I have officially reached adulthood, and ordered my very first piece of brand new, custom furniture.

It should be here in a few weeks.

In a world where I trust that I will always have what I NEED, it’s a humbling luxury to - every now and then - get what I WANT.  I am a super lucky girl.

September 2008:

January 2010:

My ponytail is making a spectacular comeback.  It’s almost a full-blown mane of glory.

Also, please take a moment to note the difference in my work environments.  Thank you, Emma, for saving me from Sir Allen Stanford.

We are down to single digits: I am moving in 9 days.

And yes, I have Christmas parties 6 of the next 9 nights.  I might run out of outfits.

That said, posting may be light until after I get to Colorado.  I don’t want to miss out on a single moment of Nashville until I have to.  The thought of leaving these friends of mine - the ones I just tried to list by name and then had to stop because it would have been too long to read – keeps me awake at night.

I want to love on these people who have loved me for two years.  I want to write them each letters and tell them exactly why I appreciate them, exactly why I am going to miss them so much my heart might dissolve.  I want to sit face to face with them, and hear their voices.  I want to hug them while I can still touch them.  I want to take pictures with them, to capture this sliver of time that is flying by much too quickly.  I want to let them know that I believe in them, that I want good things for them – that, quite simply, I adore them.

Nashville, get ready for some lovin’.

Some of my best moments have been in this town.  But also, some of my hardest.

Isn’t that the way it goes?  The joy and pain are always intermingled.  It’s impossible to separate them – the laughter and the tears – because life cannot be compartmentalized like a preschooler’s cubby wall.  There is always something difficult to deal with – and there is always something to be thankful for.

It occurred to me the other night – Nashville did not fix me.  I didn’t realize that I had the expectation that it would – not until my mom got cancer and all of a sudden I am leaving this town as big a tangled mess as I have ever been.  Nashville did not heal those wounded places deep inside me, didn’t fulfill those dreams and unidentified desires that I’ve always had, didn’t make me cooler or smarter or prettier or more at peace.

I cried to my dad a couple of nights ago, telling him that as I prepare to leave, I feel an unexpected sense of disappointment.  It surprised me.  I didn’t know I felt disappointed – but I do.  I definitely do.  Nashville didn’t fix me; in fact, in some ways, it ripped those wounds open even wider.

I’ll be honest: I am a wreck these days – a bona fide disaster.  If you don’t think so, that’s because you don’t know me – or because I’m a seriously good faker.

But the people that do know?  They make up the biggest part of why I will always and forever be grateful for my time spent in Nashville.  They have not fixed me – but they have put an arm around me.  The “fingerprints of God,” my dad called them.

We are all weak.  But it’s better to know that we are.

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.

Julie: right before she kicked some serious booty on the GRE (not the GED, as I frequently refer to it), she sent me flowers at work yesterday.  She is so thoughtful, I can’t even stand it.  Julie Curtis is, perhaps, THE nicest person I know.

Like, when I come home from the gym and I’m completely, disgustingly sweaty, and she still insists on hugging me - which probably makes me way more uncomfortable than it does her… sort of like when someone else offers to do your laundry, and you’re like, “No, it’s okay,” and they insist, “No, it would be my pleasure!” and you say, “No, honestly, please don’t,” but they do it anyway, and you cringe because the nicest person in the world has now seen your literal dirty laundry - and they probably don’t even HAVE dirty laundry, because they’re the nicest person in the world.

That’s how Julie makes me feel.  Minus the uncomfortable, awkward stuff.  So, in a word: cherished.

Duane: even though he didn’t know the songs, he stepped in last-minute and played guitar for the songs at Neighborhood Group last night, leaving me with the stress-free job of just singing.  He saved the day.  AS USUAL.  And let’s just say that his alleged “rusty” guitar playing eclipses my very best.

Handy Graham: when no one was home yesterday, he came to the JAM House, chopped up the gigantic tree limb that has been blocking our driveway for over a month, and stacked the wood out by our dumpsters.  If you are a single girl living with other single girls, you KNOW this is heroic.  As Mel said, “It makes me want to cry!”

Phil: moment 3:41.  You are getting me through the day, Phil.  You are getting me through the day.

Sometimes, I need help.  But I don’t like to admit it.  And if there is anything that I hate, it is feeling indebted to those around me – or, worst of all, a burden.  I value independence and cleverness and resourcefulness.  I like being in everyone’s good graces, and will do anything to make sure that I’m not asking anyone to go out of their way for me.

I am extra sensitive in this area because one time, several years ago, I took some friends up on something that they originally offered.  But something went wrong in the process, and I wound up being an inconvenience.  And rather than responding from a place of grace, they took a rather shame-based approach – pointing out each mistake on my part, blaming me for the disturbance, and even requesting me to write an essay about what I had learned from the experience.  They called it an “exercise.”

I still have those email exchanges, saved in a folder called “Hard Words,” to remind me to try to be gracious with those around me.  Words like that last for a long, long time.  (Incidentally, I also have a substantially larger folder called “Good Words,” so don’t cry for me, Argentina.)

Tomorrow night, I am heading to Seattle for a very, very quick trip.  Trips like this, where I want to pack in as much as I can without skimping on the people who are important to me, can be really stressful.  I want everyone to be happy.  I don’t want to spend 48-hours inconveniencing the people that I love.  I don’t want to leave, and arrive back in Nashville to an email that says, “Thanks for coming – YOU SUCK.”

But I should know this by now: my Seattle family welcomes me with open arms.  While many of my relationships have changed due to distance, it is silly for me to assume that my closest friends wouldn’t go out of their way to give me rides and host me and help me out; they would give me a kidney if I needed it.  Why is my natural assumption that I’m all alone in this world?

I’m not.  And I am grateful.

Seattle, I can’t wait to see you for a second.

I did it.  And it was the worst best thing I’ve ever done.

I have started this post at least a dozen times, and am having a hard time putting into words what happened on Saturday.

I could tell you about waking up at 4:30am, and stressing out in a traffic jam on the way to the race.

I could tell you about the last minute visit to a Porta-Potty that had no toilet paper.

I could say that miles 1-5 were fun, and 5-8 were less fun, and 8-9 was really tough, but 9-10 was easier, and from 10 on, it was sheer agony.

I could talk about the heat, and the people passing out right and left.

I could give you the amazing finish times of all of my friends, who I am so ridiculously proud of.

I could report that I came in 8,449th out of the 22,749 finishers, and 3,987th out of the 14,505 women.

Or, perhaps my favorite tidbit of information: I could talk about the friend-who-will-never-be-named who is so hardcore, she PEED HER PANTS in the last mile so she wouldn’t have to stop.

But I think that this is my biggest take-away: what an enormous privilege.  To have legs, to have a body that works, to have the opportunity to train for something far more physically taxing than I have ever attempted before.  To have the ability to run.

Even in the heat.  Even when it’s not fun.  Even when I didn’t get the runner’s booty that I hoped for.  I am ABLE to run.  Not everyone is.

And this girl is getting busy getting grateful.

I am so glad I did it.  I am so glad it’s over.  And I guess I can’t deny it anymore: once one has run 13.1 miles, she is officially a “runner.”

More to come in the next few days…

My life is really awesome.  And if I were the F-bomb using type, I’d throw one of those in: my life is really F-ing awesome.  I LOVE my life here in Nashville.

That said, I’m feeling overwhelmed with everything going on – and yes, that is a monstrous understatement.

I have a new job that is taking up every ounce of brainpower I can muster – mostly because I am learning how to think like the Internet thinks (funny – I thought it just knew).  I wasn’t prepared for how exhausting starting this new job would be.  Thankfully, it’s a good tired.

I have the world’s most amazing roommates.  I have fantastic friends – the number of which is growing exponentially, meaning no shortage of social gatherings.  I am involved in a church that I love.  I’m trying to eat right and sleep enough and manage my bank account and purchase necessary plane tickets and maybe occasionally shower.  And on top of it all, I am training for this blasted half-marathon – which is happening 2 weeks from tomorrow.

I am slammed.

Until future notice, I think that I’ll be forced to give up songwriting, keeping up with “The Office,” cookie baking, reading in all forms, and – the bane of my existence – phone calls of any sort.

Except with my mom and Greta, of course.

This is a season.  Mama said there’ll be days like this, there’ll be days like this, Mama said.  And I know that I’ll settle into a rhythm soon enough.  Until then, I am experiencing the overwhelming, all-consuming, crazy-making reality of BUSYNESS.

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!