Be Available
Be available.
This is some of the best advice I’ve ever received.
These are the two words that run through my mind after speaking on stage.
Be available.
After events I wait by my table to sign books and take photos and chat.
This is not a time to hurry, it’s a time to be available.
She was last in line.
I watched her let others cut in front of her and knew she wanted to talk about something.
And if she wanted to talk about it, I wanted to talk about it, too.
She told me she is going to be a freshman in college this August.
She told me about her dreams and plans and how she is holding them loosely because, “anything can happen, you know?”
I knew.
I waited patiently for the conversation to take a turn.
And then it did.
“My life is great. My family is wonderful. My friends are the best. But sometimes I just feel so sad. It’s paralyzing. Do you ever feel that way?”
I nodded.
“Life is heavy, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded in a big way.
“Do you feel like nothing is terribly wrong, but something just isn’t quite right?”
She nodded again.
I get that, too.
“I just don’t know. I feel confused and scared and tired. Agin, life is great. I shouldn’t complain. Some of my friends have it a lot worse than I do, but I just can’t shake the heaviness.”
“I don’t hear you complaining. You are telling me how it is. And I’m sure some of your friends do have it hard, but it’s not fair for us to compare our heaviness to the heaviness of others. If life is hard, it’s hard. If you are sad, you’re sad. If something is wrong, something is wrong. Whenever we compare, we lose. But whenever we are honest about what’s going on we take a step towards healing.”
Tears started to form in the corner of her eyes.
It was only a matter of time before they formed mine as well.
I cry easily.
Holiday commercials dehydrate me.
Viral videos of soldiers being welcomed home by their dogs absolutely wrecks me.
And anytime someone is honest about the heaviness in their life I cry.
I did my best to hold it together, but soon my eyes matched hers.
“When you share your poetry you remind us to do things like hold onto hope and walk a little slower and slow down and lean in, but how? Like, what do you do?”
I paused.
It was late.
Speaking and being honest takes it out of me.
I craved chicken tenders and an old fashioned and silence and a nap.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
This is where I wanted to be.
“There are a few things I do, but what works for me doesn’t work for everyone. When my head and heart and soul fill up with heaviness I leave my phone behind and go for a walk. My phone is a great distraction and it only makes the heaviness heavier. It is gasoline to a fire I am trying to put out. I remind myself of the things that I know to be true: God loves me. Jesus is alive. The Spirit is with me. Hope is real. And then I pray. Not in my head, but out loud. I am honest with God. I don’t hold anything back. God isn’t afraid of me or my mess. I say what is heavy and I say what is hard. I ask for help. I’m always asking God for help. He doesn’t mind. I used to think He did, but He doesn’t. Then I do what my Grandma used to say: count your blessings. There is always something to be thankful for. I distract myself with goodness. And then I always tell myself: today is today, but today is not forever. Good is on the way. Good is always on the way. And I usually end up getting a donut at some point. Donuts make everything better.”
She nodded and smiled.
We stood in silence for a few moments before I opened my mouth again.
“Years ago I was in one of those heavy seasons. Nothing was terribly wrong, but something wasn’t quite right. I went and saw a therapist and she told me something I needed to hear and I think you might need to hear it, too. Do you want to know what she told me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but before I tell you, you have to trust that whatever I tell you next is true about you. Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
I paused for dramatic effect.
“You’re brave.”
She smiled and another tear rolled down her cheek.
“Thank you. And thank you for being available to talk.”
“There was no place I would rather be.”
Be available.
About the Author
Tanner Olson is an author, poet, speaker, and podcaster living in Nashville, Tennessee.
He is the author of I’m All Over the Place, As You Go, Walk A Little Slower, and Continue: Poems and Prayers of Hope.
You can find Tanner Olson’s books on Amazon.
His podcast is The Walk A Little Slower Podcast with Tanner Olson and can be found wherever you listen to podcasts.
Tanner Olson travels around the country sharing poetry, telling stories, and delivering messages of hope.
You can follow Tanner Olson on Instagram (@writtentospeak) and Facebook where you’ll daily find encouraging words of faith and hope.
