No, I’m Not Gonna Stop

For the first week at our new place the sound of the fountain around the bend echoing off our porch ceiling always made me think it was raining when I stepped outside. Rattling leaves, rumbling highway... so many new sounds to get accustomed to in a new place.

Golf carts were another—but those sure beat the SUVs with darkened windows of other neighborhoods. You had to be really rude to drive an open-air cart past a neighbor without a friendly greeting.

This morning I look up from my project on the porch for a moment when I hear a gold cart rumbling up the road. I return the friendly wave, then turn my attention back to my little focus-cocoon, tuning back into the music coming from my phone.

That brings on an awkward laugh. The lyrics?

No I’m not gonna stop

And I’ll be waving to my haters

as I rise to the top

Sorry new neighbors. Don’t want to start out on the wrong foot, and no, I don’t believe you’ll turn out to be a hater.

At the same time, I can’t help but feel the prick of having to wave goodbye to people who were supposed to be my biggest supporters. Been thinking about that a fair bit this year especially.

You know when you’re moving forward

You gotta pack light

Shake off the dust

I’m done being held down by what other people say

I’ve got better things to do

Better things than listening to you

Seems harsh, but there’s a reason this one’s on the playlist that defines my year. The harsh came before I started downsizing—the harsh doesn’t come from me.

As I continue my porch project, sorting through the last few boxes from our move to a smaller place, I consider the phenomenon called “Crab Mentality.” It comes from the imagery of crabs in a bucket: If one tries to climb out, the others will pull it back in. Too often humans aren’t any more charitable.

“If this is what my life is gonna be, then yours better be this way too.”

I’ve felt that a lot lately, coming to me from the people around me, and I understand it. How can they speak from anything but their own lived experience? Of course they’re going to offer advice based off of what worked for them.

Except I’m not them.

So long as what other people say is holding me down, I need to focus on better things. Better things that listening to them, harsh as it may sound.

The next curated song starts and takes me back to when we gave in to planning this move—when it felt like everything we’d built to get us this far was burning down.

How did we get here?

All castaway on a lonely shore

This place, this porch? It’s temporary. I’m not sure how long we will be here and I’m not sure where we will be moving next.

When the move began it was easy to resent it. In the past decade I have tried to call 15 different places home. Each of them had their charms—I especially enjoyed the little place with a blue kitchen and white front porch—but none of them felt like a place to put down roots.

I was just getting used to our last place, even thinking it might just be our home, the place to raise our children. There was plenty of square footage, a park nearby, good neighbors. It even had vaulted ceilings, stained concrete floors, and a prayer closet. Maybe it wasn’t our dream house, but it had plenty of things we’d dreamed of.

Much larger than the RV. Much more predictable than that longterm stay hotel. Much safer than the places where we discovered toxic mold.

We’ve had our share of trying to make the best of new beginnings.

And here we are, starting over again.

Except this time we’re living in a beautiful, exclusive park with amenities and grounds to explore. It didn’t take long for me to accept and lean into the luxury of it. Yes, cabin fever is rough with six people living in one little cottage, but the small space is bringing me back to the minimalism I find so comforting.

Burn the ships, cut the ties

Send a flare into the night

Say a prayer, turn the tide

Dry your tears and wave goodbye

I’ve been craving the time and focus to dedicate to culling the clutter, so here’s my chance.

Even better, the stuff won’t be burned, but given to people who will actually put it to use. The physical stuff that is. I’ve got plenty of mental clutter that could do to be burned. I’ve been craving the time and focus to clear that out too.

Fears got me living with the lights out

Chained down like a prisoner in my own house

Shame cycles like a daily medication

I try but I can't change my situation

This song is the heart of the playlist: my battlecry. It’s the song that gets me out of slumps and back in the fight I’m here to win.

We're done with all the mind games you try to play

If it ain't clear yet I want everything you took from me

In the name of the One who is Peace, the One who heals all disease

The only reason that I am free, that name is Jesus

My eyes well up with tears.

Over the course of three months this year I went from being a nobody in the local entrepreneurial space to having the title of Texas Regional Director of the Business Leaders Network. Almost as soon as the title was mine, I had to let it go.

Many of the people I met through the Network I still call friends. Some stayed with the organization, others left for the same reasons I did. All felt the sting when it all came down.

Yes, I was the one who resigned, but it still felt like the decision was out of my hands.

So many things have felt out of my hands—taken right out of them when a moment before they’d been within my grasp. I’m so ready to take it all back after trying and trying and trying myself. Every little thing, from local influence to a safe, stable home, from my ability to digest bread to a wardrobe that actually reflects who I’m meant to be.

One name is all I gotta say, Jesus

There’s only so much I can do myself, but I’m also not here to give some pat religious answer of "Just say Jesus.” It isn’t a magic word. God knows how many people say it and mean it as a curse.

A name is so much more than a simple word, even a powerful name—because a powerful name doesn’t get its power from the particular string of sounds. The power comes from the position of the person who has that name.

That’s been the difference:

Before, I “tried.” I focused on what I could or couldn’t DO.

Now I simply am.

Right now that means sorting clothes and throwing out papers. It also means digging in my heels and staying in Texas where I know I’m meant to become known as a business leader.

I say it out loud:

“I am a Texas Regional Leader.”

Standing in my own power and authority—my name, my identity—has been absolutely vital to actually taking back what has been taken from me. In fact, that was the first thing that I needed to take back: my identity.

My destiny. My assignment. My calling. My voice.

I won't be silenced

Though you wanna see me tremble when you try it

All I know is I won't go speechless, speechless

My words are powerful—I’ve learned that the hard way. Every lie I agreed with and spoke has played out over and over in my life. They’ve affected my perspective, skewed what I see, influenced what I looked for. They’ve become true.

At least, my experience has convinced me that they’re true.

Like this past Thanksgiving Day:

In the middle of serving up our plates my husband asked if today was a good day and I blurted out, “No, but it can’t be. Not after what my mom did.”

What my mom did was un-invite us from the family Thanksgiving the first year we lived close enough to attend. She knew it was my favorite holiday specifically because it was when extended family got together, but she still told us not to come. My sister’s boyfriend and his parents took the seats my husband, our daughter, and I would have sat in.

That was five years ago.

Five years ago I told my husband that Thanksgiving couldn’t be a good day anymore.

Five years later, even though I wasn’t consciously thinking of those words that I’d said, I was still living under that belief. My mom was 500 miles away and I was surrounded by a new family, our church family who welcomed us with open arms, yet those circumstances weren’t what defined how I was feeling. Words I had spoken five year earlier were.

Yo it's crazy, amazing

We can turn our heart through the words we say

Mountains crumble with every syllable

Hope can live or die

Crazy how a few words from my mom five years ago, solidified by my own agreement with the negative sentiments, made my beautiful Thanksgiving day this year so unpalatable.

Words are powerful.

Being honest and blurting out the words that made me realize my mistake was powerful too. It let me change the words I was believing and speaking. It let me choose to change the way I talk, making my words today match what I want my future to look like. No, not even what I want—I’m making my words match the future I know is for me.

I’m choosing to speak life—and I don’t mean in some abstract, pie-in-the-sky kind of way.

This last song on my playlist makes it concrete. In addition to including it on the playlist I’m listening to while I work on the porch right now, it’s on my “Good Morning” playlist, so I sing it over my day every morning.

Okay, okay, okay, okay

I'm 'bout to have a good day

In every single way

Earlier today I forgot to turn on the “Good Morning” playlist. My five-year-old woke me out of the middle of a dream, and every one of my children wanted a different thing for breakfast. Between serving up the granola and preparing toast I snapped.

I stomped back to my room and paced away the pressure rising in my head. Deep breath.

I’m ‘bout to have a good day

No matter what they say

Words are powerful. Repeated words even more so. But put those words to music? That’s what gets the power of those words deep into my soul and lets them bubble up when I need them most.

I remembered the song, turned on my phone, and played it like a prayer.

Living in the present

No woulda, shoulda, or coulda

Whether first thing in the morning as a part of a routine, organically as I organize the porch, or in the middle of a cry for help, these songs have seen me through a lot this year.

Listening to the familiar melodies now simultaneously bring back memories of moments and hope for the future I’m building.

The playlist ends and I pause.

I wonder what new inspiration the next playlist will bring.