I see it when I look at you.
 
You’re smiling.
 
But your walls are built up high.
 
Your heart is on lockdown before anything new or anyone new can get close.
 
Not until you’ve had months to figure it or them out.
 
But even then, you usually still keep part of your heart in a tight grip. Just in case something goes wrong. You want to be able to get away with something untouched.
 
There’s a few of people close to you, who somehow have gotten behind those walls completely.
 
They know things you don’t have to tell them. They even know some things that you’ve never technically told them, or anyone.
 
They figure out what’s going on in your head with you, and sometimes before you.
 
But they even wonder sometimes.
 
Your life has been full of more joy than anything else. What exactly caused you to build walls so high?
 
 
I see it when I look at you.
 
You’re tough. Sometimes too tough.
 
Because you’re that kid who maybe had to grow up too fast.
 
Not that you wanted to. It was because of things you couldn’t and still can’t control.
 
But even in the midst of those things, the good and the hard stuff, you were just that.
 
No matter what you were facing, you were still a kid.
 
You just had to grow up fast. So, your mind was sometimes ahead of your heart.
 
Meaning that you knew what was happening, and you knew what you needed to do to get through.
 
But that didn’t mean you escaped all the hurt.
 
And now that you’re older, you see how some things you said were “no big deal” affected you more than you thought they would.
 
Those things are what the walls everyone is saying you’ve “built up so high” are built out of.
 
 
I see it when I look at you.
 
That one best friend who’s not a best friend anymore.
 
That one person who’s actually gone. You’ve stopped telling yourself that time heals. Because it still hurts in the deepest places to miss them, even after a decade.
 
That one appointment that didn’t go right.
 
That one hallway that has little to no good memories.
 
That one thing that one person said to you years ago, that cut too deep.
 
That one relationship that’s years old, and also years gone. You wish you could forget it. Because when your best friends ask you now what it was exactly, you can’t give them an answer. You don’t even know the answer. All you know is that it hurt.
 
That one time you didn’t listen to your gut. And now, down the road, everything in you wishes you did in that one moment.
 
Those empty promises he never fulfilled.
 
Those things she said that were completely out of left field.
 
 
I see it when I look at you.
 
You’re smiling.
 
And your walls are built up high.
 
But that doesn’t make your smile any less genuine.
 
Like those people close to you know and remind you daily, this life has so much joy.
 
Like everyone else, you’ve got a story.
 
You’re smiling because you’ve let all these things be part of your story.
 
You’ve learned from them. They’ve made you stronger. And you know you’re not alone. Everyone’s got something.
 
You’ve allowed yourself to cry when you need to and laugh too. Thankfully, you’ve probably laughed more.
 
You’ve allowed yourself to see God’s purpose in every good and hard thing you’ve faced.
 
So, you’re smiling.
 
Your walls are built up high, because your imperfect and human. And that’s okay.
 
I know, because I am you. Mine are too.
 
But if there’s one thing I know to be true, it’s that honesty is one of the most powerful things someone can have and experience.
 
Writing is how I get there. To the honest places.
 
May these things I write be honest.
 
May they help you get to honest places as much as they hopefully help me.​

Welcome to From 3West’s second blog series: 21 Things I’ve Learned at 21. In September of last year, that was the title of a blog post, in which I listed out 21 things I’ve learned in my 21 years. My goal is always for my writing to be authentic and to write about where I am at. So, these posts will not be in order of my  initial list. 
Here's post #3 in the series, and #12 on the original list.

#12
 
Dreams and plans change. And that’s okay. It’s a good thing, actually.
~
 
“I don’t do that anymore,” I chuckled at a friend who had just ask when my next sports article was dropping and who I was currently writing for.
 
On my way home later that day after that conversation, I passed a bench in the middle of campus. I smiled, because during my freshman year, I would sit there coming up with story pitch after story pitch and tearing through every ESPN Mag or Sports Illustrated I could get my hands on.
 
My freshman year, I was locked in and set on pursuing sports journalism. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else, and I wasn’t open to anyone (including, maybe especially God) telling me that sports journalism might not be it.
 
I dove in my freshman year and got tons of experience. Which I’m so grateful for. But I remember getting deeper in and realizing I didn’t love the culture of journalism. And that the sports world still has part of my heart, but it’s a different beast when you’re working in it.
 
I remember walking out of one of my journalism classes one day, running to the bathroom and crying in a stall. Because I felt it like this might not be it, but I didn’t know what else I would do.
 
I knew and still know that I want to write for a living. But at that point, sports journalism was the only capacity I allowed myself to dream about writing in, maybe subconsciously blocking out every other option because I wanted this so badly. Even if part of me felt off and like this might not be it.
 
I walked into college saying: “I will not be the kid who changes her major.”
 
Guess what? A year in, I was that kid.
 
And I was scared. I felt my dreams changing, and I didn’t have a concrete answer to what my “dream job” was. Frankly, I still don’t think I do.
 
I’ll tell people that I want to write and tell stories, that’s all I know for sure. I’ll tell people that sports media isn’t totally out of my options, I could maybe see myself working in healthcare communications or even ministry.
 
Or I’ll just be a writer, trying to piece together books or something, broke and living in my parents’ backyard, in a tiny house. (Kidding, Dad.)
 
But the not having a concrete answer to “what’s your dream job?” anymore, really scared me at first.
 
Does it still scare me sometimes? Sure. Absolutely. Especially when I have moments where I realize how fast college is going by.
 
This semester, we’ve been studying 2 Timothy in bible study. One theme I’ve seen in Paul’s letter to Timothy is him constantly reassuring Timothy that God will prepare him for “every good work.”
 
As I’ve wrestled with not knowing what I want to do exactly and what my life is going to look like, I’ve found comfort in two things:
 
God will prepare and is preparing me for whatever he has planned, and I can rest in following his will for my life. Meaning it’s okay that I don’t have everything planned out, in fact, it’s impossible for me to plan everything for my life out.
 
Which, now that I’ve wrestled with it, is comforting. But that has definitely been a hard one to actually rest in. Because I am 100% a planner.
 
It’s been so convicting as God’s taught me about resting in his will and plan. Because I’ve seen how my career isn’t the only thing I’ve tried to hold onto, white knuckled and not give to him.
 
I’ve done it with my medical situation, trying to tell God what he “needed” to do with every surgery. 
​
I do it with my future relationally and as a whole, probably mostly giving into fear and insecurities. I tell everyone that I am destined and pumped to be the single, crazy dog lady. But when one of my friends stopped me mid-joke the other day and hit me with the “what if that’s not it?” I realized how much I’ve let fear overshadow that part of my life, and I’ve attempted to white knuckle that from God too.
 
I know I’ve mentioned him in a few blog posts, but Bob Goff is one of my heroes. As I was sitting in my parked car waiting for my PT office to open for my early appointment Friday morning, thinking about what I’ve been learning about my dreams and plans changing and finding rest in God surrounding that, Bob tweeted this:
 
“God is never as nervous about our future, or as concerned about our past, as we are.”
 
Dang. I cannot tell you how hard that hit home when I looked down at my phone and saw that notification, just as I was reflecting on how I it has been so freeing to slowly learn how to loosen my grip on my future and what I think I want.
 
Dreams and plans change. And that’s okay. It’s a good thing, actually.
 
Because it might just mean that you’re learning to listen to and rest in a dependency on God.