I'm Only on Season 2 of Friends

Sometimes it's fun to ponder what my life would look like if it had played out exactly the way I thought it would have as a kid. At 17, here's what I thought a day in my early to mid 20s would look like:

I wake up and roll over and kiss my husband. I tell him good morning, climb out of bed, and start his coffee (I do not partake in the coffee drinking personally, but the smell is something I've gotten used to in the mornings by this point). I take out the breakfast supplies while my husband climbs out of bed to make breakfast. He starts cooking while I start to get ready for the day. I throw on a pair of scrubs and pull my hair back in the bathroom, performing all my daily rituals before heading into the kitchen to have breakfast with my partner. We discuss what the day will be at the table and talk about going to see a few starter homes in the area we might be interested in buying. As we watch the school bus pull by our townhouse, someone brings up the baby topic, again. There's some lighthearted bantering, but we know that the clock is ticking on the timeline we made up (when we first started dating) about when we'd have our first. Retiring early and enjoying time with our adult children was always a goal, and even though the idea of children is intimidating, it's exciting too. And we're ready, we've been married almost two years already, and we've put down roots in this new area. As we clean up breakfast, we mull over baby names we've had picked out for at least four years, and giggle at the silly ones that one or the other have vetoed. We kiss goodbye as we head to our cars, and the day begins.

Y'all. Here's what my mornings look like today, on the real, in my early to mid-twenties:

I wake up and roll over to two impatient lab mixes anxiously waiting for one of my eyelids to crack open. After some morning pleasantries I let the two lab mixes out through the back door to go potty before I jump in the shower. Normally at some point in this chaos I'll miss a call from mom attempting to wish me a good day and have to call her back for an exactly 5 second discussion. After I shower, I put on my clothes for work, which means workout gear and a good pair of tennis shoes. Heading back into my bedroom I fluff or make my bed in my master, before heading back into the main section of the house to open all the curtains in the living room and kitchen area. If I need to, I'll drop down into my laundry room and throw a load of laundry into the washer before I start my car from the kitchen window with my auto-start. I'll do a run through of the house, closing any bedroom or bathroom doors I need to, before I check the weather to decide one last time if the dogs need to come in or stay outside before I leave for work. After making the decision to leave them out, I grab a protein bar, fill my water, grab a backpack with my laptop, and I'm out the door. I pull my half damp hair back as I back out of my driveway and do a once over of the front of my house before shifting into drive and heading to work.

You guys, my fantasized twenty something morning and my actual twenty something morning could not be more different. In one I'm pondering some of life's biggest decisions with the person I've committed to spending the rest of my forever with. In the other? My most pressing decision that will affect my future self is whether or not I'll come home to a pair of wet, cold, angry dogs, or not. So how did life end up so differently? It wasn't for lack of planning. I am the girl with a plan. THE girl. I can tell you what I'm doing six months from now on a Tuesday if you let me. But you know what I don't do? I don't predict the future well. And planning and predicting are two different things. It's fun to plan, but I've figured out that it's foolish to predict. Because one of the biggest things the Lord has been teaching me in my 20s? I am not in charge of the future.

Granger Smith wrote a book about the life and loss of his young son, which is called 'Like a River'. In this touching testament to his son (whose name was River), he details how he found faith after such a monumental loss as losing a child, and he equates our lives themselves to rivers. I won't ruin the book for you, because I hope that you read it for yourself, but it's an impactful read. I haven't experienced losing a child, and my river has thankfully yet to throw me the turbulence that Granger and his family has had to ferry in their lifetimes, but how he describes our lives spoke volumes to my faith and effected my prayer life in a huge way. Ultimately, no matter how much I plan, God is in the source of my river. And the best way to handle what might come your way as you float downstream, is to connect to your savior.

I'm sure as I made all those concrete, fool proof plans as a teenager God was shaking His head and waiting patiently for me to get tired and figure out how foolish that was. Well, it only took me about eight more years, but I'm here.

For the last few years of my twenties, I have been the subject of speculation as- no joke- all of my close friends, have gotten engaged, married, had babies, and/or a combination of the three. Basically, attaining one aspiration or another of my imaginary life I had planned on having by this point. And I won't lie, I struggled watching all of that from the sidelines while I fielded all the well-meaning questions about my own future as time passed. Those were things I planned on, prayed over, had anxiously awaited. Ultimately at the end of the day, that's just not where my river has led me yet. And that's okay, believe it or not. Don't get me wrong, I still pray for those blessings to come one day. I still plan for a life like the one I envisioned all those years ago, but I also understand that it's okay that it hasn't happened yet.

I have a peace knowing that my timing wasn't the correct one, because I suck at predicting, even if I'm excellent at planning. The type of planning I was trying to accomplish requires a perspective I will never have. I have a peace understanding that His knowledge and expectations for my life are way greater than mine. And I know that He understands my heart and what's best for me. Sometimes I catch myself letting the joy of the moment slip through my fingers because I'm too caught up in what 'shoulda', coulda', woulda' been. But then I remember: I'm only on Season 2 of Friends.

Let me explain. The hit comedy TV show Friends ran for 10 seasons and follows a group of young adults trying to figure it all out while navigating careers, romance, family, and adulting in general. If you haven't watched it, you should. It is literally 10 seasons of a group of people just working their way through life together. By the conclusion of the show, the group is finally finding its rhythm, as couples begin their new marriages, have babies, and/or simply find some stability in their personal lives through career accomplishments. You know what I never caught onto though? In Season 1, the characters are all in their early to mid-twenties. All those chaotic, love-filled, confusing, heartbreaking moments I giggled at were all moments that those characters needed to become the parents, spouses, and friends they were by the conclusion of the show. And newsflash, by the conclusion of the show the characters are all estimated to be in their mid-thirties.

So, in summation, it is okay that I'm only on Season 2 of Friends. It is okay because I am not on a timeline that is restrictive. I am on a timeline that the source of my river has created for me specifically. I have faith that the Lord knows the desires of my heart, and also the correct timing for those desires to come to fruition, should that be His plan for me. In the meantime, I will embrace the joys of what Season 2 has had to offer. (You should get to hear about some of the joy I would've missed out on if I didn't change my thinking.) In Season 2 I've gotten the chance to send four best friends down the aisle, which has led to new friendships with their spouses and young marriages to cheer for. I've gotten to meet one tiny new best friend that grew in my college roommate's belly for nine whole months before rocking our worlds in the best way possible. I've learned about what it means to love someone. I've had the chance to travel from skiing the mountains of Colorado to exploring the city streets of Tampa. I've been promoted and challenged at work, while rooted in a new community that is accepting and kind. And these are all blessings to take time to cherish and celebrate. So today, I'm thankful for the perspective and insight of Granger Smith's book 'Like a River'. And of course, for a TV show I love that reminds me that not everything has to be crammed into one season. Dear twenty-something, I really hope that if you're anything like me, you give yourself permission to enjoy your Season 2 today.

XOXO

P.S. This wallpaper verse is taken from the book Like a River by Granger Smith. Go read this book. Really. I got my copy from Amazon!

What My Fixer Upper House Taught Me: Making the Worst House on the Street Better

The worst house on the street was my favorite. I don't want to know what that says about me or my psyche.

This was the third house I had decided to look at. The small town I was moving to for work had little options for renting, which is what I had done previously. This lack of viable living situations sent me on the hunt for a home to buy when I came across the one that would ultimately by mine. The narrow, cracked driveway barely held two vehicles as I pulled in after my realtor. My mother jumped from the passenger seat, anxious to do what she believed was her motherly duty at the time- keep this realistic. And lucky for her, the house made her job easy. The lawn while mowed down was wild, with flowerbeds that had been overtaken by grass, weeds, and dead bushes. There were two thriving trees that were untamed and determined to grow too close to the house despite the small flowerbed's space allowance. In the corner of the unkept beds laid a sad black shutter that had fallen from the window above.

Inside, the house was a medley of further issues that could be spotted with the naked eye. The cheap vinyl flooring in the kitchen and dining room was peeling at the seams. The appliances that were left behind had missing handles and grease-stained doors. The floor had a little bit of a tilt to it, and the whole house felt stuffy in the July heat. In the bathroom the heat had started to melt away the adhesive on the peel-and-stick tile flooring, and the rusted-out bathtub made an unwelcoming space seem even worse. But none of the design choices made me ponder more than the small, shallow closet in the master bedroom that had been turned into a half-bathroom, complete with an accordion door.

Now I know what you're thinking. What's not to love? From the considerable amount of visible mold to the completely hollow exterior doors you could fall right through- she's a beaut Clark. But listen, the older I get, the more I realize I lean hard into the stereotype of a fixer. Usually, it gets me into a lot of trouble, I can't lie. This was one of these times. I was absolutely bent on the idea of getting this house. Did I have the money to make the renovations I wanted? If only. Did I possess any of the skills that I would need to complete these projects myself through DIYs? Oh my gosh, I had no idea what I was doing. HGTV never prepared me for what I was about to get myself into. But I just felt like I needed it. It was an emotional time in my life, and this new house would signify a fresh start, something selfish that I could completely transform and tailor just for me. I was just barely able to get the loan to buy the house, but after about two days of negotiation, we had decided on a price and before I knew it I had the keys in my hand.

And boy oh boy has it been an adventure since the minute those keys were mine. I have tried my best to create a list of all of my embarrassing mistakes and lessons that completely flipping a home with no money, no time, and a lot of love taught me. This list definitely isn't comprehensive, but it is real. I can promise you that.

The List of Unexpected, Cliche, Practical Lessons That My First Home Taught Me:

• First, pick the right tool for the job, because using the wrong tool for the job doesn't mean you won't get it done. What it does mean is that it'll take you way longer to finish said job. Before I bought a house, I had never personally used a power drill. (Nowadays it's one of my most reached for possessions.) While adding new hardware to the existing cabinets in the kitchen, I had to create new holes in the wood to make a space to screw the handles into. Instead of going and getting the swirly-wood-carvy bit used to actually perform this job, I decided I wanted to discover fire again. I took a regular Phillips head drill bit, and I pressed that baby into the marking on the cabinet until it smelled and looked like there had been a bonfire in my kitchen. To be fair, I didn't know what to use at the time, but the presence of that amount of smoke told me I definitely wasn't doing this correctly. If I had been stubborn and continued that cycle, I would've just ruined by best tool, all because I wasn't willing to learn the first time and swap out the right bit for the job.

• Secondly, HIRE SOMEONE ELSE TO COME PAINT. Good night if there is one thing I need you to do it is this. Hire a painter. Hire painter(s) - plural- if needed. Do not be like me, painting the house still almost a full year later, hating every second of it. If it's just one room then fine, I'll give it to you. But we painted every square inch of the house from ceilings to cabinetry to baseboards. It took away valuable hours of my life. Don't be cheap unless you have to be. Think about the hours it will take you to finish the job before you skimp on hiring someone. Biggest house reno regret: myself and my family spent whole weeks in here doing what a professional could've done in two days. Don't be cheap when it's not smart.

• Thirdly, you are built for community as a person. Don't just hole up in your house and create this fortress that you never let anyone into because 'it's not ready' or 'it's too far gone right now for you to see the vision' or 'I don't want them to feel obligated to help'. Girls and boys, you invite every friend you can to come over and visit you in that house. Have them over while you work, have them over to eat takeout on the floor and dream, have them over to help you pick paint colors or countertops. Just invite them in. This process is going to be exhausting and hard, don't make it lonely too. Because if we want to be honest, what a way to suck joy out of your first home by training yourself to be ashamed of it.

• Fourthly, you are going to mess up. And to top that off, there will be so many things that will happen beyond your control. You won't get the home improvement loan because they'll say your two years of credit isn't long enough to qualify you. A pipe will burst. The 'completely fine' duct work under the house will have to be moved to the attic and totally replaced. Sewer will back up from the city line. You'll lose all the keys to the new locks except for one. The day you move in, your brand-new duct work will be useless because your 'almost brand new' air conditioning unit will go out and you'll have to buy a new one. You'll plant beautiful new flowerbeds with no weed resistance and have to pick them out daily. You'll continually forget to replace the sad fallen shutter, and when you get your appliances there will be no plug in for your dishwasher. The flooring installers will set your floors half an inch higher than before, and you won't be able to hang up a single door after they're done. (Including the bathroom door, and you won't be able to have guests over for a week because of it.) It will be an emotional roller coaster. You will cry and laugh and fear and pray in that house before you even get a chance to sleep in it if you have my luck. Flip houses are not for the faint of heart. So, gather up your why's, because you'll need them. Not just your family, but your friends too, your pets, your partner, thoughts about your future- heck sometimes even an encouraging conversation with your contractor. Hold onto those. Your 'why's' will get you through your 'whoa's'.

• Lastly, take a stupid amount of pictures. This will be one of the biggest whirlwinds of your young adult life and one day you'll want to look back and remember it. Befores, afters, in the middles, etc. Take pictures frequently, of everything, always. You need to treat this the same way an Instagram food blogger treats a nice piece of Alvacado toast. Get all the angles and lighting options you can now. You can't go back and try again, so do it. If you don't want the pictures later, they're easy to delete (but you'll really want them).

I do not regret buying the worst house on my street, I just regret not knowing everything from that list before I started it. But that's the point, right? You live, and you learn. Hopefully, in your case, you read, then you learn, then you live better than I did the first time around. I love this tiny house and all of the projects I still haven't finished in it. It'll never be perfect, and I have completely had to redefine what I feel 'finished' looks like. But in my first few months of living in it this house has allowed me to host family dinners, and a baby shower for my best friend. I've had Gilmore Girls marathons with my mother in that living room we spent days painting, and dinner parties with my friends in the dining room I painstakingly wallpapered. My dogs spend hours in the backyard I bought for them to stretch their legs in, happily romping after one another and barking at their neighbor friends. The guestroom that I moved junky old furniture out of right after buying the house hosted my first real guest for an entire week, my grandmother. And I spend hours in my kitchen cooking on the countertops I picked out with one of my best friends.

This house for all of its shortcomings has already been a place of joy for my friends and family, which is what I have prayed for and planned for since it was bought. Despite all of those bumps in the road and unexpected happenings, this house pulled through. Like I mentioned before, I'm not sure what being attracted to a house like this says about me, but I will say I am proud of what the outcome says. Would I flip a house again? Maybe in a few years. Right now, this little house is it for me. And I am thankful to report: I no longer have the worst house on the street.

Hank: An Origin Story of the First Dog

One of the best ideas I have ever had: adopt a dog from an Instagram post, with a long-distance boyfriend, have no stable plan for where it will live, or how to pay for it, get told it's nothing like the pup you wanted, and adopt it anyways. Say yes over and over until you get said pup despite every bright, shiny red flag that keeps popping up. If this doesn't sound like a recipe for success to you, then I'm not sure what will in this blog. Some might call it irresponsible, and honestly, those some might be right. But let me tell you, I have absolutely zero regrets about this one seemingly catastrophic choice.

I'm scrolling Instagram when I see the particularly adorable puppy announcement a friend had shared online. In the picture, her Golden Retriever is surrounded by pickles, peanut butter, and other notorious human pregnancy cravings. Of course, my first response is I want one. What I didn't expect was for my boyfriend at the time to agree. The puppies were free, and my boyfriend had wanted his own big dog ever since living with his roommates. The details of who said what are fuzzy, but within the hour we were on the waitlist for a female golden retriever puppy from my friend's mama dog's litter.

First things first: where to put her? I was living at home finishing my senior year of college, and my boyfriend was living an hour and thirty minutes away doing the same. Our brainchild was this: let's have her live with my boyfriend for the first couple of months until we graduated, and once we graduated, we would move in together with said pup (spoiler: we did not). Next on the list was to buy all the things. I was beside myself; it was a dream. Weeks before the pups were even born, I had a crate, toys, bowls, food, treats, collars, leashes, and had lugged all these supplies up to my boyfriend's rented townhouse. Things were getting exciting, and I was eager to get my hands on this pup. But no one told me that maybe the momma dog wouldn't have enough girls.

She was a he, and he was not a golden retriever. My friend texted me ironically on the weekend of my boyfriend and I's anniversary letting me know that the pups had come early, there was only one girl, and due to complications, the majority of the litter had not survived. These unfortunate circumstances left us with two options, no puppy at all, or take on the little Yoda lookalike male puppy that was left over by the time they got to our names on the list. Of course, I have committed to this puppy getting experience at this point. And I have never been the gal to give up on a dream because of a bump in the road. AKA: I'm stubborn to a fault. My vote was still solidly in favor of taking the wrinkly little black colored male, even though he did totally look like Yoda, with wide set ears and a smushed nose. My boyfriend at the time immediately showed cold feet. And unlike all the other red flags up to this point, you would have thought that made me pause. My biggest partner in this was nervous, that's a big deal! Haha, NOPE. You don't know me well yet if you believed that. It took some convincing to get him to agree to following through, which he did eventually do. The only thing that had changed now was that our Bonnie had become our Hank.

Weeks later, he was ours. Hank was a cute, timid Golden Retriever/Chocolate Labrador mix that liked to nap and chew on things he wasn't supposed to. He had grown out of his Yoda phase, but he was definitely best described as a Black Labrador. He spent his first few months living in a college townhouse where he learned to sit, shake, be gentle, and lay down. He would go off on adventures every time you let him outside (no fence meant lots of adventures), he chewed coffee tables and cords, and had accidents where he wasn't supposed to. He also made lots of friends and was well loved by all.

About three months after getting Hank my boyfriend and I were graduating from our respective colleges. Plans had changed drastically from when we got Hank, as they do in college and you're young. I was still looking for a job, and my boyfriend at the time was planning on relocating five hours away. So... what about Hank? Pro tip: when you get your first pet, if you're in college still, beta fish travel well. Finally, a month after graduating and lots of stress headaches later, I had a job offer and was able to start making plans to find a new living situation for myself. I found a small 600 sq. ft. apartment that I could barely afford with the pet rent and dove in. Hank came to live with me at that point. He was officially my responsibility until my boyfriend and I could be together again (another spoiler alert, that also did not happen).

I was living almost two hours from home for the first time in my life, my friends had all moved to different cities, and my boyfriend was five hours away. I was lonely in a way I wasn't familiar with. At work I had great friends, I had joined a local church I loved, and I spent several nights a week playing in adult sports leagues at the local community centers in the area. But in the evenings, mornings, and anytime I wasn't busy, it was just me. And that was not very fun. I figured out pretty quickly I was a gal that liked my community and my people close.

But it wasn't just me, there was Hank. Hank made home feel more like home even though it was just us ninety five percent of the time. In the first year I had him full time, he faked what I thought was his eminent death after he chewed a remote so badly, I had to assume he had swallowed the missing battery. That was the night I learned where the 24-hour emergency vet was. After I got home at 2 AM with a dog who had a clean bill of health, I was exhausted. A week later I found the missing battery behind my couch while cleaning. I would get notifications from my security cameras that there was motion in my living room while I was at work, only to check the film and find him standing on my coffee table on all fours, looking out the window. (I still don't know why; he could see out that window from the ground.) We had one particularly nasty and explosive accident in my car while out for a relaxing drive, which taught me more about detailing a car than I ever wanted to know. I figured out he watches TV, and his favorite shows involve animals. He would diligently stare at the TV as I sat nearby working on my laptop, giggling every now and then when he would growl softly or bark. Hank and I explored trails and parks in the evenings, and I woke up to his quiet protests every morning at six thirty to be let out. It was impossible to feel lonely with his bossy little 'woof' directing when he wanted more food or be served more treats. I met more of my neighbors through Hank's persistence than I did of my own accord. By the time my boyfriend that I shared Hank with and I finally split up, it was clear that I expected to keep Hank. At this point I'd had Hank for almost a full year, and the boyfriend agreed that it was best.

Here's why I write this Life has changed quite a bit since the day I decided I wanted a puppy, right down to the puppy I thought I was getting. Because I chose him when I did, Hank has had to adapt. Hank has lived through four different living situations in his life, two of which did not have a backyard. He has lived in small apartments. My career choices have meant that he has lived in three different towns. He has had to be gentle with me after a surgery when his walks were briefly suspended. Hank has watched me mourn personal loses and celebrate some of my greatest victories. I've forced him into matching Christmas pjs, jackets, and bandanas. Hank has had to learn how to be in the house for an extended period of time by himself without much entertainment anytime I'm away. But as I sit here and type this, he is sprawled underneath my feet in my living room snoring quietly. He has a yard that is fenced, a toybox that is full, and I have a work situation where I can come home at lunch every day to let him out. There's a TikTok sound trending right now that is dedicated to 'that dog that you got in your twenties'. How they 'watched you grow up'. Hank is my twenties dog. He has rolled with the punches like I have rolled with his.

I did not write this post to discourage you from getting that dog in your twenties. I wrote this post to introduce you to my twenties dog. Hank is one of my best decisions. There were lots of times that it could have been better for Hank to be with a different person who could give him more. There have been multiple times that Hank was not a convenient pet. You're going to pay a bit more for your twenties dog, monetarily and emotionally. Rent will be higher, and you may even have to pay someone to help you with them if you're alone. You're going to probably wonder how it survived you one day, whether that's because of the dog food you chose to feed it or just your lack of knowledge in general. You'll worry about what you're putting it through sometimes, but that dog will always be happy to see you. And lots of days, that's all you need. That's the synopsis of the life of Hank thus far, my first dog. The OG. I felt like it was right to introduce him properly and trust me when I say I am excited to tell you all about him, even his key role in all the misfortunate events I listed above.

XOXO