Honesty Box, Part 1

Sometimes, I need to spend some time sitting quietly in the Honesty Box, resting in the truth of my life. That's not to say that the rest of the time I'm in the dishonesty box. This blog is honest, through and through. But some days call for real, vulnerable honesty. Maybe I should call it the Vulnerability Box instead...

Tomorrow, I'm moving to Nashville, TN. Land of the free, home of the brave. The promised land. Home sweet home.

But tonight, I'm grieving leaving my home in Glenview. I'm unexpectedly sad to leave the creature comforts of home and the proximity of my family. I will miss waking up and eating cereal with Dad while watching the Tour de France. I will miss monthly family dinners with my mom's side. I will miss hearing Jenny's tales from camp firsthand. I will miss sleeping in my twin bed. I will miss teaching Boris to fetch. I will miss Giordano's deep dish pizza and ice cream from the Dairy Bar.

I have never not been excited to return to Nashville. I mean, it's the adult equivalent of Disney World.

Perhaps this is a product of my "life whiplash," as I explained it to a friend earlier today. In the last fourteen months, I've moved seven times, I've worked four jobs, and I've lived in three states and two continents. I'm ready for some freaking stability, for Pete's sake.

Maybe this is a result of my new, or perhaps magnified, fears and anxieties. The fear of being far from family and the ones I love. The uncertainty of not yet having a definite purpose in Nashville. The trepidation about making any decisions, since so many have ended in failure in the past. Or my newfound social anxiety and being surrounded by so many wonderful and happy people at once.

I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm nervous. I'm overwhelmed. I'm exhausted. Honestly, those have been some defining characteristics of my time back in America, even though I try to put on a good face in my blog and around people. Many people have said, "it sounds like you're doing great back in America!" That I am; certainly better than in Namibia. But that's not to say it's not still hard every day in its own unique ways.

I am certainly full of gratitude that I have a Savior who already knows all the plans for my life and is hemming me in behind and before; right where I need to be.

So honestly, tonight I'm wearing my heavy boots. I struggle to put words to the truly vulnerable side of readjusting to America and processing all I learned in Namibia. But as I am able, I'll jump back into the Honesty Box and attempt to share with you. Thanks for reading, friends.