2015 in review.

sometimes you publish things. and somethings you just live. you break all the little rules that you made for yourself and you just live. 

{hannah brencher}

JANUARY // familiar hello's came at a cost with goodbye's made bittersweet. i nervously boarded a plane early one cold january morning and immediately dove into new classes and projects and a graduate recital as soon as my feet touched Floridian soil. 
FEBRUARY // every tick of the clock was precious with only a month until production night gracing the calendar. nights were long. really long. and sleep was too little. but i was blessed with the opportunity of working with a director who continues to inspire me to this day as well and i was blessed with friendships that i will carry for the rest of my life. 
MARCH // 7 weeks of late-night rehearsals threaded a handful of theatre people into a real "MISHPUCHA." 
APRIL // spring crept its way on campus, bursting with vibrant green life and splashing every nook and cranny with light. afternoons were spent sailing on the breezy gulf. since Anna Filly and Moriah Nelson were in town, Taylor, Makaela, and Kristi, and I chased the sunset on Pensacola's famous sugary beaches and shared our hearts around dinner and froyo. evenings were spent with mishpucha at dinner gatherings; and we all attended the phenomenal production of agatha christie's "the moustrap." 
MAY // the end of the semester unwound with a trail of new friendships and dear people who were difficult to bid farewell to. LA greeted me cooly with Disneyland adventures with my dear parents and my OC family to spark the beginning of an unforgettable summer. 
JUNE // long distance phone calls tied me to a soul that made me breathe poetry and dream of stories i never believed i would ever title as mine; and hannah brencher's book inspired me to pursue stories. 
JULY // we packed our bags and spent a week breathing in mountain air and swimming in the refreshing rivers of Yosemite National Park. Johanna and I spent two and a half weeks of adventuring in Yosemite, Arrowhead, and sunny SoCal. 
AUGUST // brought an adventure with Joanna by the sea; my journal was filled with colorful entries reflecting a vibrant life.
SEPTEMBER // the shifting of the seasons prepared me to reach for the stars in my sophomore year. i met my dearest friend in French class. greek rush welcomed the incoming freshman, and each of my classes fueled my passions for writing and speech. 
OCTOBER // my birthday was ushered in quietly but sweetly. in the middle of the whirlwind of midterms, i celebrated at my campus parents' home with pumpkin cheesecake and skype calls that made me thankful to have friends and family supporting me in Cali. 
NOVEMBER // delivered a flood of papers and speeches and auditions and callbacks and rehearsals that blurred weeks into tiny infinities. i was blessed with the opportunity of working on another production with a fantastic senior director. 
DECEMBER // the week before finals nearly killed me, but by God's grace papers were submitted, speech were performed, bags were packed, plays were put on, and friendships that were hard to say goodbye to were made. California greeted me with crisp weather and a cozy Christmas. 

the world became bigger. my eyes grew a little wider. i blinked and time slipped by. my heart was scattered in a few more people and places, and my journal is bursting at the spine with the many vibrant adventures that fell into my lap. i learned the weight of words, the art of writing; and the Lord confirmed my calling in the field of writing during the fall semester. 

i was the assistant director for two different productions in one year and learned the ropes of networking in a place that constantly makes me thankful for the constant sense of community my life. the Lord became a little realer. love wasn't so foreign a concept. there was much growing and trusting and stretching and memory-making in 2015. i lived. and sometimes there's a little breaking involved. but so much grace too. yes, if there's anything i will carry out of 2015 it's this: 

grace wins. 

HAPPIEST NEW YEAR, DEAR READERS! 

may 2k16 be your best year yet. 

xx

nineteen.

it is one thing to be the girl on fire, but it is entirely another thing to be the girl who manages to set the world on fire with all the quiet and beautiful things she does. 

>> hannah brencher << 

it was learning. 

it was learning that EVERYTHING couldn’t always be explained in words. 

that some things like // 
learning to let go of glances that made hearts start and shatter all at once on the brick pavements,
four in the afternoon conversations on my best friend’s bed while exhaustion collapsed in my lungs and home settled in the bones, 
sitting on mum's bedroom floor in tears at the realization of how loved one could be, 
or philosophizing with dad as he tenderly watered the plants — these moments could never ever be explained in a million and one years. 

18 was learning to live. really live. dirt under finger nails. ink smudged elbows. it was learning that honest connections are missing in this world. to listen to souls and to purposely feel the weight of words. to be brave enough to swallow the word "goodbye," risking the change that would happen in between homecomings.

18 was learning that, though we humans could all be starkly different, we were all craving the same things: to be wanted. to have purpose. to never feel alone.

18 was the year i picked up hannah brencher's book if you find this letter {a book which by the way made me laugh out loud and cry and ache and applaud and squeal all in one reading} that basically shook my world. it's people like her who open your eyes to the fact that small things can become something bigger than you.  

18 was learning that it didn’t matter how many reblogs, or likes, or comments that reflected how my words were affecting the world, but that they were getting out there. they served as small “i love you’s” in world that was very fake and that was hurting under the weight of the facades. 

18 was staying up until 1 o’ clock in the morning, with the windows open, and a thumb nail digging into my index finger until it bled because i was overflowing with incoherent stories and prayers that i hoped one day would make a difference to someone. 

18 was realizing how to not be afraid. not be afraid of the ambiguity of love and life and laughter. 

18 was learning to be honest. 18 was deciding TO STAY. 

19 scares me. can i say that? is that even allowed to be said in a society demanding that this is the age to be bold and loud and self-assured? I am afraid not at the thought that I might not find love but that love might not find me. I run too often than not and am more restless than I care to admit. I am afraid that I will be too much for someone, or not enough. and I so desperately want to be enough. I am afraid that my talents only go so far and that I will eventually look back and see that I did nothing noteworthy.  I don’t want the next succeeding years to carve me without my carving something out of them too. it doesn't matter if there's a trophy in the collegian hall with my name on it, or a story in the school's publication with the words, "grace shaffer" in roman type. 

I just want to leave behind something of grace. I want to stop being an apology note and be a love letter instead.  

I want to learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable — allowing the learning curves to fill me up with grace and honesty. I'm not always going to have the right words at the right times, but I don't want the fear of awkwardness to stop me from showing up for people. to be there. no matter what. I want people to see a girl who was half-way out of her mind for dodging those daunting terminals and crossing 3000 miles across the states back and forth for school, because maybe just maybe they might be inspired enough to put their comfort zones to rest and rise up to the challenge of showing up for a life that the Lord had mapped out for them with all the pretty mountain vistas and roads by the ocean. 

I want these years to be embedded in me, etch me into someone 

more confident, more willing, more open, more loving, more kind.

I want to make a difference - little ones that people don’t realize are there until they look back in their yearbooks, big ones that are too loud to be ignored, ones that suck the air out of your lungs and you can point to saying "now, that — THAT could never have happened without a big powerful God routing you on."

the more i grow up, the more i realize this world is hurting. grace is everywhere.

pay attention. show up for others. be there. be present. be whole. be deeply rooted. be honest. 

19, in my mind, has always been an awkward, in-between year.
and no wonder, since this birthday falls directly on the busiest, most stressful weekend in between midterms. 
but i believe that the in-between years can sometimes bring the best yet. 
xx 
second still by the lovely miss hannah. 

the grit of goodbyes.

good-byes hurt. and they happen too much. the only thing I know for certain about this whole good-bye thing? you have to say it sometimes. you have to get real brave, and bite your bottom lip, and let people go sometimes. fully, fully. whether you feel ready or not, you're still going to grow up and use that word a lot more than you ever expected to. 

>> hannah brencher << 

SHE NEVER LIKED ENDINGS.

she was the last glance behind the shoulder, the last cheek-to-cheek hug, the last blown kiss. she lingered in between the goodbyes. 

she left the last pages of journals unfinished, coffee tins half empty. she was always trying her best to hang on.  

I left johanna's home nearly two weeks ago. i didn't water the McDonnell's parking lot with tears like i had at In N' Out in camarillo nearly a year ago. and i wish i could say that the years have made me brave — that they had disclosed some secret formula to keep me from melting into lake arrowhead at the very mention of "goodbye." truth is, i think i've become accustomed to the feeling of missing. i'm always missing something or someone. 

to be honest, i'm not good at goodbyes. i like "see you later's" and alligators and crocodiles. the taste of goodbyes are often left stale and gritty because i don't put them to rest. i don't like letting go. maybe that's the human part of me who fights against inevitable change. because every ticket to and from Florida is an automatic entrance into the change that is etched into me every time college happens. and it's an odd feeling, being the only connection between two different worlds. 

to the college students who are going away, goodbyes are going to become a second language to you.  not the type where the conjugations twist your tongue or you can't determine the masculine or feminine pronouns, but one that clings to your pumpkin colored cardigans and sticks to the soles of your boots after they become hollow from the tiled terminal floors. home is going to tuck itself into the very corners of your suitcase until the smell of it is only vague after storage opens. and there will be nights as the christmas season advances when you won't be able to hide your tears when "i'll be home for christmas" plays in the malls. there'll be nights in the shower that you'll try to stifle tears. and there will be nights you'll fall asleep, nose buried in a blanket that you wish could transfer you to your own bed. 

the only advice i can give you is don't hold on too tight. this life wasn't meant to be held onto. it's meant to be planted in the souls you see down your hall everyday. home will live in your dad's corny jokes that you laugh over with your roommates or when you try to repeat your mum's advice on laundry. it's meant to be impressed upon you and kept pressed between pages of the stories you'll tell around honey-cured hams when christmas eventually calls you back. 

plant your home in people and suddenly the grit of goodbyes is graphed into something more. 

it becomes a beautiful hello.    

xx

also: please pray for the fires that continue to ravage the west coast, especially the ones up in the pacific northwest.