As a writer, I’ve always been infatuated with words. My family, knowing this, got me the ultimate Christmas present: at the ripe age of ten, I unwrapped a thesaurus. My elementary school self could not have been more excited to open the thickest book of words. I still have that thesaurus (though I’m now more likely to use the internet), but its continual residence on my bookshelf is an ever-present reminder of my childhood love of words.
Also as a writer, I love assigning deeper meaning to all the small happenings of daily life. Naturally, it would follow that I would want to follow the tradition of choosing a word of the year.
However, I haven’t chosen a word for several of the past few years—probably a remnant of Covid-induced depression—but I saw how much the Lord worked through my friends’ words of 2023, and I wanted in.
So to make up for all the years I skipped, I picked two words this year: healing and preparation. Those words came to me in what felt like divine inspiration, so I prayed for their fulfillment in whatever way they’re meant to. Thirteen days into the new year, my two words of the year are already off to a running start.
Like many others, I started the new year sick. NYE plans included a full dose of NyQuil and lights out at 10:00 p.m. The following week I was under the weather, watching Hallmark movies with my parents and taking full advantage of the work from home perks (namely, cozy pajamas all day). My parents were kind enough to take care of their adult daughter, making soup and tea and trips to urgent care, and I was forced to slow down for the first time in a while. Racing through the healing process was simply not an option.
When I finally returned to Nashville, I was thrown back into an ongoing conflict with my upstairs neighbors. For the past four years, they’ve had a habit of making impossible amounts of noise at the most inconvenient times of day (i.e. 1 a.m., 4 a.m.) If our formal noise complaint is fruitless, my only option is to move.
I spoke with my dad about how much I loved this apartment, and how I would probably never move out unless I was forced to. He drew a parallel that didn’t occur to me but has since changed the way I think about the way God communicates with me.
After graduating from Calvin, I was torn between staying in Michigan or moving back to St. Louis. My lease in Grand Rapids was ending, but I had a wonderful internship that was offering me full time work. In St. Louis, I had no idea what I would do next, but I would be with family and long time friends.
About three days before my lease was ending, I parked my car on the street in front of our house and trotted inside. Approximately five minutes later, my car was totaled by a driver with a cell phone in hand. Thankfully, no humans were harmed, but my plans were changed drastically that day. A decision that seemed impossible to make now had an easy answer, and I’m being met with a similar situation now. Stay in my apartment and save money, in exchange for never sleeping and therefore never healing—or take the leap and see what could be next for me here in Nashville. Maybe I need to be just uncomfortable enough to finally make a change.
Moving could be an opportunity to prepare for my future—potentially making room to share my life and home, and have an office to grow my career. If I’m able to stay put, I can save more money and prepare for my future in a different way. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other, trusting that I will be provided clarity when the time comes to choose.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
