Oct. 29, 2016

The Adventure Begins Part 3 of 13

I wish I could point to the specific moment when I stopped being an idiot, but there were many clarifying moments in my freshman year of college when I moved to the campus dorms.

I didn’t dislike Tuscan Hill so much that I couldn’t wait to get away, but not having to deal with the business and getting to go live on my own was exciting to me.

That first fall semester was nothing but a continuation of summer for me.

In hindsight, wrong. So wrong.

A few months into my freshman year, the rose-colored glasses of “independence” came off and the cloud began to lift. I could have lived at home, but chose to go live in 144 square feet of space, only six miles away from our house.

It began to dawn on me the stark difference between the living space I had enjoyed at home, and the one I was cramped in now. Don’t get me wrong, there was space to sleep and work at a tiny desk, but my roommate and I had no privacy, except for the shared bathrooms down the hall--which still isn’t private because HELLO 30 other people. To top it off, we had a luxurious NO ELEVATOR because the building we lived in hadn’t been renovated in decades.

The dining halls were another thing to navigate; we were continually at the mercy of whatever food was available.

Interesting side note, I actually worked for the catering company that officed on campus and also supplied all the dining hall food, so I knew too much. My dorm building sat right beside the building that I worked in, so I would go down the stairs, across the pavement, up the elevator--because they actually had one--and straight into work.I found myself going home every weekend and lounging in our sprawling space, and having my fill of our food.

Slowly I began to appreciate our home almost as a sanctuary; a safe haven.

Slowly I began to appreciate our home almost as a sanctuary; a safe haven. It was peaceful, inviting; words I’ve heard echoed so many times from so many of our clients. Isn’t it amazing that when you appreciate something, you unconsciously give others permission to do the same?

The idea of hospitality began to blossom in me--so slowly I didn’t recognize it at first -- but a seed was planted. And it’s name was “gratitude.”

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Posted in: Our Adventures

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Nov. 9, 2016, 9:15 p.m.

The Adventure Begins, Part 2 of 13

I didn’t understand what was happening in my mom or what I was watching happen around me. She had just been “my mom” my entire life, and now I was sharing her with something that only existed in her heart and mind.

Nov. 10, 2016, 2:48 a.m.

The Adventure Begins, Part 4 of 13

With my newfound gratitude, my behavior began to improve, and although she had some residual fear, my mom rehired me for the third time. I had confidence that this would also be the final time; and I was right. I moved back home my sophomore year of college, and it was time to figure out how to really live in the same space as I worked.

Nov. 10, 2016, 2:58 a.m.

The Adventure Begins, Part 5 of 13

Our kitchen is the kind you dream about; the kind you see on HGTV. At first it was just really pretty to be in, but hardly used. I’d helped cook dinner many times, but otherwise never ventured past the microwave or toaster. As we settled in, my mom began to work like mad. Though she loves cooking, to this day the most time she spends in the kitchen surrounds the holidays.