Savannah Jaye

i’m sitting outside of this house in florida—
this house that i still hesitate to call a home.
and i don’t sit here as often as i wish i would,
i don’t take advantage of the beauty of what’s offered to me.

on this picnic table, where i’m finding myself alone at midnight,
there is a lighter that was purchased for one dollar.
and this stupid lighter just won’t light.

i’ve been sitting out here with a needle trying to figure out the problem.
(there was some wax build-up from a little mishap before my time)
trying to make it give up its ways and set fire to the surrounding candles.

i don’t know why it’s annoying me so much.
i don’t know why it’s so important to me that this thing starts working again.
it’s not even my lighter, not my dollar spent.
it’s 66 degrees outside, and i’m in no need of its heat.
but it makes me so mad, because all i want is this one thing.
yet it’s refusing, holding out from doing the job it was created to do.

and now, after an hour of fidgeting, the most i can make it do
is to create a tiny flicker that quickly gives up.
so one out of ever five flicks i give the trigger causes that spark:
taunting me and providing me with a false sense of hope,

only for it to just go out once more on me.
but it is, of course, too late;
my hope has been renewed and i begin the process again.

fixing and fixing and fixing and fighting and flickering,
and getting increasing more frustrated and forlorn
because i can’t ever make it do what i want.
because i can’t get it to understand what it needs to do.
or maybe because i can’t understand its true purpose.
somebody paid a dollar for a lighter, what more did i honestly expect?

i want to believe there is still hope for us,
but in all honesty, i probably just need to buy a new lighter.
why is it always so hard for me to just give up and let go?

On Sunday morning I received a text message from a friend about my blog saying:

Sometimes I don’t want to read your new posts because your writing can put me in a place that I don’t to be in. It’s too relatable for me. I’m not saying its depressing, because that’s not always it. I would describe your writing as a beautiful, but painful, truth.

I just got a text from another friend informing me that another piece he just read (Dream #1) made him “sad on the inside.”

I actually publicly shared my writing tonight for the first time ever at a local open mic. It was scary and therapeutic and wonderful and intense and a whole bunch of other adjectives all at the same time and I loved and hated every second of it, and I honestly cannot wait for the opportunity to do it again.

But anyways, all of that was really about this fact:
life sucks sometimes,
and it is okay to say that.

there will be days that everything seems out of control.
there will also be weeks and months and YEARS where
every
last
fucking
thing goes wrong.
and i know it because i’ve lived it.

it’s okay though.
we’re human, and we’re allowed to feel that.
there is nothing wrong with acknowledging that pain inside.
the trick is also to acknowledge that there is hope for a new day.

i pray that when you read something i write that it makes you feel,
because i want what i write to be honest.

so, i hope it’s the kind of truth that sinks in to your gut,
and stays sunken there like an unwelcome anchor.
but, also, as a constant reminder that you’re alive.
and that you are capable of feeling something more.

I’ve left people that felt like home and I’ve had people leave me that felt like home.

But the only time in my life where I genuinely felt as if I was created to live someplace was during my time spent in England.

Then I came to Florida two weeks ago.

And maybe it’s just the beach in january.
And maybe it’s wearing shorts in the winter.
And maybe it’s these people I’m surrounded by.
And maybe it’s waking up each morning with excitement and purpose.
And maybe it’s the newness of being here.
And maybe it’s escaping the regular.
And maybe it’s the break from school.
And maybe it’s being surrounded by music.
And maybe it’s getting to listen to people’s stories.
And maybe it’s finally having time to read books.
And maybe it’s being around passionate people.
And maybe it’s getting to have fun and not feel guilty.
And maybe it’s just this place.

But I really do like it here.
a lot.

i believe in the best of people.
i believe in the best of me.
and i believe in the best of you.

you hurt me more than i knew i was capable of being hurt.
and when i finally got over the initial shock,
you somehow managed to get yourself back into a position to do it again. 

so, yes,
there are a lot of spiteful things i want to say to you.
there are a lot of unkind things i feel like i need to say to you.
and there are a lot of nasty things that i deserve to say to you.

but in all honesty, more than any of that,
what i really want is to be able to forgive you.
and to be reminded of why i keep believing in the best of people. 

“They’re shouting for you,” she said with a smile.
“But I could never have done it,” he objected, “without everyone else’s help.”
“That may be true,” said Reason gravely, “but you had the courage to try; and what you can do is often simply a matter of what you will do.”

“That’s why,” said Azaz, “there was one very important thing about your quest that we couldn’t discuss until you returned.”
“I remember,” said Milo eagerly. “Tell me know.”
“It was impossible,” said the king, looking at the Mathemagician.
“Completely impossible,” said the Mathemagician looking at the king.

“Do you mean————-” stammered the bug, who suddenly felt a bit faint.
“Yes, indeed,” they repeated together, “but if we’d told you then, you might not have gone—and, as you’ve discovered, so many things are possible just as long as you don’t know they’re impossible.”

And for the remainder of the ride Milo didn’t utter a sound. 

Today was a really exciting day for a lot of reasons: first, we finally got caught up on messages! second, we had a the first day of our mini-MOVE conference! and third, we got to hang out with Jamie for an hour and half this afternoon, just swapping life stories.

Probably the greatest moment of the day occurred during our mini-MOVE, while we were all sitting around a table and having a discussion about why society feels so uncomfortable having open and honest conversations about our struggles. We talked about the stigmas surrounding mental health, and we talked about shame and what we thought people would say if they saw who we really were.

Since we’ve gotten here, it has become really easy to get caught up in the awesome people we’re living with and working with, the incredibly inspiring people we’re meeting, the stories that people share with us, what our lives are going to be like for the next three months, what our lives are going to look like for the next week, or even what our lives are going to look like for the evening. The truth is though, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I think honest conversation is important, I believe that our stories have value. I’m sick of watching my friends be scared to share their pain with the people who care about them most. I’m sick of being too scared to confront my friends’ pain with honesty and compassion.

I can’t fix you, but that’s okay. I believe in a community where it’s alright to admit our brokenness, because deep down we’re all broken. I have faith in a community where there is power in being known deeply and honestly, even when we don’t have all the right words to say. I want community to be more than a word or a concept, but a lifestyle we’re committed to, one where there is never a need to struggle alone. 

The most impacting part of our mini-MOVE conference today was when we were asked what the first step to treating addiction was, and none of us actually knew. We were told that it wasn’t just admitting that you have a problem, but that you were powerless to overcome the problem by yourself. That this is the reason it important for us to seek out community, because alone we are powerless to overcome our struggles.

We were created to be relational beings.
We were created to be so much more than individuals fighting alone.

So call the friend you’ve been avoiding all week.
Ask them to coffee. 
Be nervous and take a deep breath.
Then tell them the truth.

Tell them about how you’re still struggling with your last break-up.
Tell them about how you’ve been feeling lately.
Tell them about how you’re feeling stuck.
Tell them about how you don’t have any sense of direction.
Tell them that you feel disconnected from God.
Tell them that you’re in an unhealthy cycle of finding your self-worth in all the wrong places, but you just don’t know how to stop.
Tell them you’re overwhelmed with school and money and work.

Then stop and take another deep breath.
And then ask them how they’re doing, and mean it.

Ask them how their heart is.
Ask them about their soul.
Ask them what they’ve been worried about lately.
Ask them what they’ve been happy about lately.
Ask them what song they’ve really connected to recently and why.
Ask them if there is anything you can pray for them about.
Ask them about their family.
Ask them about their friends.
Ask them about their roommates.

Don’t know what to say.
Tell them you’re sorry that you don’t know what to say.
Give them a hug.
Tell them they are loved.
Tell them you appreciate their bravery in being open with you
Tell them that you’re glad to have the opportunity to have an honest, compassionate conversation.

These conversations don’t become easier or more comfortable overnight, but keep speaking truth, keep speaking love.
Don’t quit.
Don’t give up.
These conversations are important.
These conversations are powerful.
These conversations are life changing.
These conversations are beautiful.

Don’t give up. 

Please, don’t give up. 

I met the most beautiful couple today. I listened to them talk about how they had known each other for three weeks when he proposed. I heard about how after they got married they flew to New Zealand and just began traveling—and then they never stopped. 8 kids, 38 years later, and countless countries later, they’re still madly in love.

After they were done telling us their story, they told us that they wanted us to know that love was possible. Not just the love that we write about every day, but the earth-shattering, knee-buckling, mind-blowing, every expanding love that we dream of.

We jokingly told them that they were setting our standards too high, and they said “Good, we should be.”

When we asked them the secret to their relationship, they shared with us about how they take time to celebrate their life together each Saturday morning (they were married on a Saturday) to go for walks or a long drive. But mainly they just spend that time dreaming, they told us. Dreaming of their future, of their kids’ future, of their grandchildren’s futures, but most importantly, dreaming of how they were going to change the world.

I honestly don’t know which is more inspiring: their love or their commitment to changing the world.

I want that love. I want to be in love with someone who dreams with me. And I want to be in love with someone who inspires me to change the world, even at 63.