Cotton Candy and Petrified Starbursts

        Someone once told me I laughed too loud. I don’t know if I actually do…I probably, most definitely do, but is this even a thing?

 
        You know what else?  I once had a girl tell me I give too many compliments. It wasn’t the lack of sincerity or the target of my compliments that bothered her, it was the fact that it “lost meaning” when I gave so many people a compliment, apparently it made her feel not “as special”.  Seriously?!?  Is THIS even a thing? 

Can people really be offended because you think they’re hysterical or because you think they have great hair?  Are these the same people who hate puppies, ice cream, rainbows, and fuzzy things?

Honestly though—I now think twice about how jovially I enjoy a joke.  I don’t as effortlessly tell people what I enjoy about them.  And these are just silly things.  There are other parts of me that I’ve dulled to fit into a more acceptable version of myself.  Sometimes it’s because when you have a big personality you run the risk of suffocating what I like to call the “cotton candy people”.  These are soft and delicate and sweet and dear people…and much like cotton candy can easily melt, I fear they may melt under the intensity of my personality which could probably be more accurately described as a petrified Starburst.  (A little tart, might break your teeth, but after chewing for a bit realize is more pliable than originally thought, and you’d fight your 5-year-old for your favorite flavor.)

Here’s the thing…all my life I’ve wanted to be more like the cotton candy.  I’ve tried desperately to be the cotton candy, but I just can’t. Being sweet and dear just aren’t my most defining qualities. So when I can’t fit the mold, I just try to round off my edges, be a little less me.

 But every once in a while, I see a girl who is unapologetically herself and she totally rocks it!  She laughs a lot and it’s loud! Or sometimes she’s a gentle spirit who is at peace with her quiet nature. She may speak effortlessly to anyone around her or be a master listener. And no matter if her edges are rough or delicate and fluffy, she doesn’t use fear as her steering wheel, nurturing her insecurities just a little longer, living just a little less than she really wants.

When I see others being brave, I want to be brave too.  It feels like a permission slip has been signed and I have the freedom to live proud.  And I can’t help but wonder if I lived loud, if it would give permission for someone else to live just as courageously.  And when they start living shamelessly, I want to be the one who cheers for them. Because when I take steps that are scary, I want someone cheering for me.  (And let’s face it, as a girl who has spent most of her life as a Starburst, I’m always looking for a good reason to party!)

So here it is…you have my permission to be big or small, cotton candy or a petrified Starburst…but be who you be! 

And when you are, I’m going to be there (probably in costume because everyone knows themed parties are more fun), cheering and celebrating what God has chosen you to live for.  And you can cheer for me too…so long as my loud laugh won’t bother you!

Confessions of a Closet Fangirl

{Let’s just get this out of the way…I’ve been a bad “blogger” friend.  I have been avoiding writing for quite a while.  At first, I couldn’t think of anything to write about.  And then when I did, I was too busy.  And before you roll your eyes, I’m not someone who pulls the “I’m too busy card” often…but seriously, the last 18 months of our lives have been OUT.OF.CONTROL!  And then when something would settle down long enough for me to sit down and write, I’d talk myself out of it because it had been so long…it’s embarrassing! (Besides, almost anything I’d write about I already told my mom and as I’ve said before, she could very well be the only one reading this.) So there are my excuses and my apology. I’ve had a recent reminder that bravery and transparency give others the permission to be brave and transparent.  When I originally started writing “out loud”, it took all of the bravery I had and it was the one definite place I gave myself permission to let it all hang out, as transparent as I could be.  So forgive me and let us all move on.}

I wouldn’t normally describe myself as the fangirl type.  (And if you have no idea what I’m talking about when I say fangirl, do yourself a HUGE favor and youtube “One Direction fangirl moments” or any variation of that!  You can thank me later! ) Like I said, I’ve never been a fangirl.  Because of my mom’s super-awesome 90’s American-Christian parenting, secular music was banned in my house, so the closest thing I got to a boy band was a Christian version called Plus One and believe me, it’s as terrible as it sounds.  I’m sure my mom would put this particular house rule in the category of over-zealous parenting along with her apology for not letting us celebrate Halloween, but who here hasn’t had a few over-the-top parenting moments? 

**I actually instated a rule at our house for a while that no kids were allowed to pray at dinner because I was tired of listening to them fight over who should get to talk to God first—I’m serious, people!  (Talk about screwing your kids up!) (Also, I love you, Mom!) 

Until two weeks ago, I thought it was strange that anyone would have a desire to meet a celebrity, ask them to sign their name to something, and feel like their life was somehow enhanced in a supernatural sort of way.  I simply did not get it. 

That is until my “celebrity” BFF, Jen Hatmaker, in the flesh, was in the same arena as I. (And if you don’t know who Jen is either, honestly people, I don’t know how to help you.  I can’t be your pop culture guide, I am missing an entire decade of music, remember?!)  Honest to goodness, I felt like a 15 year old girl at her very first concert!  (In every way…we couldn’t afford the good seats, so we had to settle for being so far up the lights were almost in our way…)  But then miracle of miracles, we were given closer seats, mere rows from that truth-tellin, hysterical, insightful, make you think woman! 

I will go to my grave saying that when we yelled her name, she actually waved AT.US.  (Not just at the crazed crowd…at.us!)

All this to say, my friends secured a place for me in her line, to meet her, to have her sign her name in my book!  (It’s still all a little weird, right?)  As I stood there, I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I was.  I was finding my breathing shallow, my hands a little trembly.  I was trying to decide what I’d say to her.  Should it be something clever?  Something deep?  Should I show her my sense of humor?  Ask her to coffee?

 If this is how boys feel when they go to ask a girl out for the first time, have mercy!  Those poor things! It’s a wonder the human race hasn’t ceased to exist!

When my turn finally came, I stammered something about reading her book and something about my husband and…I don’t even know!  It was all happening so fast and the security people and event volunteers were all in such a big hurry and they were telling us to look at the camera and she was clearly putting on a very nice front for all these weird women who thought they had some special connection to her and were saying all these cheesy, unimpressive things and I’m pretty sure she could sense the holiness of the moment we were about to have and right as we were about to embrace and she would tell me how she’d been waiting for a friend like me her entire life and we should get our families together for dinner…they were pushing me away and trying to usher the next person in!

Can you even? 

So, there you have it.  Confessions of a closet fangirl.  I had no idea I had it in me.  My only regret is that I didn’t hug her and refuse to let her go, much like my friend Celeste when she got to meet Sandi Patti.  She made the absolute most of her moment, dang it!  (Though she too, was forbidden from Halloween, she was/is a die-hard Backstreet Boys fan, so she had a slight edge on the fangirl market.)

Until we meet again, Jen…

 

Your BFFTYHNIEE,         

(Best Friend Forever That You Have No Idea Even Exists)

Autumn