The Making of Milestones

I cried in the backseat of an Uber the other night.

Somehow our conversation steered into the dangerously-open territory of life stories, wherein our driver shared with us that her husband of 21 years had just left her.

"Your 40s are the roughest," she explained.

"Our 20s don't seem much better," I responded. "What about your 30s?"

"You'll spend most of it sacrificing everything for your kids and husband who will later get bored of you and leave. It'll be somewhat happy."

So this is life, then?

Somewhat happy. Only somewhat.

Oh.

And so I cried, naturally.

Because for a moment, I believed her. Because that's what a combination of sadness and a cocktail does - it makes you believe bleak half-truths from your Uber driver.

***

I have a full-time job now. One with health benefits and paid holidays and a 401(k).

In fact it's a job that I really wanted with a company that I already felt at home in. I am happy with my job and happy with my decision to accept it and stay in Nashville.

But I struggle with a sense of what now?!

The job search is over. A new apartment lease has been signed. A routine has formed: Up at 6 am. Take my Poodle outside. Cook eggs for breakfast and mourn over the fact I can't eat Poptarts anymore. Put the coffee on. Get ready. Read and write with coffee - and lots of creamer - in hand. Go to work. Come home. Eat dinner. Attempt to maintain a social life for a couple hours. Do it all over again the next day.

Is this all there is to life?

Endless days of the same?

The same. The same. The same.

It's this sameness that scares me the most: the low-hanging threat that my days could blend together into one puddle of indistinguishable same.

When growing up, the start of each school year and each break marked a time of clear change, of fresh beginning and of seemingly-abundant possibility (or at least that's what we told ourselves).

Year after year, the milestones came.

Where are the milestones now?

I presented this question to my mom one evening as we drifted slowly on a swing, wine in hand and the green Tennessee hills set before us.

"You get married. You have kids."

But... But... But... That's it? And what if those things never even happen?

I'm trying not to feel suffocated by this comfortable, routine life I've recently settle into. Thing is, I long for comfort, for stability... but the moment I receive it, I feel trapped.

Is this how I'm always going to feel? Always wishing to steal away to some form of new adventure the second something becomes routine?

In the Mumford and Sons song "Wilder Mind" (bless you if you aren't a HATER and actually appreciate the new album like I do), Marcus sings, "I had been blessed with a wilder mind."

I love that line. The simplicity of it. How in eight basic words it describes that restlessness within me.

But I've begun to wonder: is it truly a blessing? This wild, wandering mind that can never be still? Always chasing that elusive something that expresses itself as an inexplicable "I don't know"?

I was discussing this with a friend the other night—a friend who very often spills nuggets of wisdom without even realizing it.

"You have to make your own milestones," she told me matter-of-factly.

I think she's onto something.

Those milestones worthy of a notch on your life's timeline will come. Until then, we must celebrate—revel in—the little milestones:

Sipping a warm mocha at my favorite coffee shop while discussing books with a friend.

Completing a piece of writing that even I can't help but beam a bit over.

Laughing way too hard with friends over the creation of absolutely absurd Snapchat stories.

An evening spent re-reading (and re-weeping) through The Great Gatsby with lit candles and a glass of wine.

Savoring a first-listen to an album I've been anticipating for months.

Reading a line in a book for the first time that embodies so much "yes!" that it begs to be highlighted and copied down onto a notecard.

Spontaneously buying a ticket to see One Direction in Boston because why not?!

Crying in an Uber (...yes, even that).

[Photo by Juliette Kibodeaux.]

Featured

The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

Career, Dreams, LifeAlly WillisJuly 19, 2015Featured, ArchiveComment

The Making of Milestones

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