Allison Vesterfelt's Blog, page 17

You Have Two Choices When It Comes to Valentines Day

For many years, I’ve been a huge cynic when it comes to Valentines Day.

Photo Credit: Nishanth Jois, Creative Commons

It didn’t matter if I had a significant other or not (although the cynicism would grow in relation to my relational unhappiness). My argument was built around commercialization and consumerism and superficiality and how we shouldn’t need a designated day of year to remind us to demonstrate love to those we truly care about.

True love and care was demonstrated in spontaneous and authentic ways all year long.

I had my whole rant.

Then, a few years back, just before I got married, I was sharing with a friend my theory about Valentines Day. It started with the price of roses and morphed into a bit about Hallmark, and I was just getting ready to launch into my spiel about Target when she stopped me. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit disappointed.

(After all, I was just getting revved up).

But in the most beautifully blunt way possible—a way of relating that, with her smallness of stature and brightness of personality, she was so gracefully able to manage—she said:

“Look, the way I see it is—you have two choices when it comes to Valentines Day.”

“You can either be cranky and miserable about it, or you can enjoy it for what it is. And, if you choose to be cranky and miserable, I’m not going to feel sorry for you, and I’m not going to hang around while you feel sorry for yourself.”

The words look harsh when I type them here in black and white, but honestly, they didn’t sound quite so harsh coming out of her mouth. Like I said, she has this way about her. And I suppose the other reason her words didn’t sound too harsh to me is because I knew she was right.

Her words weren’t just true about Valentines Day. They were true about every day.

They weren’t meant to hurt me. They were meant to help.

That moment was a huge wake-up call for me.

It was so simple, honestly. But at the same time, it was totally profound. What she was saying wasn’t just a lesson about Valentines Day. It was a lesson about every day—and what happens to those numbered and precious days we’re given when we choose to complain about them and feel sorry for ourselves.

We waste them away. We waste away ourselves.

We’re left behind and left out.

Of course there are a thousand things to complain about when it came to Valentines Day. There are a thousand things to complain about any day. I can complain that I didn’t have a significant other. I can complain that I do (and he isn’t doing what I want). I can complain about the system or the expectations or “the way things work.”

But while I am busy complaining, everyone else will be enjoying themselves.

Everyone else will be moving forward, moving on with their lives.

And slowly my life will pass and I’ll never get what I really want. I won’t ever know what I really want. I won’t invest in anything that lasts or matters. I’ll be too tired from all of my complaining.

I’ll be too lonely (because who wants to hang out with someone who can’t stop feeling sorry for themselves?)

So when it comes to this Valentines Day—and every day that follows—the way I see it is this: You and I have two choices. We can either be cranky and miserable, or we can make the most out of it—put our hands to the plow and create what we really want.

If you choose cranky and miserable, that’s your choice.

I think you’ll regret it. I think you’ll get bored, and tired, watching your life pass…

The post You Have Two Choices When It Comes to Valentines Day appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.

There’s Only So Much You Can Do

You can work and work, and break your back, and make every sacrifice possible and put every last resource you have on the table, but at the end of the  day, I’m realizing, there’s just only so much you can do.

Not everything is up to us.

We are not in control.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, feeling this tension because I want to inspire people to believe anything is possible, and want to give them the tools to go make their dreams come true. I want to remind you that you have what it takes, that you are beautiful and important and you matter (no matter how many people do or don’t follow you on Twitter).

And for most of you, that’s what you need to hear. Most of you think too little of yourself, rather than too much. Most of you need to know you are talented. You are capable. You are courageous.

You have more to give than you’re giving.

But lately I’ve been wondering if I need to say this, too:

There’s only so much you can do.

In the beginning of my journey, I needed someone to push me to do more, not less. I needed someone to give me permission to throw my whole weight into, to quit holding back, to put my money where my mouth was, to give this thing my best shot.

I needed to stay up later, wake up earlier, to work harder. I needed to know I was capable, and that it was possible to see success. I needed to see how I hadn’t reached my limit yet. Not even close.

But these days… I don’t know. I feel like I need to be reminded that it’s okay. I’m okay.

Not everything is up to me. Working hard is good. But the whole world doesn’t rest on my shoulders.

There’s just only so much you can do.

This is what scares me most about chasing what really matters to me —

At the end of the day, I can give it all I have, and what if it isn’t enough? I wonder if this is why so many of us hold back, like I did for so many years, accepting less than what we know we have to give.

I wonder if it makes us feel better, to keep our world’s small and manageable, so we can have control over them.

But now that I’ve stepped out of my tiny world into something bigger and better — something that is far too big for me to handle on my own — I can say from experience: It’s scary and wonderful out here. I don’t have control.

But I wouldn’t want to. It’s too big for me. And that’s a good thing. All I can give is everything I have.

All you can give is everything you have. It just might be more than you think it is.

I am enough. You are enough.

When it comes to releasing a book, or learning to sew, or becoming a full-time photographer, or homeschooling your kids, or starting a new business, or being the “perfect” mom or wife or daughter or friend…

There’s just only so much you can do.

Chances are, it’s more than you realize. You’re capable of bigger and better. But when you lay your head on your pillow at the end of the day, be careful how you measure success.

Be careful with measuring numbers and dollars and accolades and awards and praise from your kids or your spouse.

Because there’s just only so much you can do.

And if you’ve truly done everything you can do, rest easy, wake up, and do it again tomorrow.

You’re on the right track.

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Want to Know Your Greatest Gift? Look Under Your Fear

For all of my life, I’ve had a crippling fear of public speaking. When I say crippling, I mean mind-altering, mood-altering, body-altering crippling fear.

Photo Credit: Joost Nuijten, Creative Commons

In high school, when I was asked to give a speech in front of my Language Arts class, I cried to my teacher each day after class until the the speech day arrived. I remember thinking she would have to let me out of this, given how distressed I was.

Anything less would be child abuse, right?

Wrong. My choices were I could give the speech, or I could take an F. I was a straight-A student, but I seriously considered taking that F. Instead, I read directly off of my note cards as quickly as possible, making eye contact with exactly no one in my class. As I read, my hands shook, my voice shook and my armpits sweat.

After I finished, I excused myself to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and buried my head in my hands until the next class.

The next speech I had to give was during my senior year of college.

We were traveling through Germany with a group of students on a study tour about WWII and the Holocaust. We had very little homework that semester, got to travel though Europe, and received college credit. Every college student’s dream, right? Our one task was to research an event from WWII and present to the class at the location where that event had occurred.

In other words, we were supposed to give a speech.

And even though the speech was only to 25 people, I panicked. I would have rather read 100 books and written 100 essays than given that speech. I begged my professor to let me out of it. “I’ll probably faint,” I said.

He told me, “You need to remind yourself—you know something your classmates don’t.”

His words stuck with me, although I resisted them. I gave the speech, with shaky hands and an even shakier voice, and the whole time I was thinking: “If my classmates wanted to know what I know about the holocaust, they could just read the gosh darn book!”

But later, his advice came back around in a really good way.

Last September, I published a book. And apparently, when you call yourself a writer, people begin calling you a speaker as well. This seems strange to me, since writers tend to be introverted types—more comfortable behind their pens and computers than standing in front of thousands of curious eyes.

But the strange thing that happened for me was, the more I wrote, the more I desired to speak in front of people. It was weird, but suddenly I felt like, if I didn’t overcome my fear of public speaking, it would be as if I was rejecting a gift I had been given to share with others.

It would be like I was rejecting a part of myself.

So, I sought the help of my friend.

Her name is Amy and she’s a speaking coach, so she helps people overcome their fears of public speaking all the time. She worked with me to get comfortable on a stage by looking people in the eyes and having short, one-on-one conversations with each of them. It helped. When we were practicing, I felt more comfortable.

But then I would go speak in front of a few audiences—and still feel the way I always had.

Shaky. Sweaty. Miserable.

Then, Amy told me: “You know, I think your fear is mostly in your head. What you need to remember is that people want to hear from you. They invited you to their event. You wrote a book, after all! You have something to say.”

It was the same advice my professor had given me, wrapped in a different package.

And this time, it made perfect sense.

I did have something to say. I had so much to say I had written an entire book about it. And if someone were to ask me about my book, I could sit and have an hour long conversation about it, no visible shaking necessary.

The next time I stepped on stage, I kept all of that in mind. “I have something to say,” I kept telling myself to calm the butterflies. “They invited me here to share what I know.” and “It’s just like having a conversation.” I still felt a little nervous, honestly. But when I stepped off stage this time, I was met with something totally unexpected.

More than a handful of people told me that day: “You seem like you were made for this.”

And you know what? I truly believe I was.

It’s funny how often this happens—how the thing we were made to do winds up being our biggest fear, and that fear winds up keeping us from it. I’m not sure what it is for you. Public speaking, maybe. Writing. Launching a business. Being a mom. Starting a ministry. But whatever it is, I just want to say: I know the fear can be crippling.

But I also know something else: You have something nobody else has. You know something they don’t know.

And if you choose not to share it—to hold it back—that’s your choice. But the world will miss what you were supposed to give. And chances are, you’ll miss it too.

Not to mention, if you aren’t sure what your gifts are—if you’re still trying to figure that out (most of us are)—pay close attention to your greatest fears. Often they point you in the right direction.

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You’re Strong (And Other Things I Know About You)

If you are reading this, chances are good I don’t actually know you—as in, we’ve never shaken hands, never talked face-to-face.

But still, I feel like I know you.

Photo Credit: Jesse757, Creative Commons

I think about you often (in a completely not creepy way), and when I think about you, I realize: While I don’t know you, I do know some things about you. Chances are you know these things about you, too. It’s just they’re easy to forget.

You are stronger than you think you are.

You are. It’s true. When you get tired and run down, it’s easy to lose sight of this. It’s easy to think you’re weak and you don’t have what it takes. But that’s not true.

You are stronger than you think you are.

The first time I learned this about myself was when I ran a marathon a few years ago. It was a completely illogical decision. I had never run more than a mile in my life. But someone threw out the suggestion, and in the heat of the moment it seemed kind of glamorous and totally badass.

And of course I wanted to be glamorous and badass.

But instead of making me feel that way, training for that race made me feel like I was completely unfit for such a task. I would look at the length of a run I was supposed to complete (14 miles) and think, “there is no way I could possibly run that far,” or another runner would fly past me while I was running, and I would think to myself:

I’m a hot mess.

I can’t breath. My hair is everywhere. And while that runner is streaming past me like a gazelle in the wild, I’m clomping along like a clydesdale.

Maybe I wasn’t made for this race. Maybe I’m not fit to run it.

But then, at mile 23 of the marathon itself, when I was quite certain the cramping in my legs would prevent me from finishing, my husband whispered to me: You’re stronger than you think you are. And you know what? He was right. I crossed that finish line.

And if he was right about me then, chances are I’m right about you now.

You’re stronger than you think you are. Even when you’re hair is everywhere. Even when you feel like a hot mess. Even when it seems like everyone else has it more “together” than you do. In fact, especially in those moments.

You’re stronger than you think you are.

You belong.

It might not seem like you have a place to belong, but you do. Sometimes we have to uncover our space, or discover it, or carve it out—which can be tricky to do without stepping on the toes of others, without accidentally taking up someone else’s space (when we occupy the space another was designed to occupy, we miss the peace of fitting in our own space, the one that was designed uniquely for us).

It’s a balancing act. But there is room for you. In your career. In your family. In your church. In your community.

You just have to find it.

You don’t have to fight for it, you don’t have to be sly about it, you don’t have to compete for it. It’s already yours. You own it. You just have to discover where it is and live into it as you grow into the most beautiful version of yourself.

It’s not always comfortable or easy, but it’s a dance. Don’t stop dancing—but do stop fighting to prove you belong.

You have nothing to prove. You belong.

You are incredibly, uniquely gifted.

It’s amazing what you can do—sing, write, build, create, be kind to people, serve, love, invite, cultivate, captivate, grow. And what’s even more amazing is that you can do these things in such a way that nobody else can. Nobody. What you do is beautiful, beautiful in a way no one else in the world is.

You are incredibly, uniquely gifted.

It is so easy to forget this, isn’t it? It is so easy for our gifts to become old hat. If I could have any talent in the world—if I were just picking—I wish I could sing. In fact, sometimes, when I’m home by myself, I open my mouth and pretend like what happens next is anything remotely resembling the word beautiful.

But it’s not (take my word for it).

I’ve been gifted in other ways. It’s just so easy to think someone else’s gifts would be more glamorous, more useful, or more exciting than my own.

To be clear, I don’t ever plan to stop singing at the top of my lungs when I’m alone (I might even keep pretending it sounds good) but I do plan to stop wishing away my gifts, stop assuming someone else’s gifts would be more impressive than my own.

I, like you, am uniquely and incredibly gifted.

Instead of resenting your gifts, or wishing you had different ones, invest completely and wholeheartedly in the ones you’ve been given. Embrace opportunities. Grow your talent. Master your craft. Take every chance to serve people, and to celebrate the gifts of others.

You are incredibly, uniquely gifted.

Yes, You.

The post You’re Strong (And Other Things I Know About You) appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.

Weekend Reading

photo: Vinoth Chandar, Creative Commons

Each weekend I love to leave you with a list of the best things I have read on the Internet because, well, sometimes, you just need something great to read. I’m so excited to share these articles with you, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

If you read something great this week, leave me a note in the comments. And mostly, enjoy your weekend. Do something awesome!

What I Like About Getting Older by Ali Edwards

I love everything about this list. I thought I was going to dread turning 30, but the first six months of my third decade have been the best six months of my life so far. As far as I’m concerned, it only gets better from here.

What Gossip Actually Does by Tyler Ward

I thought this post was so wise and convicting. Gossip has become such a commonplace and expected part of our culture, but it isn’t the way to create true and lasting friendships—and it truly points emotional dysfunction. Thanks for your honesty in this piece, Tyler.

I Don’t Worship God by Singing. I Worship Him Elsewhere by Donald Miller

This post stirred up some controversy this week, but honestly, I found the controversy confusing. To me, it makes sense that people who were created differently would worship God in different ways. After you read this post, as well as the 400+ comments, make sure you read the follow-up as well.

More Love, Less Hustle by Shauna Niequist

I couldn’t help but share this post, since it is so in line with what I’ve been writing lately about slowing down. I love Shauan’s perspective on this, and the continued permission to end the hustle and just experience my life instead.

Discovering the Power to Live Your Dream, A Podcast with Blake Stratton

This is actually a podcast with yours truly, but I had a great time with this interview, and I thought you might enjoy listening. Blake and I talk about the creative process, overcoming failure and what it looks like to live with courage. I hope you get a chance to listen, and to check out some of the other episodes too.

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Five Things Keeping You (and Me) From Achieving Success

Each of us desire to be successful, don’t you agree? We might define success in different ways, and go about achieving it by different methods, but I believe there is a universal human desire to achieve something great.

Which makes me curious. Are the things that keep us from success universal, as well?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as I’ve given myself permission to slow down a little, to stop chasing so frantically after “success” or my picture of it, to just rest in the understanding that I matter and my life is meaningful, to invest deeply in relationships and in the careful nurturing of myself.

Photo Credit: Ivan McClellan, Creative Commons

And, in the quiet of this time, I’ve realized there are a few things keeping me from the success I desire.

1. Putting a number, a dollar amount or a deadline on success

I understand (and embody) the need to have clear, measurable achievable goals, but sometimes this need keeps me from realizing I’ve already achieved great success. And sometimes knowing I’m capable of achieving success (as in, I’ve already done it) is the precise realization I need to keep moving forward.

Success is not a job title, a position, award, salary, title or status (single, married, rich, poor). Success is not a destination. Success is progress. If you’re making progress, you’re a success. Keep at it.

2. Feelings of jealousy, competition and animosity

I don’t know where this comes from in me (probably insecurity) but at times, it seems as if it rises out of nowhere. When someone creates something beautiful, instead of enjoying it, I resent it. I wish I would have created it. When someone achieves something notable, I reason all the ways it should have been me.

When someone receives a reward or recognition, I suddenly feel small and insignificant.

I’m fighting this tendency by intentionally celebrating the accomplishments of others, recognizing and enjoying beauty wherever I see it (whether I own it or not) and giving praise where praise is due.

3. Trying to impress people

It occurred to me recently that we will move in the direction of the people we try to impress. In other words, if you try to impress your teachers, you will become like them. If you try to impress your parents, you’ll become like them. If the role models in your life are great people, this might not seem like such a bad thing, but consider this:

While you’re busy becoming like them, who will become like you?

And what will this world miss (as Donald Miller says) if you don’t allow yourself to become the person you were designed to be? What a tragedy. Stop trying to impress people, and do what you actually want.

4. Moving too fast

There’s a great quote by Eddie Cantor that says, “Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going too fast—you also miss the sense of where you are going and why.”

This is a recent epiphany for me. I’ve been moving at lightning speed for a few years now, just assuming there was no way I would ever be successful in life if I didn’t log more hours, and run faster and harder than everyone else. I’m starting to see how it doesn’t matter how fast you’re running if you’re headed in the wrong direction.

I’m giving myself permission to slow down.

5. Wasting time with worry

Lately I had a realization that I’ve wasted so much time in my life worrying about problems that hadn’t even happened yet (failure, loss, grief, heartbreak, etc). Suddenly I just realized: What would happen if I invested all of the energy I’m wasting worrying about the future into preparing for the future—becoming the kind of person who can handle failure, grief, heartbreak and fear.

Instead of throwing energy away, it would have been like a deposit into a high-interest savings account.

I’ve made the executive decision not to waste time with worry anymore. Maybe, as I work to grow my character, rather than resist my future, I’ll actually be able to make some progress.

That would be a great success.

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Slowing Down, Finding Healing, Uncovering Grace

Have you ever had an ongoing problem in your life you felt like just wasn’t fair?

Maybe it was something simple, like headaches, so that after awhile they became so commonplace, you just accepted them as part of your everyday life.

Maybe you’ve fought cancer, or you’ve been in multiple unhealthy relationships, or suffered from addiction, depression, a learning disability, anxiety. Even those battles have a way of becoming routine—don’t they?

It’s easy to think: “This is just the way it will be forever”

For me, the struggle has been with food allergies and digestive problems.

Photo Credit: DLSimaging, Creative Commons

I don’t usually talk about it here, because it’s embarrassing, and it also because it feels off-topic. But recently I’ve been noticing my physical health is connected to my mental, emotional and spiritual health and I just can’t help but share what I’m uncovering as I walk this long, uncertain, foggy, road to healing.

When it comes to seeking “healing,” I go through phases.

There are times when I just try to accept my food allergies as a natural part of my daily life. I’ve found ways to cope—learned the restaurants where I can most easily eat, learned how to scan menu’s for potential threats, learned to flip packages over at the grocery store and read labels carefully.

I buy the same brands, eat the same foods, go to the same places, week after week.

I’ve learned to be efficient, so that this ailment I have doesn’t slow me down, doesn’t take me off track.

Then, I have moments.

Moments where I begin to question why I can’t process the foods so many other people can—good foods (tomatoes, carrots, honey, fruit). Moments when it all seems so wrong, so unfair, so out of God’s nature that, when people gather around a table, I can’t share their meal. And when these moments come, it makes me wonder if healing is possible.

It makes me wonder what my role might be in it.

Because, of course, healing is never easy.

It always takes us out of our path, off of our route, inside of ourselves, to the places we don’t want to recognize or see, and outside of ourselves, to the places we aren’t sure we’re strong enough to go.

The longer we seek healing, and don’t find it, the harder it is to keep hoping it will ever come.

Should we just go back to coping with the illness?

Should we just settle for being broken?

It’s easy to think we should. It’s easy to think this is just the way things are. It’s easy to just get used to it, get comfortable.

Right now I’m in a healing phase.

I’ve gone back and forth in the twelve years since I was diagnosed, but right now, this is where I am. I’m asking for help, seeking direction, taking steps without being certain they’re the steps ones to take. I’m even taking steps I’ve taken before—ones that didn’t work—but that I’m trusting this time could be different.

This time, it could change. Healing could come. You just never know.

And something really strange and wonderful is happening (which isn’t actually that strange at all, if you think about it).

My life is slowing down.

It has to. There’s no way for us to find healing without slowing our routine. Healing takes time.

These days, when I wake up in the morning, I don’t go straight for my coffee and computer. That’s what I used to do. These days, I walk to the kitchen. I warm some water. I make myself tea. I take vitamins and supplements. I sit, and wait and read and pray.

So much less is getting done, but so much more is happening.

Do you know what I mean?

And at night, when I used to be warming up leftovers or sliding something frozen into the oven, now you’ll usually find me chopping, boiling, mixing, stirring, crafting something beautiful that we can eat. It’s so much slower, but slow isn’t bad. That’s what I’m learning.

Slow brings healing.

Grace is raining down on me.

I used to think that my day was measured by how much I accomplished in it. And, in some ways, I still fall victim to that mentality. On days when I make progress, I feel a swelling of pride and energy. On days where I feel trapped or stalled, my mood plummets and I feel depressed and sad.

But these days, as I slow down and ask for healing, I’m finding so much grace in the waiting. I’m finding permission to move more slowly. Praise God, the guilt is fading away.

And when I slow down—when I go deep, rather than wide—I’m finding progress I couldn’t have made on my own, forward motion I couldn’t have navigated by my own strength.

I’m finding forward motion that I can’t see.

_____

This post was inspired by a beautiful and brand new book by Tsh Oxenreider called Notes From A Blue Bike. Tsh is the founder of a website called The Art of Simple, and this book documents her journey to learning to living more intentionally (and slowly) in a chaotic world.

If you’ve ever felt like life moves too fast, and you wish you could slow down, get your hands on a copy of this book.

Take a minute to watch the book’s trailer. Then grab a copy! Happy reading.

The post Slowing Down, Finding Healing, Uncovering Grace appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.

I’m Not Waiting on God

“I’m just waiting to see what God does…”

We were sitting across the table from each other at a quiet restaurant, snacking on hummus and talking about what we hoped for our lives. We were new friends, so I asked her about her job—an executive assistant. Good money, but long hours, and stressful.

Photo Credit: Boston Public Library, Creative Commons

“Is this a long-term thing?” I asked. She paused.

“No. In fact, I’m miserable. But… I’m just waiting to see what God does.”

Her eyes settled back to the table, and her words settled deep into me, to a place that felt familiar and raw.

“I’m just waiting to see what God does…”

Those words could almost echo inside of me—the exact words I had uttered to friends so many times, over coffee or dinner, while I was working a job I didn’t love but that seemed to be unfolding itself into my future.

“I’m just waiting to see what God does…” I would say.

Hoping that meant God would get me out of this.

Then, I would go home and bury my head in my pillow and scream—privately—God, why won’t you do something already??

One night, during one of my particularly intense rants, I just got the sense I wasn’t supposed to wait anymore. It wasn’t a rebellious, “Forget you, God, I’m doing this by myself!” (I had done that a few times before). No, this time it was just this deep sense of certainty that I didn’t need to “wait on God” for another minute.

I felt like God was saying: “Actually, I’m waiting on you.”

The more I started to unpack the feeling, the more I realized my “I’m waiting on God” sentiment was more of a stall tactic than it was a sense of spiritual obedience. I wasn’t “waiting on God” because I truly wanted direction from Him. I was waiting on God because I didn’t know what I wanted.

It was almost like I wanted Him to want something for me.

Instead, like a good parent helping their adult child make an important decision, I felt him whisper: this is your decision.

So I quit my job.

I mean, I thought about it for awhile, and I prayed about it a little bit, but when I didn’t get a clear “yes” or “no” from God, I just went ahead and did it. I took Him seriously when He said: this is your decision.

I decided to stop hiding behind “I’m waiting on God” and start trusting God would be with me—even if my decision was the “wrong” one.

When I stopped waiting on God, a few important things happened.

First, I realized I had to take responsibility for my own actions. That might seem obvious, but to me it was revolutionary. For so much of my spiritual life, I had been expecting God to treat me like an infant—where he was in charge of everything. Suddenly, I realized: Oh, wait, I’m a grown adult.

Taking responsibility for my own actions made me feel happier, more alive and gave me a freedom to become my authentic self.

The second thing that happened when I stopped waiting on God was my relationship with him grew deeper and stronger.

It makes sense. A relationship involves two people who want things, fear things, think things, feel things and desire things. They work to find balance between one another, honor one another and submit to each other. But if one person disappears from the relationship, there is no relationship.

For so long, I had disappeared from my relationship with God.

These days, I don’t spend nearly as much time “waiting on God” to show me which way to go. There are times I wait. God has control over things I don’t, and access to resources I don’t, and I trust him to redirect me when I’m getting off track.

But I’m not hiding behind excuses anymore. I’m taking responsibility for my own actions.

After all, I’m a grown up.

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You’re Not As Scared As You Think You Are

My friend Amy has never wanted to go skydiving. Not once.

She’s not your typical risk-taking type. She’s more likely to be the one holding coats and purses at Six Flags than the one waiting in line for the Tower of Terror. But a few years ago several of her friends were going, and she was on this kick where she was trying to take more chances, and the tickets just happened to be on sale that day—

Photo Credit: Morgan Sherwood, Creative Commons

So she decided she was going to give it a try. My practical, pragmatic, feet-are-better-left-on-the-ground friend Amy was going to jump out of a plane.

What happened next is almost laughable (especially since I’m not who was jumping out of the plane).

The anxiety started to ramp up while she was still on the ground. You have to get all suited up—with a helmet and one of those little jumpsuits and who knows what else—and then you have to wait in line for your turn to go up in the plane.

So you just have all this time to think.

Think about what could possibly happen to you if the chute doesn’t open. Think about how terrifying its going to be. Think about what you should have said to your friends and family in case you don’t make it out alive.

Amy said her breath started to shorten, and she actually felt a little sick.

The instructors tried to calm her, but it wasn’t much use. Even watching groups of people come back to the base, safe and sound, didn’t do much to allay her concerns. Her heart was racing and she was watching the sky praying it would suddenly start to rain so she could go home and get into bed.

Once she was up in the plane, the feeling only got worse.

Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, and the plane was tiny and wavering back and forth, which made her feel even more sick to her stomach. She told us later she wondered what would happen if she barfed on the instructor on the way down, but even as she sat there panicking, she told herself: “Well, I’m up here. I guess there’s no turning back now.”

From the time the plane took off, to the time she jumped, was probably only 45 minutes. But it was the longest 45 minutes of her life.

It felt like hours. Days. Years.

But then the craziest things happened. Amy jumped.

And what happens in the story next shouldn’t surprise you, but it surprised me a little, knowing her. From the minute her feet left the airplane, all of the anxiety and terror she had once felt subsided. It was pure, unadulterated joy. This is Amy we’re talking about—my sensible, down-to-earth, “I’ll-hold-your-coats-while-you-go-on-the-ride” friend.

It was smooth-sailing the whole way down.

From my perspective, this story could be about anything.

It could be about Skydiving—or it could be about starting a business, having a baby, getting married, quitting your job, moving overseas, discovering your child has a learning disability, resolving a conflict, repairing a relationship, breaking up with a girlfriend/boyfriend—and still, the outcome would still be the same.

The ramp-up to each of these things is always so much more terrifying than the event itself.

In fact, maybe we aren’t scared of the event at all. Maybe we’re just scared of being scared of the event. And then, once we have a chance to face our fear like my friend Amy did, and we overcome it, we realize we are actually so much more brave than we ever knew.

There’s actually a term for this.

I discovered it while I was reading Malcom Gladwell’s David and Goliath, in which he discusses what one psychologist calls “affective forecasting.” Affective forecasting is our tendency to predict ahead of time how we are going to feel about a particular situation.

Unfortunately, according to Gladwell and his research, we do a terrible job of predicting our future feelings about things.

We tend to underestimate how much we will enjoy things, overestimate how difficult things will be, and when it comes to fear, we’re far more scared of feeling scared than we are of any given circumstance.

When, as it turns out, all we need to do to get to joy is exactly what Amy did—let our feet leave the floor, and jump.

The post You’re Not As Scared As You Think You Are appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.

God, Please Don’t Make Me Be Alone Forever

Before I left on my year-long, 50-state road trip, the one thing that scared me the most was that—if I really gave up everything to go after what I wanted, I would end up being alone forever.

As in, I would never find a husband.

Photo Credit: Challot, Creative Commons

It seems laughable to me now.

The logic doesn’t even make sense. But, at the time, this was my train of thought: if I were to quit my full-time job, move out of my apartment, and sell all of my physical possessions to go on this crazy journey, no self-respecting guy would be able to take me seriously.

I eventually got over my fear and decided to go, but before I took the final leap, I prayed:

Okay, God, I’ll go. But please don’t make me be alone forever.

I laugh now, looking back, both because my the very thing I thought would deter a guy from sharing his life with me was the precise piece of information which piqued my husband’s interest (he read my story on a friend’s blog and said to himself: “I have to meet that girl.”) and also because I can’t believe of all the energy I wasted worrying about my future.

One the one hand, I totally get it.

Mostly because I waste energy worrying about similar things now. Should we have kids, or shouldn’t we? When should we start? Will having kids prevent me from pursing my writing career? Does that bother me?

Should it?

Should I buy organic, or is the cheap stuff okay? If I spend money on organic products, am I being wasteful? Is the money going to run out? Will God always provide?

Then, time passes, and I always have what I need—and most of what I want—and I always look back and think to myself: Why did I spend so much energy worrying about that? In the moment it feels important. It seems like energy well-spent. It almost feels like I’m protecting myself from harm.

But when I look back on the problem from a distance, I always realize what a tremendous waste of energy it was to worry over any of it. And, what could I have done with that energy if I hadn’t misused it?

Recently I was talking to a friend over coffee, and I had an epiphany about this.

We were talking about worry, and the space it takes up in our lives, and she was sharing something with me that made her feel particularly worried. As she talked, I could see the worry in her eyes, and yet it seemed so obvious to me that her worry was misplaced (it’s so much easier think objectively about the circumstances of others than it is to think objectively about our own).

But my observation helped me with my own worry problem.

Suddenly it occurred to me: If I spent half the energy I usually spent worrying about the future, and used it to prepare for the future instead— I would be so much better off.

By that I mean, if I took the energy I usually spend avoiding pain, setbacks, failure, injury, sadness and difficulty and I reinvested that energy in learning how to respond in the face of those things—I would worry less, grow more, and truly be strong enough to face whatever life brought my way.

That sounds a little complicated, but here’s what I mean.

What if, instead of investing so much energy worrying about what would happen if I ended up “alone,” I would have invested that energy in relationships with people right around me—and in trying to figure out why I thought a husband would fix my problems.

That would have not only improved my life in the waiting, it would have improved my marriage.

The impact would have been far-reaching.

What if, instead of worrying about running out of money, we invested the energy into creating a budget, so we actually know where our money is going?

What if, instead of worrying what will happen if we fail someday, we reminded ourselves that failure is inevitable, and spent our energy learning what it looks like to respond to failure with wisdom and grace?

How would that change you—how would it change your life—both now and into the future?

My guess is the impact would be far-reaching.

I’m not sure what you’re worrying about these days—

But my guess is the list isn’t short. Life is full of things that seem worth worrying over, and worry seems to get us around the throat sometimes and convince us that we can’t let it go.

But we can. I’m doing it. And I’m discovering freedom, joy and peace that passes understanding.

Will you join me?

The post God, Please Don’t Make Me Be Alone Forever appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.