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Closing 2019: 2020, Here's To You

A lot changed this year. Some that I'll talk about, and some that I won't. Some that I saw coming, and some that I never could've expected. Some that I wish I could live again, some that I'll spend quite a while trying to forget. But 2019 was good. Really good. Despite the jam packed calendar and personal challenges. 2019 was really, really good- and I'm choosing to focus on that. 

Because I could say that this was one of my worst years as far as my mental illness is concerned, and I could highlight why that's true, but I'd much rather sit here and tell you about how I let it all help me.

This was the first year I was brave enough to open up about my mental illness. I started writing a lot more about what it's like to live with depression and anxiety, and consequently found myself buried in very intimate conversations about it too. Conversations I was never really ready for, but had been waiting to have at the same time. Conversations that forced me to be wildly uncomfortable, but that then allowed me to feel like I was breathing fresh air for the first time each time I'd look up and realize that someone cared enough to listen and engage.

That became a huge thing for me this year, too. Presence.

If you've followed my blog for any decent amount of time, you'll probably remember that not too long ago I wrote a post about how I felt like a third party in a lot of my friendships because the people who I called, "friends" would typically spend more of our time together on their phones than actually being involved in any type of discussion or activity that we had planned. I told two very important stories in that post. One was about how one of my best friends at the time spent an entire dinner out editing one of her selfies for Instagram and legitimately had to ask me to repeat what I had been saying the entire time because she hadn't been listening. In the other one I talked about how I invited a high school friend over for a sleepover and she spent the entire evening on FaceTime with her boyfriend- which bothered me so much I ended up pretending to be sick so I'd have an excuse to send her home.

Those were both very painful experiences and if I'm being honest, they still hurt. Both of these stories and several similar to it led to the burning of a lot of bridges that I can't build back. But what was incredible about that was it led me to a friendship I never saw coming. After writing that post, another girl from my high school messaged me to tell me how much she related to the experiences I had talked about and to this day, that's a huge part of why I write. I love reaching people. I love relating to people and being someone who makes others feel heard or at least a little less alone in whatever hurts them. I was the one who wrote the post, but her message is what helped me and so there was this really cool exchange of vulnerability and raw connection that I can't describe.

"You weren't the only one struggling with depression and anxiety," she told me. "That definitely made people shy away. We weren't good people yet. We weren't people we needed. I'm so incredibly proud of you for fighting so hard to be who you are."

And then, in a following message, "Thank you so much for opening up your soul and letting me see a piece of it."

We were friends before this exchange took place and we've been friends since, through cell phones since several states and busy adult lives separate us now, and I bring that up for a reason. I told you these stories for a reason. I need you to understand how important it is to be present in the lives of your people. Read what your writer friends produce. Listen when people talk to you. Don't just smile and nod through conversations. Share your ideas. Tie in your own experiences. Connect. And for the love of God, put your phone down. Snap a few photos, let your significant other know what you're up to, and maybe text your mom a quick how-your-day-went text- but then put it away and keep it there.

I'm tired of sitting at tables trying to fill awkward silences among people who will barely even look up. I'm tired of giving sympathetic smiles to people in public when I see them having the same problem. In 2020, let's do better.

Let's make a pact to be more present than ever.

If you don't believe me when I emphasize the importance of presence, I have another story for you.

A week before Christmas I tweeted this: "Don't ask me what I want for Christmas and expect me to give you a list of material things. I want your time and attention. I want to sit and converse without you reaching for your phone. I want to go look at art, make rich cocoa and have the opportunity to connect. That's all."

And then a family friend responded to me with, "As luck would have it, that's just what I have for you. See you in a few days."

So I took the entire next weekend off and spent it in Kansas City with her and my mom. Almost nothing was done without laughter. We caught each other up on the goings-on in our lives, inside jokes were born, no makeup was worn, pajama pants were our uniforms and I could've sworn that all was right with the world.
Peep my mama's "Let it Snow" banned Wal-Mart shirt ;)

Our entire Saturday from 8 a.m. forward was spent baking, (and taste-testing EVERYTHING), so by the time we sat down to eat an actual dinner, carbs had never tasted better.

And neither had breakfast at Waffle House the next morning.
#3PEOPLE8PLATES: The before photo


#3PEOPLE8PLATES: The after photo

By the time the weekend was over, I had spilled frosting and powdered sugar all over my pajama pants and dribbled syrup on my favorite pair of jeans. I had never felt messier and at the same time, I had never felt more together. Why? Because I had been starving for exactly that. A break. Time with people who just wanted to dedicate their off hours to doing something together.
Photo credit: Randy Tobias

If 2019 had been a person, I think it would've tried to choke me out more than a few times. At least that's what it felt like. But there were also plenty of moments when it seemed to wrap its arms around me gently, stroking my soul and quietly reassuring me that things would improve. There was a lot of discomfort, a fair amount of fear, and a number of hard lessons- but all of it was necessary. This was the year of growth in every aspect imaginable, and there's still quite a bit of room for improvement. So, 2020, you've got big shoes to fill. 
Here's to you. 
I can't wait for all your chaos.







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