There’s Always Room for One More…
A few nights before the photos appeared online, I dreamed my college girl friends had taken a trip to the Florida Keys without me. In the dream, I wasn’t angry- just confused. I wandered through pastel houses amid salty air trying to understand how everyone had arrived somewhere without telling me. While it was perplexing to say the least, it felt all too real.
The following spring morning, I told one of my childhood friends about how vivid this dream was, then laughed at myself, thinking how silly and ridiculous I sounded. “I need to let this go,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
That’s when she spoke. “Have you seen the pictures?”
“It was a dream.” I replied.
“No- it did happen. It’s all over Instagram. They went without you.” Kelly always shoots it straight, no matter what. Her voice trailed off softly. “I thought you knew…”
Gut punch sting- the kind that brings a forty-four-year-old woman back to an insecure, middle- aged girl in an instant. Except this time, we were old enough to know better- old enough to be thoughtfully intentional with every inclusion and every exclusion. This was not exactly the reverse aging I had been searching for.
I sat in shock…shamefully embarrassed… in complete confusion. My mind raced as my eyes felt wet with the realization that our tight knit, college table got smaller and no one told me why. I could only guess. In that moment, the only thing I did know for sure is that my subconscious understood what was happening well before I did.
My intuition has always been strong, much like all women I assume. My body knows well before my mind does… even If I choose to ignore it. Ever since I was young, I’ve had premonition dreams…much like my mother and now my own daughter. I’ve predicted the sex of babies and the divorce of friends. I can’t control it and I definitely cannot predict when one is coming. Some may call it woo woo or witchy, but I call it a gift from above. Perhaps these dreams prepare me for things my heart isn’t ready to acknowledge.
The following days after experience, I worked through the heartbreak I felt while I reflected on my dream and the significant moments my intuition changed the trajectory of my life. When I decided to move to Nashville twenty years ago, it was a knowing… an in tuned absolute. I toyed with the idea of Birmingham, then woke up one day so convinced that Nashville was the place I needed to be that I never looked back. That is, until another twenty years passed.
I felt the knowing and stirring again like a familiar friend knocking on my door. If I’m being honest, that intuition has been pulling me for over five years- drawing me back home to Mississippi. In truth, it had been an open discussion of possibility in our household since the pandemic. Regardless of any waxing and waning, my intuition and gut always win, even if I push it off and decide to ignore it for months and even years. It comes raring back with a vengeance until I finally listen and give in.
Our last few months have been spent packing and loading all the keepsakes my family has made over the last twenty years in Nashville. During this time, I continued to reflect on my dream. The sting got better with each day and each vague answer to pressing questions I had until I realized: Maybe the dream wasn’t about being left out of a trip. Maybe it was my subconscious recognizing I had already begun leaving a particular season of life. Perhaps I had left a long time ago.
Each day our move drew closer, my attention shifted from myself to my children. Moving is different at forty-four than at twenty-four. At twenty-four, I was looking for my place in the world. At forty-four, I am responsible for helping two young hearts find theirs, no matter how strong my own intuition is to move.
Will they make friends? Would they feel welcome? Would anyone save them a seat?
The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was nursing the sting of personal exclusion while simultaneously worrying about whether my own children would find their way to belong. And then something amazing happened. The women in Mississippi began pulling up chairs-not necessarily for me, but for my children.
A text inviting my daughter to join a youth group event. A group of moms making sure my son knew how to navigate 7th grade sports. An open invitation to swim in their pool at their home. An introduction. A ride. A simple, "Tell them to come with us."
These are small gestures, really. They’re the kind that takes almost no effort from the person extending them but means everything to the person receiving them. The older I get, the more convinced I am that true belonging is built this way…not through grand declarations of friendship or social media posts shouting togetherness but through small acts of noticing- Especially for children, especially for newcomers, especially for the person standing on the edge of the table hoping there may just be a seat for her and her kids.
Suddenly, the dream wasn't teaching me about exclusion at all. It was teaching me more about inclusion. It was reminding me about the women who remember what it feels like to be left out and choose, repeatedly, to make room anyway.
Gut punch, stinging pain has a way of offering us two choices in life:
1. We sit in our ego and allow it to make us harder, more guarded, and more selective about who gets access to us. (Don’t get me wrong, I thought about that direction for a minute. I heavily considered changing my number with the move, but let’s be honest, that’s a little dramatic.)
2. On the other hand, we can allow it to deepen our compassion and empathy, breaking us open even wider.
I would love to tell you I never think about that trip anymore-that it doesn't still sting from time to time. Hell, it took me months to put pen to paper on the subject. Some hurts don't completely disappear with time. They simply soften around the edges.
Now, as I attempt to settle into a beloved town that feels both familiar and brand new, I find myself less interested in whether I've been invited to every table. What matters to me now is something entirely different.
When someone walks into the room wondering if there's a place for them, I want the answer to always be yes. So, if you're ever looking for a seat, pull up a chair beside me.
There's always room for one more.
I love this book by Ashlee Gadd. It promotes friendship during tough seasons and most importantly, it encourages showing up.
Our household has battled a strange summer cold over the last week, making me crave Friendship Tea for my scratchy throat. The delicious recipe is meant to be shared and is an easy gift to give someone- perhaps a newcomer.
I am obsessed with Pavilion Paper and their fabulous designs. Keep your favorite in stock in case you need to add another place setting for one more!
Every home should have one or two folding chairs. They simple say “I wasn’t planning on you coming…but I’m so glad you did. Have a seat.” I love this pair of Emma + Oliver Ciel foldable bistro chairs from Target.