Making Time for Yourself

I am not an organized person.

I'm saying this matter-of-factly… not in attempt to put myself down, because I’m trying to work on that. But my roommate is the kind of person who can sit down at the beginning of the week and plan everything out. She budgets her finances, sets an intention for the week, and sorts out her planner. Naturally, her self-awareness fills me with envy.

But after months of observing and experimenting, I realized her secret is quite simple. Despite her hectic schedule, she makes time for herself. Every. Single. Day. She's up by 6:30 am, she makes her coffee, reads something interesting, makes herself breakfast, and does whatever the heck she wants for a few hours. Every day.

I'm currently working 10-hour days. Factor in travel and sleep time, and I have approximately five hours to myself during the week. All of which is spent getting ready for work, getting ready for bed… or watching Netflix (a girl has got to decompress, okay?). But the way I’ve been living leaves no room to focus on things in my own life.

I’ve allowed myself to fall into this routine that is toxic to my personal productivity. And I’m the type of person who cannot be fully satisfied from just work, I need to see advancements in my personal life to feel a real sense of accomplishment. But lately, I’ve spent every free moment thinking of all the things I need to do and dreaming up all the things I want to do that I don’t leave myself enough time to actually do them.

The other night, I got home from work at my usual, sad time of 8 pm and upon entering the apartment, my roommates were on their way to check out a beer garden downtown. At first I thought to myself, no way, it’s a Wednesday night, my cozy bed and shameless hours of drama at the Seattle Grace Hospital are waiting for me.

But that’s when it hit me. I constantly complain about not having a life outside of work yet here I am, so quick to turn it down for a "Grey’s Anatomy" marathon and a facemask. The only reason why all I do is work and sleep is because I’m choosing to only work and sleep. How has this gotten past me all this time?

There are things you hear all your life that you sort of just disregard; lessons that are just words until they’re more. But when you hear these things in a certain way or you go through something yourself, you finally realize how detrimental it is to your existence, and that’s enough to make a change.

I feel like so many of us are coasting through the workweek, dreaming about the weekend, constantly in a state of waiting or wishing our lives away. So why not do something crazy on a Wednesday night or wake up early to treat yourself to a nice breakfast? By putting energy into the little things, we can truly be present for everything.

[Photo by Julie Bloom.]

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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?

Health, Life, RelationshipsHannah ReedFebruary 19, 2017FeaturedComment

Making Time for Yourself

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