Evolving Without My Crockpot
The rest of my furniture came today. The bedroom suite. It fit. I’m relieved, since nothing else seems to “fit” lately, leaving me to ask myself a litany of introspective questions on the regular: “How did you get here?” “You’re almost 40, why are you starting over AGAIN?” “Did you really throw your ironing board away?” “Wait…did you throw your crockpot away, too?” “Have you fallen out of God’s favor?” “Is this what you’ve worked so hard for?” “Why?”
All of this started about a month ago when I began moving into my little apartment (so small, I refer to it as my “bed & breakfast”) after an entire year of searching. Literally, a year. (If you’ve watched the news recently, I don’t have to tell you how tight the housing market is here in Dallas.) You see, after I abruptly moved from Oklahoma City last July (more on that later), I’d been living with my uncle, who for a solid year, provided a place for me to find my footing, grow my business and breathe… and NEVER ONCE asked me for a single dime! I’m so grateful. But I’d like to believe that I’m fiercely independent, which meant my immediate goal was that I find a primary source of income and then a place of my own. Granted, it all came to fruition, just way later than I’d hoped and definitely not what I’d envisioned. Again, it didn’t “fit.”
My moving process happened in about three phases, with each creating a bit more anxiety than the previous. In the end, I had two big first-world problems: my place wasn’t big enough to hold all my stuff AND I was missing my ironing board and my crockpot! Adding to this was a consistent fear of scarcity, the burn from having quickly slid down the corporate ladder, the feeling of being encased by a thick nimbostratus cloud, mounting uncertainty about my future, and lest we forget, my damn crockpot that I know I packed with my gumbo pot. Needless to say, I had a series of meltdowns.
Evolution is hard, which is what this is REALLY about.
Long story short, I made a deal with God on a Monday in May of last year that if I didn’t get this Director of Marketing and Communications position that I was a perfect fit for, I’d see that as the definitive confirmation that it was time to leave Oklahoma City. So far, I’d been waiting six weeks to hear back from the employer, who’d gassed me up and all but told me that I was hired. My denial letter came the day after I made that deal. THE IRONY! Leaving a place where I’d invested so much meant that I’d be submitting to uncertainty, forfeiting control of my life plans and stepping into a realm of absolute newness that might be transformative. I also knew it would be hard, which is why I left embittered, quietly and angrily. Because only an extremely pissed off person would throw away a perfectly good ironing board, a vacuum cleaner and probably the damn crockpot! Because that’s exactly what happened and why those items are missing! 😂
My little “bed & breakfast” is nestled away on one of the quietest streets in the most vibrant neighborhood of one of the most growing cities in the country. It’s filled to the brim with “things” that remind me that at one time, I was, as my mother put it, “blessed to live a life of overflow.” It’s a couple miles from the place where I rehearse with about 150 men who remind me of how important community is. It’s about three miles from the church where I both work and worship—a church that cares about my full being. It’s a highway or two away from the family members that wish nothing but the best for me. It’s minutes from NorthPark Mall, where I know God resides! But more importantly, my “bed & breakfast” is also the backdrop for what I believe is a most transformative, renaissance moment for me.
Transition… evolution… becoming… is definitely hard and sometimes, quite lonely, but I’m convinced that it’ll begin to make sense. The results will look better than anything I could’ve imagined for myself. And, all the things will finally… “fit.”