Last week, while the EP listening party was happening here on the blog, and I was steadily posting a new track each day, there was a lot happening in my life.  Like, A LOT a lot.

My mom was diagnosed with cancer – soft tissue sarcoma.  The doctors removed a mass from her hip socket; when they cut her open, it “bulged out like a zit”… or something.

I hope you’re enjoying your breakfast, by the way.

I don’t really know how to write about the phone call that I got on Tuesday night – my mom telling me that she had cancer.  I know that there were instant, uncontrollable tears on my part.  I know that I was suddenly confronted with the overwhelming fear of losing a parent – something that I have never really had to deal with before.  I know that after I hung up the phone with her, I told Greta the news, and then cried some more, because I was completely terrified and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

But then, I stood up and blew my nose and made a grilled cheese for Julie who was coming home from work.  It was all very surreal.

On Wednesday afternoon, I found myself in a daze, throwing clothes in a bag, getting in my car and driving out of Nashville.  Have I mentioned that I do not do well with spontaneous decisions or chaotic situations?  About 30 miles out of town, I realized that I didn’t even pack a coat; my stress and anxiety levels were through the Honda roof.  But after driving 18 hours and 1200 miles, I was with my parents and all three of my siblings in Colorado Springs.

We arrived to the amazing news that her scans were clear, that the cancer had not spread.  There are no words to describe the relief – that even though the situation is serious, and cancer is evil embodied, the news was good.  I saw Mom’s 8-inch incision, and her Buzz Lightyear contraption around her hip.  We spent the weekend together as a family, stepping over the 4 dogs and eating a ton of food and talking about everything from life to death to the latest episode of “The Office.”

It was so good to be there.

Today, I point the wheel back toward Tennessee, and after an eternity of driving, will be in my own bed tonight.  I don’t really know what happens next – my parents will meet with the orthopedic oncologist this week to figure out the next steps.  There is still so much that is unknown.

But I know that I love my mom more than I could ever say.  And I know that this changes things.

Life is changing all around me.

The weather is changing – yellow leaves swirling around in little cyclones on the streets, the clouds hanging heavy and low, no trace of humidity. The colors are dimmer, the smell, different. Fall has chased out the summer, and taken up residence in Nashville.

My focus is changing – not my heart (definitely not my heart), but what I am accepting, and moving forward with. This shift feels equal parts defeat and relief – defeat to think that nothing I have tried has worked, and relief to finally just stop with the trying. I just am these days – and that’s okay.

People are changing – growing older and falling in love and moving on from the way things were. Some of their dreams are coming into focus, and taking them in different directions. I feel alone – which is not necessarily the same as “lonely” – but nothing could or should be done to change that. It’s just this season, and the shape of current life.

In the midst of all of this change, this past weekend, I reconnected with a “sameness” in myself – that familiar old me that has been missing for awhile.

I met some friends who were new, and yet knew me. It was so strange – hugging complete strangers and feeling totally at home. We celebrated Todd and Juliette’s wedding, and shared stories from junior high, and explored Nashville, and laughed – honest and genuine and immodest laughter.

I fell in love with these people.

Todd and Julie were gorgeous – if you just imagine me out of each of these pictures, and splice them together, you will see.

Now it is Monday, and they are gone, and the merriment is over. But I have a ticket to an Alison Krauss show tonight, and a trip to Boston on Thursday, and a new 2010 calendar to write my plans in. Thankfully, those plans now include a trip to Austin in March for Joey and Sam’s wedding.

I keep scoring the invites!

As I drove back to the JAM House last night, cruising over the wet pavement and giving no thought to the “how” of how to get home because I’ve driven the route so many times, I was thinking about the fact that it’s been over two years since I left Seattle.  It’s been almost two years that I’ve lived here in Nashville.  And it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to call any city “home.”

But for as much displacement as I’ve felt, and for as much transition as I’ve experienced, it occurred to me: Nashville used to exist in my mind as “something I am doing.”

All of a sudden, it feels more like “who I am.”

It is part of the fiber of who I am.  No matter how long I stay, no matter where I go from here, Nashville is in my veins for good.

It may not be home.  It may not be comfortable.  It may not be forever.  But it’s mine.

I love to send cards in the mail.  I am always on the lookout for witty, pithy, quotable cards – and when I find a good one, I buy it, regardless of whether I have someone to send it to or not.  Sooner or later, a situation warranting the card is bound to arise.

About a year ago, I saw one of those square cards – the ones that cost extra for postage – with a George Eliot quote on the front:

“IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO BE WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN.”

As a person who is all about pursuing dreams, I bought it, thinking that someday, one of my friends would have a huge career change, or do something crazy just because it brought them life.  But for all of the wonderful things that my friends have done and are doing, for some reason, this card has sat in my stack for months.

I had no idea that it was for me.

There is a God who says that he is making all things new.  And it recently occurred to me that it is never too late to be what I might have been.  It’s not too late.  I’m not too old.  I’m not too broken.

Be encouraged.  The same goes for you.

There have been a lot of times in the past several years when I have needed courage.  Between the ending of relationships, and a solo cross-country move, and feeling so alone I could barely breathe, and being relatively destitute, and getting roommates, and starting to share my music for the first time, and introducing myself to hundreds of new people, and continually putting myself out there… I have been through a lot of big, dramatic, grandiose transition.  Change is scary.

But for me, change is not the scariest thing.

In recent months, a lot of things have fallen into place for me.  I’m on stable ground.  I have a home, and a Tennessee family, and a great job, and a feeling of belonging.  I know my way around the city, and I’m involved in my church and various other groups, and I feel very much a part of the fabric of my Nashville community.  Things are steady.

Then why is my first instinct to run?

I’m finding that staying put requires a lot more courage than leaving.

This is the day – the day that I re-establish myself as a contributing member of society.  I am uniting myself with the ranks of the fully employed.

After 19 months of instability, I start at Emma this morning.

I have no idea what to expect – except that it’s going to be good.  Whatever it is, it’s going to be really good.  No more Temptress… you can now address me as the Permanentress.

When I moved to Nashville over a year ago (remember this day?), I was a little bit crazy in the head.  I HAD to be – because in order to do something as bold as moving across the country alone with no plan, one must be a small fraction insane.  I was treating the move as an open-ended “study abroad” of sorts, and knew that I was free to leave at any time, should I decide that Nashville wasn’t for me.  Finding work through a temp agency only supported my non-committal relationship with this city.

But now?  Now I have a real job.  A legitimate job.  An awesome job.  A job that tells me, “Hey, Annie, you should probably stick around and see where this road takes you.”  I’m really staying here for awhile.

Life is never quite what we expect, is it?

In this case, I’m glad.

Did Sly stop with “Rocky IV”?

Did Nadia Suleman call it quits after 6 kids?

Did having brothers named Track and Trig prevent Bristol Palin from naming her son Tripp?

No.

And in the same way, bucking common sense and what might seem like an obvious result… did the demise of my temp-job in this current economy conclude in me being unemployed for all of eternity?

No.

After exactly six weeks of unemployment – I GOT A JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And not just any job. A good job. A great job. A job that makes me so giddy, I want to go throw confetti off the 440 overpass. With people so delightful, I want to bake them each their own personalized cupcake. At a company so awesome, I see it as the pot of gummy bears at the end of a rainbow – the rainbow that runs a mere mile and a half from my house to the offices.

This feels like the one I’ve been waiting for. I am so happy.

See you on Monday, Emma!

I don’t have much to complain about.  My family is intact, and healthy, and stable.  We all love each other, and we all love Jesus.  I have amazing friends, live in a fantastic city, and every need is provided for.  I have opportunities for adventures, and the freedom to pursue basically anything I want to right now.  Life is good – right?

Then why do I feel so shitty?

Lately, I’ve felt weighed down by some heavy burdens – the same old junk that has haunted me my entire life.  How bad has it been?  Oh, just bad enough that I left a dinner party IN TEARS last night.  I mean… the mortification.  I felt completely out of control.

Sometimes, I feel completely out of control.

Here in Nashville, there’s an organization called Magdalene.  Women with histories of violence, prostitution, and addiction are invited to live in community together for two years, free of charge, where they build relationships, “do life” together, and ultimately, have a chance at experiencing healing.  They also run a cottage business called Thistle Farms, in which they sell hand-made bath and body products.  Recently, I was given the chance to review their new book “Find Your Way Home” – and I wanted to share a little bit about it.

In this book, the women of the Magdalene community tell snippets of their own stories – they have lived through things that I, in my sheltered existence, cannot imagine.  But as they write, “We do not share the same experiences, but we all have been in need sometime in our lives.”  And that is why this book spoke powerfully to me – I saw a universal need for love, for acceptance, for truth, and for rest.  Thank God that Magdalene exists for these women who have not found these necessities anywhere else.

It’s a quick read – I finished it in one sitting – and it lists their 24 “rules” for living together.  Some of the lines that struck me?

Even though we may feel lonely when we cry, we are never truly alone.  Our despair is part of a larger chorus howling for justice that stretches back to the prophets.

We are God’s children in flesh and spirit.  We never have to live in shame for all the things that have been done to us or that we have done to others.

I needed these reminders – reminders that God loves me exactly where I’m at, and that it’s never too late.  We’re never too far gone.  Healing can happen, iron bars can be broken, and change is possible.  It’s totally possible.

Because if the women of Magdalene can continue fighting, then I will, too.

I would love to continue the conversation started yesterday, and unpack the question, “Why do some women have the expectation that men should be the initiators?” (I don’t use the word “pursue” – to me, it connotes primal images of a hunter, ear to the ground, tracking a herd of elk.) I would love to talk about any double-standards that brings up. I would love to tell you why I have made the decision to not ask guys out. I would love to explain that I am not a man-hater, man-basher, cynic, OR idealist.

But that post is for another day. Today, I bring to you another subject that I, um, don’t really expect men to resonate with, either…

Yesterday, I threw away my scale.

Just like that. Trashed. Into the dumpster.

I am a compulsive weight-checker, always keeping tabs on my poundage, and consequently tempted to feel either good or bad, happy or sad, proud or ashamed, jubilant or angry. It’s amazing how a great day can be ruined by a number – a NUMBER – like an ever-shifting scorecard for whatever level of healthful diligence I have demonstrated.

In the last few months, I’ve found myself increasingly frustrated at the number on the scale RISING – despite my ability to run further than I could ever run before, despite my capacity to carry on a conversation throughout a 60 minute jog, despite my clothes fitting the same, despite my energy and improved attitude. In the face of all of these accomplishments, the scale says that I weigh 10 lbs. more than I did before I started running last fall.

And for a girl who has been a dieter since age 11, this is traumatizing news.

Miranda has been telling me for years to just throw the damn thing out. She would get outwardly angry when she would see it in the corner of my bathroom, and, knowing the emotional stranglehold the scale has on me, would order me to get rid of it. But for me, to get rid of the scale would be to give up control – and then, maybe, to expand, expand, expand like bread dough.

At first, I thought that I would just take the scale and stash it beneath my bathroom sink – out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. For me, keeping my scale would be like staying friends with an ex-boyfriend on Facebook – an unhelpful temptation “just to check.” Sorry boys.

And sorry scale.

It’s time for a new chapter in my life – one in which I have no idea what I weigh.

Who knew that tossing out my scale would be one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done?

First things first.
Did anyone else notice that they said “hootenanny” last night during “Lost”?  My name was said on national television!  I AM SO TOTALLY FAMOUS!!!

Next things next.
Last night as I was dying my hair, it hit me: I am a responsible and intelligent girl, not one to slack and make bad financial decisions… and maybe it was the ammonia, but… I don’t think I’m going to get a job for a while.

Since I ended my tenure as the Temptress, I have felt a burden lifted – a heavy weight that I didn’t recognize was there, since I was too busy convincing myself to be grateful for a job at all.  But once I walked out of those heavy glass doors, box of possessions in hand, I felt it: I could breathe.

For the last two weeks, I have felt so light, so buoyant, so UNLIKE 2008 ANNIE.  I am realizing that over the past year, I had been so entrenched in the daily grind that I had lost the part of me that I rather like – the part that says things like, “Tell me about your day,” and “How are you doing?” and “I’d love to get together!” and “Yes, 10am sounds perfect,” and “Sure, let’s drive to Pennsylvania.”  Instead, there were a lot of grunts and frowns and silences.

There were also a lot of Facebook video wall posts, which was always a little bit awkward the next day.

Anyhoodles.

Obviously, I cannot and will not stay jobless forever.  I’m too high-maintenance, and I know it.  One of these days, I’m going to snap, and scream, “Give me Aveda!  NO MORE SUAVE!”  But until then, I will be engaging in a season of Survivor: Nashville.  I am allowing my spirit to take a deep breath, living much more simply, and finding creative solutions to my financial problems (and yes indeed, of course, there are problems).

I’m going to take advantage of this time and drive to Kansas City next week to help my family during a period of major transition.  I’m going to spend some days working on my EP.  I’m going to stretch something called my IT band, which I didn’t even know I had – until it got terribly inflamed and rendered me semi-crippled.  I’m going to continue applying for jobs.  And I’m going to hope and pray that the right position will come along at the right time.

A foolish risk?  Perhaps.  Worth it?  I hope.

In the meantime, you should see my hair.  It is dyed.  It is fabulous.  It is foxy.  It is… exactly the color it was before.

But BETTER.