good news.

So I made the wicked mistake of getting on Apple News the other night.

I mean, who reads Apple News right before bed?

*points to self

Me, I guess.

There I was, tucked into my captain’s bed, lights out, cat nestled by my side, apparently having some urge to check a news source that I knew would only be filled with depressing headlines.

Sure enough, stories on Kabul, the Devastating Fire Season in California, the Family Found Dead in the Sierras, Covid Striking Back, and Texas (don’t get me started on Texas), flooded my screen and I instantly felt sickened, saddened, and horrified at the state of not only our nation, but the world as well.

Not exactly the kind of material I was hoping would lure me to sleep.

Not. At. All.

So I lay there: tossing, turning, mind whirling. I felt literally overwhelmed with emotion.

What have I done.

As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, I was now taking all the problems of the world, escalating, and obsessing about how I could contribute, what I could do to make a positive difference in this world turned upside down.

It was really starting to bother me.

I would find myself bee-lining to the morning paper, eyes voraciously tearing through the news, becoming even more impassioned about educating myself on world events.

Which, I’ll be honest, was rather new.

And while I found it encouraging that I was finally getting involved and properly educated with the politics of the world in which I live in, I was unfortunately struggling with the management of this new (and quite honestly harrowing) onslaught of information.

It was too much.

I mean, there is a lot wrong in the world right now!

But.

(there’s always a but)

There’s also a lot of good in this world. And in a sea of sensationalized media and demoralizing content plastered across our feeds on the daily, I was forgetting to appreciate all that good.

You simply must have balance.

This was right around the time that my grandma was in town visiting. During her stay, she was telling me about the Good News Network, an “antidote to the barrage of negativity experienced in the mainstream media.”

Apparently, it’s been going on since 1997, and luckily, I got to experience some of that good news the other day.

So, as part of my own Good News Network, I’ll share a story about my hike up to Carter Lake.

It was a Saturday, if I recall correctly. I was out hiking with my grandma and dad and about ten minutes into the hike, it started to rain.

It was light at first, a very soft mist. Delighting in the feeling of the water on my skin, I took off my jacket and with open arms, welcomed the wet as it started to drizzle.

Oh what a sensation.

Along the route, I started to take note of the scenery. Like reading the newspaper, my eyes absorbed the beauty of the many stories my mind was creating; like the water droplets precariously perched on every leaf, holding on for dear life.

There was the story of decay, of the red bleeding into the green, a beautiful burst of color to commemorate the end of one season and welcome the start of another.

There were many short stories about the various berries and the harvest season our hungry hiker tummies were enjoying.

The mystery of the moose carcass found in the grass piqued our interest, curiosity about its end demise running through our heads.

And of course, there was my favorite story about the loon.

See, upon arrival at Carter Lake, we stumbled across this overturned canoe. Lying on the shore, it made perfect sense to be there, as it was a popular spot for trout fishing.

Naturally, my dad tipped it over and asked if I’d like to go for a float on the lake; which was empty, save for this loon.

So, after getting ourselves seated, my dad and I kicked off from shore.

All the while, this curious loon watched our every move.

As we paddled out, our curious loon started what’s often called a tremolo, or “crazy laugh.”

Typically, the call is to announce one’s presence, but it’s also frequently used as a response to perceived threats.

Which, unfortunately, were us.

Protecting its baby, which was hanging out nearby, the loon all of a sudden dives.

I mean, the loon dives.

Show off.

Body visible from about three feet down below the water’s surface, the loon plunges underwater and then makes a beeline towards our canoe.

Well I’ll be.

Catching it all on camera, we watched in awe as the loon dipped under the canoe and came up on the other side, calling out that famous tremolo when it surfaced.

It was incredible.

I had never seen anything like it. While I felt guilty for trespassing too near to its family, I was also dumbfounded that I got to witness such a rare scene out in the middle of Mother Nature.

I kept thinking to myself, this I have to write about.

And here we are.

I asked myself earlier in this post, what can I do to make a positive difference in this world turned upside down?

This. I can write exactly this.

This is the kind of news I want to read about. This is the kind of news I want to write about. And this is the kind of news we need more of in the world.

I get it: we’re drawn to the drama. We’re curious to read about the bombings, the fires, and the pandemics. We’re rubber necking to check out that grisly car accident we drive by on the freeway. Bad news exists, and unfortunately, it’s what’s most often reported.

But.

(there’s that but again)

There also lies a tremendous amount of good news out there, just waiting to grace the headlines, and I do firmly believe that one has to balance the bad with the good, as a reminder that despite what you read about, there does lie goodness in this world.

Now how’s that for some good news?

the look.

I call it my “waiting for my husband to return home from war” look.

Most of those I work with know it well.

It’s a stare, seemingly into the abyss. A faraway look that contradicts my physical presence. Like I’m there, but not really there.

The shell looks good, put together with nametag clipped and lipstick on, but on the inside, I am distant, sad. I often experience overwhelming feelings of disappointment in my life and where it’s going.

Or in this case, not going. At least in the way I thought it would.

You can find me longingly staring out the window waiting for my husband to return home from war most often at work, especially when I’m wiping menus.

When going to that far off place, I think about how tragic I am, aged twenty-five, wiping menus at a restaurant. As a fashion educated woman with a distinctive style and flair for the dramatic, I feel sorry for myself for the fact that this, wiping dirty menus and seating people at their tables, is what I wound up doing with my life.

Oftentimes I spiral. My stares become a permanent fixture on my face as my mind wanders down that deep, dark, insecure rabbit hole of feeling worthless and unaccomplished.

Comparing my life to those around me, I feel left behind.

I’m not married. I’m not pregnant. I’m not making six figures. My life looks nothing like that picture-perfect Instagram feed my friends have, and most anxiety producing- where’s my magazine, the one I’ve been dreaming of publishing since I was 18 years old?

The past few weeks though, have been the worst, especially because I had a birthday coming up.

A big birthday.

The kind of birthday that put me closer to thirty than age twenty.

You can imagine then, that those wicked feelings of not living up to my potential would be even stronger.

So yeah, I dreaded this birthday. I mean for weeks, I simply shuddered at the thought of officially being closer to thirty, having accomplished (in my eyes) seemingly nothing.

As the days wound down to the big day, I debated on what I should do. Should I even have people over? Or acknowledge this birthday’s existence? How can I toast this celebration if I feel so horrible about myself and all the things I didn’t accomplish in my early twenties?

In the end, I knew myself, and recognized that I would feel even worse if I spent this foreboding day by myself. And so, on the morning of my twenty-sixth birthday, I decided to embrace the day and celebrate.

And do you know what?

It was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had.

Spent in company of those who made me laugh, dance, drink, and eat cake to my heart’s content, I ended the eve with a smile on my face and joy in my soul. Feeling overwhelmed by my friends’ and families’ generosity and thoughtfulness, I forgot about turning “older” and just enjoyed being with people who honestly made me feel young.

I discovered that age is just a number. That being closer to thirty didn’t mean I still couldn’t do all that I had dreamt of doing. That, even though I haven’t (yet) accomplished all I thought I would at this age, I should look around me and start appreciating all that I have done.

Like the fact that I bought a house. (I bought a house!)

I turned my family business around and made it successful.

I gave the most adorable cat with frost-bitten ears a home.

My work got published in a magazine.

I met the sweetest gem.

I’ll admit, it’s still challenging to accept, this being ok with getting older. As my grandma pointed out to me, “Just wait until you’re closer to eighty than you are to seventy!” And hey- she’s living her best life.

While the years are passing quicker than they did as a kid, I’ve gotta say: damn girl! look at all the growth and change and looooove in your life and be grateful for where you are. Don’t reminisce about all you didn’t do. Don’t be anxious about what you still have left to do. Just accept that you’re here, with a cat on your lap, in the house that you bought with that look on your face that isn’t wearing longing, pity, and disappointment, but joy. Young and pure joy.

(because in the grand scheme of things, I’m still oh-so-very young)