I was trying to describe you to someone . . .


I was trying to describe you to someone, and I couldn’t quite form the words.

I couldn’t find the shade of blue that your eyes are, somewhere between cerulean and sapphire. And that your face is round, and when you don’t cut your hair for a while, the combination makes you look younger.

I told them how I remember the first time I saw you. You were wearing a light grey suit with a plain, white button up. As you leaned up against the side of the restaurant, you turned and smiled at me.

Do you remember watching your favorite TV show when you were younger? You knew it was going to end and that you would have to get off the sofa and go to bed, but you wanted each minute to last an hour. You wanted to sit there forever.

That’s how I felt with you the night we met.

I told them how I remember when you cooked me dinner for the first time. We sat on the floor and drank a bottle of wine in our pajamas. And I was trying to describe how you looked in a plain white t-shirt, but I couldn’t quite form the words.

They asked me my favorite memory with you, and I told them that after months that we had broken up, we connected again. I was trying to describe the way we talked about religion and purpose and power, and how it felt so natural. How we questioned each other. How we were honest about our pasts. How we opened up about secrets.

You were trying to describe your feelings to me. You told me that it feels different, but it’s not different. And that maybe we are better off as friends right now.

And I said ok.

I was trying to describe to someone why we kept coming back to each other, even though we knew our relationship was messy, and I couldn’t quite form the words.

Time Given


I find myself choosing to be alone. I like to stroll through neighborhoods and glance into windows, looking at either meticulously planted shrubs, or noticing that the residents of a certain home haven’t quite shoveled the steps since the snow started. I like to be alone because you are able to notice things that you haven’t before; you get to wander and observe the details that make up the minutes in our lives.

Yesterday I found myself walking to church in the middle of the day. Now, it was Ash Wednesday, so it wasn’t out of the normalcy to go to church during the workday. But, I went alone. I was able to sit in the wooden pews of an old stone structure and stare at the kaleidoscope of colors coming from the windows. I was able to dedicate myself to a community for an hour to simply listen.

This year, I’m trying to focus on myself. I want to learn more of what makes me happy, grow as a person, disconnect from the lenses of society and wander into the unknown. I find that each week has become predictable, and I simply want to notice new details.

Through this challenge, I’ve decided to reconnect with my faith. The past couple of months have tested me beyond belief – through family illness, death, divorce, and heartbreak. It’s easy to be frustrated, to question the sequence of events, and to stray. And, I did that. All of the above.

And then I realized that everything in life is out of my control. Whatever His plan is for me, I must accept and have faith in the bigger picture. I’m taking these challenges as an opportunity to learn, grow and reflect. And the only thing that I can control is how I make others feel and the service I give back.

But, back to church. As we talked about Lent and the sacrifice that we are willing to make, I used my “alone” time for greater good. I usually give up soda, sweets, coffee, or anything else that gives me a slight addiction. One year I gave up cereal and I had actual WITHDRAWAL. People, I ate two boxes of Special K on Easter and threw up grains for days.

But I digress (because you probably don’t want to hear about my bodily functions).

This year, I am giving up an intangible object with the hopes of learning more about myself. I’m giving up my time.

We all know how much I love grandpas, so I am going to give my time to the elderly in need, whether it be cooking them meals, taking them to the doctor, or simply listening to their most coveted stories.

It only took time alone to realize that time given is invaluable