Louisiana Chicory

Even as a newborn, my mom said that my eyes were dark brown. I get it honest, a majority of the Watsons and Arringtons have dark hair and dark eyes. We also have some Native American blood in our veins, so it makes sense.

She recalls people always commenting on my big, brown eyes. Of course, that was the pronounced thing about me. I was basically bald until I was two. She had to pierce my ears to keep people from constantly thinking I was a boy.

When my sister was born, she had the most beautiful blue eyes. She was only one of maybe a handful throughout four generations in our family to have blue eyes. I was so jealous. She had the unusual eyes in my family. I just had plain, old, boring brown.

In 2005, I was working as a cashier when Hurricane Katrina came through. Even in North Central Florida, we had people flocking in from Louisiana. Some of their homes had been destroyed. Some were not sure of what they would find upon returning. My heart was breaking for them.

An older man, walking with a cane, walked in one day. I rang him up. When he opened his mouth, the sweetest Creole accent came out. He said, “You have the most beautiful eyes. They’re the color of Louisiana Chicory. They remind me of home.”

Never have I been so thankful that my eyes were brown.

Jumbled Thoughts

I’ve had an internal struggle lately. In trying to explain this today, I got more and more frustrated. My words were jumbled and I couldn’t get my thoughts straight. Thankfully, when I voiced it to my best friend...in a slew of poorly constructed text messages...she just GOT it. Some days, you just need that.

This is what I was trying, and failing, to convey today:

I love my church. I love the people at my church. And this has no real bearing on them whatsoever. My struggle is totally an internal one.

I am a very flawed person. My past is littered with things that many would deem “ugly.” I have a TERRIBLE potty mouth. My life is messy. And you know what? I LOVE it. I love even the ugly things in my past and present...because they have gotten me exactly where I am today. I love my messy life.

Hiding those sides of myself seems insincere.

To boot, as a writer, as a blogger, as a creative person (with many creative outlets), by hiding the messy parts, I feel like I do a disservice to anyone who reads my posts or follows me.

I never want to feel like I need to conform to a certain image or feel like I cannot talk about certain subject matter. I don’t want to feel censored. Or feel like someone is going to scrutinize me...or worse, go tattle to my mom (which seems ludicrous, as I’m 33...but it HAS happened).

But on the same token, I never--in any way--want to cause someone else to stumble. I know that I have people looking up to me...and thus, the struggle.

And as I’ve said...this is very much an internal struggle, not one placed upon me by anyone in the church. This post has served really as just trying to gather and organize my thoughts. In fact, this evening, I received some very sweet, encouraging words from a member of our Pastoral Staff in regards to this.

As I’ve said a million times. I’m trying. And this hasn’t been an easy process. But I’m trying.

Teetering

I don’t know why I even try to say what I’m thinking anymore. I do WAY better writing it.

This is exactly the predicament I found myself in on Monday evening. I was trying desperately to get the words mentioned below out...and I wound up sounding twiddleheaded, talking in circles.

This is what I was trying to explain to a friend:

Suddenly, I find myself at a weird place. I’m worried about how my words and actions affect others. More concerned that I may ever have been. I have never asked to be anyone’s role model, and when people look to me for opinions, I often say “my opinion doesn’t matter, you need to do what you think is right.” That’s honestly how I feel! My lowly opinion doesn’t amount to a hill of beans! But last week, in just making a simple, honest statement, I realized how quickly my thoughts/opinions can affect some of those closest to me and cause them to stumble. That is literally NEVER what I want.

Which led me to this thought process... my outlet for much of my adult life has been writing. And if you’ve been close to me, or followed my blog for a while, you KNOW that I’ve have written about the ups and downs, highs and lows in life.... If I’ve lived it, chances are I’ve written about it. Some of the great things...and some of the things most people would want to keep hidden.

But see, that’s just not who I am. I will always share even the ugly stuff...not to glorify it...or try and “normalize” it...but rather to show others a glimpse into my journey. All of these things...life experiences, sin, tragedy, and wonderful things...I’ve shown splattered through my posts over the years. I think honestly, that is why others find my writing relatable....because it’s honest. I have, and will never, say that I am anything more than a very flawed person who has been shown more mercy that I ever deserved.

I am trying to find a balance...of being that outspoken writer from before...and being someone that younger girls can look up to.

But When Do I Fail?

Flanner O’ Connor once said: “I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” That is where I find myself tonight. I am hoping that in writing this, I can better gather my thoughts.

I think faith is easy to have when you’re on top of the mountain. When things are going great, and life is easy...it’s easy to have faith. It’s in the darker times that it is a struggle.

I cannot even say that it’s lack of trust in God that has been the issue. It is more of lack of faith in myself. When the panic has set in, I have asked myself time and time again, “But when do I fail?”

If I’m honest, one of the not-so-great traits within myself is the fact that I have trouble staying the course. I have trouble with commitment. I have trouble with resiliency. I know this about myself.

I’ve been back in church for a year, and as I told my childhood friend (now one of the church staff), “I’m trying.” But that has not been without moments of doubt and panic.

And when that panic has set in, I wanted to run. I wanted to jump the gun, and just quit. Quit before I had a chance to let even more people down.

See, that’s what I do. When I feel any sort of pressure, any kind of emotion, my go-to response is to run.

In telling this to a beloved friend this past week, I told him: “I just want to run away from it all...maybe get another tattoo...maybe get my nose pierced...Just run away and go a little wild for a while.” Running away from issues is what I’m good at.

But today, I made it through Sunday School. Then, the song service. Then, the sermon. And at every point, I felt something. And I was so glad that I was there.

I am not perfect. I am a very flawed individual. I do not proclaim to be anything aside from that. But here I sit, trying.

Aleta’s Tips on How to Not Get Murdered Before You’re 29

Okay, so, as many of you know...when I get hooked on something--a book series, television show, etc.--I become hopelessly obsessed and can’t shut up about it. This is true about the podcast Crime Junkies. I’ve now gotten several other people hooked, and I’m not even sorry. Not even a smidge.

One of those said people is my partner in crime and best friend KW. To give a little backstory, we met in Kindergarten and became best friends in the 3rd Grade. She’s been true blue since way back.

Anywho, now that KW is now hooked on the podcast too, we just keep saying to each other “How did we NOT die?” Particularly “how did we not die back when we used to party in our early 20s?” And the inspiration for this post was born...

Tonight, I’m going to impart a little knowledge on how to survive and NOT wind up dead before you’re 29. All I’m going to say is...learn from my mistakes, y’all...learn from my mistakes.

I will start with a story.... Picture it... 2014...Carrabelle. (I hate to even say that it was this recent, because I was 28 and “shoulda known better.” But alas, I am a slow learner...)

Before I begin, please realize that KW was a happily married lady at this point, and therefore, she went along with this because of nudging from her idiot friend. (raises hand) Me. I’m the idiot friend.

We had first trekked over to our favorite haunt, Harry’s...which is the best little hole in the wall bar until about 10 when the smoke gets so thick you can’t handle it anymore. Then we ventured to the new bar by the marina to hear the local talent play until the wee hours of the morning. It had a nice outdoor area where you could “air out” after leaving Harry’s smelling like a 70 year-old two-pack-a-day smoker. Some of our old, local friends that we hadn’t seen in years came up and sat with us for a bit... which brings me to...

Life Lesson #1: Don’t unknowingly befriend local drug dealers in your vacation/party town. (In our defense, the drug dealer ratio is rather high in those parts, and therefore we did not know in the beginning)

Life Lesson #2: Neck Tattoos possibly done by some guy named “Acid” or “Snake” should probably have been a red flag.

After the local guys left, we had some Tallahassee guys come over. I think I was trying to get over somebody...maybe? So one of them piqued my interest. He was much older.... but even on a good day, I can’t math. I spent half the night trying to figure out if he’d told me he was 20 or 30 years older than me. His hair was grey and I knew I was dealing with a man that was somewhere between 48 and 58.

Get your mind out of the gutter...nothing happened that night. He had his son with him. Ahem...

Life Lesson #3: Don’t get all googly-eyed over a middle-aged man that brings his barefoot 14 year old son to a bar! (I have no words. 28 year old Aleta was a dope).

So, the night was really nice. I am going to use code names here (mainly because I can’t remember what their names actually were at this point). Alan and Doug were super nice and funny. We enjoyed talking to them. I think KW even got out on the dance floor with the 14 year old.

When the bar closed down, we parted ways and went back to our hotel room.

The next morning, we went to Apalach for a late breakfast at Caroline’s. As we were eating our chocolate chip pancakes and slurping down our coffee, my phone went off. It was Alan asking if we wanted to go out on the boat with them and go to Dog Island. KW called her husband to make sure it would be okay.

Life Lesson #4: Don’t go off with strangers!

Life Lesson #5: Don’t go off with strangers to an island that is not in any way patrolled by police that takes 30 minutes to get to by boat...with NO cell service! (side note: this island is where they host the annual White Trash Bash...RIIIIING RIIIING...hear the alarm bells?)

Life Lesson #6: If you ignore #4 and #5, please have the sense enough to give SOMEONE a pile of details about where you’re going and who you are with. Be like KW, kids.

It was fine...we were fine. We went swimming at Dog Island...which is beautiful, btw. We went back to Alan’s house and chatted for a while.

So, all jokes aside, while everything turned out completely fine that weekend...at any point, things could’ve went drastically wrong.

Now that I’ve told you that story, I’m going to give you some additional tips.

1. Don’t go partying at a town that is literally surrounded by the ocean and a thick forest called “Tate’s Hell.” There’s a whole lot of places to put a body. 
2. If you’re going to party, be very careful who you party with. 
3. Stay with your group/friends. 
4. Always give someone (or multiple people) a ridiculous amount of details of who you are with, what you are doing, and where you are going. 
5. Have a friend like KW. 

Stay safe, y’all.

Author’s Note: So, so many of our “How did we not die?” stories start and end in Carrabelle. I feel like I could post life lessons every day for a month about what we learned from that town. I reserve the right for a follow-up post...

Trying

Those closest to me know that I have an extremely difficult time processing emotions.  Which, is ironic, because I’m very much an empath.  I can feel other’s emotions...but when it comes to myself..I would much rather skip town than have to deal with or feel my own emotions.

This is precisely where I have found myself the past few weeks.  I know that I’m absolutely right in the place that I need to be.  Surrounded by the people that I need to be surrounded by.  But even as I sit typing this, I would be lying if I didn’t have an overwhelming urge to run away for a couple of weeks.  When things get real, I tend to run or withdraw.

You see, more than anything--in this very moment--I don’t want to fall or stumble.  I think that may be what scares me the most right now.

But here I sit, trying with all of my might.  And I hope that that counts for something in the long run.

A Testament

This morning, I considered writing this post, but quickly thereafter doubt and worry set in. After having all of my social media sites watched and scrutinized last year, I have held-fast to my privacy. I could live my whole life without again being the subject of gossip.

So, why am I sitting here typing away on my laptop, you ask? 

As I had decided not to write this, I came home to a package from a dear soul sister, Mrs. Liisa Collins tonight.  This wonderful woman has encouraged me since I was 9 years-old.  She has been an absolute blessing in my life.  She didn’t realize it...but the package that she sent was confirmation that I needed to write and post this. More about how that sweet lady ties in later.

In January of last year, I found myself terribly unhappy.  I won’t delve too much into it, but I was in a bad situation where I found myself constantly walking on eggshells.  He could be sweet on occasion, but he could be terribly mean and hurtful. With every text or call, I began to brace myself because I was never sure what I would get.

At this same time, I HATED my job.  There were a few sweet souls that were my only saving grace there. I wasn’t SO sure about my safety. I had been threatened with a pipe bomb.  I had someone literally come in and throw a bucket across the room at us.  I got yelled at daily by irate customers.  And we had very little support.  I absolutely hated it. 

I was out of church. I had a difficult time finding my place after the real “college and career”-age class.  I never felt like I could find a fit in church after that.  

I was deeply unhappy.

I tell you that, to set the tone.  So that you can fully understand the gravity of the chain of events this past year.

In January 2019, one Sunday when I just flat did not want to be at home alone when she went to church, I asked if I could just join Mom’s Sunday School class.  The Joy Sunday School class is a group of women around 50-70 years-old. That same Sunday I went to Church and to her Life Group “The Eclectic Group” (ages 45-80ish).  Now, I’m going to tell you what...the older folks?  Those are just my people.  I somehow found my place in the midst of those groups.

From 2016 to 2019, I had walked away from the aforementioned situation/relationship/whatever-you-want-to-call-it, and been drawn back in time and again.  In late January/early February of 2019, I walked away for good. I had prayed about it and knew this was the right move.  It would never grow me...and it would never be an ideal situation for me.

Though my parents had always tithed, and I had when I was younger, y’all know that I’m hardheaded.  It took me a hot minute to get back into the swing of tithing.  But in March, I began diligently tithing.  Ironically enough, along with being hardheaded, I am an infamous procrastinator....I didn’t actually file my taxes until March. (this comes into play in just a sec). 

On April 1st, when I learned that my direct supervisor was leaving, and I knew that I had to do something.  My mom told me about a position at my current company.  I applied on April 4th.  Completed questionnaires that weekend.  

On Monday, April 8th, I was fired over an Instagram post involving politics.  I was blindsided, but not one tear was shed.  That afternoon, I received a call from the HR Department of my current company requesting an interview on April 9th.  On April 10th, I was offered my position.  A company whose mission I believe in.  I was set to start on April 15th.

In reference to my tithing/late tax file?  The same week I was fired...I received my last paycheck, payment for my accrued PTO, and my tax refund.  Through the very short gap from my last paycheck to my first paycheck, I had that money to get me by. God is good.

I would love to say that the rest of the year was filled with sunshine and rainbows.  But there have been hard days too.  There have been days that I have cried the whole way home from work.  There have been days when I sorely missed my friends from my old job.  There have been times when I braced myself when checking my phone.  

I would love to say I'm the perfect Christian...but Lord knows, y'all...I'm not.  I fail DAILY.

This past Fall, I asked some very close ladies that I trusted to begin praying for me.  Mrs. Liisa Collins being one of them.  I had some specific prayer requests.  There were some things I needed to get through.  And while, I am not there just yet...I am getting there.

There is nothing greater than feeling like you are exactly where you need to be. I had faith (sometimes just the smallest smidge) that God would see me through, and y’all...He has seen me through. I believe this past year of my life has stood as a testament to that.

I hope that whoever finds themselves reading this will have faith that God will see you through the trying times.  Trials don't last forever.  I hope that you take time to see your daily blessings.  And if ever you need someone to pray for you, I am only a message away.