Its taken me awhile to figure out what to write about publicly again, and to be honest, writing this, I still don’t even know what I’m about to go on about.

That’s the funny thing though, I sit down to write when there’s a lot on my mind or I’m stressed or my anxiety is high, and then I look at my computer and I’m just thinking “how do I even go about writing something I can’t process in my own mind?” And then somehow I get a few words down or I ramble (like I’m doing now) and everything empties like an hourglass — slowly and unnoticeable at first, and then before I know it, everything has fallen into a massive heap, soon to be turned back over–and that’s just how the mind works, or how mine works at least.

So fair warning!

At least now that the sand has started falling I think I know what I’d like to write about.

I think,

So here goes.

How about we take a look into the past, into the present, and into the future, as cliche as that sounds (BC I’m no Gatsby after all.) We’ll particularly look at mine (no worries, nothing too heavy) and hopefully a handful of you (and by you I mean the five or six family and friends who skim through my little thoughts I somehow decide to publish online) may relate.

Regarding the past, some of you know many years back I developed a bucket list sitting in the airport on a long layover. By developed, I mean I probably spent a few hours handwriting close to 130 different dreams I hoped to complete before I left this world. My list spanned among anything from exploring the Great Barrier Reef, to skydiving in New Zealand, to falling in love, even things as simple as grabbing a loaded hotdog from a stand in NYC or as extravagant as traveling to Tanzania for the Serengeti migration. This list has been my life, my rock for whenever I’ve lost inspiration or challenge, my deepest passions and desires, but it has also been a bit of an awakening.

Number 84 on my list requested the riding of a red double-decker bus in London.

So, of course, I somehow find myself in London for the past nine weeks. My first few days living in the great U.K. I had the pleasure of exploring with my dad, so in an effort to figure out the quickest route to my workplace, we tried the bus.

This was my chance.

In a fit of excitement, I stood, toes over the curb as my first ever red double-decker bus pulled up to whisk me away into an exquisite journey through the busy streets of London.

So the bus miraculously pulls up like Cinderella’s carriage and I step on with my dad, and suddenly, after saying an overly-jubilant “good morning!” to the driver, I quickly realize I am surrounded by a bus full of people, who, to put it plainly, simply want me to shut it and sit down.

So my dad and I slip up to the second level of the bus and gaze around as we pass hundreds of new buildings and people I have yet to encounter, and, unfortunately, this lasts maybe six minutes before I’m slumped over in my seat too motion sick to even glance out the window–begging and pleading in silence the ride is nearly over and my misery is put to a steep end.

Eventually, my dad and I arrive and it takes me some time to recover, but a pint or two later and I’m refreshed enough to carry on.

Honesty it was quite comedic.

Life was looking at me like “oh Christina, how you try to anticipate and plan and list my wonders. Little do you know.”

I share because I find it, oftentimes in our lives, we develop this list of dreams. We see our friends traveling the world or sitting on a beach while we study our lives away and we think “that’s the life I want to live.”

Oftentimes, we have this angelic, picturesque hope for these grand moments of our lives, of the double-decker bus ride, and we end up silenced and sick.

We dream and dream and dream for a particular moment and when we finally get it, we’re either left disappointed or empty handed because we anticipated an entirely different experience, and in the end, we wonder why we thought any of it was a good idea in the first place.

This definitely isn’t always the case, I know. There have been things I’ve wanted to do and did that have certainly been the best times of my life, but what I think I’m trying to say is it’s dangerous to formulate our lives along a set of futuristic expectations that leave no room for life itself.

Because here’s the thing about life,

it’s the most spontaneous son of a bitch we’ve ever had the pleasure to put up with. Truly.

So this brings me to the present.

I’m on the beach.

Twenty minutes ago I was reading on the beach and I absolutely lost it in one of the most peaceful places on earth.

I was anxious, about a lot of things. Mostly about the future, about what I don’t know. My mind reeled, my breathing sped, my eyes looked around but didn’t process a thing except for my own worries. I panicked. I felt alone, I felt concerned, and I just plain didn’t know what to do.

So I do what any beachgoer would do and set off into the water to be wrapped up in the waves, reassured by the consistency of the current.

And that’s it. Because that’s where I am, and that’s all I can do.

And that’s what relaxed me,

The simple brilliance of the unknown, and how much joy it has already brought me throughout my life.

I think this is applicable to just about anyone.

I think it’s certainly important to have different hopes and dreams for things you wish to complete (and hopefully will complete) before leaving this world, but I’ve also found many of the grandest and most beautiful moments of our lives are completely and utterly unplanned and unexpected.

So, to my future,

I’ll always hold on to my bucket list. I’ll sit with the Hollywood sign (somehow, even if I’m arrested) and snorkel with clownfish among the great reefs, I’ll watch hundreds of wildebeest cross the Tanzanian plains, hell, maybe I’ll even backpack the PCT.

I’ve learned, however, to also allow for more spontaneity than specificity.

There’s a lot of hurt and anxiety and depression and sadness in this world because we’re either way tied into the past (perhaps years and years on end as we reflect into our deepest memories and “could’ve beens,”) or we’re entirely consumed by what’s coming.

We are a species that absolutely despises the unknown, and I’m 100% guilty.

It is so, so, so incredibly difficult to allow life to seize us rather than us trying to seize it to keep things interesting when we’re simply meant to be still for a time.

Of course it’s necessary to open a door when life presents one, but nevertheless, don’t forget life is making the first move here.

So here’s my plan, something I reflected on while draped in the waves, in the midst of my own concerns:

Along with my bucket list, I’ve started forming a list as life goes on naming my favorite moments. I’ve listed out the times I’ve been at my happiest, and so blissfully unexpectedly so. And I look back and am constantly reminded that life can be so surprisingly brilliant in the simplest aspects.

I force myself to be where my feet are. I set my sights high and learn from my mistakes, but I do not ever step back. Not even for a second. I forgive myself. I hope for the best and trust in my relationships (both earthly and spiritually) and regard every individual as a sort of teacher, and every experience as a sort of lesson.

I am where I am and you bet I live the hell out of wherever it is with whoever is with me.

Good lord, there is so much to be thankful for, so many things to be at peace about regardless of how anxious we may be about the turnout, in the promise of a God who guarantees us nothing but things that work for our good.

The cool part is we’re guaranteed nothing less. Nothing. It’s remarkably reassuring, really.

This isn’t to say I don’t still struggle with my mind, as do many of my colleagues. Point being, we all deal with sadness and anger and anxiety and stress and it’s so important to remember that.

Watch out for one another, check in on your “strong friend,” grab coffee.

Pain demands to be felt, but life also demands to be lived.

So here’s the deal,

leave room for it.

Be where your feet are, and I think everything should work out alright.

Or so I’ve come to believe while sorting my thoughts with the rolling tide.