Allison Vesterfelt's Blog, page 23

Four Reasons We Have Baggage

photo: geishaboy500, Creative Commons

I’ve been traveling a ton lately, and since I’ve been living out of a suitcase, I’ve been thinking about what it means to pack lightly — literally.

I find it interesting that, no matter how often I travel, and no matter how hard I work to keep my luggage small and compact, I still end up bringing things I don’t use or don’t need. As I thought through the reasons for this, I realized there is a metaphor here for the “baggage” we carry in life.

My thoughts are rough, and still in process, but hey, this is a blog post. Rough is allowed, right? I hope you’ll enjoy reading, and also add any additional ideas you may have in the comments.

Here are four reasons why I always bring too much stuff with me when I’m traveling.

1. I don’t have enough information about where I’m going.

I often travel without having a clear picture of what I’m going to be doing while I’m at the destination, so I end up packing for every circumstance, “just in case”: Dress clothes, running shoes, jeans, a swimsuit, “just in case.” I end up packing clothes that aren’t right for the conditions, and therefore can’t wear.

Hence, dead weight. Extra baggage.

It occurred to me recently that if I would take more time to think through where I’m going, what I’m going to be doing, and what I’ll realistically need, I could save myself a ton of unnecessary baggage.

If you ask me, the same is true in life. Often, when I have too much “baggage” (a too-full schedule, or work load, or social life, or a heavy emotional life) — it’s simply because I don’t know exactly where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there. And I might not even fully understand why I’m traveling in the first place.

Having focus helps us to pack more lightly.

2. I’m unwilling to admit how inconvenient baggage actually is.

Most of the time I figure too much baggage only really impacts me, so if I pack too much, I think to myself, “oh well, at least I’ll get a good workout as I’m racing from one terminal to the next.” But on one recent flight, as I struggled to get my oversized bag down from the overhead compartment, and a plane full of people waited behind me, I realized my baggage doesn’t just impact me. It impacts everyone around me.

Too much baggage is an inconvenience for everyone.

And honestly, wouldn’t I have more fun, and feel less tired, if I just left the unnecessary things behind?

I think the same is true with other kinds of “baggage,” emotional or otherwise. I can point to several areas in my life where I’ve taken an “oh well” approach to my baggage, assuming that since I made it through this circumstance, or that one, I’ll be fine now.

It’s scary (and exciting) to think of what would happen if I opened my eyes to how my baggage is affecting not only my journey, but the journey of everyone around me.

3. We’re working too hard to impress other people

Most of my traveling lately has been for speaking engagements, and its amazing to me how being on stage in front of a group of people causes me to obsess over what I’m going to wear. I found myself, on some occasions, packing everything so that I didn’t have to make any decisions until the last minute, so all my favorite items could come with me.

Of course, this is illogical and ineffective since no one outfit or piece of clothing I own is that much better than any another; and since working hard to impress people rarely renders me very impressive.

I have to ask myself: Who am I trying to impress, and why?

Also, are our efforts really making us impressive?

4. I’m lacking in inspiration and creativity

Recently a friend looked through my closet and helped me find new combinations I could create with clothes I already have. I had gotten so used to the patterns I always wore, I couldn’t even imagine the pattern she suggested. Putting new eyes on the “problem” helped me come up with new, creative solutions.

Once she helped me discover these mix-and-match patterns, I realized I could pack far fewer clothes, and still have dozens of “solutions” (or outfits).

In case you don’t care about outfits, here’s my point: In life, I’m learning to see how  often I can’t see solutions to a problem (my baggage) because I’ve been staring at it too long. But that doesn’t mean a solution doesn’t exist. I simply need an outside pair of eyes to help me see how my old patters don’t have to be my always patterns.

I just need someone to help me discover new, creative solutions to my circumstances.

Again, these are rough and preliminary thoughts. Care to add your two cents?

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I Couldn’t Let Go

Photo Credit: Bailey Weaver , Creative Commons

It was a hot day in July when I met Ben, standing outside a coffee shop in Northwest Portland where I lived. He stood tall and broad, and I was wearing a long flowing dress that hugged my figure, blue like my eyes. I remember because of how I felt when I realized he was looking at me, self conscious in that terrifying and beautiful way — that strange and wonderful sense of feeling noticed.

We exchanged a few short, curious glances before I realized we knew each other.

Expressions of relief followed. He greeted me. I greeted him. We shared the niceties of years gone by. What have you been doing? how have you been? That sort of thing. You look good (no really, you look good). Subtext. Subtext. You know the drill.

And then the question I was hoping he would ask: When can we get dinner?

I looked at the clock on my phone and smiled.

Right now?

Over the next six months I unfolded in front of Ben. We went to dinners and to wine tastings and talked on the phone for hours. He traveled for work and I traveled for fun, and so when we couldn’t talk we exchanged blushing e-mails, conversations about favorite music and favorite books and places we wanted to live when we “grew up.” Honest confessions about being bored with the status quo and scared our lives would never amount to anything.

I loved him. And even when our relationship fell apart, I didn’t stop loving him.

I tried. I really tried. He told me it wasn’t working and, even though I didn’t agree, I realized there was nothing I could do to change his mind and felt too afraid to fight for what we had because it might just intensify the rejection I already felt. So we moved on.

Or, I should say, he moved on. Not me. I lingered. Or clenched might be a more appropriate way to describe it. I obsessed over what did happen and what could have happened and what would maybe happen if I could only fix the problems he addressed. I stalked his Facebook profile and spent hours obsessing over who he was with and what he was doing and what he might be thinking while lying awake lonely in bed.

If I only I were prettier. More adventurous. More spontaneous. More responsible.

I pretended to be okay.

I came up with a dozen reasons why it was better this way — “If he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t deserve me” and “There’s ‘someone better’ out there for me” and “He’s moved on, so should I.” — all of which may have been true, but none of which spoke to the truth of what I was feeling. The truth was I was devastated.

The truth was I didn’t want to move on.

So, while my life sped forward I held on for dear life to the bumper of a speeding car that was going in the wrong direction. It dragged me over concrete and mud and gravel and by the time I realized what was happening I was battered and bruised and a shell of a person who swore she’d never love again.

There were guys. There were dates. But I compared all of them to Ben, and none of them measured up.

Until I met my husband.

He was confident and wise and he reached to me first, and that made me feel secure and chosen, like he wanted me and would never leave me the way Ben did. He was certain and calculated and direct and so secure with himself he didn’t flinch when I unloaded all of my emotional baggage, in an e-mail, nonetheless — reason after reason why he I was too much trouble and he should just move on.

“I’m not scared of any of those things,” he said.

So, despite the fact I was scared — scared of the way I still had my fist clinched tightly around this thing in my heart, scared of the way it had hurt me so deeply, and scared of how I knew it would hurt him if I let it — I leaned in to the best of my ability, certain I would never get another chance with a man like him, and stepped quickly and assuredly (sort of) into dating, engagement and marriage.

I secretly hoped marriage would fix it, could erase it, would be the only thing powerful enough to make my baggage go away. What I didn’t know was that baggage never goes away on its own.

There is no pretending to let go. No possible way to fake it.

Truth all rises to the top in the end.

And rise it did, during an argument one day, filled with tears and anxiety because I knew if I spoke the words that kept trying to wiggle their way to the surface, this man who had given his life to me in marriage would see what I’d been holding back from him, and holding back from myself all these months, the thing I feared would be the last reason he needed to reject me for good.

I had never let go of my ex-boyfriend.

I’ll never forget what he said when I finally had the courage to speak those words out loud. He said:

What are you waiting for? The only one who can let go is you.

And in that moment it became abundantly clear to me — the thing I wish I had known all along. Letting go was my choice, and no one else’s. It the one simple act of courage that could actually offer the freedom I’d been craving all this time — freedom from feeling so tired and wounded, freedom from feeling so thrashed around.

The choice to let go was my choice and it had always been my choice. I was the only one who had the power to let go of my baggage all along.

The post I Couldn’t Let Go 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!

Why We Love Those Who Don’t Love Us Back | Andrea Lucado

Andrea is a fellow Storyline contributor and I have loved some of her recent posts. This one hit really close to home for me. If you follow me closely, you know I’ve struggled with letting a relationship go in the past. Andrea shares some great insight on why it is sometimes hard to move on from those who don’t love us back.

There are Better Things to be than Rich | Joshua Becker

Becoming Minimalist is one of my favorite blogs and the author, Joshua Becker is full of great insight about living with less. I love what this post has to say about the pursuit of riches. Check out the list of things Joshua gives that are better than being rich. I couldn’t agree more!

SHOULD is a Warning Sign | Shauna Niequist

You know the feeling of, “yeah, me too” after reading a blog post? That’s how I felt after reading this post from Shauna. She gets vulnerable with us for a minute and confronts the idea that, if we’re willing to let go of what “we should feel,” we’ll often find sometime real and true and good under the surface.

Your best story | Jon Acuff

It’s so good to have Jon blogging again. To me it feels like he has a new, fresh strength in his words. I love this short post encouraging those of us who are in the middle of a difficult story. These are the ones we will tell someday. Reminding myself of this right now!

Fool Price | Joshua Fields Millburn

I love this perspective about paying “full price” for things. It’s making me re-think the way I shop, and what is really “responsible” as a consumer.

Happy reading!

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3 Myths I Used To Believe About My “Calling”

I don’t know about you, but for me, there has been so much pressure around this idea of discovering my “calling.” You might use different language than this (“calling” is the word that tends to be used in Christian circles) but a similar question would look like this: What am I going to do with my life?

What makes my life matter?

What gets me out of bed in the morning?

What am I living for?

photo: Simon Fraser University…, Creative Commons]

It has occurred to me recently, that no matter what we name this sense of purpose we’re all seeking to find, there are all kinds of myths floating around about how we figure it out, what we’re supposed to do with it when we do discover it, if it is even important, and what it actually is.

I’ve been thinking about this often, and talking to others about it, and I’ve realized there are three things I believed about my “calling” that didn’t help me discover it.

I still don’t know exactly what calling is, but here are three things I’m pretty sure calling isn’t.

My calling is not as complicated and mysterious as I made it out to be.

It’s not like a cosmic game of hide and seek. God is not trying to pull the wool over my eyes or trick me into finding my mysterious calling. I don’t have to be on alert for vague signs and signals around every corner. It isn’t a scavenger hunt.

Lately, I’ve been uncovering my calling by simply asking myself this question: What do I want?

I’m not talking about “what do I want?” like what do I want from Target, or what sounds good for lunch (sometimes what I want right this minute isn’t what I really want). I’m talking about the deepest longings and desires in my heart. What really matters to me? What would I be willing to give up everything to save? What’s most important?

The more I begin to unpack my own answers to these questions, and the more willing I am to walk toward them, the more clear my calling becomes.

My calling is not something I will do “someday”

For so long I thought of calling as something I would do when I grew up, when I became an adult. But then, I became an adult… and then an older adult… and my calling didn’t really feel much clearer. I thought it would be clear when I finished college, and then when I finished graduate school, and then maybe when I got married.

But still, there was never a moment where calling felt like it was perfectly illuminated.

My “calling” is like a Polaroid picture. It’s slowly coming to light. [tweet that]

The biggest revelation in all of this is I don’t have to wait for that moment of perfect clarity to begin living my calling. In fact, if I want to know what I will do “someday” with my life, I can simply look at what I’m doing right now, and I’ll get a pretty good picture. If I’m living mostly for myself, to be happy and comfortable, chances are I’ll be doing that in two years, five years, ten years, and later.

I don’t need to wonder what I’m going to do with my life. The question is answered. I’m already doing it.

The new question is: Do I want to do something different?

My calling is not a destination.

I walked myself into so much shame and confusion with this faulty logic, thinking that I would be living my “calling” when I achieved a certain title, or job, or home or marital status or tax bracket. I flip-flopped back and forth between feeling furious at God for leading me down a faulty path, and furious with myself for messing it all up.

It was a disaster.

But lately I’m seeing how it was the logic that was faulty, not God, and not even what I was doing. Calling is not a destination. Calling is a journey, and I’m on it.

So are you.

Calling is not a vocation, or a position, or a title or a salary or a couch from Pottery Barn. It’s not a clothing allowance or bigger budget or category like “student” or “vegan” or “stay-at-home-mom.” Calling is a journey. It’s an invitation. Calling is what Jesus says to the rich young ruler, and I believe it’s what he says to us, too:

Will you put down your baggage and come, follow?

The post 3 Myths I Used To Believe About My “Calling” appeared first on Allison Vesterfelt.

A Conversation About Packing Light

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to sit down with my friend Daniel at one of our favorite coffee shops and talk a little bit about my book, Packing Light. We talked about what it looks like to chase your dreams, no matter what stage of life you’re in. Then, with the help of Andrew Hudson, Daniel turned our conversation into this awesome video. I thought you might enjoy hearing our conversation.

I hope you enjoy!

[image error]

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Can Jealousy Be Healthy?

A few months ago I traveled to Guatemala with an organization I love called Food for the Hungry. We ventured into rural villages to meet the child we sponsor and to see all the other ways FH is impacting the community there. I’ve traveled to developing countries many times in the past, and usually I’ve come home feeling guilty for the things I have that other people don’t have.

But this time was different.

This time I didn’t feel guilt. I felt something else instead. I felt jealous; a healthy sense of jealously (There’s actually a term for this in Spanish: Envidia Sana.)

I just kept thinking: I want what they have.

Don’t get me wrong. I have many things they don’t have — like stoves to cook my food and knowledge about nutrition and money for medical emergencies. This is why my husband and I are sharing what we do have with them. But one thing they had that we don’t have, I noticed, was this: Laser focus. Absolutely no confusion about their purpose in life. Their purpose is right in front of them.

Harvest the crops. Fetch the water. Feed our children.

I know this might sound like an insensitive thing for me to say, since their laser focus is about meeting their most basic needs, which I hardly have to think about, but hear me out. Seeing the way they lived brought me to a realization that has changed my life in a really good way.

Usually, for me, jealousy is not healthy.

Usually when I’m jealous, I’m looking at someone who has a car I don’t have, or a house I don’t have, or a job that seems cooler and more important than mine. Usually I choose to believe some faulty reason about why they have that stuff (they’re more competent or capable, or they make better decisions, or have more of “God’s favor”… as if God’s favor rains down in BMWs).

Usually, jealousy steers me in the wrong direction because it causes me to trust faulty logic about why people get the things they have (rich people are blessed people); or because it makes me lose focus on what I really want.

Usually, it’s this kind of cancer that eats away at me from the inside out.

But what if there is a way for jealousy — a good kind of jealousy — to make us more focused, not less?

What if focus is what brings us real joy in life?

When it comes to wanting what other people have, I usually want more, not less. If I look to my right and my left (especially since I live in the US) it’s easy to think everyone has better stuff than me, and I want what they all have. But, then I pursue what everyone has, and at the end of the day, my life feels either stuffed to the brim (in that not-good-I-just-ate-too-much-I-think-I-might-puke kind of way) or I feel disappointed and jealous.

But what if I could use my feelings of jealousy to clarify what I want?

What if I could use my jealousy to pair down, rather than store up?
 
What if we looked at what someone else had and, instead of thinking, “Well, how come they get to have what I don’t?” I thought, “Beautiful car, but that’s not what I’m about right now” or “Amazing job! Will you tell me how you got it?” What if I assumed it takes years of focused, laser-like attention to get what we really want?

This is why the people of Guatemala inspired me so much.

I’ll never forget the looks on their faces when they served us food (using recipes they’ve learned in the nutrition classes FH helped them launch, and vegetables they’ve grown in the garden of new vegetables, besides corn, with more dense nutrients). Smiles were spread across their faces like galaxies of stars, the kind you can only see when you’re away from all the noise and busy-ness and city lights.

To me, it was a tangible, living picture of how more isn’t always better. In fact, sometimes more (and our desire for more) is killing us.

What if your jealousy isn’t telling you to seek more, but less?

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Finding A Resting Place

This past Tuesday morning I flew into Portland, Oregon, my hometown, the place where I grew up.

And I have to say — there really is no place like home.

I mean, truly, Nashville is starting to feel like home in a really good way. But the kind of “home” I’m talking about here is a place that holds memories and favorites and relationships with people who hold me, even when I’m absent or ugly or out of sorts.

This is Portland. And, for me, Portland will always be that kind of “home.”

My brother picked my up from the airport, all bearded and in flannel, just as I might have expected (the “Portland uniform” as I like to say) and drove me to lunch before a meeting I had. We ate Mexican food while he told me about what he’s been doing these days.

I couldn’t help but think how I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming (which sounds weird to say about your older brother, but its true).

After lunch, I met with my friend Amy, who also happens to be a public speaking coach, and we spent the next few hours talking and laughing at the videos of me practicing vocal inflection and movement and gestures and eye contact.

It was a ton of work, but it was so satisfying because I get to do what I love, and I get to do it with friends.

I feel so blessed to be where I am.

Then, I met my sister, who is my twin in terms of looks but not necessarily in terms of personality, so it’s a miracle we’re best friends (but we are). We have the most wild and beautiful relationship. I learn more from her than I do from just about anyone else.

We talked and laughed and gave each other hugs that only sisters can really give, and then drove to meet our other sister (who we inherited when my brother married her a few months ago) and our mom, and we all ate frozen yogurt until our lips went numb.

What a gift it is to be in this place that will always, in a way, be home.

I spent the next day at a building that was very familiar to me — the place where I went to high school, and then where I taught high school years later. I’ve wandered those halls and grown up in those rooms, so being back there felt special to me.

Especially since now I was sharing with students what it feels like to chase your dreams. And achieve them.

It feels so good to be home.

It’s a peaceful place…

A resting place…

A place where I can lay down the notion I have to “try hard” to be accepted, and just relax into the understanding I already am. More places should feel like this, and something about coming home makes me realize that more places can feel like this.

This is not a location or a destination outside of myself. It’s something inside of myself. I can access it no matter where I am.

And so, this weekend, I’m praying you will be able to find a place (outside yourself or inside yourself, or both) that will feel like this, that will be a resting place, a place where you can let your guard down and come “home.”

I pray you’ll know you don’t have to try hard to be accepted; that you don’t have to perform to feel loved.

You are loved.

You are accepted.

Where is “home” for you?

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3 Practical Tips for Those Who Dread Going to Work

A few days ago I wrote a post that was meant to bring hope and encouragement to those who dread their day jobs. I realized, by the time I finished writing, that there was more I wanted to add, not just encouragement, but really practical advice.

I know what it’s like to work a job you don’t love. I know what it’s like to feel like you can’t quit. And I don’t believe it is always right or responsible to leave your current circumstance, even if it makes you miserable.

Here are three things I think you can do, however, to make the most out of a miserable job.

1. Cultivate your passions, no matter where you are

Try to find ways to cultivate your passions, both at work and away. Look for opportunities at your current job to develop the set of skills you hope you can use someday. Ask for chances to write, take photos, research, take care of the accounting, or to be included in a business meeting, even if just as an observer.

When you’re not at work, look for opportunities to use these skills for fun.

I know it can be hard when you don’t yet get paid to take the pictures, or paint, or draw, or write, or roast coffee or build furniture. Life is already so full of things we have to do like pay our bills, feed our children, wash clothes (at least every once and awhile) and sleep (if we’re lucky).

But, if you’re anything like me, you also do all kinds of things you don’t have to do; and then use that as an excuse for why you can’t do what you’re passionate about.

If you have a hard time finding room to cultivate your passion in your work life, or free time, ask yourself this question:

What’s getting in my way?

If it’s the medical needs of a child or spouse, good. Keep doing that. It might be hard, but when we do what really matters in life — no matter how hard — it is always rewarding in the end. But I find what’s most often getting in my way is much simpler than that: TV, procrastinating, fear about what other people are going to think about me.

I constantly have to be evaluating and re-evaluating my priorities.

2. Ask yourself what you really want

The best way to evaluate your priorities is to ask yourself what you want. Most of us have a hard time even answering this question (I often have to coax myself… “No, Ally, not what do you think is best, what do you want?) because we feel guilty about wanting anything at all. We worry it makes us selfish or entitled or irresponsible.

But what if knowing what we want, and using all of our resources to go after it, is the most “responsible” thing of all?

What if we want what we want for a reason?

I would argue the most selfish and entitled people in the world aren’t focusing too much on what they really want; they’re focusing on it too little. They’re focusing on what they should want, what they think they want, what they think it takes to be cool and happy and popular. They’re focusing on houses and cars and clothes and titles and lifestyles because they’ve been sold the lie that this is what they want.

But this is not what they really want. At least I don’t think so. When have you ever heard a story about a rich person who said, “being rich is the best thing that ever happened to me. Money really does buy happiness.”

Sometimes we have to dig deep to get to the root of what we really want. Then we have to build a bridge to get to it.

What do you really want? 

3. Don’t be afraid to let go

Building a bridge to get to what you really want in life might include continuing to work at your current job for a short while, or a long while, or forever. I don’t know. I can’t decide that for you. You’ll have to decide for yourself.

But, when the time is right, don’t be afraid to let go.

I worked in food service for ten years bringing people extra ranch and refills of diet coke and pouring beer and steaming milk. I put myself through college this way, and then graduate school, and my last food service job was Starbucks, after I was married and had a masters degree. I enjoyed many things about working in restaurants and making coffee.

But, if I’m honest, I have to admit I wondered, many times: When will I be able to quit this job and do something I really love?

I’ll never forget the day I knew it was time to quit. I had recently gotten a book contract, and I wasn’t swimming in cash or anything, but I knew that if I was careful, I could make it without my regular paycheck. I just woke up one morning and the feeling came over me: It’s time.

The funny (and maybe ridiculous thing) is, even though I knew it was time to quit, it was still scary. It meant I wouldn’t have a regular paycheck anymore, and my daily rhythm would change. It meant saying goodbye to friends and familiarity. But I just knew. I couldn’t let my fear of change get in the way of doing what I need to do.

I would give you the same direction:

When it’s time to quit, you’ll know, don’t let fear stop you.

I hope this helps.

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