on waiting.

Last week when I was home, it was just my parents and me Wednesday through Friday. And being there reminded me of when I first graduated college and got a job in Indy. I lived at home to save money (medium successful...) and it was just the three of us.

Together, we moved out our my childhood home into our new one. We broke it in together, learned the new neighborhood, developed new-house routines. 

It was fun - really fun. It was the first time I'd lived at home as a grown up. It had never been OK for us to have a glass of wine together. I'd never had job stuff to talk to them about instead of school stuff. It had never been just me and them - it had almost always been the seven of us, or at least always five of us. Never just three. 

I look back on it as a really sweet time I had with them and I'm so grateful for it. It changed my relationships with them and helped us see one another in a new light. 

But you know what? While I was living there, I was so stressed. I couldn't relax because I felt like I should have been living in my own apartment. Failure to launch. That's how I felt every day. Silly for living with my parents, when everyone else had houses in Broadripple and apartments in Indy. I was in the suburbs replacing high school framed pictures in my bedroom with college ones, while everyone else was hanging cool prints in their freshly painted kitchens. 

Comparing, comparing. I was so stressed.

I thought of that when I was up early Wednesday morning. I was brushing my teeth, so excited to go get some of my mom's coffee before work. And all of those feelings came rushing back. I was in my old routine and it felt like barely anything had changed - like I'd stepped back in time just for a moment. 

And I looked in the mirror and told myself what I wished I'd known then: calm down, Whitney. You'll get there. You aren't stuck - it's just not your time yet. Be grateful for the right now. Be grateful for what you're learning; what you're living. The next step will be taken, but right now is so important. And it's so sweet. Don't rush it. Take a deep breath and enjoy it. 

I write this as I sit in my house in Atlanta. Melissa is in the other room and I'm on the couch, blogging away. Our place is clean. It has cute decorations. It has wood floors and things I didn't even imagine having back then. 

Because the future is so often sweeter than we could have imagined. 

But we have to wait. We have to embrace the now in order to get to the future. So today, I'm not rushing. I'm not stressing. I'm enjoying it, carrying my head high, my heart filled to the brim with joy. Because the future is exciting, but the right now is so worth living. Every minute of it. 

amber waves of grain

I'll be the first to admit that one of the reasons I moved south was the weather. We Bibers grew up in the Midwest, but there's no doubt we have southern blood somewhere in our lineage. We have no interest in winter, no matter how you slice it. 

But as much as I love (love) this Georgia weather, every fall, Indiana calls me back. I ache for the crisp weather. The blue skies contrasted against the green grass and yellow corn. The brightly colored sunsets that make your heart melt. The smell of waking up in my at-home bedroom, dewy mornings pouring in my wide-open window. My mom's uber-strong coffee, my dad's homemade breakfasts. 

And although this year's trip came earlier than my typical go, Indiana was ready for me. Unseasonably fallish, it was. It was cool and crisp and sunny and filled me up to the brim with Hoosier love. 

There was dinner with friends at Napolese. 

There was a family party, where I got to meet my cousin Chris' baby. As well as my cousin Becca's baby. Yes. Two babies. Two! (Yes, I was in heaven. No, I didn't care that I got spit up on three times. Oh, and yes, I debated stealing them but didn't think I could get through TSA.)

There was apple picking with my parents and Sam.

  

There was sushi at Kona with my parents.

There were walks and sunsets and iced coffees and good conversations and rest. Oh! Lots of rest. There was happiness and joy. 

And there was corn. Lots of corn.

And it was wonderful.

Happy Monday!

{yes}

My friend Jordan and I used to joke that when she said maybe, she meant no. And when I heard that maybe, I heard yes. I just can't help myself! I believe so deeply in the power of yes.

To say yes is a gift. It's to take on an adventure. It can be a risk - a life change - a small task. It can be so little or so much and you often don't know which until you're already into the yes. It's a glass of wine   - maybe - or it's hours of good conversation and a friendship growing deeper over an accidental bottle.

But I am only just recently learning the power of no. To know you need the time to yourself, the space, the opt out. 

To say yes is exciting on the surface, but to say no - to know your own needs on that level - is exciting in its own right. It's maturity and self respect. It's knowing when you need sleep instead of that glass of wine. Or time to reflect instead of divulge in conversation. 

Call it a testament to my parents' undying support, as I think my incessant yessing begins with a belief that I can do it all. My parents told me I could, so I can, right? Maybe. But just because you can do everything doesn't mean you should. To complete everything - carry the juggling balls over the finish line - is good. But to do fewer things, very well, can be so much more fulfilling. To go deeper into one task, master the skill is an entirely different level of satisfaction. 

And I'm still learning it. Learning to cut back and play to my strengths. 

Oh my gosh I am not a DIYer. And that's OK. No one needs me to DIY for them. But you know what I can do? Organize your closet. So when you're done crafting and your scissors and glue and paint are everywhere, I'm there. 

I'm learning it evermore as I get ready to go to Africa. I've been blown away by the support I've received. It has been incredible to  see the way people have said yes to me - have offered me the skills, gifts and support they have. I'm in awe. 

The way my dad gave to me financially last night, so generously. 

The way so many of you have supported me financially, also so generously.

And in prayers. 

How friends have called me asking what they can buy for the trip. Sunscreen? Bug spray? A sleeping bag? 

The way my company gave me product to take over. 

The way people have asked me the right questions, cared about what I will be doing, given me their time, love and concern for my travel. 

Shared my page. 

Shared my passion.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. For giving me what you can. For giving me the gifts you have and for saying yes to my adventure. 

I just love you all.

on what we need

Courtney and I joke because, anytime I leave a doctor's office, I call her and tell her, unabashedly, that I have a crush on the doctor.

And I mean it. Sincerely. I almost always leave appointments genuinely smitten, thinking about what his wife must be like. Do they host fun dinner parties together? Does she ask him medical questions? Do they have children? I wonder when they met. Did she go through residency with him?

During a recent appointment, as I sat there, wondering what this tiny old man was like outside of the office, I had a moment of clarity.

I am pretty bad at asking for and accepting help. Not pretty bad. Bad. And in the confines of a doctor's office, there is no way around it. I have to ask for help; I cannot do it myself. I cannot figure it out on my own or take care of it without him.

I think when you accept help, even from a stranger, it forces you to let them in. To accept the help is to admit: I need you a little bit. I am grateful for you. I will take this gift that you are giving me, even if you don't know how badly I need it. Even if I might not be able to repay you.

I noticed my issue with accepting help most clearly last fall when I broke my foot. Melissa and Katie repeatedly asked me how they could help. Did I need food? Could I please stop hopping down the stairs on one foot with my laundry basket? They would wash it for me.

Or even worse, when I went to the hospital immediately after I broke my it, the nurse took one look at my foot and told me I needed to sit in the wheelchair.

Right back at him, I took one look at his wheelchair and said: No thanks. I'll walk.

Quickly he said: No, you cannot walk on that. I will be sued. 

And I said: OK. I will hop. 

I couldn't, wouldn't admit I needed that wheelchair to help me. I was fine.

And I don't think I'm alone, here. I think there is a bit of a culture around this. Especially as girls. Especially as single 20-something girls. We've trained ourselves not to need things. Not to be needy. Not to accept help, because what if the help goes away, and we've become reliant on it? No. We are limitless; we do not need anything.

But this week, I found myself on the opposite side of the equation.

A friend of mine is going through a very difficult battle. She has more on her plate right now than any human could or should manage. And I want to help her. I want to bear any burden I can for her. I'll make her a meal. Get her groceries. Bring her coffee. Sit with her and talk or not talk. But she isn't ready to accept my help.

And while I was asking her to please, please, allow me to do just one thing, I realized that sometimes, the people that love you are offering to help not because you cannot do it. Not because you aren't enough. But because when you love someone, even if you know they can carry the weight of the world, they shouldn't have to. When you love someone and can't find a way to solve their problems, you want to find a way to wrap them in your love and ease their pain. With coffee, with conversation, with quiet.

With anything that might provide a moment of peace; a break from the pain.

Yearning to help her reminded me that we all spend time on both sides of the equation. We all have days, weeks, months where we need a little help, and that's OK. Not because we aren't enough, but simply because sometimes it's easier to ride in the wheelchair than it is to hobble.

And, before you know it, you'll be the one doing the pushing again.