I used to be reluctant to claim the Carolina in me. To the point where I would try to bury what southern accent I had beneath careful enunciation. I claimed my Florida heritage instead (I moved from Tampa to North Carolina when I was nine), taking pride in my family ties there. But all that time I never realized that while I was placing my roots in the past, Carolina had been sewing new and greater things inside of me.

One of those things was the concept of feeling known. That small town cliché of “everybody knows everybody” had its validation. You couldn’t pick up groceries or hit the drug store without running into someone you knew. It sounds kind of intimidating to think about. But lately I’ve come to realize just how much I cherished that environment.

For the past few years I’ve noticed that we as people walk this life with blinders on. We no longer acknowledge each other as we pass. Instead, we avert our eyes, our gaze downcast. We fight to avoid contact, even when we’re walking a foot between each other. If you ask ‘how are you’, the common response is a quick ‘good’ as you continue to walk away. There is no pause to say hello, no meeting the other’s gaze.

Somewhere in the past few years we’ve forgotten how to see the souls beside us.  

I noticed this while running this morning, and something inside of me ached. I knew this wasn’t how we were meant to be. We weren’t meant to go through this life invisible to the folks around us. I thought no wonder so many of us feel alone. We pass through each other’s lives like phantoms, without a face. Without a name.

But we do have faces. We do have names. We exist.

I started walking at this point. I pulled out my headphones and began to smile and say ‘good morning’ to every person whose path I crossed. Bikers, walkers, workers…  Just to see what would happen.

Some people refused to look my way.

Others smiled timidly.

A handful of folks grinned and greeted me back.

Two beautiful, older women stopped and had a conversation with me.

Every time though, I felt the tug inside of me saying this is how we were meant to live. My spirit felt lighter, and many of them I noticed walked away with a little more pep in their step. They held their head higher. There’s strength in being known. In being acknowledged, however slight the gesture may seem. 

I’m just like everyone else walking with blinders on. Butfor a moment today I took them off, and I saw what life can be like. What it should be like. And I don’t want to put them back on.

I’m going to try not to. And I know I’m not perfect. It’s so easy to live blindfolded. But failure isn’t about the moments where we fall down. Failure lies in refusing to get back up. I want to get back up. I want to live the way we were made to live, not the way we’ve conformed to. And I know that’s possible.

Sometimes it starts with just a greeting and a smile.

“Wasn’t always this easy. It wasn’t always like it was today. Wasn’t always this easy. And I will hold on this moment, this memory so sweet.”
– The Rocket Summer

To the one with the sad eyes sitting alone in the corner. To the person who wakes up trying to think of a reason to start another day. To the tired soul who goes home every night to a broken environment filled with loud exchanges, painful stares, guilt and anger.

Know you’re not alone.

To the heart on its knees trying to pick up the pieces. To the one who feels trapped in a lifestyle they never intended to live. To you who lays awake in bed wondering if you even know who ‘you’ is anymore.

You are not alone.

To the restless wanderers and the haunted soldiers. To the single parents and abused children. To the soul who has everything, but feels utterly empty inside. To the betrayed, abandoned and misunderstood.

You are not alone.

Every single one of us has a story. None of them are perfect. Every single one matters.

We believe in hope, in healing, community and brighter days, and we believe in it because we’ve both lived them, and witnessed the fruits of hope unfold in the lives of others. This is why when we encounter the seasons of life where the storms roll in and all that’s bright in this world is shrouded in dark clouds, we know we have a choice. And we choose to have faith, to believe in better things and push through them. Together.

We are the hopeful wading through the tension of this broken but beautiful experience called life. And every day we invite others to join us because we believe this journey is worth living; that the broken pieces of our souls can find mending.

Better days lie ahead of you. And when you find them you’ll taste life like never before… and every smile and every laugh will be worth the tears it took to get there. So to you, I beg tonight.. hang in there. Just like for every night there is a sunrise, so it is with hope.

Look to the horizon.

“One of the hardest things in this world is to admit you are wrong. And nothing is more helpful in resolving a situation than its frank admission.” – Benjamin Disraeli

In the few short weeks I’ve been at TWLOHA, I’ve seen what community should look like. Here in the bungalow, words become more than lip service; they are backed by action. Struggles become more than secrets; the house bands together to face them. Conversation is an open forum and judgment is hung out to dry.

 What it leaves is a community of six young adults, raw and honest in their brokenness, walking in the strength of unity and discovering what it means to truly live.

One of the things we constantly find ourselves doing here at TWLOHA is encouraging other people to live an honest life, and walk with people who are hurting. That’s not easy. Honesty isn’t easy. When we force ourselves to be honest, we lay the facts – however ugly - on the table. It can be scary as hell to lay the truth out in the open, uninhibited by the lies we use to cushion it. It leaves us vulnerable. We fear people’s reactions or the repercussions.

But there’s freedom in honesty. Hard as it can be, I’ve found that every time honesty is better than the lies. Dishonesty weighs on our souls and has broken countless relationships. But honesty… honesty opens the door to begin to heal the places that have been broken.  

Even when the truth hurts, by getting it out in the open we suddenly have the power to address the hurt and seek solutions. We begin a journey of healing and we can start to move forward and we do this with the people in our community whether it’s with family, friends, a mentor and/or even a counselor.

Honesty is freedom, and while freedom comes at a price I think we find that once we have it, the gain far outweighs the cost.

With Love and Hope,

Liz

“Love comes to those who still hope even though they've been disappointed; still believe even though they've been betrayed; still love even though they've been hurt before.”

    Second day of the drive down to Cocoa, around 2:20 we started seeing cars pulled over on the side of the road. I looked out my window and there was the shuttle, launching. I was awe-struck. It wasn't the first time I'd ever seen a shuttle launch. Growing up in Florida as a kid, it was pretty typical. We would hear the resounding thud and our glass doors would tremble as the shuttle broke the sound barrier upon re-entry.

    But there's still this sense of wonder that carried it, and as I made my way to Cocoa I had it in my head to keep my eyes open. There's so much this place has to offer - so much that life has to offer. This is my time to embrace it. Step out of my comfort zone, explore new avenues, new conversations, new places and people.

       The bungalow is amazing. And the people moreso! I've only been here two nights and already this place is beginning to feel like home. Our last intern arrives this afternoon, and training starts tomorrow. I'm not sure what to expect, but I'm excited!

     There's artwork all over the walls and shelves that stirs the creative spirit in me, and I'm reminded of why I'm here all the time, whether it's through a photograph, conversation or the silence in the sea breeze that whispers I'm alive.

      There's a grand adventure ahead.

 With love and hope,

-Liz