing last week. Except, if I heard her right, that car rolled over.

As I called my mom, I started replaying the entire incident in my head.

I couldn’t have been going more than 10 miles per hour! How in the world could this have happened?!

At no other moment in my life have I felt so completely out of control.

I won’t lie. I was scared. And yet in that moment, I believe God was in control.

How we avoided getting hit by another car makes very little sense to me. That we walked away without a scratch, I consider miraculous.

I’m alive. And I thank God for that.

Over the course of the day, I saw at least three accidents. I don’t know why my brother and I walked away intact while other people in similar circumstances were taken away from the scene in ambulances.

But this I do know: God never promised us safety. A life with Jesus is a life of incredible risk. But he is in control. And he promises to be with us every step of the way.

When I was a freshman in high school, I traveled with my youth group to Costa Rica to serve with a group of teens as they served their community. My parents were pretty freaked out. (In retrospect, I don’t blame them. A 15-year-old among a bunch of teenagers in another country? Hey, with all those raging hormones anything can happen, right?)

But I’ll never forget what my youth pastor shared with me, my team and our parents at 4 o’clock the morning our adventure began.

He knew the parents would be praying for our safety, he said, but he wasn’t going to pray for safety that morning.

Instead, he asked God to sweep us up in his story. To help us to love with reckless abandon, like Jesus did. And to have an adventure getting to know God, each other and our neighbors in Costa Rica.

And that is exactly what happened. Yeah, one girl got really sick and another kid took a rusty nail to the foot. Those things sucked. But the bigger story that was told – the friendships that were formed, the lessons that were learned and the love that was experienced – that story was far more important than any that could have been told if safety had been priority number one.

I’m not fighting a battle to be safer – financially, morally (as in, “am I good enough?”), or even physically.

I’ve already been brought from death to life. And I’m fighting to bring life, light and beauty to the world.

Ravi Zacharias puts it this way: “Jesus did not come to make bad people good. He came to make dead people live.”

You see, love changes everything.

2000 years ago, a couple of guys came to Jesus because they had been told he was the savior who had been promised. They wanted to learn from this new teacher, and then go back to their lives.

But Jesus invited them into his story with these words: “Come and see.”

These guys spent the day with Jesus – and they ended up following him for the rest of their lives.

They saw him have a conversation with a woman who was an outsider that would change her life and her community.

They heard him criticize the religious leaders of his day without mincing any words.

They saw him bring a dear friend who had died back to life.

In the midst of all of this, Jesus gave his friends the freedom to mess up, to say stupid things and to make fools of themselves. He loved them extravagantly. He taught them to love.

Love isn’t safe.

Jesus was the essence of love; he was killed because of it.

But love is stronger than death: death was swallowed up by life.

When Jesus’ friends first met him, they probably had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Nevertheless, they took a risk. They invited their friends into the story Jesus had invited them into.

“Come and see,” they said.

People came. They experienced Jesus’ love. And they were transformed.

Sitting in my car today, facing oncoming traffic, I was reminded that I am not promised safety. Nor do I control my circumstances as much as I would usually like to think I do.

My cage was rattled. I felt compelled to ask myself the question that so often I am able to avoid: Am I living like I believe that God’s love really is enough for me?

The answer, of course, is that most of the time, I’m not.

But his love is enough.

Call me an idealist if you’d like; intellectually-challenged, if you prefer; or a hopeless romantic if that makes you feel better.

I hold dear these lines from the book of Jeremiah as God’s words to me:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness.”

I cling to this promise as to a lifeline.

I hope this post doesn’t come across as preachy or didactic. This is my story and I’ve tried to articulate it to the best of my ability. Do with it what you will.

All I know is that Jesus said to me, “Come and see.”

I did. And his love changed everything.

And that’s the last thing I ever expected.

***

Oh, and check out this great song by Mumford and Sons. It makes my heart want to burst out of my chest and do a maniacal dance of joyful abandon. Seriously, give it a listen. And then go listen to all their other music.

Spark good in your world

I had the privilege this evening of seeing Scott Harrison speak about his passion: giving. Scott is the founder of charity: water, a non-profit that is transforming the world, one well at a time. I was overwhelmed by the picture Scott painted of thirsty planet, and inspired by what he's doing to make a difference.

That said, I want to shamelessly plug for a couple of amazing organizations that are making the world more beautiful, more healthy and more whole.

1. charity: water



Water changes everything.

• 1 billion people in the world don't have access to clean water.
  
• 80% of the diseases in the world are caused by unclean water and poor sanitation.
  
• 4500 children die every single day from water-related diseases.

It only takes $5000 to build a well that will provide a community with clean water. 100% of donations to charity: water go directly to building wells.

The organization has provided 1 million people with clean water. Yes, that's a lot of people. But it's only a minuscule fraction of the people who still go thirsty and drink dangerous water every day.

People give up birthdays, climb mountains and eat rice and beans for a month to provide their fellow human beings with clean water.

Learn more at www.charitywater.org/

2. TOMS Shoes

One of my good friends used to come to our high school without shoes. Going barefoot was fun and fancy-free, and a little rebellious. Plus, she was just cool like that.

However, some people go barefoot because they can't afford shoes.

Many children are not able to attend school, simply because they lack shoes. Numerous painful injuries and potentially debilitating diseases result from going barefoot.

The idea behind TOMS is simple: one for one.

Buy a pair of the company's shoes, and a child somewhere in the world who needs shoes will get them. As of September, the company has given away one million pairs of shoes to children in need.

You're going to buy shoes anyway. Make it count. Give to someone who has no shoes.

Check out the One for One movement at toms.com

3. Sparks

The idea for Sparks ignited here in L.A. a couple of years ago, and Sparks is now a national and international movement of people adding initiative to their lives in order to enhance their lives and the lives of the people around them.

Sparks ask the question: "what's one risk I can take this week to make myself a better person or the world a better place?"

Sparks happen in many diverse environments, including with friends, at universities, in faith communities and in both the for-profit and non-profit sectors -- one cool example of Sparks in the non-profit world is currently going on at People Assisting the Homeless (PATH). People are empowered to proactively choose to live more meaningful lives.

Take initiative at sparkgood.com

Rock your body

I am a human being.

I'm not a human thinking.

Or a human doing. Or a human interacting. Or a human feeling.

I am a human being.

It may sound rather simplistic, I know.

But I'm hard-pressed to remember this seemingly simple, yet all-important truth when I'm standing in front of my mirror in the morning, loathing my 6' frame because, laundry dimwit that I am, I just dried my new jeans on the warmest setting and it is SO HARD to find long-enough jeans.

Sometimes, my body makes me crazy. I have these weird quirks, like being super tall, and having alien, undiagnosable allergies to perfumes. There are days (like today) when I find myself wishing that I could do life without all of the annoying parts of being human, like being tired, and hungry, and having to take study breaks to pee.

I mean, wouldn't it be great if we could just go on road trips without having to worry about where the next McDonald's will show up (I am familiar with a rather alarming amount of fast food bathrooms along I-5).

There was an Enlightenment group called the Gnostics that believed spirit was superior to matter. This belief was denounced as heretical by contemporaries of the Gnostics, but it still has great influence today.

But the reality is this: I am matter and spirit rolled up together in this not-so-petite package called a body. As Erwin McManus puts it, "spirit wrapped up in skin."

I need to be reminded that I am, and it is not because I think (sorry, Mr. Descartes).

There is nothing I need to do in order to be a human being. I am because I was created to be.

In the Judeo-Christian tradition, God made humans and he called his creation good. They hadn't done anything yet. They hadn't gotten an A on a philosophy paper, or run a marathon or rescued a stray kitten. No. They were created, they were human beings and that was enough.

I believe I have been created to inhabit this body well. Whether I am eating, sleeping, exercising or whatever else I use my body for, I ought to respond to being intentionally created by caring for my body and living intentionally.

Lauren Winner puts it nicely. Attending to our bodies, she says "is a matter of some urgency, because there is no neutral way to be a body."

If we fail to see our bodies as created with intentionality -- with purpose -- we will listen to "the magazines screaming about taking off five pounds... the all you can eat buffets asking us to stuff our bodies... the fashion designers asking us to parade them."

Oops. Too late.

I want to learn how to revel in the mystery of what it means to be a human being with a body.

How wonderful to feel the cool mist of the first autumn rain! How marvelous to bite into a hot slice of apple pie! How glorious to dance with abandon!

But how difficult to feel pain. Having a body doesn't come without its profound struggles. I certainly don't have the answers to all the questions that pain creates. But I think I would rather feel pain than nothing at all (though I will be honest -- I haven't experienced much pain in my life).

Hmm... Important questions to think about.

Oh, and by the way, I would like to know your secret for making it on long car rides through the middle of nowhere without stopping at every freaking rest stop. Thanks.

Should we take comfort in rituals?

My interest was piqued today by a new poster in the front window of my local Starbucks:

"Take comfort in rituals."

In this case, apparently, the ritual we're supposed to partake in is the consumption of a steaming pumpkin spice latte or a toffee mocha.

(Mmm.... Is it just me, or does a pumpkin spice latte sound really, really good right now?)

Starbucks’ marketing approach intrigued me. The people behind the campaign seem to be assuming that ritual is attractive. But I’ve been wondering: Is this sound advice? I mean, is it wise to take comfort in ritual?

For me, ritual bespeaks monotony and liturgy, neither of which is terribly appealing. I tend to push the envelope. I am learning to shy away from comfort and to seek adventure in its place, because it’s through risk taking that I change my life – and hopefully the world around me – for the better.

(Oh, and the $4 price tag on a Starbucks coffee doesn't exactly wed me to the idea of ritual either. The money I spend on coffee has great potential for good. Unfortunately, I use a significant percent of my meager income to feed my growing caffeine addiction. I go for the frills-free stuff, which is cheaper and an excuse to keep drinking coffee. However, in the midst of my battle to justify my addiction, my left eye has developed a nervous twitch. Seriously).

Right. Where was I? Oh yeah. My problem with this whole ritual thing.

I have an aversion to most anything that smells faintly of ritual.

For example…

1. In high school, I rolled my eyes (when no one was looking, of course), at classmates’ attempts to fill me with school spirit. (Don’t worry; it wasn’t you. It was me).

2. I only begrudgingly go along with the national anthem at sporting events. (Again?! I mean, come on!)

3. For whatever reason, the word “ritual” itself calls to mind the movie The Road to El Dorado. I didn’t like that movie. (If you haven’t seen this film that perpetuates negative stereotypes of Native Americans and glorifies the conquistadors, you haven’t missed anything).

That said, I’ve been reconsidering the way I think about ritual lately.

See, I have this problem with focus.

You’re all, “Duh, Lauren. We knew that.”

Stay with me.

Ritual, without focus, is trite and meaningless. But I’m discovering that there are a lot of things in life worth doing that require discipline. Discipline breeds habit. And habit, when infused with meaning, results in ritual.

I’ve been reading the book Mudhouse Sabbath: An Invitation to a Life of Spiritual Discipline by Lauren Winner. Winner, an Orthodox Jew before she became a Christian, came to find that she missed the “rhythms and routines that draw the sacred into the everyday,” she writes. Her small book is made up of a series of snapshots of these practices – what they look like in Judaism and the significance they hold for Christendom.

I resonated with Winner’s description of liturgical prayer (that is, a prayer that is committed to memory), which, she acknowledges, “can be dull, and its dullness can be distracting.”

However, I was caught off guard when Winner made this paradoxical statement:

“If roteness is a danger, it is also the way liturgy works. When you don’t have to think all the time about what words you are going to say next, you are free to fully enter into the act of praying; you are free to participate in the life of God.”

Winner adds that she doesn’t always converse with God liturgically, but that, without a tool to help her focus, she finds that she has “lapsed into narcissism.”

This sounded eerily familiar to me. I am big on to-do lists. As a result, my prayers are often just lists of what I want from God. It would behoove me, I think, to have a prayer memorized as my default. That way, when my mind wanders to what is stressing me out, or what I’m going to wear, or the weather, or whatever else, I would be reminded to be still. And to recognize that God is.

Prayer isn’t the only way that I’ve been trying to integrate ritual into my life. I am trying to be more intentional about generosity. It hasn’t been easy for me to watch my checking account go down in funds each time I give. With practice, however, giving is becoming more natural. It feels less forced and more like what I am meant to do.

My friend Jason wrote this blog about love being a lot like that. .

Love, he says, is inauthentic. If we only love others when we feel like it, love is hindered. It is when we chose to love in ways that are uncomfortable for us, when we choose to go outside of ourselves, that we begin to get closer to real love.

And that, I believe, requires practice. Perhaps as we practice love, we will find ourselves engaging in ritual – a ritual that will change us and the world in which we live.

Cooking up a perfect storm

I made a really fabulous dinner tonight. You really should have been there.

Too bad I was the only one who ate it.

My menu included…

– A smoothie made of carrot juice, fresh mango, strawberries and raspberries

– Toast with hummus

– A salad comprised of field greens, green beans and garden-fresh cucumber, dressed with garlic, cilantro, lime juice, and olive oil

If you’re anything like me, what you’re experiencing right now is called Food Jealousy. (Don’t worry, it isn’t fatal).

You see, I recently discovered this new passion:

Cooking.

Actually, to be more accurate, what happened was a rediscovery of a dormant passion.

It started when I was unable to cook for 10 months while away school.

I began to loathe eating at the dining hall everyday. Not because I was served bad food per se (apparently, my school is consistently a contender for the coveted title of “Best Dining Hall Food” – although I could have done without all the oil used for everything). Rather, I genuinely missed cooking my own food.

I told my friends that what I missed was freedom: the ability to run to the grocery store and make whatever the heck I wanted for dinner in my own kitchen.

In the meantime, I became the salad bar Iron Chef. Seriously. I made some very weird concoctions (most notably, perhaps, was a breakfast sandwich made with wheat bread, egg whites, cucumber, spinach, tomato and salsa. It’s been said that I have a stomach of steel. Maybe there’s some truth to that).

There is definitely something to be said for my desire to do my own thing. I’ve always been very independent. And sometimes I just wanted to scream, “If spaghetti is served one more time I’ll… I’ll… barge into that kitchen and make my own dinner!” Brazen, no?

But I realize now there was something else I was longing for: creativity.

Upon returning home, I found myself grocery shopping and cooking meals for my busy family. Before long, I was doing both of these things voluntarily. Weird, I know.

Cooking is a creative outlet for me. To make a meal, I go to the store, scope out the produce section and ask myself: “now what can I make with sprouts?” (The answer of course is rosemary-chicken Panini sandwiches. Duh). I don’t think I’ve used more than a recipe or two all summer. The chance to come up with meals from my imagination is an adventure.

Inevitably, I’ve made some weird dishes. Often, incredulous looks have followed my response to the persistent question, “what’s for dinner tonight?” particularly the night I made guacamole chicken burgers. (For the record, the consensus was that they were delicious).

What also is noteworthy is the fact that cooking calms me down. Sure, it can be stressful at times (sorry about the burnt bacon last week, everybody!) but usually I find peace in the kitchen – chopping and dicing, boiling and sautéing.

It’s rhythmic. It’s meditative (I like to think and pray while I cook). Most of all, I love the way cooking brings people together, both in the kitchen and around the table.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I love doing this.

I told my mom about my exciting revelation and all she said was:

“I could have told you that years ago.”

I was like, “WHAT?! Well you could have told me then!”

Maybe I wouldn’t have believed her then, but it would have been nice to know that she saw this passion in me when it was just a spark.

I’ve decided that now that the fire has caught, I can’t let it burn out. I’m going to have to work doubly hard once the school year starts to improve my skills and exercise my creativity. This means I’m going to have to hound my friends until they let me use their kitchens. Or, worst-case scenario, I stand on the side of the road with a “Will cook for food!” sign. Either way, everybody wins.

I doubt that I’ll go on to be master chef. I mean, I don’t think I like cooking enough to devote my life to it. But I’m going to work on honing and refining my skills, because I want to be able to creatively bless people with all of the gifts that I’ve got.

I have a friend who is a few years older than me who graduated from my university. She was a communications major who later attended cooking school. She currently works for a non-profit that teaches women in the inner city how to cook healthy food for their families. I felt liberated after a conversation we had about life and doing what you love. There are opportunities to use seemingly disparate passions in extraordinary ways and I intend to seek these out.

May you spark creativity in your life this week. Discover a new passion. Fan into flame a dormant passion. Refine your passion into something that will bless others. Or let someone else know that you see a spark of passion in them. Create beauty and help others do the same.

Living passionately,

-Lauren

P.S. For great thoughts on creativity, check out Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk

Peace while in the fast lane...

It's been a while since I've written, which is a bummer, considering I have had all summer and yes, I've been really busy working and stuff, but when I've had free time I've made up excuses for why I can't write. Like Facebook. And YouTube. And staring into space thinking about nothing. Or everything.

Phew. Glad that's off my chest.

Which brings me to what I wanted to write about, which was lack of focus in my life.

You see, one of my strengths is ideation. There is a constant whirlwind of ideas in my brain. It's awesome. Kind of like the Matrix (which I've never seen. But it sure seems like a cool comparison). Unfortunately, I've yet to learn how to attack one idea at a time. This means that I get overwhelmed really easily.

So I was all set to write this terrific blog.

But my friend who also has trouble focusing focused before I could focus and she wrote a blog about focusing before I could focus on writing my blog on focusing.

And she basically said what I wanted to say, except way more concisely and eloquently than I ever could have. Read her blog here.

Fortunately, I have lots of problems and quirks and stupid things I do that I can write about.

Which brings me to my latest dilemma...

What I could really use is some peace.

Not world peace.

Or peace, love and happiness.

Don't get me wrong, I think those kinds of peace would be great. But I'm looking for a peace for when things are crazy in my head and in my heart. A peace that sticks around even when I'm working three jobs and my bank account is still frighteningly low. The kind of peace that "surpasses all understanding."

I'm reminded of the Biblical story of Elijah. He went on a mountain to hear from God.

There was a big and powerful wind.

But God wasn't in the wind.

Then there was an earthquake.

But God wasn't in the earthquake.

Then there was a fire.

But God wasn't in the fire.

And then there came a gentle whisper. And God spoke.

I think that Elijah must have been taken aback by this. The God who could have spoken to him through nature's extremes chose instead to communicate with extreme subtlety.

I wonder if sometimes we don't get what we're looking for, because we're desperately searching in all the wrong places. We try to find peace in our work, in our relationships, even in nature, but somehow, nothing really sticks.

I eagerly sought work this summer in hopes of achieving financial security. I'm working, but not as much as I wanted. Work hasn't necessarily brought lots of stress, but it certainly hasn't been a catalyst for peace.

I think that it is in silence that peace is able to come. Not literal silence, per se, although I think that can help (especially for someone like me, who is ridiculously easily distracted).

What I'm talking about is an internal silence. A quieting of the soul, if you will.

Today, I sat down on my bed for 30 minutes (or what felt like it, anyway... it could have been five, since I have the attention span of a preschooler), and I was quiet. I did the best I could to ignore my schedule and to do list for the day. After lying down briefly, I sat up in order to not fall asleep. I sat there and I was quiet and I tried to listen (weird, I know). The results of my experiment with silence weren't anything breathtaking. But afterward I felt strangely at peace.

I am beginning to find that when I take the time to be in silence (for me, that means both externally and internally), things begin to make more sense.

It's in these moments, that I am finally able to focus on what really matters. My huge to do list become less important. Life gains value. People become paramount. And sometimes, in the silence, I believe that God speaks.

So in all seriousness....

Peace.

-Lauren

Alp Macaroni and the Art of Flexibility

I almost hit a pedestrian the other day.

This happened while I was driving in the city, which freaks me out to begin with. (All those one-way streets give me the heebie jeebies). I had a green light and the woman was jaywalking. I watched my friend who was sitting beside me in the passenger seat as her faced turned to shock, then horror, as she realized that yes, I was going to gun it through the intersection.

The pedestrian came within an inch of her life as I swept by her with a whoosh and a relieved laugh.

Such is my life when I practice the art of flexibility.

Risks are taken. Excitement ensues. People almost die. (OK, that last part doesn’t usually happen).

Here’s a little context…

I have this friend from Switzerland who I met in L.A. She was doing an English language program for three months just down the street from me, and during the course of her stay, we ate a lot of frozen yogurt together. Frozen yogurt is a relational glue of sorts. If you eat enough of it while hanging out with someone, you can’t help but like them.

Really. I dare you to try it.

So long story short, my friend mentioned that she had this extra week after she got out of school, before she was scheduled to return home to Switzerland.

And for some odd reason, I found my mouth moving without my brain knowing it (not the weird part, as usual) asking her if she’d like to maybe, possibly stay with me and my family for that week.

Before you could say “lickety split” my friend had purchased a seat on an airliner headed north. There was no backing out now.

For me, Miss Let’s-make-sure-we-have-every-possible-angle-analyzed-before-proceeding-with-anything, this was ludicrous. I hadn’t consulted my calendar, let alone my mother (who gets props for being the human DayPlanner, what with her uncanny ability to fit our lives into a 9”x6” brown book).

For those who know me, you might think I’m spontaneous. You’re wrong. I’m rarely genuinely spontaneous. According to the Gallup Strengths Finder, I’m a Strategic individual. You just might miss it because I also have Ideation and Activator.

I’d narcissistically like to think that I can come up with a great idea, figure out the best way to make it work and then act on it – uno, dos, tres – before anyone has had the chance to say “Whadayawannado?”

Except that this time, I skipped step number two.

Crap. What in the world was I supposed to do to keep my Swiss friend entertained for an entire week?!

Guess what? I made zero plans in advance. And the week was AMAZING! We did stuff spontaneously. It was refreshing. I saw places that are familiar to me through new eyes. Tahoe. Old Sacramento. The Gold Country. It was fantastic.

And I was able to do it all with my amazing Swiss friend (who, I might add, makes the best Älplermagronen this side of the Atlantic. Yum!)

I started to think I was doing a great job being flexible. (Insert laugh track here).

Then I had this conversation with my friend that reminded me I wasn’t the initiator of our spontaneity. My friend was the one who was flexible from the get-go. In fact, while in Switzerland, she opted to stay in the States for an extra week, having no clue where she would end up. She took a huge risk in not having any plans and then trusting her last week (and life – gulp!) to me.

My one feeble attempt at flexibility was in a way the proverbial straw that took the camel to the chiropractor, but it was by no means the catalyst for the amazing week I spent with my friend.

So that got me thinking: What if I was intentionally flexible? Not just when circumstances demand it, or someone else asks me to do something new, but habitually. Practicing flexibility would mean letting go of my control over my life – control I don’t really have to begin with – and just being. This would be, I think, an incredibly freeing way to live.

Less stress. More unexpected deep conversations. More life.

I’ll still strategize (I can’t help it – I’m good at it), but I’m going to try to release my control over my circumstances and breathe a little easier.

Here’s a proverb that I’ve chosen to live by: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

What’s your “Needle in the Dark?”

I recently discovered this great electro-tinged folk rock band called Passenger.

The lead singer of the British band sounds a little like James Blunt. But don’t let that dissuade you from listening to these guys. Passenger has a musical and lyrical depth that Blunt’s sappy “Beautiful” decidedly lacks.

Check out these opening lines from the song “Needle in the Dark:”

With progress comes problems
With wisdom comes age
With lessons come learning
With pleasure comes pain

You can only have the sunshine after the rain

“Needle in the Dark” is an eerie, beautiful reminder that if we want to do something meaningful with our lives, getting there is going to require risk. It’s not going to be easy. In fact, “it’s like trying to find a needle in the dark.”

I like this as a metaphor for finding meaning in life. (I know, cue the cheesy music. Stay with me for a minute).

Take academics. I worked my butt off in high school to get to college. Guess what? I’m here. And I’m not sure where I’m going now.

I wonder if the reason I’m lacking motivation in a few areas of my life could be attributed at least in part to the lack of a needle in the dark to go hunting for. I haven’t given myself any kind of challenge to pursue.

Some goal setting is definitely in order. I want to study abroad in Spain. I’d like to at least have the option of going to grad school.

But somehow, I feel like I need something more difficult to strive for. Something a little scary and maybe even a little painful.

It’s true, you know, that a challenging process gives you more appreciation for the end product.

So, I’ll ask you the question I’ve been asking myself: what’s your needle in the dark? And what are you going to do to start searching for it?