Rally Cap

[Bear with me, folks... my stream of consciousness may be even harder to follow tonight than it normally is.]

Back in February, I got the first tattoo in a black line half sleeve, that I’ll be adding on to as I’m able. 

The tattoo wraps around my lower bicep, just above my elbow, with a single dogwood bloom, to represent being a good ol’ Virginia girl (and also the first tree I ever learned to identify and love), and the Avett Brothers line from the song No Hard Feelings, “I have no enemies.”

The Avett album True Sadness released the summer of 2016, shortly after Jeremy’s Mema passed away. It took me about a week to get around to listening to it, right after what would have been her 84th birthday, and that particular song stopped me in my tracks. Literally: I was in the middle of cooking tacos for dinner, and I laid my head down on the counter, right next to the chopping block covered in onions and tomatoes, and I wept. I wept more than I can ever recall weeping with a song, and that’s saying something. 

The lyrics are:

When my body won't hold me anymore 

And it finally lets me free 

Will I be ready? 

When my feet won't walk another mile 

And my lips give their last kiss goodbye 

Will my hands be steady?

When I lay down my fears 

My hopes and my doubts 

The rings on my fingers 

And the keys to my house 

With no hard feelings

When the sun hangs low in the west 

And the light in my chest 

Won't be kept held at bay any longer 

When the jealousy fades away 

And it's ash and dust for cash and lust 

And it's just hallelujah 

And love in thoughts and love in the words 

Love in the songs they sing in the church 

And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done 

Much good for anyone 

Kept me afraid and cold 

With so much to have and hold

When my body won't hold me anymore 

And it finally lets me free 

Where will I go? 

Will the trade winds take me south 

Through Georgia grain or tropical rain 

Or snow from the heavens?

Will I join with the ocean blue 

Or run into the Savior true 

And shake hands laughing 

And walk through the night 

Straight to the light 

Holding the love I've known in my life 

And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done 

Much good for anyone 

Kept me afraid and cold 

With so much to have and hold 

Under the curving sky 

I'm finally learning why 

It matters for me and you 

To say it and mean it too 

For life and its loveliness 

And all of its ugliness 

Good as it's been to me 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies

I hadn’t heard or felt anything so profound in longer than I could remember. If that song isn’t a hope filled capsule to stack with what’s important to you and find again later in life, I don’t know what is. I tattooed, “I have no enemies” on my arm as a reminder. A reminder that you can connect with, empathize with, and forgive pretty much everyone you come across. No one out there is my enemy; my biggest enemy is myself. I’m prone to self sabotage. Every year my New Years “resolution” is this (not so) simple phrase: Don’t self sabotage. 

Don’t see offense where none is meant to be given; or even if it is meant to be given, don't give it soil to root in. Don’t hold onto grudges that were never meant to be tangible, to be clasped tighter than intangible love and grace and mercy. Don’t read my own writing on the wall regarding other people. I have no enemies on this earth... except myself. It’s a constant reminder for me to maintain perspective. I haven’t learned it all yet. Who knows if I ever will? I have a difficult time separating other people’s actions in reference to how they affect me. Everything feels personal, because I’m a personal person. 

Today has been a cruddy, crappy, no good very bad day. I have a twitchy, tired headache from editing photos for nearly a dozen hours, and tense neck and shoulders from folding piles of laundry in between editing. I’m exhausted. I’m emotional. I got bad news today. I hate when people are cryptic about news, so I'm sorry about this particular cryptic reference, but in this case, it’s not my news to share. But it’s thrown me into a spiral, a never-ending drop, off a cliff I’ve clumsily, catastrophically tripped over, falling right back down to rocky ground I’ve had to navigate too many times.  I'm scared this time it will shatter me. And it’s too hard not to be selfish. It’s too hard not to say to myself, over and over, “I can’t do this again. I cannot. I can’t do it again.” But here I am, having to do it again. It’s like a lead blanket thrown over your shoulders, sinking you flat onto the floor, facedown, limbs and joints completely liquified and useless, unable to move. That’s what this feels like. 

Tonight, after an incredibly long day, I’m sitting at my safe place. The beach proper closes at sundown; as if the water stops working when the sun slips away, even though I can see the moon reflecting on the water perfectly well. 

It’s humid. It’s so humid here this week- maybe even more so than usual, which is saying a lot. Humidity doesn’t bother me. I’d rather be hot than cold. My hands feel tacky and grimy, the creases of my elbows are sticky and pulling away from each side of the crease slowly every time I bend my arms, my upper arm stubbornly clinging to my lower arm; my sinuses feel stuffed with cement and my hair is springing out of its ponytail in a riot of baby hairs; but I don’t care. I’m here. I can hear the water, I can breathe, I can smell the salt and brine, and I can write— as I usually do by the Bay. 

I can’t do this, friends. All of my wells of strength and support and self preservation were poured out like oil, like blood, the past too many years. The thought of trying to refill that well makes me feel so weak and drained. I feel like there’s a part of me, that hollow in your stomach, the physical reflection of your psyche- a correlation of mental and emotional pressure turned to physical panic- that is turning me inside out trying to produce a few more drops of faith and ferocity. I think I can literally feel it, flipping around, floundering, squeezing.

But what can I do? I can do nothing but rally. In baseball, there’s an event called a “two out rally”. I don’t know that they do it in the major leagues, but in little league, the boys punch their fists into their hats and turn them inside out, wearing them with the white lining showing. Their rally caps. They chant “TWO-OUT-RALL-YYY!!!” over and over. That chanting, the symbolism of those inside out caps, jolts them and hypes them up to a degree that no amount of full jugs of Gatorade and all the Double Bubble they can shove into their cheeks could ever do. A two out rally means something. It means hope. It means faith, it means a chance to FINISH THIS.

Maybe that’s what this inside out, anguished feeling really is. My two out rally. My time to punch my fist into my safe covering, and to hype myself up for a repetitive, brave, jacked up, faith-filled chant. Maybe it’s time to start chanting, maybe it’s time to repeat that I have no enemies, besides my own weaknesses and doubts. 

Bring on that last out. I’ll wear the inside outness, I’ll hype myself up, I’ll chant out the faith I don’t even feel yet, and I’ll rally. I can't hold back, I cannot allow "the light in my chest to be held at bay any longer", over some misguided sense of self preservation, a fortress against feeling. I’ll rally. 

I'll rally.

Taking Advice

Today has been a cold, rainy, dreary Virginia day. The kids and I are cooped up in the house due to a flat tire incident late last week. Normally this would be an ideal day for being cooped up. It probably still can be. But I've been frustrated and irritated with random situations today, and so I refuse to be cozy and comfortable for now. 

One of my best friends, and adopted cousin, gave me what is undoubtedly sage advice a little while ago, in response to some of my more extended rantings [::Pause:: Can I just say real quick how grateful I am for friends who listen to my grumblings, validate me when needed, and gently and lovingly correct me when necessary? I went almost my whole life without friends like these. And now I have a whole squad of them, and I am constantly overcome with gratitude and awe for them. Never, ever doubt it, girls ::Unpause::]. She said, "Just breathe, pop in some worship music, sit by your Christmas tree with coffee or tea and relax." My immediate response, internally and externally, was to yell, "BUT I HAVE KIDS, CHELSEA!" It's true. I do have kids, in abundance. In recent years, our situation has been even less private than normal, since we've had our bed in our main living space for two years in order to allow Ashton his own room. 

In the space of a heartbeat, I saw how it all would play out. 

Me to kids: "Hey guys, in a few minutes I'm going to have you all go to your rooms so I can have a few minutes alone. I just need some time to be still and quiet."

Kids, oh so sweetly: "Sure, Mom!"

Mom brews coffee, straightens main living space/bedroom quickly, turns on music, settles by Christmas tree. Hey, this isn't so bad! It's working!

Enter dogs: "Hey there mom what are you doing why are you on the floor what are you drinking do you need company I bet you need company let me just sit right here oh sorry did I hit you in the face that's ok hey what are you drinking hey can I sit right here no wait maybe this spot is better so wait I changed my mind oh man itchy spot hang on a second ok that's better can I sit here hey what is that you're drinking".

Son comes out of room: "This is why I had to turn off my video games?? I was in the middle of a raid!"

Oldest daughter: "Moooommm, Atleigh will not help me clean the room like you said! She's just playing with Play-Doh and we all know how you feel about Play-Doh! I know you said you want to relax for a few minutes, but you can't do that knowing she has Play-Doh, right?? I'll just go get it from her."

Loud shrieks and thumps emitting from girls' bedroom, punctuated with, "But Mom said--!" "You're not the boss of me, Sissy!"

Youngest daughter, entering main living space/bedroom with crocodile tears: "MOOOMMMM! Sissy is trying to be the parent! I told her-- oh hey, what are you drinking? I bet you love sitting by the Christmas tree, huh? I bet it's so a-laxing. I wish I could sit by the tree. Let me just-- I can fit... Right... here... Ah! Hey, what are you drinking? Coffee? I don't like coffee much. Can you make me some hot chocolate? With whup cream. And cinnamon. Can you make me some oatmeal, too? This comfy tree makes me want to have some oatmeal. Hey can you scoot over? You're kind of squishing me."

Okay so, in my kids' defense, none of this actually happened (yet). But I saw it all so clearly in that instant, almost as if it had happened. And because of my vain imaginings and my tendency to borrow trouble, I almost cheated myself out of a chance to sit, think, challenge myself, and grow. 

Instead, I decided to take Chelsea's advice. Right now, I'm sitting in a tight little corner by my scrawny little Christmas tree, looking up through its lit branches and remembering how I used to squeeze behind out tree as a child, imagining a tiny island of Christmas calm in a sea of Christmas chaos. I put on one of my all time favorite Christmas albums, Evan Wickham's Christmas Music Vol. 1. [You can listen here, or better yet, purchase here. You won't regret it.] He seamlessly blends Christmas with worship of the Christ child and His holy Father, as all Christmas hymns were originally intended to be. I do have the dogs near me, after some brief tussles to see who get closest to me without actually hiding in my chest cavity. 

Son has not come out once, maybe finally understanding at the ripe old age of 12, that when Mom says she needs alone time, you'd best give her alone time and stat. 

Oldest daughter has come out to tattle on youngest daughter who is not helping to clean, as I predicted. Youngest daughter says she didn't "promise" so she doesn't have to. Insert mini Sermon on the Floor about our yes being yes and our no being no, and aside from that, Mom said so. Youngest daughter asked me why I thought I needed alone time. I'm a mom, and moms have kids, so obviously I love kids, so why send them to their rooms? She also came out on a futile search for Santa, but she only hit the button on the Christmas village a single time, forcing me to sit through a creepy Boris Karloff narration of 'Twas The Night Before Christmas once. 

From the girls' bedroom I can hear occasional giggles over their Disney music soundtrack. Neville kicks and whines in a dream. Ashton will probably stay in his room until I force him out. The kid doesn't know how lucky he is to be the only person in this house who has his own room. 

My coffee is slowly cooling, my butt swiftly going numb, as I write these thoughts out, feeling liberated and elated to be writing at all, feeling guilty and inadequate at my abysmal "blogging" skills. My Christmas album is nearing its end, but I've put it on repeat, unwilling to give it up just yet. In a moment, I'll maybe pull out my bible and devotional, or my journal, and start giving myself some reminders to be grateful, chaos and all. There are too many things to miss out on and regret in this life, if I'm not careful to open my eyes in those moments when they're rolled up in frustration, or loosen my hands when they're clinched into fists in anger, force my lips into a smile when they're turned downward in sadness. Will I regret some things in my life? Probably. Will I regret yelling at my kids when I could have spoken soft words, or tuning them out on car rides when I could have been learning their stories? I'm sure. Will I regret chugging that Moscato di'Asti then chasing it with coffee laced with pumpkin spice creamer right before I started writing this? Undoubtedly. But I will not regret taking my friend's advice today, forcing myself to slow down, breathe deep, laugh at myself a little, and realize that even the best of us (and I am most certainly far from that) could benefit from some wisdom from outside sources once in awhile. So I'm going to pay it forward, and give a little advice. Next time you want to shrug off someone's loving counsel to you, even in something as simple as, "Take a break. Have a coffee. Take a deep breath", think twice about it. It might just be the best decision you've made in awhile.

- M

[[It's been so long since I've done a photo dump, I don't even know where to start. If you follow me on Instagram, you'll have kept track of me somewhat. In case you don't (and you should!) here are some snapshots of Box House Life from the past few months, starting in August.]]

Images copyright @what_if_i_said 2015