4 Ways to Find Calm

Calm is not a normal state of mind for me. It’s something I have to plan, something I have to create routines for. By a certain time at night, I have to shut off. Read a book, read my Bible, light a candle. Sometimes I’ll write in a journal. Sometimes I’ll watch an old favorite TV show.

But some weeks I have to-do lists that cover multiple pages of my planner and stay up answering emails or trying to meet another deadline. Sometimes I stay up scrolling through my phone for hours past the time I wanted to fall asleep. Right now I’m in the middle of the holiday season, in the middle of the beginning of a friendship, in the middle of planning a trip abroad, in the middle of what seems like millions of tasks for work piling up. I can’t remember the last time I shut my phone off. I can’t remember when the last time I had a night in to myself was.

I notice when I don’t take the time to make space for myself to breathe. I wake up without any energy. I can’t shake the feeling that something feels wrong. When I’m too busy, I have to consciously make the effort to find calm…

By spending time alone, outside. I like to go on walks, or runs, through my neighborhood or down to the beach. I take the time to listen to a new podcast or to a new album, or sometimes I listen to nothing at all and give myself space to think. In less busy times I’ll get out for over an hour; when I’m in a crazier season, even ten minutes will be enough.

By turning off my phone. For an hour. For fifteen minutes. For any time period I can manage, to remind myself nobody needs me to respond to them all the time, right away. When I’m caught up in the chaos, I tend to think I need to be online at all times in order not to fall behind. I have to make sure this person knows I’m listening, I have to make sure that one knows I’m working on their request. But when I turn off my phone and come back later on in the day, I realize the time I took for myself never ruins anybody’s day. Save your phone battery, save your sanity.

By prioritizing my life. Not everything can be my top priority every day. Some days I’ll need to say no to plans with friends so I can focus on a project at work. Some days I’ll need to create more realistic deadlines for myself. Some days I’ll have to prioritize alone time even when it feels like there’s no time for it; I remind myself that I always come back better. It’s often one of the hardest things for me to set priorities, to say no when it’s necessary, but it’s the only way for me to ever find peace of mind.

By letting go of what doesn’t serve me. Striving to be perfect. Wanting to make everybody happy. Fear of missing out on the fun. Fear of missing out on an opportunity. Believing I can do it all. Letting those thoughts go adds so much relief back to my life; it reminds me of how small my role in this world really is, and how wrong it would be to fill that role with my own crushing expectations.

Calm doesn’t exist within unrealistic expectations. It doesn’t exist in striving or in hustling or in success if those things aren’t also tied to kindness, and grace, and forgiveness. This life is all a balance, and even though calm isn’t my default setting, it’s always so close to being within my reach.

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The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

HealthAmanda BeadlescombNovember 19, 2017FeaturedComment

4 Ways to Find Calm

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