Summary of Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life - Book Summary (2016)

Part V. LETTING GO

Chapter 44. There You Are

But then I learned that a pretty place wasn’t all I needed.

Here’s what I discovered in my six months by the water: The bay is beautiful, but not as lovely as my friends Brooke and Amy. The morning sounds of the bay comfort me, but Casey’s twinkly eyes and a hug from Jen comfort me even more. Watching the kids splash in the bay is exhilarating, but not as refreshing as watching them squeal as they greet Jess at the door. God made some beautiful things—and the bay is one of them—but I’m certain that women were his best work. There is no substitute on God’s Green Earth for girlfriends.

I’ve never felt particularly good at friendship. Friendship’s demands—like remembering important dates, answering the phone, and navigating group dynamics—don’t come easy to me. I have a reclusive side and a Sister. These two things make friendship hard to need. Maybe they just make it harder for me to notice how much I need friends.

Still, I’ve managed to keep a small group of best friends from college. They take incredible care of each other and make it appear so effortless. I always felt well loved by them, but also a few steps removed. I could never be all inthe way they were with each other. I kept one foot out, mostly because I have a hard time feeling like an essential part of any group. Groups are hard. But also because everything for which they relied on each other—advice, support, a shoulder to cry on, a shopping partner—I already had in Sister. So I never really thought I needed them. But after a few months in my new town, it became clear that it was going to be very hard to make new friends and impossible to replace those I already had. Marriage and parenting become extra hard without friends with whom to discuss how wonderful and hard they are.

So Craig and I started talking about what this meant for us. Our marriage is a twisty, mapless journey. We try one thing, then try another. We decide what works and what doesn’t. We get to know each other better with each new try, and then we fix things for each other and try not to lose our patience. We try to be tireless with each other’s hearts. We are slowly and painstakingly learning how to do this well.

In the end, we decided to move back to our friends in the suburbs. It had become clear that I needed to. As a recovering everything, loneliness is dangerous territory for me. I don’t know how it works, but being plugged into others, instead of allowing myself to float untethered like a satellite, is one of the keys to my sobriety. And there was one lonely night in our teeny town when I glanced at the wine bottle on top of the fridge for a couple of secondstoo long. That scared the bejesus out of me. And Craig is wise enough to know that if I go down, the whole fam damily goes down.

So we moved into a neighborhood where four of my very best friends live. We walk to each other’s houses, and our little ones go to school together. When Craig calls and says he’s going to be home late, I call my girls and say come over right away. Our million collective littles run around the house while we mamas talk and drink Diet Coke out of wine glasses, because Manal’s mom said it tastes better that way. It does. We make nine frozen pizzas, and I burn most of them and Gena looks at me above the chaos and says, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe how lucky we are. Twenty years. We’re mamas together.”

And when I look at Gena—all of the Genas flash before me:

I see her in the sparkly formal gown she wore to a dance during her freshman year in college. Then I see her in her black graduation gown, holding her diploma. Next I see her walking down the aisle toward Zach in a gorgeous white wedding gown. Then she appears in the pale blue gown she wore in the hospital as she held her first baby, Tyler. Finally, I smile as I remember the sassy black and white number she wore to the spectacular party that marked their ten-year anniversary.

And with goosebumps covering my arms and legs, I think—we are growing up together, like Sisters do. We’re friends. I know we’re friends because I need you, I don’t understand why. I’m just grateful that I do.

As I turn to watch Gena’s little girls chasing mine up the stairs in their Snow White dresses, I think, Yep. I found my small town. My water. My small town and my water are my family and friends. And for the first time, I’m all in.

Sometimes you have to leave to discover that you left everything you needed back home. Is our life back home perfect? Hell no. But I have finally learned that I am not going to be perfectly happy anywhere. If I live by the water, I will miss the suburbs. If I live in the mountains, I will miss the water. If I watch House Hunters International, I will miss Costa Rica. And I’ve never even been to Costa Rica.

I’ve done the experiment. I’ve moved six times in eight years to very different places, desperately seeking peace and joy. And I still haven’t found what I’m lookin’ for. Parenting, life, friendship, marriage: they are not hard for me because I’m in the wrong place; they’re just hard. So I am finally willing to accept that there is no geographic place that offers perfect peace. Because, as Bubba likes to say, wherever you go, there you are.

I think one of the keys to happiness is accepting that I am never going to be perfectly happy. Life is uncomfortable. So I might as well get busy loving the people around me. I’m going to stop trying so hard to decide whether they are the “right people” for me and just take deep breaths and love my neighbors. I’m going to take care of my friends. I’m going to find peace in the ’burbs. I’m going to quit chasing happiness long enough to notice it smiling right at me.