Don't Hold Back

Several months ago I was sitting in Dallas Fort Worth Airport wearing a $400 suit that I had bought with money I didn’t have. My usual natural face was done up with red lipstick and eye makeup that made my eyes water. My hair was sprayed stiff to my head but the worst part—I was wearing heels that were slightly too big for me.

On my way out of the flight attendant interview I had been called for, I caught a glimpse of a lady in the mirror. That lady was me! I barely recognized this somber looking woman. I was normally hair in a ponytail, sundress, flip flops and maybe some tinted chapstick.

I walked out of the interview how I had walked out of high school: Discouraged. Lost. Uncertain of the future. I had built up the idea of the flight attendant career so much in my head and after waiting three months to get there, it was completely different from what I had expected. But that’s what I do best, imagine and dream things up because, “When you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile.” (L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables)

Sure, the travel benefits would be awesome, but could they make up for all the time away from home, crazy night hours when I should be sleeping and the wear-and-tear on your mind that comes from a job like this?

The flight attendant interview was just part of my crazy search for what I was meant to be and do in this great big world.

But let’s back up a little.

High school graduation came, and most of my friends were headed off to school, others to full-time jobs. But I didn’t want either of those things. How could I go back to school after dying to be out of it for the last twelve years?

My sisters and I decided to go on a road trip. So we drove from Connecticut to California in a minivan with my sister’s three children. Those were the happiest three months I’ve ever had. We hit national parks, beaches, Portland, the Redwoods, the Santa Monica Pier, San Diego and stopped at Arches National Park on the way home.

After hitting that travel high, I hit a low coming back to Connecticut. Nothing could compare to that road trip, traveling down the road with your favorite people, singing at the top of your lungs and experiencing new things every day. All I wanted was more traveling. There was so much I felt like I was missing; it felt like I was wasting time being home.

Which is how I came to this flight attendant venture. What I realized, though, as I sat in the airport surrounded by strangers while texting my family and sisters, was that the reason I loved traveling so much was because I was traveling with the people I love the most. Maybe I would have had a good time alone, but I doubt it would be as good as it would be with family.

As I was contemplating this at the phone charging station, I sighed and resisted the need to rub my eye makeup off. My sigh of disappointment caught the attention of a lady next to me who proceeded to ask me what was wrong. I told her everything, and she listened and patted my hand as though she had known me for years.

To my surprise, she had a journal out and was openly writing in it—something I did only with my door locked while I was alone. We talked about how much we both loved reading and writing. She told me how she was just now working on her degree.

“Darlin’,” she said, ”What’re you doing here? Don’t wait like I did. Don’t hold back.”

And just like that, I had unlocked what had been hiding deep inside all these years. I was always so private with my writing, afraid to say that I loved to write because then it would be out there to share—my most special thoughts and stories. But going on this journey and realizing everything I wasn’t meant to do has led me to where I belong: with my family and in school, pursuing an English degree. And who knows? Maybe you’ll read one of my bestsellers one day.

So like the stranger in the airport, I implore you too: do not hold back.

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Featured

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.

Dreams, CareerGlenna SilkOctober 14, 2018Comment

Don't Hold Back

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