The Chronic Mover

You lose things. Like yeah, memories and all that deep stuff, but mostly just like sandals. In preparing to move next week, I have already lost my pencil bag and have realized that I cannot find any of the bobby pins I’m fairly certain I came with.

I’ll find all of this in like a week or two. Or at least I’ll know where I left it.

I have a case of Chronic Moving. Symptoms include losing things (as previously mentioned), a knack for knowing the names, style of architecture, and source of bean of way too many coffee shops, and forgetting to memorize my zip code.

I have moved over 40 times in my life and the number keeps counting. I honestly love it. I love the fact that I have lived in so many cities. Walked on so many sidewalks. Met so many people. I truly love it, but it has shifted the way I perceive the world.

I am not trying to sound dramatic and I am almost positive that someone else is going to read this and be able to relate completely to the way that I feel. We Chronic Movers tend to band together.

To me, home isn’t a building with four walls. It’s a Starbucks’ Caramel Apple Spice. The tangy, sweetness that I am drinking right now. Sharing the drink with the memory I have of when I was seven. When I would sit at a Starbucks with my dad in San Diego before church started, too young to enjoy coffee, too old to drink hot chocolate. The air smelled like the beach, even though it was miles away. I can see the pile of newspapers in the corner. I can smell the scent of my dad’s old BMW. I remember the house I lived in at the time. But I just lived there. It wasn’t home.

To me, home wasn’t a place where I kept my toys. It was the roof of the shed that I used to climb. It was the twisted tree behind-that when pushing my body against the chain link fence beside, I could hoist myself up and onto the roof. I kept a broom up there to sweep off the fallen leaves. I created a pulley system. I thought that if I stayed up there long enough, no one would ever find me. That is where I practiced being an adult. Autonomy. Responsibility. The ironic freedom that comes with climbing onto a piece of old, cracking wood twelve feet off the ground.

To me now, home is where my friends are. Which is unfortunate because they are spread across the U.S. In Malibu, San Diego, Knoxville, Nashville, and now Boise. I know that with each move, my heart breaks a little. A little bit of me is left in that city. But a little bit goes with me too. If you could see my heart it would probably look more like a jigsaw puzzle than an organ. A puzzle with the waves of La Jolla, the magnolias of Nashville, and the snowcapped mountains of Boise. It would probably beat differently too. To a song that lots of people sing, each part filled: melody and harmony. A song filled with memories and moments and emotional goodbyes and quick hugs in cars before driving away. Filled with phrases like, “when are you leaving?” “Are you driving back?” “Are you excited?”

Yes, I leave Boise on Monday. Yes, I am driving back. Yes, I am excited.

I am always excited. This is the last symptom of a Chronic Mover. Excitement for something new. A grand adventure.

But for now, I reflect. Drinking this Starbucks’ Caramel Apple Spice, I think about home. The one I am leaving. And where I am going. And it’s okay. Even if I feel the bit of my heart getting ready to bury itself under Idaho soil. Because this right now is the roof of my shed. And the place where my friends live.

Nashville is next. And then what?

Well, dear reader, your guess is as good as mine.

The Snowboarding Effect

I have never been this sore in my entire 20 years of life.

Three weeks ago, I decided to try a new sport. The entire premise of said sport is: how fast can you slip-slide your way down a mountain without dying. You start the descent with your feet locked into a a piece of high quality plastic. You then dig your heals or toes into the mountain and begin a deliberate fall on a search for thrill and in the hopes that you will be able to walk again once reaching the bottom. The people that do this sport are, respectfully, crazy. They are generally people that don’t care about what others think about them and people that scoff at the boundaries of nature. But they are also people that love the deepest. Care the hardest. And people who have learned to get up quickly after crashing, both in life and on the mountain.

In the next few paragraphs I want to explain what I will forever call, “The Snowboarding Effect,” and answer the question why on this green earth did I buy a season pass to a ski resort despite the fact that I am moving back to the flattest state in the U.S. in exactly one week.

First of all: Some basic snowboarding information from someone who has watched too many Youtube videos:

So you can stop two ways. The first and easier way (at least in my opinion) is when you are standing up on your board and you dig your heels into the mountain. This is what is called stopping on your “heel edge.” The other way is when you are face up the mountain and you dig your toes into the snow. This is called stopping on your “toe edge.” I wanted to include this excerpt into this post in case a future snowboarder out there ever reads this post. Save them some grief. Save everyone else around them some grief too. Because snowboarders don’t really like to stop.

So you can keep yourself from stopping by never aligning your body at a 90 degree angle, but instead a series of 45 degrees, completing what are called “S” Turns. Let me back up: a turn is when you switch edges. Yes, you change directions, but when a snowboarder refers to turning or “linking turns” they are referring to switching from putting pressure and gripping the mountain with your heels to your toes. Your body switches from facing down the mountain to facing up the mountain depending on the degree of angle you need to stay upright. To stay locked into the snow. What I learned to practice first were called, “C Turns”. They literally make a C shape because you start on one edge and then switch edges and you loop down the snow suddenly changing what you are facing. “S Turns” add a second step to that: returning to your original edge. If you successfully “S” your way down the mountain, you won’t need to stop. Unless you run into a skier child. Then you need to stop because they typically don’t know how to yet.

Also your shoulder plays a dominant role in your turning and changing directions. Where your shoulder is pointed is where you are going to go. If your shoulder is pointed straight down the mountain, it will vomit you down like someone with the stomach flu. If your shoulder is pointed to the other side of the mountain, then you will slide to that direction. If your shoulder turns into the mountain, your body will follow and you will change edges from your heels to your toes.

Now forget everything that I have said and you will be ready to snowboard.

Are you confused, yet? Why would I tell you all of this technical “how to” and “what to do when” if I were to ask you to disregard it? Because you have to.

The Snowboarding Effect is what it feels like to get out of your head. To stop caring about rules and agendas and how you are supposed to do things. You can’t worry about morality or being loved or finances or childhood trauma when you are racing down a mountain. No, that’s not what happens.

The Snowboarding Effect is thinking about the sound of snow. The sound the snow makes when you stop: the forceful spray that pulls itself up around you. The crunch of icy snow. The magical, unreal sound of boarding straight through powder and watching it fill the air.

The Snowboarding Effect is vulnerable. It is falling a lot. And falling hard. Falling hard with a community of people who have made the conscious choice to fall with you. A group of people who have felt the pain and the bruises from the mountain’s hazing. It is pushing each other and running into each other and apologizing. You can’t hide your fears when your friends can actually watch them. Watch them in the way you hesitate. In the frustration you feel when you get to the bottom of the run but didn’t give it your all. When you let fear stop you.

The Snowboarding Effect is freedom. A freedom from obligations and memories and the weight of this world. Snowboarding feels more like flying than a sport. Feels more like living than anything I have ever done.

When I asked one of my snowboarder friends (the one who, in fact, trained me) why she loved snowboarding, she initially couldn’t answer the question. I kept asking her and eventually she mentioned what I have already mentioned here: community, fun, and freedom. But I truly believe that her inability to answer the question, answers the question itself.

The Snowboarding Effect cannot truly be articulated. It just is. You just do. You just let yourself fly down the mountain. And you stop questioning it.

Love is as Strong as Death

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, As a seal upon your arm; For Love is as strong as death, Jealously as cruel as the grave; Its flames are flames of fire, A most vehement flame.“ (Song of Solomon 8:6)

Love is as strong as death.

Love desperately needs to be seen as strong. Love is misrepresented in today’s society because people associate it with puppies and kittens and chocolate.

But it is so much more:

Love is what sends the young soldier marching into the battle field.

Love is what causes the boyfriend to cover his girlfriend’s body and take the movie theatre bullet.

Love is what causes new mothers to surrender sleep for the rest of their lives.

Love is what catalyzed our Savior to pin Himself to that tree and hold his breath to our salvation.

Love is not just holding hands and forehead kisses, no.

It is burying your boots in the sand and saying, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not walking out.

Death is bitter, love is a taste that is remembered too. Remember that first kiss. Remember that last.

Death is harrowing, love is rapturing. Remember what it felt like to fall in love.

Death feels like forever. Love IS forever.

Love is as strong as death.

Because death doesn’t get out of the grave. Love does.

Love pulls Himself out of the rocks and takes the mask off of His face.

Love shows me His hands. His death stained hands. His pain pierced mark.

Love is as strong as death.

And Jesus, My Love, Is the only One who’s stronger.

This Valentine’s day, let’s change what we think about Love. Let’s stop weakening love. And let’s stop holding it back. And let’s stop holding Him back.

The Versatility of A Rotisserie Chicken

What I have learned in seven months of living in Idaho:

1) Idaho is so much more than potatoes. BUT the Boise airport does sells stuffed potatoes and at The Westside Drive In you can get a potato completely made out of ice cream.

2) In the summers, the sun doesn’t set until 10pm.

3) Rivers are a really big deal here. There’s something called the Greenbelt which is basically just a road made for cyclists, runners, and mothers with children in strollers that goes along the river. If you are walking the Greenbelt listening to music, make sure it isn’t too loud of you will get rammed by one of those mothers with children in strollers. They walk real fast.

4) It’s possible to have a clean downtown. Downtown Boise is the perfect example.

5) Driving through Southern Oregon is one of the most empowering and terrifying drives there is. Do not get lost. Or pop a tire. Or get out of your car. You will feel like a rockstar after you drive it, but you might not want to drive it again for a while.

6) There is so many things that go into opening a restaurant. Or honestly, just starting something new. You have go to learn to go with the flow and understand that you can’t make a list for everything.

7) Not just hipster coffee shops have good coffee

8) Some houseplants like a lot of water, others like to dry out completely before you water them. Some houseplants need to be babysat, others are okay with being forgotten about for a little bit. Oldest child vs. Middle Kid Scenario

9) If you are learning violin, sign up for the Christmas recital. If your greatest fear is getting blown out of the water by 7 years olds, you’ll practice. But seriously though, age doesn’t matter when you are learning new things. At the recital, become friends with the 7 year old. They are nervous too.

10) Long distance is worth it. Focus on being best friends :)

11) Chicken is cooked when it reaches 165 degrees Fahrenheit. It should not be pink on the inside.

12) That being said, there is nothing you can compare to the versatility of a rotisserie chicken

13) Reading without headphones in a public place is possible, you just have to focus on the words and let the world zone out

14) Snowboarding feels like falling down a mountain. But controlling it. And as you learn to control it, be okay with falling down the mountain.

15) It’s important to build community even if you know you are moving from start.

16) Put the string lights up first. Take them down last

17) Kosher salt is the best salt for cooking because you can use it for everything

18) You don’t have to make perfect cookies. Your friends will still eat them

19) Call home once in a while, let them know you are alive. Because you are so alive here.

20) and when He’s done with you in Idaho, let Him lead you back.

Wildfires

I lived in a warehouse once. It was the fire’s fault. The stupid fire that liked to make its appearance in San Diego like every 3 minutes. The fire that consumed houses, stopped freeways, and have taken the lives of too many firefighters. It was less cruel to my family that week, just put us all into a warehouse.

It was normal to get evacuated in San Diego. Normal to be pulled out of school early to go to the hardware store to buy hoses so that you could soak the land around your house with water to hopefully keep it safe. It was normal to wear oxygen masks to school that would hopefully filter out the smoke and make it safe to breathe as a seven-year-old. Wildfires were normal everyday events and have affected me in more ways than I probably know.

In that warehouse, my hamster escaped and I learned how to play monopoly. It was actually a thrilling time. We lived in the warehouse of the company my dad worked for at the time. We stayed with the family that owned it. They were our dear friends and I remember staying up way too late, cooped up in that building, laughing and talking and telling stories. During the day, we would cook together and go outside to watch the tumbleweeds fly across the parking lot.

I wasn’t allowed to leave the warehouse, but my dad and his buddy would leave every night to watch the fire. He would come back and tell me that the stories of the fire. That it would race down the mountains. That it would run through the freeways. That it would escape from nature’s constraints. It was uncontainable and very much alive.

For most of my life, I have seen that fire as an evil thing. As an enemy. A stealer of life and land and houses and lives. And in so many ways, it is. But also, the fire was just a result of a catalyst. Somebody started that fire and I lived in a warehouse because of it. And I learned because of it. I learned that there is beauty in fire. That it is mesmerizing, brilliant and brings people together.

San Diego is marked with fire. Read stories on the Witch Creek Fire. Walk around the canyons whose trees will never grow back. Talk to anyone who’s lost their home or been evacuated.

My life has been marked with fire. I’ve moved more than 30 times in my 20 years of life. I have lived through seasons of great anxiety and turmoil. I’ve lost loved ones. I’ve been kicked out of school because of finances. I have had my heart broken and burned and scorched by this world.

But at the end of the day I am thankful for fire. Because there’s beauty in fire. And as long as I stay in that warehouse, that safe place. With the One who hides me away, it won’t get to me. It won’t find me. And it won’t burn my house down.