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Glen

Samantha Gratton

There are people who play music and then there are musicians. People who are so wrapped up in the emotion and struggle and hopes life can bring that they have no choice but to share those with you through music.

I’ve met a lot of both. I’ve probably seen more than my fair share of shows and at this point, it takes quite a bit to move me. Last night, Glen Hansard managed to make it to the list of tops. Not every musician can play in a way that’s both playful and sincere, harsh yet gentle. But I walked away full of respect for him and his music.

He has a way of making you feel like he has a genuine relationship with everyone on stage (including a section of strings and horns) but also that you as an audience member matter, too. He doesn’t say it out loud or even overtly hint at it. He just does.

Both the hubby and I left inspired. Reminded that music matters. Storytelling can reveal truths and feelings far beneath the surface. Creativity encourages more creativity. Engagement transcends isolation.

He ended the show with an Irish folk song and asked everyone in the audience to sing along as we repeated the chorus in between verses. Members of the crew were invited leave their sound boards and designated spots on stage to each come and sing a verse. The notes weren’t all perfect and it didn’t always make sense, but that’s not what music is about. It’s not what life is about. We all got to sing along to be a part of something simple, something bigger than ourselves and it was hauntingly beautiful all on its own.

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See Me Run

Samantha Gratton

Saturday I considered writing about my goal to one day run a 5k. If you’ve ever mentioned anything about running to me in the past, I probably mentioned in return that I hate running. But come September, the Color Run will be in town and if you’re going to run, might as well have bursts of color coming at you to distract from the panting and leg wobbling. Instead of jotting that down, I decided to try jogging. I even got an app to direct me between walking and jogging so I could work up to it. And that sore calf from Tuesday’s yoga? It’ll loosen up.

Well, it didn’t loosen up. Not exactly. I got maybe a mile from home on the path when it felt like that left leg burst. It didn’t really but there I was, in the middle of a path nowhere near the street. I called the hubby and explained/whimpered/cried the situation to him. He came to save the day. I don’t know what I would have done without him because at that point, walking was not an option. He carried me a third of a mile until we were able to take the path into another neighborhood. Then he continued to run all the way back to where the car was parked and drove over to pick me up. By the time he brought the car around, my mind was made up, we were headed to the doctor’s office.

On the way over we took turns moaning in pain. While I had done something to my calf, he had strained his back carrying me. I randomly had a few suckers in my purse and we chomped on those all the way to the appointment, trying to focus on something other than the pain. He wheeled me in and asked for an ice pack from the front before sitting down. And then promptly returning to the front desk to request a second ice pack for himself. We were quite a pair. They took a few x-rays, put on a splint and handed over some crutches and a prescription. By the time we got home, all either of us could do was lay on the couch watching Netflix while we iced our respective injuries.

Despite the severity suggested in the first appointment, Monday’s doctor visit said otherwise. I’ll be on crutches a little longer and maybe do some physical therapy, but I’ll be alright. I’m very thankful to not need surgery or have to deal with this long-term. But most of all, I’m thankful for my husband. This whole ordeal was somewhat ridiculous, but it was one more reminder that we are in this together. And depending how long it takes to fully recover, there’s a good chance you’ll see me attempt that 5k anyway.

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One Car

Samantha Gratton

This week marked the end of our journey with just one car (for now at least). With a new job for the hubby and an unfortunate need to commute rather far, we coughed up the money to adopt this little beater from a little old lady who is no longer on the roads.

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For almost a year, we’ve lived on only one car and have learned a few things along the way. Here’s a glimpse of what we’ve found:

  1. It CAN be done. Really. I mean it. And frankly, I’d recommend trying it for at least a season in life.
  2. More time was spent together. If we needed to go to two different places, we were in the car together twice as long. There was no “you go here and I’ll meet you later when I want to.” It was together time, all the time.
  3. Constant communication is required. Extra coordination was needed for just about every car trip we took, whether it was across town to hang out with friends or a simple quick grocery store run. Sometimes this meant creative problem solving. Either way, we had to work as team to figure it out. It was always “us” against the obstacles. It was challenging but it also allowed for more wins for us as a couple.
  4. You have to ask for help. In a society where we are supposedly self-sufficient, it can be annoying to ask for a ride or ask for help. But if you have one car and one person is 30 minutes away and a short ride would make all the difference, it’s worth it. And honestly, some of our best conversations have occurred with friends this way. We’ve had an opportunity to be connected with people when we may have otherwise been isolated. This is something we don’t want to change as we transition into this next phase. (A special shout out to all of the friends and co-workers who have shuttled us around from time to time!)
  5. Sometimes you have to say no. There’s plenty of hard parts to sharing a car and this is one of them. There have been short trips or fun opportunities we’ve had to pass up because there was no way to make it happen. It wasn’t fun, but it was good to understand our limits and also the blessing a car can be. It’s easy to take these things for granted, and I hope we continue to appreciate what we have now with two cars.
  6. Repairs makes it all the more interesting. Someone recently told us that our car was in the shop more than anyone else they knew. We have had our share of breakdowns, flat tires and unexpected mishaps. All of the above lessons then become amplified tenfold.
  7. Public transportation is not the worst. It’s not the most convenient or even fully integrated into the community but it is available. Try it. See how your neighbor lives.
  8. It can save some money. While my daily commute is not short, we only had one tank of gas to fill each week. One car to insure. One car to fix. One car to wash. Okay, that last one never happened.
  9. You have to be willing to make it work. Major kudos to the hubby who took on the brunt of this one-car living. For the majority of the time, he biked to work. It was three miles each way and one heck of a hill. Our bike rack was always on the car so that in case it did go to the shop, we could bike there to pick it up. At the end of the day, it was our only car and we had to figure out how to make it work and how to have a good attitude regardless of the inconvenience or rain or embarrassment or car troubles.
  10. Be grateful for the adventures you do have. It wasn’t easy, but we still had a lot of fun. That car moved with us halfway across the country. It took us on trips to Nashville, Charleston, Asheville, Gatlinburg, the Outer Banks, Philadelphia, D.C. and many more when we were still in the Midwest. It was decorated for Groundhog Day and has carried instruments, boogie boards, camping gear, library books and groceries. It’s driven through rain and snow, mountains and beaches. And you know what? It’s not done yet.

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The Latest

Samantha Gratton

I want to write out the things that are happening. What’s moving in our lives and what I am learning. To be honest, the last post has been a bit of my anthem lately. Consider it an attempt to throw my fists in the air to let everyone know I’m prepared to fight for my dreams and ambitions. But lately, it’s been hard to not be swallowed up by a desk job that leaves me feeling less creative and less interesting than I’d like to be. I find myself searching for someone else’s words and creativity to capture the strange empty tensions that bubble up inside of me.

So, let’s just say maybe I don’t know what I am doing with my life. Sometimes I feel as though I am wandering around aimlessly but in a part of town I’d rather not see. Is it the worst? No. But do I want to be stuck moseying around here all day? Not so much. Then I ask myself, how do I keep ending up here? Why can’t I get to where I am supposedly going? Or at least in a place I feel led to be?

Not only do I feel sometimes that I have some skills and ideas that are completely overlooked, but also—I have potential that I don’t know how to tap. How do astronauts get good at flying to the moon without their maiden voyage?

I have a good life with a wonderful husband and a happy home. That part is awesome. What I can’t seem to figure out is how my skills/strengths can be applied in a career path that doesn’t run me over or pull the rug out from under me. All I can do is keep trying. But when all the trying doesn’t seem to do anything, it starts to creep into my life with my husband and friends and happy home. This just cannot be.

Don’t Forget

Samantha Gratton

We are all people. People who have lives outside of our day jobs and interests that go beyond data entry. Why is it that when you are a kid the common question is “What do you like to do?” but later in life that changes to “What do you do?”

As kids we could be soccer players or artists or rock stars. Sure, we spent eight hours of our day in school but no one considered that to be our primary focus. If all we did was school, we were probably pretty boring little dudes. Why has that stopped? Why does a job have to feel like your primary purpose and lot in life? Shouldn’t our lives be made for something more?

I want to dream and create and live my life. So don’t put me in a box that only goes as far as my job title. Because I am a writer. A reader. A creative thinker. A traveler and explorer. Don’t shove those attributes under the rug. Because if those fade, a part of me does, too. And then you’re stuck with a pretty boring little lady.

I Write

Samantha Gratton

Yes, I’ve said it before and you can hardly deny it—I write. I won’t claim whether or not it’s good. I’ve certainly read books and blogs with far superior writing than my own. I just can’t help it though, when I learn and think and grow, it pours out of me. It’s been a continual hobby and passion. It’s what allows me to think through thoughts even further and then later reflect on where I’ve been.

So now the question is, how can that be used? What might I be called to use this hobby and skill for? Because rooted down in me, I know this cannot only be for my own good. There’s got to be something more. Until I know what that is, I’ll just keep writing. That way I’m ready for whatever is in store.

Playing Dress Up

Samantha Gratton

Whether we like it or not, what we wear says something. Maybe it’s “I’m comfortable wearing pajama pants outside my home,” or maybe, “I am quite sophisticated and can afford to be.” Working on a college campus, I see all sorts of statements. Sometimes I want my outfit to say the same thing theirs does.

Usually I want to say something along the lines of, “I’ve lived. I have interesting stories and care about learning new cultures. I have a sense of style that blends an eclectic set of clothes into one cohesive outfit. Because I’m cool like that and can handle it. These clothes didn’t all come straight from Target, but an amazing list of thrift stores that somehow all manage to carry my size and look like they have just the right amount of character. I have had adventures and therefore, some good stories to tell. I’ve lived.”

Whether that’s all true or not, that’s the direction I aim for when I try to let my clothes tell the story for me. But then it occurred to me—if I focus so much on what my attire portrays, what part of my life is lacking? If I let my clothes do all of the talking, what’s left to say? I want people to know that I’ve lived? Well how about I live that life as opposed to constantly searching for an item of clothing, household decoration, piece of jewelry or instagram evidence that says so. I want to live my life. Not pretend to.

Growing Up

Samantha Gratton

I’m not sure when you get to start calling yourself a grown-up. Is it after you hit a certain age or buy your first car? When you pay taxes or eat vegetables all on your own? What is it that classifies you as such?

The hubby and I were writing a song together recently about someone stuck in the Badlands and it made me stop to consider. The intensity and beauty and death in that land is unmistakeable. The summer before 5th grade, my family took a road trip through South Dakota and that trip has had a lasting impacts on me for whatever reason. The desolate wasteland, the beauty of the rock formations and massive bison roaming a land where battles were fought and forgotten lives lay buried.

Maybe being a grown-up means you realize when you are in the Badlands. When you survey the land and find it dead, with little prospects for growth. You look left and right only to find you’ve brought others with you to a dark and desolate place. You can’t continue on pretending you are surrounded by life and lush vegetation. You have a thirst for truth and seek it. When you say, there’s more to life than this waste and ruin I’ve grown accustomed to, and will do whatever it takes to flee from it. Even if it means asking for help and admitting failure.

That, to me, is a grown-up.

Ready for Takeoff

Samantha Gratton

Sometimes being ready for adventure means ready to go, ready to leave. We can prep and get excited and begin that transition into a new change. It means new adventures, new possibilities and a new place to land.

But what about the adventure in staying? Seeing it through? What if there’s still more adventure left, right where you are? What if by leaving you’re giving up the biggest adventure of all?

Although perhaps not as glamorous, I’m trying to understand what that might look like. For so long I’ve been waiting to go and now I’m here. I love the change and the challenge going can bring. Yet it’s harder to grasp the depth of those challenges without seeing them through. Because if you’re always chasing something else, you’re never really able to experience the now.

No, I Never Get Enough

Samantha Gratton

I fight sleep each night. Something in me says there’s still some life to live and it’s not going to happen when I’m sleeping. My brain keeps going while my eyes begin to squint. I want to do that one more thing or figure out my life’s plan or whatever.

Each morning I hate myself for fighting the sleep. All I feel like fighting is my alarm… as well as all of society for making me wake up before I’m was ready. I vow to go to bed earlier that night and slap my hands a few times before swinging my feet out of bed.

Is there a point in this all? Maybe. It just makes me wonder what that late night hour is worth and why my brain fights for it like I’ll never get it back. Perhaps the question could be raised — what if I never wake up? But if that’s really the case, then what happened in that hour, those last few waking moments, that mattered? Does it matter? Should it?