OhLaLaAli: two thousand and fifteen

2015 began with a little seed.

A seed of wonder, excitement, nerves and potential.

I actually picked this little seed up in 2014, after traveling to Nashville to run the Rock and Roll half marathon and celebrate my birthday. I had always liked the idea of southern roots, tracing mine back to my mama's sun kissed hair blowing in the Alabama heat. After spending a few days exploring Music City, something got to me. Maybe it was an 'itch,' or intuition.

More likely though, it was God's simple nudge, letting me know that if I planted my roots, He would see to it that I would grow and be taken care of.

For a while after that, I set aside my Nashville dream. Not too far though, as it aways lingered in the back of my thoughts. I would see something relating to Nashville and think how funny it was that suddenly it was everywhere to me.

2015 began on the West Coast with my mama. I had no inkling that in just three months I would be miles away from her and those grey sand beaches, instead in Tennessee.

January passed without much excitement. My seed began to tug more and more in the pocket I had placed it, but nothing seemed to be right. If you have ever been barely twenty and trying to rent an apartment on a nonexistent credit score, you may understand why.

I spent my days delighting in the #littlebesties watching them grow into the two best girls I knew.

But my seed refused to change.

Have you ever watched a seed grow?

When I was in elementary school we used to take a seed in a baggie of water and tape it to the window to do just that. The first few days, nothing. Then, slowly but surely that little seed begins to crack open. Out grow tiny, spindly roots that ground the seed in its surroundings. Next, comes the bright green shoot out the top, reaching upwards toward the sun. Growing on and on as the days pass by.

In January, I was that stubborn seed, refusing to let anything break my shell.

Then, suddenly, February came.

Just like in the childhood experiment, fissures appeared. Certain people would trickle little water drops of knowledge and love down into it, forcing it to change.

I was terrified.

This little seed had been my safety, something that I liked to hold and think of, but certainly never intended to plant, let alone have mature into a real plant. But as nature goes, I had no control over what was happening. The sunlight continued to shine down onto me, chaining my carefully crafted world, whether I wanted it to or not.

March came right along, and it would be the thing that broke my seed in two.

I have mentioned before that God's timing truly was the only way I made it to Nashville in one semi-whole piece. To make a long story short, I found an apartment, booked a plane ticket and moved across the country in two weeks. My little seed shook and rattled in my jeans as I packed boxes, said goodbyes and listened to Ashley Monroe's "On To Something Good" as though my life depended on it. And, in a way, it did.

I would listen to her gorgeous voice signing out the upbeat lyrics, hoping they held some truth.

Funny enough, I had gathered Ashley's seed the year before on that inaugural trip I had mentioned. She had been one of the many wonderful singers on the stage at the Opry the night I went. At that time, I barely knew who she was. But I recognized one song vividly. So, as she walked onto stage and began sining "Like A Rose," I was right there with her. Hoping that one day, I too would come out like a rose.

I honestly lived in a sort of bubble the first three months I was in Nashville.

I had the most delicate roots planted in my apartment, spending the days singing to myself or trying to forget the hours separating my family and I.

I found a couple places I deemed 'safe' for my new surroundings, and I would dutifully go to work and then volunteer as time permitted.

Eventually, a friend from home moved in with me and gave me one big root to plant close to home. We spent the majority of the summer exploring our new city, but finding comfort in each other's Pacificnorthwest bond.

As the days became increasingly more sticky, and I wondered why humidity was ever a thing, my seed began to shoot out the top. I found out that, for the third time, I was accepted to a college whose seed I had picked up in 2014 as well. For whatever reason, this time, I knew it was the right time to plant that seed. Semi-awkward orientation came and went, I overloaded my course schedule and found worth again in my intellectual abilities.

Around this time, I met a blogger friend in person. God must have had a good laugh that day, because He knew we were destined to be in each other's lives forever. Just like in the Kate Spade video. And so, leaves began to emerge. I put my hand out to a girl I had chatted with where I volunteered, and we too hit it off. A family I had reached out to needed a new nanny and little did I know I would soon become #nannyplus7.

October through December were the biggest blur.

I felt my little seed growing each time I dared let it, not to say things were perfect by any means.

There were a lot of downs. Of almost deep freezes, threatening to send us into a deep hibernation. But the sunny days far outweighed the storms.

I began to realize all the things I had done since picking up that first shiny seed a year prior.

No giant flower adorned my head yet. But even still, I had moments of shining, florescent, green beauty for all to see. I was braver than I had ever been. Stronger. Wiser perhaps. Yet, still so naive. I laughed a lot. I cried when I needed to let go.

But, most of all, I lived.

Really, deeply, in a way I never had before, I lived.

Two thousand and fifteen was, without a shadow of a doubt the best year of my life thus far.

Here is two thousand and sixteen being the year I finally let my seed mature, and let it's tale be witnessed by all who inquire.

Pictures following with short descriptions. After all, how will I remember it all with only words?

First Apartment: