The World I Can Rest In

The world has slowed down a bit this semester, back in Dallas.

Part of it is practical; I have a lighter schedule for once. But then it really got light. We went back to school for four days, and then Dallas iced over. Five full days off. An enforced pause.

And the funny thing about life is that when we're in the thick of it—the busyness, the mess, the noise—the only thing we pray for is the ice. The thing that forces us to stop. To do nothing. To just be with ourselves.

We imagine it as paradise. As peace. As everything we're missing.

And then it arrives.

And at least for me, all I can think is… okay, so I need a hobby.

I got so lost in the quiet peace I'd been praying for that I started looking for… a challenge.

I know. What the hell is wrong with me?

On the last day of the ice storm, I braved what felt like a pilgrimage, driving on Texas roads that absolutely should not be driven on, to go babysit for six hours. A six-year-old and an eight-year-old. A referral from my roommate.

And wow. These kids had no trouble filling the day.

Hobby after hobby. Game after game. No existential dread required.

Being with them reconnected me to the little girl in me—the one who couldn't believe how much she'd forgotten. All those animal fun facts. The slow-mo function on her iPhone. How funny it is to laugh at your own face jumping in slow motion.

At one point, I get a text from Charlotte. A link to a podcast about Kabbalah—Jewish mysticism. I put one AirPod in while watching the kids play football outside.

And suddenly, I'm in two realities at once.

In front of me: ease. Joy. Innocence.

In my ear: adults trying desperately to reason their way back to it.

And then life, with her wonderful sense of humor, gives me my own test.

It's been on my heart for a while to turn this column into a podcast. That was actually the original vision, back before I even knew I could write. Somewhere along the way, writing became its own love, and the podcast slipped to the back burner.

But *fate tapped me on the shoulder.

Back in November, leaving my column party in a Lyft with Charlotte, our driver casually mentioned he's a talk show host. Charlotte told him about my column. Suddenly, I was being talked into his help transitioning it into a podcast.

After babysitting, despite a few quiet doubts, Charlotte and I had plans to meet the driver to learn more about the podcast industry.

And then my phone lights up.

In response to my formal confirmation text, he replies:

"I will be there. Momma said it’s rude to keep a lady waiting."

And there it is.

The red flag that probably should've been waving from the beginning.

Cue the chorus of people in my life—my friends, my dad, Mr. International—who later told me they saw it coming but wanted to let me get there on my own. My dad even joked I should move apartments. You know, the extra thing you have to worry about when this type of remark comes from a past Lyft driver.

But all that said, I got the opportunity to show myself how easy it was to just block him straight up, no reply, and not think twice about it. Just like the kids switching from one activity they got bored with to the next.

We all have our kryptonites.

Mine can be my eye for goodness. My hunger for possibility. My desire to build something meaningful. My understanding that what you desire can show up easily. And when that part of me is placed in the wrong hands, it can be manipulated. Soured.

This time, though, something different happened.

The adult podcast voices in my ear. The children playing outside. The little girl inside my chest.

They all agreed.

The most grown response wasn't over-explaining or people-pleasing or negotiating my safety for the sake of a dream.

It was choosing ease.

It was protecting joy.

It was letting the world I'm building be one I can actually rest inside.