I know you think that you've been down. You never know when things will turn around.

Hello, friends! It feels like it’s been forever, even though it’s only been a couple months. I’m excited that I get to talk to you today though. I’m writing to you from my home in Oregon after a cozy, but honestly kind of stressful, week. I got back from the UK a few weeks ago and the transition has been disorienting, to say the least. I have overwhelming gratitude for what was and so much hope and excitement for what will be, but right now I find myself sitting in the uncomfortable space between those two things. 

The downtime, however, has allowed me to reflect on the past few years and how they have shaped me in wretched and wonderful ways. A few years ago, I wrote a post that centered on the idea of being able to recognize the moment when everything changes. I thought when I was writing it that that moment of heading into a new job and beginning my career would be the moment where everything changed for me – the moment when I finally stepped into the person I was always meant to be. Turns out it wasn’t. But there was a moment that now, in hindsight, I can point to and say there, that was it. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to venture back in time.

It was late September 2023 and I had just choked up the water that had filled my lungs and was relearning how to breathe after nearly drowning in the waves that had destroyed my life and threatened to destroy me too. I was bored and fragile, busy at work but completely uncommitted. It was in that moment of checked-out melancholy that I saw that one of my very favorite musicians was going to be performing at a lantern festival in Utah in just over a week. At that moment, it was like lightning struck and I needed to go. The festival was on Saturday. I worked on Friday and needed to be at a work event in Vancouver, WA first thing on Monday but I was determined to not let that stop me.

I audio-messaged my friend, “Ok, I am certain that your answer is no, but I thought I would send a message just in case I was wrong. I think I’m crazy, but there is this lantern festival near Salt Lake City on October 7th that I really want to go to because my main man, Alec Benjamin, is headlining the festival. So, I’m thinking of going and was wondering if you wanted to go with me. But you’d have to be equally as crazy because, if it works out, we’d have to leave around 3 o’clock on Friday the 6th, get to Boise, stay the night in Boise, drive to Salt Lake early on Saturday, get to our Airbnb or whatever and drop stuff off and then head pretty much straight to the venue, do the whole thing, and then drive the whole 13 hours back because I need to be in Portland on Sunday night (I’d drop you off first) for a thing Monday morning. So, it would be the fastest turnaround ever of all time and it would be a lot of time in the car for a musician that I adore but you probably haven’t listened to much. So, I’m throwing it out there. Again, say no, but if you’re feeling up to it, let me know.”

He responded, “Ok, Abbey, that sounds absolutely crazy and I’m actually down. I will do it. I will do it.”

That trip turned into one of my favorite memories of my entire life. We drove through beautiful landscapes and laughed and listened to good music. We stopped at a sporting goods store just so we could buy a basketball as a prop for our inevitable visit to East High. We hardly slept, but we had so much fun. And, as a bonus, I got to fraternize a bit with that music man of mine once we got to the festival. The whole thing felt like magic.

When I look back, I see that that was my first step to reinhabiting myself. It was the first time in such an unbelievably long time that I had opened myself up to the possibilities of what could be and had done something fun just because I wanted to. Strangely, it was also the first time in a long time that I had asked for help by inviting someone into my world and allowing them to sit with me and help me heal. Sometimes that looks heavy and sometimes it looks like a super joyous weekend escape.

It was only a couple of weeks later that I would watch the movie that began my journey to London. To be honest, I don’t think I would’ve been open to such a drastic leap if I hadn’t already taken a step. Who would’ve thought that a trip to Utah would change everything?

I have this mantra for my year that I kind of hate because it sounds a little too Gen Z manifest-y for my taste but I truly cannot think of a way to rephrase it so forgive me in advance. The mantra is, “invite love.” I tried to change it to, “open yourself up to love,” but there’s a big difference between leaving your door open and actually inviting someone in. So, alas, I’m stuck with it. But inviting love doesn’t necessarily mean romantic love (though, Alec, remember that time we had?) but it does mean inviting love in all the relationships in my life, those new and old, and seeing what comes when I allow myself to be truly known and to truly know others, flaws and all. Without knowing it, I started that process in Utah by inviting someone into my world to show up with me and for me in my weakest place.

One of the most profound experiences of my time in London was how God used others to model for me his love and generosity – love that was completely unearned and generosity that was impossible to reciprocate. He showed me what it’s like to live in a community in a way that I hadn’t felt before and it will stick with me forever. 

I am so grateful for my unconnected cluelessness when I landed in the UK because it forced me to connect with other people, to recognize what I didn’t know, and to ask questions. If I had already been a well-connected cultural expert, I would’ve missed out on some of the relationships and experiences that I now hold most dear. In my US context, I can easily pretend my way out of close relationships by seeming more competent or emotionally together than I am, but I didn’t have that same option when stripped of all my familiar comforts. I was in a position of need, not power. From the second I said hello, each person I met knew that I didn’t belong and yet they showed up for me anyway. What I had practiced by asking my friend if he wanted to join me for a music festival, even though I was certain he would say no, reaped dividends when connecting with new friends across the pond. I practiced showing up as I am and letting others show up for me too.  

Before I left London, I attended a carol service at the church that had embraced me so warmly and enthusiastically when I arrived a few months prior. I was listening to the pastor speak and he mentioned his wife’s cancer journey. I had heard through the grapevine that she was undergoing treatment, but in my interactions with him, he had been so kind, present, and joyful that I figured everything was largely ok and that she just had to see the process through. As he spoke, I learned that everything had not been ok. She had been given eight months to live at the beginning of the year and they had had to navigate conversations with their children that I don’t wish on any family. I welled up as he spoke. I had been so touched by his kindness and graciousness towards me and had observed him be equally as unsparing in his time and attention with others. I couldn’t believe that a man going through so much could find it within himself to love others so well. It was beyond anything I had ever felt or witnessed. Miraculously, his wife is now cancer-free, but his capacity to love during his own battle is something I can only thank God for.

This wasn’t the only example. A few days prior, I sat piled on couches with new friends, all my age, in the living room of a couple who had been both friends and watchdogs during my time in England. I was chatting with one woman who I had only had a proper conversation with maybe once before and she said, “Abbey! I was just thinking about you the other day and was wondering if you were going home for the holidays?” I was shocked. How could someone I only barely knew have been thinking about me? A little while later, another woman I had only chatted with a couple of times told me that I’d been on her mind and she was wondering how I was navigating the winter because it can be hard for some people. That same evening, I befriended one of the guys in the group who I had literally never met before but by the end of the evening felt like someone I’d been friends with for years. That living room was overflowing with such sincere love and kindness that I found myself wondering, is this what it looks like to have a real community of friends? It felt entirely foreign to me to be experiencing that not just as individuals but as a group doing life together. 

The same friend who hosted us with her husband shared with me before I left that she would miss me and said, “It turns out, I just really like you! I mean, I love you, obviously. But I really like you.” Again, I was stunned that her love flowed so freely that she had loved me before she even liked me, before she even knew me really. Talk about modeling Jesus…. Do you know how long it takes me to tell someone that I love them? About forever-and-a-half. 

She told me something else that speaks to the themes previously mentioned. She said, “You know, you’re thanking me for looking out for you and inviting you to things, but thank you for involving yourself by showing up. It’s been so wonderful having you.” That really summarizes it, doesn’t it? That when we put ourselves out there, this version of ourselves exactly as we are now, then we allow others to love us just as we love them.

I was having a not-so-mini meltdown with my mom the other day about this liminal space I now find myself in and she basically told me straight up that I needed to stop living like I was on an island and let other people love me because I’m doing them a disservice by not embracing the interconnectedness of relationship in allowing them to support me. Ouch, but true. Taking up space as I am and letting other people into that space is still a work in progress, hence my I-still-wish-there-was-a-better-way-to-phrase-it mantra.

Now, as a side note, none of this is easy. I was talking with my best friend not long ago and she somewhat jokingly told me, “If you still tell me you have social anxiety, I don’t believe you.” But the thing is that moving through anxiety requires practice. It requires doing the uncomfortable thing of putting yourself out there and letting people in. It’s only then that you get any relief. I also think it’s important to mention that letting people in doesn’t just mean letting them into the hard stuff. Sometimes, I find that it’s actually more vulnerable to let people experience my humor or storytelling because it’s more revealing of my interests and personality. I imagine I’ll always live with some form of social anxiety, but that’s why it’s important to keep showing up anyway. (Side note: I don’t get the whole Americans not being funny stereotype. Not to toot my own horn but also to toot my own horn, I made so many Brits laugh and they seemed surprised every time I did. Um, rude.)

Three years ago, I thought my life was on the cusp of great change when it wasn’t (well, circumstantially it kind of was but you’ve already heard that story). But sometimes you have to detour from the person you know yourself to be and play the world’s game to ultimately realize, “Oh wait. That isn’t me.” It can start with a highly impractical trip to Utah. Or perhaps you can quit your job and move to another country. Or both. Or neither. But eventually, when given the opportunity to step fully into your God-given identity, you just have to. I find myself walking that out now and likely will continue to for the rest of my life. 

Y’all know that one of my favorite shows on the planet is One Tree Hill and, in my humble opinion, the season seven finale is an almost perfect episode of television. I’m about to share some mild spoilers so be warned, but if you haven’t seen it already, what’s wrong with you?!

In it, one of the main characters is finally starting to come out of a deep depression that began when her mother died and is grappling with what it looks like to let others in when all she wants to do is isolate. She’s on vacation with her friends and family in Utah, no less, and there’s a penultimate scene where she’s standing with them at the bottom of a hill they had just sled down. In the scene, her son turns to her and says, “Sure is a long way up Mama.” And she responds, “No it’s just a hill. Come on, we’ll climb it together.”

I have spent the better part of my life running away from myself and away from others, but we can only find love and safety and joy and community when we run towards those things. It may feel like an uphill battle, but it’s just a hill. Come on, let’s climb it together.

Until next time x

Abbey

Titular Song: Carry You Home by Nashville Skyline… which is sadly not on Spotify, but it’s so good that you should look it up anyway. 

Also, some bonus post-script housekeeping:

1) I know that some of you are interested in hearing about my travel-related celebrity encounters and others of you couldn’t care less. If you would like to hear the latest updates from my time in London, including one of my favorite stories in recent history, then call or text and we can have ourselves a gab. 

2) I wake up with a song in my head most days and this past year I decided to start tracking them when I remembered to. I created a playlist just for fun of the songs I woke up with in my head in 2024 that you can find here. Enjoy the complete musical chaos.

3) Poll for the crowd: I have had multiple people in the past several months who have mistaken me, based purely on appearance, for being much younger than I am. Quite frankly, it’s starting to get a little annoying. I literally had my ticket to a venue checked because someone assumed I was a child and not an adult. I’m sure I will love a youthful glow when I’m 40, but I’m not trying to have potential suitors mistake me for a minor at present. So, my question to you is, purely out of curiosity, how old do you think I look?!?! I need answers. 

Ok, bye for real this time.