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[itmeansfreeman]

I love you, Tony.

At 11:11 PM, you texted me "11″... I never answered. We both know I blocked you, but the iMessage on my laptop didn’t block you so your messages still came through.

A couple days later you came to my house. Last night. I know you don’t know this, but according to my Ring camera, you came at 11:11 PM.

It was weird because I had just laid down after listening to some Yoga Nidra meditation so that I can finally fall asleep, after four consecutive days of horrible sleep. Blame it on adjusting to midnight rotations or just the recent break up. But as I was finally drifting off, I heard a thud from the front door. I opened my eyes and asked myself if I heard that correctly. Another three or four thuds. I rolled over to open my safe. I thought, “Who could be knocking on my door this late? Did I leave the car parked in, blocking Rose from pulling out of the driveway?”

That’s what’s so great about the Ring app. I just opened my app and there I saw you in black & white, night vision, standing at my door with the screen door against your right shoulder. I think I said out loud, “Why? Ugh Tony why?” You looked up into the camera, eyes wide open. Your big eyes were always a beautiful brown window to your soul. You always play with your eyelashes at the ends of your eyes.

I considered just ignoring the knocks but I remembered that you still had my keys. The first thing you would see if you came in would be the roses that Brian just brought me on our first date. Fresh, a bright solid red.. a dozen. A new Brian. Sitting in a vase right on the dining table that we shared so many meals together at. The amount of meals you cooked for me Tony... you know in our whole relationship of 3.5 years I only cooked two? I have cried literal tears over how good some meals have been— I know you laughed when I did and loved that. You always made food with love. My favorites were jasmine rice, beans, and Costco salmon... your Chinese wok fired orange chicken, out-of-this-world-good ground turkey tacos... your love for grilling I will never forget. Now it’ll sit in my backyard collecting rust.

I couldn’t bear to break your heart like that. For you to walk in and see roses in your face. So I spoke to you through the Ring. You asked if I could open the door. After a good silence, I told you to give me a minute. I put on pants, went downstairs, took the vase of roses and put it under the kitchen sink cabinet. I walked to the door and there you stood. I think you asked if you could come in or I must have felt in my care for you to get you out of the cold. It’s the first few nights of fall that are finally getting truly cold.

You came in and sat on the couch. No lights were on. I stood by the doorway and looked at you. Then I told Google to turn on the globe light. You asked me to sit down. “Can you please sit down?” So I did on the other end of the couch.

You asked me why I never dropped your stuff off when I said that I would. I told you that I tried, but your apartment keys didn’t work on the new building’s lock. So I just brought it back home with me. I pointed to the corner of the living room where your things were. Two Wegmans totes and your black canvas jiu jitsu backpack. You stood up and went towards it.. looking around the house, seeing what’s different. You saw two cigars sitting perfectly parallel on my console table and asked, “Where did you get the cigars from?” “An event,” I answered. A recent coffee event. I wanted to smoke them with you honestly and I don’t know that I can smoke them without you. They will probably sit there and go stale. We sat back down on the couch.

“Did something happen in Texas?”

I had broken up with you last week after coming home from Texas selling Kopp Wallets. I broke up with you during my 4 while I was home eating dinner in uniform. You had just gotten out of work, showered, and rushed over excitedly to see me. You kissed me. I sat on the kitchen counter and said, “Tony?” Instant tears rolling down my eyes. I knew that it was time to really call it the end.

Nothing remarkable happened in Texas, besides me renting a BMW Z4, my childhood dream car. 

There was a grey zip up jacket on the couch— one that I didn’t really wear much during our relationship. It wasn’t familiar to you and you picked it up and looked at the tag, thinking maybe it was a guy’s. I saw your eyes dart around the house to see what’s changed in a week. You were convinced there was another man. It broke my heart that there was. He came into the picture right after you Tony. If you ever read this, I promise it did not overlap with us.

You begged me, asking what I need from you. It was never going to be us, Tony. You didn’t desire kids, my parents didn’t accept, you had a temper that hurt me too many times. 

You asked me if I was happy that I blocked you. You asked me, “Does it make you feel powerful? Does it do something for your ego?” The anger rushed back into my temples. I closed by eyes and told you to get out now— this is exactly the type of behavior that made me detach from you. You instantly begged for me to open my eyes and look at you... that you read recently that people block each other because it makes them feel powerful. Just like every other fight, I softened again to your voice.

You told me that you kept seeing our relationship in clips like a movie. All of the things we’ve experienced. I did too ever since we broke up. Except I remember all of the negative clips too. For every good moment, there was a bad one that hurt me deeply. I had to remind myself of that reality in that moment, because I would have been swept away by your sentiment like every past time I’ve tried to end things.

I cry now because I know just how fucking beautiful your soul is, fighting layers of demons. But I have to remind myself that these traits of yours are real, and I need to leave you because I love myself.

Suddenly there you sat sobbing. I was stunned and shattered. You were a book that fell off the shelf and all your pages were being read and you couldn’t do anything about it. You confessed that you would have wanted another child one day to do it right this time, feeling like a failure after raising Trey. You said he’s a 24-year old man now and you missed so much of his life. You tried. You brought him to the movies on Saturdays. You barely made it through the sentence, “I don’t even know his favorite color.” You said, “I’m a 46 year old man. I don’t even own a TV and I live in an apartment. What's the meaning of all of this? Why am I alive? Am I here to just work?” 

I have never seen you cry like that. Last night you and me together went through nearly my entire napkin holder.

I told you that I hope that you finally seek therapy... something I’ve been wanting for you to do for the last couple years. I start my own therapy tomorrow. Wow. Whenever I hear of how you’re doing someday, I hope you’ve found your way and redeemed your relationship with Trey no matter how old you are or how old he is. From the moment I met you, I knew you were affected by your relationship with your distant son. I even asked you during our first week dating. You told me that your relationship with him was good— everything was good— honestly! Last night you told me you’ve bottled it up all this time.

You cried and said you’d miss my coffee. You fell more in love with coffee and with me through me sharing it with you. I don’t think I want to share it with any other man.. it’d feel fake. You fucking were there when my business started. When 2nd Rule Coffee started, you saw the cart in separate wooden pieces in my driveway. You saw it all. You saw it fucking all Tony. You saw the beginning of Kopp & Company. You were the one who sat on the turquoise chair in my office room as I asked you to feel different leathers and tell me your opinion. You entered a sacred place of my life. I am so grateful that you were the one. You helped me load my mom’s SUV with the coffee cart two Thanksgivings ago after I served at Elijah’s Promise alone. Now you see me with my employees. You lovingly release me to travel to California and Texas to sell Kopp wallets. What a fucking honor to have had you as my cheerleader. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in that.... a better supporter, a better believer. I will fucking miss you babe.

God I love you and miss you as I write this.

You asked me if I wanted you to leave. I whispered, “Yeah.”

You got your backpack on and went towards the door. I stood up and walked into your arms. I cried and said again and again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. Please be safe always. Please take care of yourself. Please be safe and please take care of yourself.” I hope this career changes your life Tony. And I hope you change many men in this career. It’s not for anybody, but you do it excellently. You are a leader. Your purpose on earth is to be redeemed, to know the love of God, and to show inmates and officers alike the Way. The very Way you experienced, believe, and are surrendered to.

You told me you’ll never stop loving me. You held my face with your two hands and looked into my eyes. You cried. I held your face and cried. I said, “I love you Tony Rivera.” You cried and said, “You’re my baby.” And kissed my forehead. I never want to forget that. I am your baby. I will never forget the anguish in your face as tears came down and you said, “You’re my baby.” I want to be. I wish I was your baby. I’m so sorry. You denied me the ability to be with you forever. You didn’t treat me right.

Like you said, maybe in Heaven, we will be pure and we will recognize each other. And we’ll really be happy forever. Not limited by age, by our own sin. 

I will miss you for as long as I can tell. Maybe I will forget many memories. I know I will. I have forgotten most of my relationship with Brian Kim. But there are some that I’ll never forget. And like with him, I’ll never forget ours that were uniquely us.

This is all such a mindfuck to me. When Brian Kim broke up with me, it was because I had a temper and didn’t treat him to the best of my ability. I chose my temper over honor. And when he dumped me assuredly, I felt abandoned. He said he loved me and wanted forever with me. And now I leave you for the same reason. I feel so shitty. I feel like this is all a matrix.

Thank you for everything. You changed my life. You showed me that at any age, we can be unapologetically wild and young. You made me laugh far more than any other man. You didn’t own a TV, just like me. You cherished deep talks. We smoked many cigars together and shared conversations that enriched one another. No bullshit. We also drank a lot. We were insanely in love, obsessed, overjoyed... and equally toxic, selfish, and different. There is a part of me that is in you. And a part of you that is in me. 

I guess I have to move on. We all do. 

Please know that I love you. I wish things were different for us.

I hope to one day see you with a wife. One that will accept you better than I could, and one that you can treat better than you treated me. 

Thank you for being my man and allowing me to be your woman. 

Tony Rivera I love you. I think I could never return to Brooklyn to eat pizza, go to the next restaurant, eat more pizza, and walk the Brooklyn Bridge with anyone else. We encountered a man on the Brooklyn Bridge that day who had paintings. One painting had a bird in the sky and you pointed to it. You said that this is one day going to me be when you release me... from this relationship that we both knew would never work out. Three and a half years later, I am that bird in the sky. I appreciate you letting me go. I will always remember what it felt like to be in your hands. I will never regret being in your hands. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

[itmeansfreeman]

Transcribed from my journal, in case one day it’s lost.

January 1, 2022 | 9:13 pm

It has been an imperfect year, yet so much more. I sit here, possibly with Covid, in my own office room with a candle lit and complete silence. Somewhat uninspired but a very deep hopefulness. A hopefulness not so ambitious, but one that is effortless and trusting.

I haven’t opened this journal (that appears more to have turned into a modge podge of notes) since my birthday. I though I remembered which drawer I left it in, and lo-and-behold, it was there at first look, as if waiting to be found. 

As I’ve gotten “older,” the journaling has become way less. But I’ve always remembered and respected it for the guidance and clarity it has brought me. I recall sitting in my Holmdel bedroom at the formica white desk and a pink-colored candle burning too. I believe 2011 or so. Ten years..

Tonight I beg myself to be thankful and fulfilled and shocked at the place that I am.

This time last year, I was freshly hired by the PD and preparing to set off for the academy. Now I sit in direct view of a giant golden trophy for the Firearms Proficiency Award presented to ‘Recruit Carol So**.’ In the closet I see my near-perfect condition Class A hat with Badge 703 pinned to the front. This year I became a police officer. I am soon going to the Gracie Survival Tactics to become a certified instructor. Jiu jitsu is an officially approved tactic for law enforcement in New Jersey this year. What a time to be alive. Pat wants in on the “study guide” I’ve been putting together. I feel thankful. I am still new, perhaps lost at times. But I know I am able, have potential, am qualified and competent enough to move forward in year 2 at the PD, confidently.

Now I face the thing that has left a hole in me. As of two nights ago, I’m single. I/we should have ended this long ago, or better yet never started. But what helpfulness is a “should have” now? I am here now. There are not many tears left to cry. Just over 2 and a half years and it came down to an ugly breakup. 

After Tony made dinner (running around making multiple grocery trips)... and his famous chicken parm at that.. I fell asleep in the bedroom and woke up to him fully irritated that I fell asleep. And so an exhausting fight ensued, where he ended up calling me a “dumbass.” And I became hateful and “broke out of character,” unless that is my true character. In the end, we yelled and yelled. And for the n-th time in our relationship, I said I was done. I repeated it several times. Admitted that I don’t know why I say “I love you.” And he got my phone for me, challenged me to block his number, and watched me block it in front of him. He looked at me and said, “So we’re done. You’re never gonna see me again? You’re never gonna see me again?” And when I said, “Well probably at the gym,” he said, “Fuck that gym.” He left and I haven’t spoken to him since.

It pains me. I feel like admitting that I don’t know why I love him just confirmed his belief that “I love you” is superficial. But I can’t be his answer, his reason, his pacifier, his stress ball, sex toy, Saint Mary.. I can’t. Today, I pondered what I might say to him if he were to ask if I love him again. And my answer is Yes Tony I love you. But I love me too.

Acne has gotten bad this year and I feel like I’m starting to experience hair loss. Stress is really something I’ve been trying to regulate and I know I feel that low-humming anxiety around Tony. It makes me think of when Brian broke up with me -- how he’d explained it. And how devastated I was. But I’m sure it hurt him too. I think of Brian more often than I’d like, but in that this relationship with Tony feels like the one with him, full circle, and roles flipped.

But such is life. We each can only be responsible for for ourselves and trust God to give us the miracle of being renewed. While I told Tony he needs therapy, I don’t know that I am exempt. I pray that he will be successful, happy, grateful, fulfilled, and in love with his life. I simply want that for me too.

A traumatized part of me wants nothing to do with dating and is tempted to enact some “no dating for a year” rule on myself. But I just will let it be. I will be open to a healthy, meaningful relationship. I won’t create a lifestyle that is so busy that it cannot accept a relationship.

This year I moved out on my own to ** Ko*** St. I love it. A part of me is sad how “overnight” I moved out, mostly for my mother whom I imagine the true empty nest was devastating for. But such is life again, right? And I’m happy I live so close to home. This year, I’ll save $12k for a total of half a down payment on a house. Lucky am I to have found a rental for now that’s 1 year and then month-to-month.

I plan to launch Kopp this year which makes me nervous. But seeing how God blessed (and is the One who inspires) my ideas, I am excited. The Airbnb in 2017 was a junk room. This year, it made my parents over $51k. Kopp can be done. It’ll be one for the books.

27 is the oldest I’ve ever felt, and yes, it’s the oldest I’ve ever been. An inundation of fear or concern has come over me around aging and dying. My aunt passed away in February, Jimmy had stage 3 cancer, Gabby took her life, and Daniel so quickly succumbed to colorectal cancer and passed away too. Between that and being a cop with an average life expectancy of 57, a potential to die every day, and the societal pressure to not wrinkle, have full hair, tight skin, a button nose, and big lips... aging feels scary this year. 

This year, I remind myself that it is a privilege to age. It is universal destiny for all, and every pimple, wrinkle, and hair on your body does not make you ugly as the opposite does not make you genuinely beautiful. This year, I commit to taking steps like sunscreen, some preventative botox, and swapping some products. But I will not become obsessed. I will glow.

Thank you Lord that I am in your hands. Your protect me and create me and make all things possible.

Love, Carol

[itmeansfreeman]

[itmeansfreeman]

6/15/19 — Thoughts while watching my date coach his team.

Sports are really good for kids. It gets them familiar with the feeling of fear. it teaches them to lose. The barriers are pain and embarrassment. I don't think I was able to succeed in soccer because I feared the pain. Getting hit in the face. It would stunt me a lot. I couldn't get over it. Right now I just watched this kid get punted in the face, hold his cheek, and keep running. If that kid can still pursue the ball with just as much determination and without fear of getting hit again.... Those are the types of kids that will succeed.

I wonder why now I love the pain. I wonder why in Muay Thai I can get hit square in the nose in and bleed and be driven by it. I wonder what that mechanism is that converts pain into passion instead of cowardice. What turned on? I think it's KNOWING you could do better. Genuinely. Not just glittery "I can do better" talk. But belief. A chance for redemption. Or vengeance. Pain to fuel. Pain to fuel. This other female coach next to me is telling her kids, "Really good defense, but next time go even wider." Positive + improvement. She didn't say it in a babying, sensitive way. It's just real feedback. I want to be a manager like that. It shows that you're not bullshitting. What's the line between forcing your kids to commit to the sport/instrument and just letting them be only as invested as they want to be? ....

[itmeansfreeman]

When Tony’s been pointing out how I’ve been late, I find myself very quick to want to defend myself. Or if Erik reveals a hypocritical character of mine, I’m tempted to divert it in humor. I’ve always hated in people when they cannot simply say sorry. I am always after the apology. Whether it’s a stranger, a coworker, but especially my family or loved one. Maybe it’s because I’m a words-of-affirmation person and words are important for me to know what the other person is feeling. But when I’m a hypocrite or found in the wrong, I have a lot of pride that prevents me from saying sorry and looking to make up for it. Perhaps it’s just human nature to want to defend ourselves so we don’t have to sit with the uncomfortable feeling of remorse, because it’s obviously an unpleasant one. And why feel it if we can react in a way that masks it? But I always said to myself that I want to be the type of mother one day that can apologize to my children when it’s due. Especially because it made me wildly frustrated growing up when my parents couldn’t or wouldn’t. I realize that this is something I won’t be able to do either if I cannot even practice it with my peers or elders. How much less will I be able to humble myself before a child? I want to practice the duty of ownership for all my wrongs and rights. When I am wrong or do something that I criticize, to make light of it ASAP. Whether it’s “I know I make a big deal out of this when you do it, so I’m sorry that I did it,” or “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” And then, just like The Four Agreements said, don’t take anything personally. Just as when someone compliments me, I acknowledge and then don’t continue to attribute too much credit to it.. when someone criticizes me, I’m to acknowledge it and then not continue to fail in it. When I apologize, I just own it, and then be quick to move on. Do the same for other people when they apologize. “Justice is paying for your mistake once. Injustice is paying more than once for the same mistake.”

[itmeansfreeman]

I never want to spend a day of this short life hating myself. Terry once said, "One day you'll look back at this age and regret how you didn't realize just how beautiful you are."

I look at the mirror. I'm not happy. Then I listen to Terry's voice. I stare at every part. My bulky legs that are powerhouses of muscle. My full cheeks that showcase a loud, youthful laugh. My fat that is firm and glowing. I can see myself from my future-60-year-old-self's perspective for just a moment. And I become exceedingly thankful to this body that serves me. This body that evolves... From infanthood to seniority. And at this point in my timeline, I am here, 25, witnessing the beauty of my body that is 25.

I walk to yoga and pass a gravesite. "Nancy", one tombstone says. Nancy lived her long life, but a short breath to the Earth. I hope Nancy knew there was no one like her and no one to ever be like her again. I hoped she never spent a day in her short life hating herself.

I love all that I am. I am a gift I am thankful to receive.

[itmeansfreeman]

There is not much in life I don't think I can handle. I can handle divorce. But I don't want to handle divorce. I think that is one of the things I have a choice in. We adults act like divorce is a what we are cornered into. The fact is we don't want to handle marriage. Yes I can handle divorce but I don't want to and I won't. This world no longer sees marriages that hold hands through heartaches. Even when that is ten years of a season of holding weak hands. Angry hands. Shaking hands. We don't see the magnificence of the other side because no one goes there anymore. It is until death do us part, and I say it because I vow it, as my choice. It is not some spell that brings about the willpower. It is a vow that commits my will when I have no power. It is not until feelings do us part, boredom do us part, or fights do us part. I want to know the beauty of a marriage. What is marriage if it is not all the good times and the bad? Then it is only a relationship. A relationship only sees good times. Then ends when it's bad. I want to know marriage.

[itmeansfreeman]

Perhaps it's not that we are looking for a person we really love, necessarily. But we are looking for a person who, when we are around them, makes us love who we are. "I love who I am around him...."

[itmeansfreeman]

When I was 17 I just wanted to fit into his puzzle. When I was 21 I wanted him to fit in my puzzle. Now I'm 25, and I realize there is no puzzle. It's a canvas. No missing pieces. You can be you and I can be me. And maybe our colors may layer in a beautiful way.

[itmeansfreeman]

And the little things do become the big things.

I started meal prepping for my brother who is on a mission to gain weight. (I wish I had that problem.) Every week, I sit down and come up with a meal plan  to have Andrew reach a minimum of 2,500 calories per day. He’s never been a guy to have much of an appetite. I also secretly think that everyone in the world has this inner rebel, and if the mind tells itself “Hey, I want to gain weight”, food suddenly becomes a chore and we no longer want it. Conversely, if we tell ourselves “I need to lose weight,” food magically becomes cocaine. Anyways, I tried to come up with calorie-dense meals. A simple morning smoothie would be around 550 calories. Lunch would be a whopping 700. Dinner would be another 700. Even with that, the plan would still come under 2,000 calories and then I’d be scrambling to think of how I can incorporate oils, nuts, seeds, and cheeses to make those meals even more caloric.

I didn’t meal prep my own food, but I did calorie count whatever I’d eat. Somehow, I was easily reaching 2,500 daily, and sometimes even 3,000+. I wondered how I could struggle to get Andrew to 2,500 intentionally while it was so easy for me to get up to those same numbers even though that was by no means what I wanted at all. 

It was all the “little” snacking. I’d have a couple pieces of chocolate here, some chips there, along with a handful of walnuts, a scoop of granola, toss back a couple yogurt-covered raisins, a cup of ice cream, a “mini cereal” bowl... every time I walked past the kitchen or got a little bored. Suddenly I couldn’t button jeans. Suddenly, I gained 15 pounds.

It’s the little things that do become the big things.

I realized this is true and when honed in on, can change the way you live.

The coffees and stupid little things at Target are the little things that prevent us from doing big things like a splurged vacation or paying off $50,000 in student loans.

Jiu jitsu actually started clicking for me when I stopped thinking about going straight to bull-rush and mount someone, but instead went back to practice repetitive technique and motion of small movements. Like a simple butterfly hook.

One of the biggest realizations was noticing that the little compromises I made against my values in my secret life are very the things that made me go haywire and feel out of control. Not the big mistakes, but the little decisions I made that didn’t align with my beliefs. It was the white lies that got me out of character. Not the rage-filled temper tantrum.

I wonder what this could unlock for me if I’d keep this philosophy...

[itmeansfreeman]

“May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.

“May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.

“May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.

“And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

“Amen.”

— A Franciscan blessing

[itmeansfreeman]

23 and me

Well! I already have a smile on my face. It’s my last days being this young, very young, twenty-three. The youngest I’ll ever be.

It’s 9-something PM, I think. I’m not even looking at the clock. I just know I’m fresh out of the shower with clean, cold, wet hair down my back. Sitting here in this silky black nightgown that used to be Moriah’s-- that is way too big for me because I don’t have the boobs to fill it out the way she did-- but that still makes me feel sexy every time. Sexy, not in the sense that I’m not seducing someone, but in the sense that I simply feel like a woman, just the way I am. Which is important to me after looking down at my chest a few times this year and contemplating how they’d look with implants.

I stopped by the liquor store before coming home to shower. The first liquor store was closed. I thought maybe it was a sign that I shouldn’t be having a glass of wine while I write tonight. Maybe I should get kombucha instead, being that it sometimes makes me feel tipsy anyways? But no, I looked up a second liquor store that was open, and made an intentional 8-minute drive there to pick up wine. I wanted wine for one main reason: I wanted to keep myself honest as I wrote this. But the second reason was to feel “my age” and “YOLO” to enjoying a glass alone tonight.

I picked up two bottles, Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, because I couldn’t remember which one I like better. I found that this was the perfect opportunity to find out which wine I preferred by the time I turn age 24, damn it. So I begin YOLO writing with a 5-oz pour of Merlot. Measured meticulously on a food scale and logged into my FitBit food diary. I guess I can’t escape all my weird ways. And maybe I just don’t want to... I don’t need to.

Recently I’ve been wishing for myself that I’d live a life whose own biography I would want to read. That didn’t mean a successful life (whatever that means) or even a happy life, necessarily. I think it really just means a life pressed in. And all that means, according to Jinnie, is focused. Twenty-three has been the best year of my life. I have been focused. I didn’t go through things that I wanted to go through or would have chosen to go through, but when I did go through them, I went through them with focus. I have been pressed indeed and I want to let the blood of it dry and preserve as these words.

During twenty-three, I started my first corporate job and took all four parts of the CPA exams. Passed one. The most beautiful relationship I’ve ever had the honor of being in came to a swift end. I stood up and chose my faith in times where it meant that I’d lose some things I cherish, namely, Brian. I also let myself be human in the face of faith, and deliberately chose sin and indulgence. I became in the best of shape of my life. I finally pulled the trigger on wanting to learn mixed martial arts. I also pulled the trigger on saying enough to that very first corporate job that I started and screw it to the CPAs too. I used pantiliners every day (how did I ever go without?). I let myself experience myself. 

There’s about 1 oz of Merlot left in my glass. I like it.

Now the question is, how to break up this entry?

Brian Kim

I’ve always been attracted to older men. Daddy issues or not, it’s just the way it’s been. I surprised myself for being able to fall in love with somebody my age. I was surprised to have looked up to somebody my age, the way I had with Brian. Though I don’t hold that same sentiment towards him now, I was surprised that I ever did-- and very genuinely I did.

Time to try to the Cab.

I am a hundred times grateful that this relationship ever happened. I am forever thankful to God. I’m thankful I got to find out just what I needed and didn’t need. I think a lot of people say that when coming out of a relationship, but those things are all very private and true. I was really thankful to find out that God had made me a stronger woman than I believed I was. I was astonished to find that that weren’t many tears that I thought were worthy to cry after it all ended. I was astonished to find that I was able to fall asleep, just like a baby, every night. Before our break-up, when I felt it coming, I mostly feared that my post break-up experience would be like that of Joe, my ex in college, who I literally lost my shit over. All. My shit. But this time, wow. I was, and still am, surprised.

I like Merlot better. Carol, on the cusp of 24, realizes that Merlot is the red she prefers. Is it “good” Merlot? I don’t know, and I’m happy that I don’t know the difference.

When we said goodbye to our love at Blaze Pizza, sitting in that back booth, I will never forget the peace and gratitude in my heart. Precisely to God who saw all my tears months prior to the relationship ending. The one to whom I prayed that prayer on a night in October 2017 with my forehead surrendered to a rug-- that I would not be the one to leave this relationship, but if it so is Your will, make him break up with me. And he did. Those words. “A relationship is just not what I need right now.” An immediate warmth in my heart, I looked up at You. And I felt you wink at me, and lovingly hush my heart that would have otherwise skipped a beat. But I remember it. It didn’t even skip a beat. I remember my inner person smiling when Brian said that. I remember nodding my head at him. I remember that this was something worth losing. That I could not, and would not, beg for a human’s love. And that I was finally happy to let him go. This friend that I had gotten to know so intimately for over two years, I was happy to let him go. I wished to see him smile again, the way a friend would want to see a friend laugh and smile. I think that was what really made me want him to break up with me. I knew I wouldn’t do, but I wanted to see him smile.

I drove home that night calling Pastor Julie. “We’re over,” I laughed with a big grin and tear droplets truly as big as marbles rolling off my face. I came home to my mom sitting on the family room couch. I put my bag on the floor, sat close next to her, held her hands and in Korean said “We broke up. I might be sad sometimes, but I am happy. I am happy this happened, but please don’t worry about me when I’m sad.”

I cannot say that today, I look at Brian with the same kind of love in my heart the way I did that night in March when we broke up. I cannot say that I do not resent the way he made me feel utterly foolish a few months later at Monica and Leo’s wedding when, I will not say what, but only that he truly made me feel stepped on. The way friends wouldn’t even make friends feel. However, when I look back at our relationship, I can only feel pure gratitude. When I see videos of us and friends, my heart gets cheerful. And I am thankful that God would protect these memories in such a way that I could still smile about it. To be clear, I would never choose this person again. Not in a million lifetimes. But I am happy to, at one point in my life, have chosen this person.

Dan Ahn

Dan, one of the most influential people to me this year, from near and far. He is one who I think is truly living a happier life in reality than on social media platforms. I think his instagram doesn’t do his life justice, and that’s rare for our generation. With myself and I think the rest of us, Instagram is the inflated, happier version... and our lives simply don’t match up.

Dan connected me to a guy named James who opened a cafe called Fahrenheit 180 in El Paso, TX. After speaking to James on the phone, who had abandoned his opportunities at Wall Street to open a cafe, I decided I needed to pursue my cafe dream and forget about the CPAs. The CPA was a goal, I was beginning to realize, that I was never meant to achieve.

The day before Dan left for his bike-across-America trip, we met at Stuff Yer Face, where he confessed to me that it did make him quite nervous that I’d made such a decision to quit my CPAs and begin working on my business after I had a conversation with the dude he linked me up with. I’ll recall more of how I arrived to this decision later, but I hope Dan knows that he’s not responsible for my actions.

No one will ever be responsible for my actions. And furthermore, this year I learned that all people, no matter their brilliance or track record, are just people with opinions from their experiences. I’ve talked to so many businesspeople this year about cafes, discussing their big wins and shameful failures. They offer convincing advice. But at the end of the day, it’s my choice to give weight to a person’s message. It’s my choice in how much I’m going to believe them.

Jeff from Kudo Society, said to me, “Be decisive. You can make up for your mistakes later. But more costly than mistakes is not being decisive.” So watching Dan and speaking to James, I have decided to be decisive. I will not be an accountant.

Listening to Her

After the breakup, I got to ask this girl, myself, what she wanted to do. She wanted a dog of course. A warm, happy Golden. But more realistically, I wanted to learn Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Something that I had yearned to practice deep inside ever since Julius and I rolled as kids. I never tried it earlier because of the money. Then I had the money, but not the time. But suddenly I was a working woman and single. I had both the money and time. So there I found myself on Google at work, searching MMA gyms around me.

I visited three: Driven Gym, Diesel, and Fight & Fitness, before I ultimately chose Fight & Fitness. What a perfectly hand picked place from God Him-very-self. Not necessarily for the training style, but for the people. Oh dear God, the people. Thank you God.

I think I ended up liking Muay Thai better than BJJ. I’ve been going to Muay Thai classes twice as often as BJJ. I honestly think that it’s because the punching, kneeing, and kicking is so much more releasing than strategically finding ways to strangle someone. But also, the eye candy is a little better in Muay Thai.

To that point, do I want to date? Hell to the no. I hate to say it because it makes me feel weak when I just said above how I was surprised to find how strong I am. But I think I am pretty scarred from my relationship and from learning about men, in general. I’m not sure that I really ever want to get married, and it doesn’t make me feel sad to think or say that. I’m truly at a place of so much freedom to not need the thought of ending up with a partner to make my life feel complete. My workplace has people cheating on their spouses with one another. Men who are now married, and even with children, are flirting with me and asking me on dates. My close male coworker, who is recently married and also a new father, told me that “Men are as faithful as their options-- including myself.”

I ponder what a sacred thing marriage is. My girlfriend said that over a decade later, her mom still thinks longingly over her ex-husband. “I don’t think you can really get over a failed marriage. Especially someone you have children with.” I wonder if it’s better to abstain from marriage if the divorce rate is so high.

Divorce lawyer and author of If You’re In My Office, It’s Already Too Late, James Sexton, says that Americans do more car research than research on marriage. If he were to tell someone that there’s over a 50% chance that they’ll get hit by a car when they walk across the street, most people wouldn't even take the chance. They’d stay inside. And if they did go to cross the street, they’d at least wear a helmet. His point was that divorce rates are higher than 50% and people don’t even inquire of what they should be prepared for in marriage. They just walk into it hoping that they will beat the odds and won’t get hit with divorce someday, like getting hit by a car. It leaves me wondering if it’s better that I don’t get married at all. And I’m okay with that. I’m satisfied enough-- or scared enough-- to be okay with that.

This is not to say I don’t believe in love. For the people who have found true, vibrating, deep, knowing love-- I celebrate that love. It truly ignites my heart on fire and I cheer always for you. I know it exists. I know that it is possible.

After Brian and I broke up, I heard that someone had told another friend of mine, “I don’t believe in love. If Brian and Carol broke up, there’s no hope for any of us.” But I do. I still believe in love. I still believe in lasting, sacred marriage. It is simply for those who, with all their might, will dedicate themselves to it. I personally don’t know if it’s for me, but I see other people that have it written in their DNAs and whose love I believe in.

Anyways, both Muay Thai and BJJ have been a wonderful sport for me. I remember one night, my head was being squeezed in between someone’s legs and my face was nuzzled in their crotch. We froze in this twisted contortion while our instructor critiqued our position. “Only in MMA would it be totally normal for my face to be held against a stranger’s crotch as someone teaches them how to do it better” I thought. MMA is a weird place for weird people, and I love it.

I heard the guys talking in the men’s locker room, “When it comes being a fighter, you need to have somewhat of an ego. But not in jiu jitsu. All of that goes out the door. You never know what’s gonna happen. Some days you just get fucked up and tossed around. And you just gotta let yourself be humbled.” I don’t know why that stuck with me the way it did when I heard it through the thin walls while changing alone in the girl’s locker room. But I just remember knowing that it was true not only on the mats, but in the fight of life. Sometimes, no matter how much you’ve trained, you will still get humbled by a force from left-field. A force you can’t control, anticipate, or mitigate.

Tim Ferriss

I just finished the 5-oz of Cab. It was definitely Merlot that I enjoyed better. 5 more ounces of Merlot, coming up. This is 360 calories so far, FYI.

Well, soon after I had turned twenty-three, I read the 4-Hour Work Week by Tim Ferris. There’s a concept called “batching” that he teaches on. Basically, the idea is that we can save a whole lot of time if we simply batch tasks together instead of doing them continually throughout the day. We batch our laundry and wait for it to build up to the top of the basket, sometimes overflowing, before actually throwing it in the washing machine. We ought to do that with our e-mails. We ought to do that with a lot of things instead of letting them seem like productive tasks to tackle throughout the day, which actually do the opposite and steal productivity from the very things we wish to accomplish.

After reading about it, I put it to the test. I batched my tasks. I got off of social media. And suddenly, what I had was a whole lot of time. A whole sack of available time just looking me in the eye. All the clocks in the world were slow. All these months and even years, I’d been saying that I was going to get working on my coffee shop once I got the time-- but right now, “I was too busy.” Man. The batching did away with all my bullshit. I saw all that time right before me. And to my utter horror, I was choosing to not work on my cafe. I was paralyzed. Must I now face the very thing that I have said was my dream? Where are my excuses? What if I fail?

So I bought books on coffee shops. I listened to podcasts on business. I made phone calls to entrepreneurs to inquire and learn. I bought a 4” binder to collect all my data. A four-inch binder. I’ve never even bought such a binder for all my years of school. Then I stumbled across Babes in Business NJ, a group of female entrepreneurs who champion each other in their business pursuits. So I said to myself that I’m going to their next event. I’m going to get out of my comfort zone and launch myself in. When I went to this event, I learned about myself through the panel of speakers that I was yet again making excuses that I must acquire enough research before beginning to attempt this business. As if the 4” binder must be packed with paper before I’m qualified to try. The human brain is crazy with its excuses.

So I said I’m not going to let my life be ruled by excuses anymore.

1465 Irving St. Rahway, NJ.

It was the first location that I seriously looked at and considered to become the cafe. It was the beautiful and airy vacant spot across the street from the train station with exposed white brick walls. That location convinced me enough that I would stand with my neon green clipboard on the corner of Irving & East Cherry on a Friday morning to host market surveys with pedestrians. A spot so sparkly that I woke up early in the mornings to drive to it and tally all the foot-bike-and-car traffic from 6 AM to 8:50 AM, leaving me just enough time to get to work by 9. To be hanging around the spot long enough to where two different cops asked me what I was doing. I told one of them that I was looking to open a coffee shop at this site, as I pointed behind me. He gave me a thumbs up and said “Good for you, dear!” and drove on.

I got involved in a small downtown city with new strangers the way I never imagined I could. I went to Chamber of Commerce meetings. I had drinks with locals. I sat with city officials in their office to discuss planning and zoning. I got into the cars of strangers. I collected business cards by the handfuls. I researched with joy and madness. I thought this was it. E-mails and phone calls filled my days and nights.

Whenever there was news about potential competition in the area, I remembered what Karl, my accounting friend from college, said to me. “Good. Competition is good. It leaves no room for complacency.” That was right. I feared no competition. I would do it better. I would always improve and serve people the best coffee that was around.

The guy who owns The Coffee Box in Plainfield, Jeff, also was looking at 1465 Irving St. He knew that there was another person looking at the same spot for the same coffee shop purpose-- which was secretly me. He eventually ended up leasing the spot less than 24 hours before I was scheduled to go to the spot with an architect. We were both racing against time and against one another. I remember a couple weeks earlier, going to his coffee shop incognito to see what kind of place he runs anyways. I was disappointed to find out that he does an intimidatingly excellent job. The day that I visited, I was just an ordinary, unrecognizable, customer. But he was so damn friendly to me that I hated it. I had asked him if The Coffee Box was their only location, to which he responded, “We’re looking at a second spot in Rahway.” It was the spot I was looking at. “Aw best of luck,” I smiled. He did indeed catch that luck.

Though I know it wasn’t luck. It was favor. Not favor on him, but favor on me-- that it didn’t work out for me. There was Jesse, the owner of The Irving Inn, a restaurant next to 1465 Irving. He was 1461 Irving. A charming restaurant. Jesse’s a white man in his early 40’s who I became friends with during this research period. He took me to Restaurant Depot and to other coffee shops like The Coffee Mill. He gave me advice. I used to think “Wow, he must really believe in my dream to give me so much of his time to help me.” Then there was a drive home one day from his restaurant when I said out loud behind the steering wheel, “Don’t be so stupid, Carol. He has other intentions.” He ended up confessing his crush on me and asking me if he can take me out. Although that ended there, he confessed another thing: that it was good that the spot didn’t work out for me. “The rent was much too high, especially for someone like you who doesn’t have coffee experience.” Though it hurt, I knew that he was right. It was time for me to learn coffee. So I went home, took a long shower, and went online to apply to coffee shops.

Chris Brown

I have to write about this new friend Christian.

But first, I have to ask. Do you ever wonder how things happen in such a timely manner that you cannot help but believe that someone is handing you the pieces in that particular order? It’s like you were given all the pieces to build an IKEA desk, in its proper sequence, which you would have never known without ever seeing the manual. You cannot say you earned the pieces yourself. You cannot say that you purchased them either. You know that feeling, and you know it can’t just be the universe? It cannot be some vast, unknowable, outerspace energy. Instead, it is all so intentional and loving that you cannot help but believe that it is a God, a person, who loves you, individually. With eyes fixed on you like you are the only person whose life He is concerned about of over the seven billion around you.

So I met Christian at the MMA gym. He joined about two weeks after me back in July. He was immediately friendly to everyone, giving people fist bumps at the beginning of every class. He was already very obviously fit, but new to MMA. I can’t say that I was ever attracted to him, but at the very least, curious. Not romantically curious. Curious about his character. Something about him-- I already knew there was something in me that knew something in him. I just didn’t know what that common something was.

A couple of us at the gym exchanged numbers at the gym last week. When Christian told me his last name was Brown as I saved his number into my phone, I said “Your name sounds like you should be a celebrity or something.” He said, “It’s like one.” I replied, “Oh yeah?” and laughed. “Yeah. Chris Brown.” I really laughed. I laughed a lot. Oh, that’s why he sounds like he should be a celebrity.

At Thursday’s class, Christian and I were stretching on the blue mats. Some anterior hip stretches. I don’t remember how we got to the conversation, but I shared with him how I was hoping to get fired at my job but unfortunately I got promoted instead. So in return, I would be quitting in a month to start working at a coffee shop. His eyes lit up. Yup, there it is. I think I found that common understanding. The thing in me that knew the thing in him. We linked up over coffee and yoga two days later.

So there we were sharing coffee at 9:15 AM on a Sunday. I didn’t know many people who would meet with me on a Sunday morning at 9:15. We were strangers really. The only thing I knew about him was that he was my age, and how his punches to my face feel when we spar in class. Or how his kick feels to my ass. But there we were in early morning window seating at an empty coffee shop, talking about philosophy, love, time, deception, the vanity and sacredness of life, and spirituality. Christian isn’t Christian. But he asked me to share about my Christianity. And I, for the first time in several years, was able to share with a non-believer in complete comfort-- my faith in its full, passionate, flawed, form.

He brought a book for me that he had just finished. Wrapped in a yellow-brown Barnes & Noble plastic bag. It was a tiny book. On The Shortness of Life: Life is Long If You Know How to Use It, by Seneca.

Seneca. Seneca-- the stoic that I listen to Tim Ferris talk about so often. Like Tim Ferris, that batching author.

I held the corner of the book and let the pages quickly flip through my thumb nail. I saw yellow highlights and penciled in comments that Christian had written. That’s exactly what I do with all my books. I wondered if Christian was me in male form. I’m sure many people highlight and write. But I let myself have this moment of knowing the thing in me that knew the thing in him.

“A lot of the things you’re talking about are actually in the book,” he said to me. So I couldn’t wait to get home to read this damn thing. I remember very consciously being happy that I would have something better to read than my Instagram feed.

“And a lot of the ways you are, Tim Ferris is,” I told Christian. He went home and downloaded Tim Ferris’ podcasts.

Seneca

I think Seneca knew I was an accountant. I think God knew. Or Christian knew. Or something. Because today while reading this passage from his book, I had to take several pauses to remember to breathe and wonder if Seneca, God, and Christian were altogether watching me read. It was confirming everything I had concluded in my journey this year.

“Indeed, you are managing the accounts of the world as scrupulously as you would another person’s, as carefully as your own, as conscientiously as the state’s. You are winning affection in a job in which it is hard to avoid ill-will; but believe me it is better to understand the balance-sheet of one’s own life than of the corn trade. You must recall that vigorous mind of yours, supremely capable of dealing with the greatest responsibilities, from a task which is certainly honourable but scarcely suited to the happy life; and you must consider that all your youthful training in the liberal studies was not directed to this end, that many thousands of measures of corn might safely be entrusted to you. You had promised higher and greater things of yourself.

You must retire to these pursuits which are quieter, safer and more important. Do you think it is the same thing whether you are overseeing the transfer of corn into granaries, unspoilt by the dishonesty and carelessness of the shippers, and taking care that it does not get damp and then ruined through heat, and that it tallies in measure and weight?

Indeed the state of all who are preoccupied is wretched, but the most wretched are those who are toiling not even at their own preoccupations, but must regulate their sleep by another’s, and their walk by another’s pace, and obey orders in those freest of things, loving and hating. If such people want to know how short their lives are, let them reflect how small a portion is their own.

So, when you see a man repeatedly wearing the robe of office, or one whose name is often spoken in the Forum, do not envy him: these things are won at the cost of life.”

I was promoted and praised at my job for my hard work. A percentage of raise that I haven’t heard anybody in my level be given before. Yet, I remember coming back to my desk that day of my promotion, not very happy. In fact, pretty sad. I didn’t tell anybody for a while, not even my family. I felt that I was working so hard at fulfilling a firm’s dreams, not mine. I felt like this promotion meant more responsibility and commitment to a thing which I do not want to do.

When Seneca talks about observing the transfer of corn, I get flashbacks of all the inventory observations I had to perform throughout the year as an auditor; taking note of all the damaged goods in various warehouses and making sure company balance sheets were accurate. But now, I’m auditing my own life. I’m taking inventory of my bookshelf, of all the books I bought and haven’t read because social media damned my soul.

I am given the permission to understand the balance sheet of my own life, instead of the balance sheets of a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical company filing for IPO. I was tempted many times this year to believe that I couldn’t amount to anything. That I will always be this accounting firm’s bottom bitch. But I am prompted now to remember again that I have been given the ability to execute the things-- any things-- that I affix my determination to. I’ve witnessed it myself. And I know again that it is in me. It has always been in me.

So I am thankful because I know I was meant to read this book, this passage, at the end of this year, today, at this time.

OJ Simpson 

You always end up on that weird place on YouTube. This year, I listened to a psychologist on YouTube talk about the characteristics of narcissists, psychopaths, and sociopaths. That same day, I also randomly watched an interview with Kris Jenner where she unashamedly admitted that her regret in life was divorcing Rob Kardashian. I was fascinated by that. That she could firstly be so open about regretting a divorce with somebody. How refreshing it was to watch somebody have no problem saying that they regret something. The ownership of Kris’ regret is so admirable. It reminded me of how I regret not having been a better friend to Richard before he committed suicide this year and how I never want to not regret it. I was secondly fascinated that Kris’ regret was not over marrying Bruce, a man who would later become trans, but rather that it was for simply losing her marriage with Rob.

I wanted to learn about Rob. What about this man could leave a woman with such riches and success in regret? All I knew about Rob was that he was OJ Simpson’s attorney during his murder trial.

Then from there, I got curious about OJ’s trial. I ended up binge-researching the murder and binge-watching The People vs. OJ Simpson. I saw something in me that I knew in OJ Simpson. Just like I knew there was something in me that I knew in Christian. It was alluring and addictive. My heart sank when I recognized it. It was OJ’s narcissism. I had just learned of all the characteristics of narcissism from that psychologist on YouTube. I sneered at OJ on the television and pointed out how he was such a narcissist in this way and that, but then I realized it was me. It was me. It was me on Instagram, it was me on Facebook, it was me in real life. It was a part of me too.

I can’t imagine myself being able to “balance” social media. I don’t think social media is a battle that humans are fit to defeat. It wasn’t designed for humans to be able to tame it and use it in moderation. It was designed by people who design slot machines for casinos. How am I supposed to win something that was designed to get me addicted? I think that so long as I am on it, I will always be playing with the fire and being burned by it. I think it will forever fuel my narcissism. I hate when I’m posting. I hate that I’m so involved in other people’s daily lives who I would otherwise have no business with. And it is nobody’s business to know what I am eating at any given time, yet because of my narcissism, I think people should know what Carol Sohn is eating, singing, doing, every day.

I have a laundry list of books that I bought but I don’t read because I am pulling this slot machine from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed.

I am really not that important. And in another sense, I am so important that I should be feeding myself with books and knowledge instead of feeding on pictures of other people’s lives. I wish for my 24th birthday to gift myself with the severance of social media. I hope I can do it. I have less than 24 hours to say yes to denying myself.

I am learning that to go after the things I really want will mean saying no to things I also do actually want. I really want to respect myself, so I have to say no to hooking up with that hot 38-year old guy that I also want. I really want to open my own coffee shop, so I have to say no to the accounting salary that I also want. The person I am becoming is asking me to sacrifice some things for her. I want to honor this woman.

Moments of Declaration

I remember deciding to quit the pursuit of my CPAs. My mom said that it felt like such a waste of time and money that I had exhausted up until that point if I was just going to give up. I remember thinking that I was just so glad that I’m saving so much time and money by deciding to quit now instead of dedicating more of my life to it. The day of my exam, I didn’t even go. I went to HomeGoods instead. I was in the lamp section as I thought to myself, “Wow, I really don’t give a care about the CPAs. I’m really out here right now looking at lamps and letting a $200 exam fee flutter away. I am really happy.” It was a declaration to myself. A $200 memorial.

Tomorrow is my birthday. For the past several birthdays since I was 19, I had best friends or a significant other planning an extravagant party. This is the first birthday in a while that I don’t really have anything. I’m camping out in my own home in solitude these last few days leading up to my birthday. My own birthday slumber party if you will. The only thing I have planned is to go to orientation at the coffee shop I will soon be working at full-time. At first when I was told that orientation would be on my birthday, I thought, “Do I really want to be at orientation on my birthday? Should I ask them to reschedule it for a different date?” And then I realized, “I would love to do just that on my birthday. There’s no better way I want to spend it.” So tomorrow, from 5-7 PM, I will be at a work orientation to become a barista. It is a declaration to myself that this year, I am doing what I dreamed. No excuses.

Notes to Self for 24

I do not have to be anybody but myself. This past year, I confused myself because I didn’t know if I was feminine, masculine, uptight, relaxed, religious, rebellious, milennial, or old. I am realizing that I am all of this. Some people bring certain sides out of me that other people don’t. I thought I was a phony but I’m not. I’m simply all of this at different times. And it is better to live my own life authentically and imperfectly than to perfectly imitate another’s. There has never been and never will be anybody made exactly like me and it would be a shame to force this life to conform to some other person’s life for the sake of familiarity. I cannot be replicated, and nor can anybody else.

When I finally quit this month and go from that hunky salary to making $8.65 an hour, I will remember what Sue said. “You’re going back to school. People go back to school to learn what they really want and they take out student loans to do it. You’re going back to school, and you’re actually getting paid $8.65 an hour.” Going to work is like going to school. My homework is working on the business and learning to love God, myself, and people.

Jinnie Rhee said this twice to me this year. I think she said it a second time because she forgot that she already said it once before. I’m pretty forgetful, but I know she said this twice because it alarmed me the first time, let alone the second. She said, “I don’t think you realize this, but you’re really really hard on yourself. The way nobody else is.” This was true when I thought about it. This year, I don’t want to be so hard on myself. The inevitable fluctuations in weight, money, faith, and all. Don’t be so hard.

Lastly, as Pastor Julie looked me in the eye and said, “Carol, you don’t need to explain yourself-- not to me, not to anyone.”

This post took me two days and two bottles of wine to write. This year was made so successful, in my eyes, because of a common thread-- people. I am thankful to everyone for sharing their time, a thing no one can ever get back, with me. I thank you, I celebrate you, and I celebrate me.

[itmeansfreeman]

[itmeansfreeman]

Stop Separating Families

1. https://cupofjo.com/2018/06/family-separation-what-you-need-to-know/

2. https://whoismyrepresentative.com/

3. https://5calls.org/

[itmeansfreeman]

Psalm 52

There are no shortcuts to the places I’m going.

Rejoice in suffering, for suffering produces endurance. Endurance produces character. And character produces hope—hope that does not put one to shame.

I’m standing in my fire and I’m not getting burned. I’m finding the joy of witnessing my own refinement. While there’s a temptation to run away from suffering, I’m standing in it. I’m facing my sins and my pain. I’m acknowledging my lack and my mistakes. But it’s going to end with me. I’m going to plant my feet in the ground, down to my ankles. And I stand for me, stand for my kids, and my grandkids, and my grandkid’s kids. They won’t even know there was a generational sin. It ends with me.

I used to be scared that I’d be weak. I used to be scared that I wouldn’t be able to face it. God surprised me. I found out that He made me stronger than I thought. It’s the most baffling, exciting thing. I know the things I can’t do. And to me, He is “like the one who lifts a little child to the cheek.” I always have a warm neck to burrow in.

There’s a temptation to feel exalted by pushing others down. That’s not my way. Then we’d sink together. As for me, the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. I know my place and it’s not above anybody. I’m not a hater. I’m a lover. I will always love. My way up is to bless you. There’s nothing man can make me do to make me hate them. I’m living with no grudges, I’m dying with no enemies.

But I am like an olive tree

flourishing in the house of God;

I trust in the loving devotion of God

forever and ever.

I will praise You forever,

because You have done it.

I will wait on Your name—

for it is good—

in the presence of Your saints.

[itmeansfreeman]

over coffee

P.Sammy: You're free man!

[itmeansfreeman]

Orlando… my freshman year of college, I was lost and hurting. My view of the world was so dark, narrow, and selfish. All I could focus on was my pain. Your classes, Life of Christ and Pastoral Counseling, are the only times my ears would hear. Your truth was offensive and healing to me, all at the same time. I remember never knowing how to feel about you– you had no doubts about the real evil and sinfulness of the human heart. You confessed your own. But you had greater confidence in the unstoppable, redemptive power of Christ. I would always raise my hand and argue with you, hoping to prove you wrong in the way you were so full of hope. Thank you for your hope unwavering.

At that time, I had just come out of a relationship. I took notes on April 2, 2013 in one of your classes. It’s still in my iPhone notes and every now and again, I go back to that page full of things you said:

“Marriage is a covenant, not a contract. Don’t let the business of marriage get in the way of the romance of marriage.”

I am still learning from that. I am still learning. I hope to bless my marriage someday with your lessons.

I used to e-mail you my mess, and you would tell me how sorry you were. I would come and sit in your office, slumped in the chair and crying for hours. You time was expensive, with 10 kids of  your own, a school and ministry needing you too, but you made my soul feel priceless. How did you give this attention to every one you met? How did you make every one feel this way? I must have been sitting in Jesus’ office that whole time.

My sophomore year, I left the Pastoral Ministry major to go to the Business school. You always cheered for me. You saw me grow, the ambitions in my heart, and applauded me through the days. You said my smile was real. Three more years later, it was graduation day. I was in my cap and gown. You saw me. Smiling, you said “Carol,” and nodded. That was it. I smiled back and said “Professor.” I felt your proudness on me. I know you will greet me like that once again when I make it to Heaven and see you.

You make me want to live like you. You make me want to live sharing my resources. You make me laugh at the time to come. You make me want to live in joyful surrender. Your life was a ministry to the world. Thank you for how you lived. Thank you for letting us watch your obedience. Thank you professor, pastor, brother, counselor, and friend. See you very soon.