Tag Archives: A Future Worth Having

'On The Move

On The Move

I missed New Jersey before I even left it. Like a breakup that you see coming and though you know it’s for the best you start to miss what you love before the moment it’s officially gone. I wasn’t breaking up with New Jersey per se, I was moving forward, opening a new chapter, stepping into the vast unknown. Okay, so it sounds like a break up, but truly Jersey, no hard feelings. You will always be my first love and a huge part of who I’ve come to be.

I traveled across the country for more than two months to get to my new city. And, as breakups tend to go, once I was in this new place, I missed the familiar.

A great friend told me, right before I left, the best advice she received in her cross-country move was in times of transition it is okay to grieve. Let yourself grieve. Man is that a liberating piece of advice.

I tell you now, I cried. I cried a lot. I allowed myself to feel – even when I would have rather shut my feelings off. I cried out of fear. I cried out of insecurity. I cried out of vulnerability. I cried out of nervousness. I grieved the life I left behind until I was all cried out.

Life starts when you allow it to.

Once this city became my new reality, I was fearful of what it would actually look like to create a life here. I questioned decisions made leading up to this point that I had felt so sure about before. Was I out of my mind? What made me fall for this place? Why did I pick up and move away from nearly everyone I love?

Fear is a powerful devil.
The truth is, those questions end up being the best reminders of why I embarked upon this journey to begin with. I was ready.

Moving is enlightening. It presents us with an opportunity to sift through things, figuratively and literally. We physically and internally sort through “stuff” to best help us move in a forward direction. It’s a chance to open boxes and take a careful assessment of memories to decide which ones to keep and which ones need a said goodbye. We make our lives lighter, in healthy ways — recognizing what we truly need and what we may have been unknowingly holding onto.


It’s quite a process. When I started preparing for my move cross-country, I found myself sorting through a great deal. The move surfaced everything from old photos and keepsakes to retired relationships and personal weaknesses that tested my character. Moving can do that; it shakes things up. I started to discover some things had remained in my life that I wasn’t aware were still there.

It’s funny; when we say a word a million times it tends to lose its individual value. “I’m moving” just sounds to me like a common phrase for an action I decided to take and I pay little mind to the root of the word, “move.”  It’s called moving because we are physically transferring ourselves from one place to another, but think about that; to move is to take action, to start doing something, to make progression, to change, to improve, to open our view.

Moving, in its inherent definition, is meant to shake things up for us, and in us, to help us forward.

In the last month before my big move out west, the realness of it all slowly set in more with each day. It was a gradual roll over the past year, but that concluding month was my final dose of reality. I had been working through things in my life, many times with blurred, puffed eyes and a sore, but healing heart. I felt as though I was participating in a final exam of sorts for that season in my life. No grade would be given for its completion; just amplified gratitude and strengthened endurance if I made it through.

It’s not easy relearning lessons that you hoped you’d only have to absorb once or ones you thought you had skated by in the past. Maybe that’s the point though. Maybe it’s not about “getting by” or “pushing through.” Maybe it’s all about enduring until it no longer becomes a lesson for you, but rather an experience to be shared and, perhaps, a possible lesson to help someone else later in life.

Moving, if you allow it, lets you see your life, yourself, at bare bones. No ego. No shame. No guilt. No regret. At bare bones, you are what you are. If you can look at yourself and your life that way, no-frills, then you can begin to build upon it as a base to create and allow for the life that was meant for you.

“You’re building a foundation,” she said to me. “Ever notice how quickly a building goes up after years of witnessing construction that looked like it had little to show for it?”

I nodded my head visualizing her analogy.

“They spend years working on buildings. All you see, for the bulk of those years, are orange cones everywhere and all you hear are loud drilling and bulldozing noises. Then one day, seemingly all of a sudden, the building is up and it’s beautiful and sturdy and stunning. You see, what takes the most time is in building and securing the foundation.

I continued to nod, in awe of this incredible compare-and-contrast example she was playing out in front of me. It was spot on.

“This is where you’re at,” she continued. “There’s some digging that needs to be done. This is what God is doing in your life – digging, steadying and working hard on your foundation to eventually build you up – sturdy and beautiful.”

She paused, “You’re feeling it and while you may not see what it will ultimately look like just yet, it’s on its way.”

So there I was, in my first adult apartment – bulldozing and being bulldozed. With a few weeks left, I sat presently in front of well-taped U-Haul boxes, immersing myself in all of it. I tossed out old receipts while saving captured moments and penned words that to this day make me smile more than I could ever fully communicate to another human being. I continued to face some real moments of pushed down tension all the while becoming present and grateful for where I’d come from.

I was moving. I was transitioning. I was evolving.
I was ready.

This Letter Is For You

I write the letters to myself,” he said. “I write what I need to hear that day – then I give it away to someone who may need those words too.

It’s incredible to me how serendipitous life can be. Amazing moments that happen little by little and then all at once until it’s beyond question.

I am a huge More Love Letters enthusiast. I remember learning about it a few years back from an Instagram I saw posted of a tree covered with love letters for the picking one Valentine’s Day.

I remember then thinking how unbelievably beautiful and brilliant the idea was and vowed I would start writing and leaving letters myself. It took a little bit longer than I would like to admit to finally get my first letter out the door and into someone’s hands that needed it more than me.

Enter serendipitous moment number one as of late: About a month ago, I helped produce a webisode for an incredibly encouraging series called A Future Worth Having, with the amazing Chad Brown and Josh Solar. Josh spoke specifically on his admiration for the love letters movement. He even creates handmade cards for others to motivate as many people as possible to love in this manner. It was so inspiring to me and got me writing again.

It has been the most rewarding experience with every word written on each letter composed and then quietly given away. I’m currently working on a personal challenge to write 28 love letters by my 28th birthday next month.

I took a photo of that first letter — like a time capsule or some sort of reference point to remind me of where I was when I started. To encourage me to keep writing and never stop.

I’m unsure of whose hands my very first letter fell into. I have dreamt about it a time or two. I figured there was no better way to begin this blog, this site, than to share this particular starting point.

This letter is to the person who picked it up that day from the coffeeshop table where I left it.
It is to every person I have ever loved and ever will grow affection for.
It is speaking to the heart of me and to the heart of you — the one who is reading this blog and needs to hear that you are, more than anything, not alone.
This letter is for you…

Dear Friend,

Don’t take yourself so seriously. You have the right to laugh, to love, to be silly, to be honest, to be raw with anyone and everyone you meet. You are courageous even though your fears may try to convince you otherwise. You are full of hope — real hope. The kind that shines light in the darkest places and refuses to dim. The kind that keeps choosing love — even when it’s the hard, tough road. Always love, my friend, always. People may not go about life in the same way you do, but that is okay. That is where their story has taken them so far, but you can choose to love them even if they currently cannot choose to love you. You can be the part of their story, and yours, where they learned a little piece of what love, real love, actually looks like. Hope spreads like that. When you see something in its truest form it’s undeniable. It will always affect people in one way or another. That is just life. So, go on. Love well. Be courageous. Smile at yourself in the mirror and at a stranger on the street. Be you in the company of others. Allow rejection to fall on you like the lightest snow; while cold, it is not enough to freeze you out or make you pack up and go home. No, allow it. Know that it is not you that caused it and there is a beauty in letting it happen. It is accepting who you are with no excuses. It is knowing that your worth doesn’t stem from anyone. Your worth comes from who you were made to be. I am praying for you — the one who found this letter. I am hoping that your life unfolds in the adventurous ways you have always imagined. So take that risk. Pursue your passions. Call, or better yet, visit the person that is on your mind right now. Life is made of love and people. That’s it. Now go live it!

A Friend