You have no idea how symbolic this bumper is of my life right now.

A fresh start?  A clean slate?  An empty void?  A hella fine backside?

Maybe just pure potential?

Interpret as you will.  Private Self is asserting herself these days.

But I can tell you that in one way or another, it has something to do with this.

But what I’m finding is that while quiet is good, silence can be hard.  A girl can drive herself crazy with the thoughts that she thinks in silence.  The vacuum of nothingness attracts all manner of mental material – because, as a wise man recently told me, “nature abhors a vacuum.”

Granted, he was trying to encourage me that my singleness will not be forever (dear sweet Jesus, please and amen), but still.  Same idea.

To fill up the hours and keep the silence at bay, thankfully, I have running.

In a small way, I think that running may be saving me during this move.  I am running 5-6 days a week, and at least one of those days is 10+ miles.  I’ve mentioned it before on this blog: what has come over me?  I didn’t become a runner until last year, when I trained for my first major race – and that was with my beloved East Nasties, who I do not have here in Denver.  I am stunned at my own commitment in their absence.

While running with the Nasties last year was just as much a social opportunity as it was a training regime, running alone is proving to be a discipline.  I have to corral my thoughts – because while my body is incredibly strong these days, it’s my mind that needs a crack of the whip.

In 2009, running was theirs – something that I participated in, but I didn’t own.  It didn’t belong to me.  But this year, running is mine.

Then again, perhaps I’m just avoiding the silence.

Snow is on the ground, and my couch is finally being delivered this morning.  I’m spending the weekend in Colorado Springs with my parents.  Mom just finished infusions for round 3 of chemo, which means she’s over half-way done.  The snow might interfere with my long run this weekend.  Work is busy.  I spend most of my free time alone, and can usually go from the minute I leave the office until arriving back the next morning without saying a word to anyone.  I go to the gym every night.  I still don’t have the runner’s booty.  I watched “The Hurt Locker” and had dreams about bombs.  I’ve gotten some wonderful Real Mail recently, and sent some back.  Denver continues to wrap me up.

So many of my beloved extroverted friends would come unhinged if this was their reality.  Thankfully, there is grace enough – and I, introverted Annie, don’t mind it.  Life feels strange and restrained, but not in a bad way.  Maybe one day I’m going to get lonely – but that day is not today.  Until it is, I’m going to just keep walking forward.

This all might sound so simple and dull, but it felt nice to write it.  It’s what I’m living.  I’m grateful.

I remember around this time two years ago, soon after I had moved to Nashville, feeling lonely and afraid and sad.

This move could not be more different.

Not much scares me these days.  I don’t know why this is, why this time I feel so much more stable and confident – maybe because my reasons for moving are different than what they were two years ago.  Maybe because of what I experienced in my time in Nashville.  Maybe because I’m just a little bit older.

Nashville was an amazing two years – but it was loud, and it was painful.  I will never be sorry for the time that I spent there, but to be honest, it felt like being put through a cheese grater.  A big part of me died while I was there.  I was stripped of a lot of things: dreams, expectations, confidence, even truth.

A lot of times, I forgot what I know to be true.

This past month has been quiet and understated – a welcome change from the chaos of my life for the past two years.  I miss my friends in Tennessee, and start to feel a bit left out when I think of their lives going on together and without me (because how could they possibly live without me?), but most of the time, I feel calm.  My heart feels still.

I have no idea and no expectations for what this season in life will be or bring about.  But I am seeing glimmers of revival in the parts of my heart that I thought were dead and gone.  It feels foreign, but it feels like hope.

That is an invitation, by the way.

Because Julie is here, I’m taking today off of work to go explore the city a bit.  The plan is to walk to the downtown public library (because I drive past it every day, and it is gorgeous), maybe stroll through the Denver Art Museum, hoof it to REI, and the whole time, keep our eyes out for a place to have dinner tonight.

Tomorrow, we’ll head to Colorado Springs to be with my mom and our friend Lisa, and on Sunday morning, we’ll go on a long run.

I am so thankful for easy, low-maintenance friends.  Julie doesn’t care that I don’t have a couch or a TV, or that we went to bed before 11 last night.  We can’t be exciting all the time – and the ones who know this about us and honestly don’t care?  They are keepers.

No drugs required.

I have 5 different possible directions to take this post, all of which are saved as fragments of Word documents on my desktop.  I have been trying to write for days, but quite frankly, everything that is coming out is baloney.  All I can do is stare at the wall.

Y’all, I am exhausted.  And when I am exhausted, I get super pessimistic and woebegone.  Another car honks at me, and I burst into tears.  I find myself presented with chocolate peanut butter brownies, and immediately eat 4.  And then I eat half a frozen pizza.  And tortilla chips.  And maybe some cream cheese on a spoon.  My mind wanders when it should be focused, and I am serious when I should be playful. When I feel overwhelmed, human interaction is the first thing I cut out.  I criticize my body, my abilities, my decisions.

I do not like who I become when I am exhausted.  And I do not like how other people experience me when I am exhausted.

So I’ve been staying quiet.

I’ve been writing in this open venue long enough to know that there are certain things that I should not share.  There are certain times that I should not write publicly.  There are certain emotions that should not be accessible to just anyone.

I make my insides far too available.

But I’m learning to protect my heart, trusting it only to those who have earned it.

So forgive my silence as a simple act of self-preservation.

I am trying to give my spirit a fighting chance at being still.  It’s amazing to me how unaccepted that is in today’s culture.  But Facebook felt like it was adding to the noise and clutter in my mind, and is, thus, worthy of a hiatus at the very least.  That’s about all the explanation I am willing to give.

I am just now realizing that this means no one will get a reminder that my birthday is coming up.

WORLD: MY BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP.

I know that I’ll reactivate it sometime relatively soon(ish), but until then, if you want to find me, you know how.

Some mornings, this is easy – my life is full of funny anecdotes, witty words, cheerful hope. Other days, I have a heavier burden weighing on my chest, and writing about it can be both challenging and therapeutic. Sometimes, it’s just the letter X – and it is my self-declared duty to figure out some direction to take it.

But today, all is quiet. The phone isn’t ringing, and I haven’t received any urgent emails. It’s kind of cold in the lobby here at work, so I’m wrapped in my green coat and thinking about microwaving some water to make hot tea. The mechanical pencil that I keep in my planner has a rubber grip on it, and it’s “sweating” some sort of oil onto my calendar pages – this bothers me. My hair is freshly dyed, dark and silky, and yet it doesn’t cover up my desperate need for a haircut. In a few minutes, I will balance my checkbook, like I do every day. I have eaten approximately 12 Altoids, and now I am chewing a piece of gum. Men will never comprehend the injustice of pantyhose. I think of the nightmare that I had last night, and the nightmare that I had a few weeks ago. I think of when I was younger and we had rabbits in hutches in the backyard. I think of my friend who threw up her breakfast this morning, and my friend who is officially in love, and my friend who is becoming less and less of a friend. My heart aches for the Townes.

What do I have to say today?

So much. So little. If only I knew.

I am clinging to the truth that no matter how deep our sorrow, God’s love is deeper still. And I’ve heard it said that grace always flows downhill: pooling in the deepest, darkest places of our pain. May the Townes feel that inexpressible peace that passes all understanding.

And may Ben smile his pure-sunshine smile, the one that is so much like his mom’s.

But a lot of days feel like today. Just another Wednesday. Just another daily grind. Just another wake up, go to work, eat lunch, back to work, go home, feed the dogs, go on a walk, take a shower, go to sleep. I would venture to say that most of the time, we experience days like this.

The “big moments” are few and far between.

Yesterday I mentioned that “adventure isn’t always exciting” – and I am currently experiencing that first-hand. We live in a world so conditioned for the thrill, the adrenaline, the fireworks, and it makes it hard to be satisfied during the quiet stretches. I want something amazing to happen – something that will act as an injection of joy and achievement and fulfillment.

But you can’t win a gold medal every day. You can’t land your dream job every day. You can’t fall in love every day.

Ultimately, I think that the “big moments” feel good because of the little moments. The gold medal feels good because of the thousands of hours invested in the hard work of training. The dream job feels good because of the misery felt in the former cubicle. The new love feels good because of the prior loneliness and longing. The “big moment” is the result of the often monotonous momentum leading up to it.

But all of our moments, big and small, exciting and tedious, are a part of the same thing: the only life we’ve been given. And as Jack Kerouac wrote, “Believe in the holy contour of life.”

I believe that there is shape and significance to our lives, even in the silence.