When you decide to go to college after swearing you'd never go

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I thought I'd go to my grave before I would ever go to college or university. I honestly thought I was going to be the girl who could prove to society that university is not needed to make it in the world.

For the record, I still think this. I still believe that your education does not determine your value, and that your grades and your degrees and your certificates and your diplomas do not determine your worth. I still believe your schooling does not determine your future.

But four and a half years after graduating from high school, I found myself humbly applying to college. I was terrified. I thought, "I have been standing on my no-school soapbox for years! And now I have to meekly climb down and admit that maybe I didn't know the things I thought I knew?" Admitting you might be wrong, or that you might think something different than you once did, is not my most favourite past time.

I have come to the conclusion that my life felt stagnant. All of my eggs were in one basket, the basket labelled "Get My Novel Published" and I felt as though I was not growing or flourishing like I hoped I would. I'm certainly not giving up on my novel. I'd just like to be writing other stories too.

It really came down to this: I realized that I want to better myself. By not going to school, I was missing out on an enormous amount of learning that I could use to broaden my skill set! It's almost funny how it took me, quite literally, years to realize this. (It often takes me awhile to understand things.) So I decided to take active steps toward getting better at the things that I love, and the things that I'm good at.

I was always scared to admit that I was good at something, in case that automatically doused me with arrogance. This is another thing I'm learning: it's okay to be good at something. And it's okay to want to continue to get better at it.

I always thought I wouldn't go to school so I could stick it to society and prove that they couldn't tell me what to do. But then I went to Africa and grew a little older, and hopefully a little wiser, and I met people and I went places and I heard stories I longed to write. I'd like to make a difference, you see. And three weeks ago that meant applying to Journalism four and a half years later than my friends did.

It's okay to be good at something.

It's okay to want to be better.

It's okay to do things a little late.

It's okay to change your mind.

I mean, here I am, a girl who swore she'd never go to school.

And then this morning I got accepted into college.

When shame visits you at three in the morning

Shame woke me up at three in the morning. My eyes flew open and I felt as though I hadn't yet slept. Suddenly I was wide awake and acutely aware of the shame wrapped like a blanket around me.

It was late and I felt like the smallest human on earth. I made my way into the fetal position, my white bedspread crumpled beside me, a tangible example of how crumpled I felt within.

"I don't understand," I whispered to Jesus. "I have dealt with my insecurities. I have come to terms that I am enough as I am. Why do I feel so small? So worthless?"

My shame thrives at three in the morning, when the wind is banging my blinds against the wall, when the darkness is at its peak. Like a boa constrictor, she snakes around me, squeezing. Soon I am poured out and exhausted.

Shame tells me I am not enough. Shame tells me my words will not be read. Shame tells me my work, my hands, my life will not produce anything meaningful. But Shame is a good, smooth liar. At three in the morning it's easy to believe her.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, clear breath, all the while silently begging Jesus to unravel me from the tangled mess I had found myself in. I asked myself the following: what is my feeling, and what is my truth? There's a difference, I know, between feelings and truth. My feelings don't dictate what is true. It's just harder to remember that when I'm in the midst of feeling things strongly.

My feeling: I am not enough.

My truth: I am. I am. I am.

My feeling: My words will not be read. Instead they will stay where they are, sitting in the bottom drawer of my white book shelf. I will be on the tireless pursuit of attempting to put my words out into the world for the rest of my life.

My truth: My words are already being read.

My feeling: What I produce is not meaningful.

My truth: My life is meaningful and sacred and significant, and because my work stems from my life, my work is important too (even when it feels like saving the world is the only adequate measure of importance).

Shame does not decide who I am, although that's trickier to declare when your heart is weary and Shame has a good, strong grasp on you.

Shame woke me up at three in the morning and then my alarm woke me up at seven. I looked at my room, now bathed in light instead of the darkness which had accompanied me earlier. I gathered my truths instead of my feelings and held them close against me for the rest of the day.

And I said, "Jesus, teach me what is true, teach me what is true, teach me what is true."

Because even when I don't feel enough, I'll hold on like a mad woman to the truth that I am.

Living fearlessly authentic (or trying to)

I have watched seven episodes of The Office while writing this. I've scrolled through the entire dress section of the Topshop website, despite the fact that they are all severely overpriced. I have eaten two chocolate chip cookies along with a cup of milk, and suffice it to say, I have procrastinated writing at all costs.

I text my friend, "I am writing." I feel like if I text her this, the words will be forced to come quicker and I can go to bed. Also: accountability. Also: sometimes it's easier for me to talk about writing than to do the actual writing itself.

"What are you writing about?" She replies.

I sigh and look at the journal I haven't touched in weeks, then back at the blank screen with the agonizing, and frankly condescending, blinking cursor that mocks me. "I have no idea."

Why do we write -- to inspire people? to tell our truth the best way we know how? to escape from how we are feeling inside? Tonight I ask myself that same question over and over and over again: why do you write, Aliza?

To live an authentic life.

That, to me, is the truest answer right now. It varies from time to time, but for now that's why I write. I want to live an authentic life -- fearlessly authentic, if we're being truthful. I'm realizing that doesn't mean I'm not scared, because Lord knows there are so many days where I'm scared of so many things. Recently it's been the utterly terrifying thing called vulnerability. Which I think feels less like bravery and more like hurling myself off a ledge. Unfortunately in order to be authentic, you have to be vulnerable. It's a two-step process, and all the guac and chips in the world won't make it easier. (Although guac and chips do make some things easier.)

The problem with writing blog posts is that in order to live an authentic life, you have to practice what you write. Maybe that's why I haven't written much lately.

I was telling my friend this the other day, while driving under a mix of stars and city lights. It was late. Or maybe it was just really, really early. I can't remember. But I told him the same sentiment I wrote above. I said to him, "I have a serious problem. If I write something, that means I have to live it. I mean, I guess I don't have to, but I'd like to be as authentic as I can be. It's hard to write things only to have to live them out."

He laughed and said, "Maybe that's what you should write about then. How hard it is to be authentic, but how much you'd like to try."

So this is what I'd like to say: it's hard to be authentic, but I would very much like to try.

Flannery O'Connor said all the things best that I wish I had said: “If I ever do get to be a fine writer, it will not be because I am a fine writer but because God has given me credit for a few of the things He kindly wrote for me.”

That's authenticity, if you ask me.

So I think I'll be scared, and I think I'll keep feeling like I'm hurling myself off a ledge when I'm experimenting in vulnerability, but I'll try to be authentic all the ways I know how. And, to steal from Flannery, if I ever do get to be a fine writer, it will not be because I am a fine writer, but because God has given me credit for a few of the things he kindly wrote for me.

Let's meet up in diners

Let's meet up in diners, I think as I wrap my hand around my lukewarm cup of coffee. I've poured in too much cream again.

I'm sitting across the table from an old friend I knew when we were fifteen, when the world literally revolved around having plans on the weekends. Jesus and I were acquainted then, but when I look back I knew I missed him more often than not. He was steady. I was consistently changing my mind.

My friend and I are in a diner, the kind with red vinyl booths and a black-and-white checkered floor. She is honest, she is authentic, and I am so glad we are twenty-one instead of fifteen.

We're catching each other up on our lives. Most of this has to do with Jesus, and if I were to draw out my relationship with him on a map, you'd get dizzy from the ups and downs. I've dropped Jesus more times than I care to admit. Lent is a good reminder of this. I lean into this season of suffering and grief, and mourn the times I've denied him.

Perhaps -- because it is Lent -- I feel more content in my season of waiting. Or maybe God is working in me in ways he hasn't worked in me before. I picture myself a red-orange tulip, still burrowed deep within the ground.

I look at my friend, her hair framed by the winter light behind her, and she tells me how she was in her own season of waiting. She took a job that involved going to high schools and talking to students about how loved they are, and for the first year she said it was the hardest thing she ever did. She kept waiting for it to get better. She kept waiting for it to not be so scary. Instead of quitting, she waited. Instead of quitting, she kept showing up. 

Over spinach and feta omelettes, and rye toast, and soft eggs, something was opening up inside of me that had been closed for awhile.

Waiting -- whatever it is you might be waiting for -- has the capacity to do a few different things to a person. It can make you bitter and sad and longing for what someone else has. (I've allowed it to do this to me before.) Or it can carve and mould and form you into a person who doesn't quit, but instead keeps showing up.

I look at my friend -- and I am so grateful she kept showing up for those high school kids. One year later, her time of waiting is over, and she is a part of a ministry she never dreamed she might be a part of. Those kids needed her to show up for them. I needed her to show up for them, too. If only so one year later she could sit across from me in a diner and tell me she kept trying. Bravery often works best that way, I think. Someone is scared and tries anyway. Then they see someone who's scared and tells them to try anyway, too. 

Let's meet up in diners, I think as I wrap my hand around my still lukewarm cup of coffee. Let's show up for each other, even while we're still waiting and hoping and praying. Let's order coffee and get plenty of refills. Let's be authentic and vulnerable and say: I don't think I'll ever have it all together. Let's be scared and brave, all at the same time. We know it's easier to be brave together. Let's be honest and kind, and thank God for the girl sitting across from us in the red vinyl booth.

Let's not quit. Let's keep waiting. Let's show up.

And let's meet up in diners.

On the week I'll go to Africa

It's the week I'll go to Africa. Sunday is coming both quickly and slow, and similarly to all trips I have gone on, the packing won't be started nor finished until the night before. I've written out a list of things I should do, like edit a specific piece of writing, and send some emails, and buy bug spray and an extra sketchbook and dry shampoo. I haven't gotten around to doing all of these things yet. Instead, this morning I watercoloured sea creatures and thought of stories, and this afternoon I've curled up on my back porch with a book.

I'm trying to recall how I felt last time. It was two years ago now, and I had dreamed of going to Africa for more than half of my life. I remember the weeks before I left for Rwanda: I was riddled with anxiety, hardly eating anything during the days before I stepped on the plane. I stayed in Rwanda for two months and I learned a lot about Jesus, and a lot about me. I turned nineteen there, I was in a wedding, I met remarkable people and saw remarkable things.

This time I'll be going to Uganda, and instead of two months, it'll be for two and a half weeks. I'm not nervous this time, not really, but instead I'm trying to still myself. I don't want to be anxious or afraid, but still. Sometimes I can feel my heart jump around inside of my chest and I get flustered and overwhelmed.

I am determined not to get that way. I want to practice being present, being still, instead of running ahead to what might be, and what might happen. I was never much of a good runner.

So today I'll paint and read, and I'll finish my to-do list, and I'll pack eventually, but I will remain still. And I will remain present. And I will simply be.

What I learned in February

1. Kind, lovely, extraordinary people exist. Oh yes, they do. The woman I met on an airplane in the beginning of February taught me this. She was headed to Georgia, and I was on my way to Texas. She taught me many other things, too. 2. I would rather have a few best friends than all the friends in the world. (I would also rather watercolour in my planner than do any actual planning.)

3. Clair De Lune is my best writing music. I'm not very good at writing while listening to music (hint: terrible multitasker). I'm especially not good at writing while listening to music if said music has lyrics. I can't tune out the words in the song long enough to be able to focus on the words that I am writing. But Clair De Lune is WONDERFUL and makes me cry almost every time I hear it.

4. Apparently I should be living in San Francisco.

5. I can't stop watching Friday Night Lights. I'm in the midst of a writing project where I can't read any books. I just can't. My brain gets all itchy when I start to read a novel. So I've ploughed through Friday Night Lights and am in love with Tim Riggins. I kid you not.

6. We should all paint notebooks. I got some plain ones a few weeks ago and spent the afternoon painting them and it was one of the most freeing feelings I've felt in a long time.

7. I always knew I loved Anna Kendrick, but I watched The Last Five Years and now I love her even more. Also I can't get the songs out of my head. Not that I want to.

What did you learn in February? Link up with Emily, or share right here!

What I learned in January

January is almost over! (Hip hip, hooray!) I've never been the biggest fan of January, although I like March even less. Next week I'm going to Texas for a few days, and let me tell you, I cannot WAIT to get away from the SNOW. I know I'm Canadian, I know I should be used to this, but every winter I realize how much I dislike it. I'm linking up with Emily Freeman for what I learned in January (if I can even remember).

1. We must have winter in order to have spring. I realized this (or chose to acknowledge it) last week when the blizzard was occurring.

2. I am not generally a very stick-with-a-plan type of person, but the SheReadsTruth 365 day Scripture plan has been a pure and utter delight. I have (mostly) stayed on target.

3. I LOVE all things Rainbow Rowell. I love her books (Fangirl is my favesy-fave forever, with Attachments being a close second), but I also love following her on Twitter. She's hilarious and I feel like we're kindred spirits. Specifically because of this:

4. We all struggle with fear. I thought this was something only I really struggled with, but I have received an overwhelming response to The Year of No Fear. (Learn about it here.) 

5. I don't think I'll ever spell rythym rhythym rhythm right the first time. It's ridiculous. You have to be a genius to do it.

6. I love speaking! I had the opportunity to speak at a church last night about The Year of No Fear, and it was amazing. It was something I was definitely scared to do, but it was a wonderful experience and I enjoyed it so much.

7. I had no idea how much we need to see verses that tell us we don't need to fear. I have been posting No Fear verses that I've hand lettered on Instagram every few days, and it's so much fun to see how much these verses mean to people. You can get them too, if you follow me at @alizalatta.

8. I like taking photos of hands. See above.

9. Somedays we forget our worth, and most days we need a reminder. So I wrote one, for you, for me, for the girl beside you.

10. A customer introduced me to my new favourite drink at Starbucks. Get a grande chai tea latte with no water, three pumps of chai, one pump of peppermint, and extra hot. Honestly, it's a hug in a cup. Cheesy but true. (Notice the hand thing once again!)

10. I am a writer, whether or not I am published. (I'm still working on believing this one.)

What did you learn this month? Happy end of January, folks!

What happens in 2014, stays in 2014 (or not)

As per me being a person of things happening right on time (not), my 2014 round-up is happening in 2015. I'm assuming you're not judging me too harshly.

• January 10th my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I wrote a post all about that here. This January 10th, she's healed. Like totally healed. Boom. Jesus works miracles. (You can read her thoughts on this whole journey right here.)

I drew this for her a few days after the diagnosis:

And drew this one a whole year later:

• I started a little hand lettering print shop! My Choose Brave Shop has been a blast this year, and I've learned a lot about myself in the process, one of them being I hate business and taking money and sending emails and would much rather lock myself away and do the art portion all day long.  (Read an intro to the shop here.)

• I joined (in)courage this year. (My first (in)courage post is here.)

• I started to design t-shirts and tank tops for Hashtag Hope. This was a joy for me.

• I wrote for 31 days in October, all about choosing enough.

• I read more books than I can count. Favourite author of 2014: Rainbow Rowell.

• Most recently, I began The Year of No Fear. You can find out all about that right here! (You can also go to www.theyearofnofear.com)

What did your 2014 look like?

When you look beyond the art and into the artist

I am a fan of all art everywhere. I am even more a fan of the artists. I remember when I went to New York City the summer I turned 18. We had coupons and were able to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They were showing Monet's watercolour lilies. They're huge, one piece spanning across entire walls and I stood back and just looked at them for minutes and minutes and minutes. Tears formed in my eyes and I wondered what Claude Monet was feeling when he painted them.

Recently I realized something: I want to try and look beyond the art and into the artist. I think I've realized this because that's what I hope people might do for me. Look beyond the things I produce and instead look into who I am.

Without further ado, this is some of my favourite art -- but even more than that -- some of my favourite artists.

Annie Barnett of Be Small Studios. I see Jesus in Annie's art. I have this print hanging on my wall and I look at it every day. It reminds me there is beauty in brokenness. It reminds me sometimes things break before they become free. Annie is a tremendously beautiful artist, but her art is more than that. The best way I can describe it is this: her art is not about selling, it's about a story. That's a breath of fresh air for me.

Hope*ologie (by Emily Freeman and Myquillyn Smith) is one of my favourite treats I give myself. (It's even better served with a big bowl of ice cream -- this month of course being candy cane.) It's a place where I can simply rest. And laugh. It makes me laugh a lot. It's the best kind of art -- the kind where nothing is expected of you. You can just show up, right as you are. And isn't that the most refreshing thing? Each month I look forward to seeing what these incredible artists will hold out as no-strings-attached offering for me.

The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Sampson changed three things for me: 1) my faith 2) the way I write and 3) the way I view the world. In my life, those are three fairly profound things. I've read this book innumerable times and each time have come away restored, inspired and transformed. I'm grateful Lisa put her art out there. (I should say for the most part I am not a super fan of Christian fiction, but this blew me away. Oh please read it. And then please tell me what you think.)

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Something In The Water by Carrie Underwood has given me shivers and tears every time I've heard it. I feel proud of her -- for this prayer, this art, she's so graciously extended to the world. Oh, my most favourite part is when she sings Amazing Grace at the end. Just. Shivers.

This is what I'm going to try and do today, and perhaps you'll try it too: instead of focusing on the art, the product, the process, we might look past all that to who really matters, the artist, the person. Maybe when we stop focusing on what they can do for us, and begin to focus on who they are, that is when we can love them. Who knows what we might discover?.

For all the people who didn't go to school (and maybe for all the people who did)

I didn't go to university. Or college. Not really, anyways. In April I'll have completed an online certificate in Creative Writing, which will be the extent of my education.

It has been three years since I graduated high school. A year and a half since I went to Africa. One year since I decided I was going to write.

People still ask me all the time "Where are you going to go to school?" or "What are your plans for September?" as if a degree in my hand will be the determining factor of my future.

Maybe I'm truly all wrong, and in six years I'll find myself still working at Starbucks, still living at my parents, really regretting not going to school.

But in this moment, and in every moment for the past three years, I think this is the best decision for me.

This isn't an act of rebellion, or of trying to be "different" than everyone else. At one point I applied and got accepted into schools for theatre, but writing was always the passion brewing in my heart, begging to be discovered. I declined those offers. But I decided after the completion of my certificate, I would pursue Journalism. The day I was going to apply, my mom and I went to the doctors and everything changed.

I didn't even want to go to school for Journalism. I just wanted to be thought of as somebody, and to me, the somebodies went to school. 

This is what I want to tell you, for all of those who didn't go to school and maybe even more for those who did:

Your education does not determine your value. 

Your grades, your degrees, your certificates or diplomas do not determine your worth.

Your schooling does not determine your future.

And I get it - there are some things you really do need to go to school for. I wouldn't want my mom to have had nurses who hadn't gone to school and been properly educated. I get that. I'm thankful for school in that capacity, I really am.

But if you haven't gone to school, you aren't any less intelligent, or have any less of a future.

For all of you who have gone to school, you should be proud. You have worked extremely hard, you are smart, you deserve your degree, and you deserve to have pride in that.

For all of you who have not gone to school, you can be proud, too. You have also worked extremely hard, and you are smart. You deserve to have pride in that.

So maybe after all of this, this is my real point. Maybe, instead of asking what schooling we're taking, what life we're supposedly pursuing, we ask this: what are your dreams, and how can I help you get there?

Because isn't it the truth that people need other people? I believe God gives us real dreams, real extraordinary dreams, all of us real different, and I think some of those dreams need school and I think a lot of them don't. But I think no matter what, we need one another.

So tell me, what are your dreams and how can I help you get there?

.