ABC Soup

Thoughts about 2019. (A lifetime of words and lessons that were exposed in one year, which felt like a lifetime in itself.)

I got a fishhook tattoo on my arm over the summer. Don’t ask me the meaning behind it. I don’t have one, which was part of the point. And, please don’t ask me if I’ve ever been fishing because the answer will surely disappoint you even more. Let’s call it an existential crisis.

My mind is a bank of phrases and sayings, a reservoir, a cup of ABC soup fluctuating words of wisdom on its surface I’ve heard and held on to.

I used to be a timid girl who didn’t take many chances. I’m not so much her anymore. I still get scared sometimes, but throughout my life, I’ve relied on phrases and sayings— reminders of who I want to be, or warnings of who I don’t want to be— to ground me and reconnect with who God ordained me to be. I used to be paranoid and full of fear, but now I consider myself sometimes reckless, having a disregard for the penalty of paralyzing panic. I decided when I was twelve that I was going to drive myself to Tennessee one day. I didn’t get my license until I was eighteen, and moved when I was twenty-one. Just because the timing was slow didn’t disregard my adamancy of it happening eventually. The truth is, I’m still fearful and scared, but I approach it differently now.

Someone told me once to “do it afraid.” This is spiritual to me and resonates with me almost daily. It’s okay to be a little scared, but if it’s a fear that debilitates you in a way that keeps you from jumping anyways, it’s negative. It’s okay to be a little scared, but trusting the Lord beyond fear is one of the most peacefully exhilarating experiences I’ve ever encountered. So, I do things afraid.

I knew life wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t realize it’d be progressively harder. I think about Nana often. She says, “Life is like a Mulligan’s stew.” Sometimes it’s a bitter piece of kale, and sometimes it’s a sweet, soft carrot, she’d say. Life is a brewing stew of anything and everything you’ve got, mixed together, and every bite is different. Every day of my life is different: a mulligan’s stew. It’s what I’ve got and I will stay sustained.

Throughout the fear and exhilaration and the mulligans and the nulls and the “I wish this” and “I wonder if that,” I find myself gravitating to another spiritual phrase of virtue Nana would repeat: “To thine own self be true.” I commonly pair the two together: To thine own self be true, life is like a mulligan’s stew. Despite the questions and un-answers, I’m cautiously encouraged to be true to myself, and be true to who God intends me to be. Of course, I often fail at this. If I continue on the trajectory of the path set ahead, and stay true to my inclinations and character, and understand that what comes my way may be celebratory, may be an obstacle, may be easy, or may be a tragedy, life is life and God is who He says He is.

One of my favorite phrases— and I can’t remember where I heard it first— is “gratitude changes everything.” I almost don’t have words to elaborate on this one. It’s almost too simple to bear, but too poetic to adequately express. Gratitude changes everything. Another phrase that echoes in my head, a bit abstractly, is from a scene in Must Love Dogs. John Cusack’s character builds and races wooden boats in a world where fiberglass, aerodynamic boats built for speed are much more desirable and attractive. He and his friend are talking around a beautifully handcrafted wooden boat and the friend negatively says that the boat is going to inevitably lose in a race, and that he should only continue to his craft if he wants to lose. John Cusack responds with, “But they lose beautifully.” The sentiment gives me chills. Life is often about the process, and losing isn’t always a loss.

Then I think about a graduation speech I heard. A colleague and friend quoted a professor who perhaps quoted someone else, like Descartes or Henry James. “I will because I must,” he said. I will because I must. I press on, even if I’m afraid. Life goes on and I will keep up. I’m grateful for the mulligans and I’m aware of who I’m becoming in the process.

Then I take a step backward as I remember a quote from a beautifully timid poem. A man doubts himself, “Indeed there will be time/to wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’/Do I dare/Disturb the universe?/In a minute there is time/For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.’” Suddenly I’m nervous again. Do I dare attempt progression? Do I dare pursue my dreams?

But then again, I’ve learned to “do it afraid,” and I’ve learned that “life is like a mulligan’s stew,” and “to thine own self be true,” and that “gratitude changes everything,” and that losing is beautiful, and I will press on; “I will because I must.” And then I wonder, “Do I dare?” Yes. “So how should I presume” then?