When I decided to move to Nashville 5 years ago, I thought a lot about the Robert Frost poem The Road Not Taken. Two roads diverged in my Illinois life and I could have stayed the course. I chose to freefall and head South instead. I would never trade what I've learned in the years since.

I've made some great friends, gone to incredible shows, and become a healthier version of myself. I wrote a (still unpublished) novel. I see my best friend's family at least once a week. I learned it's possible to uproot your life and start again, just because.

I'd be lying, however, if I said my life in Nashville looked the way I had dreamed it would. I've been treading water the last couple of years, wondering if this was all there was, if this could be enough.

***

A couple of weeks after my nanny job ended last September, I sat in a room on a rainy day with some of my dearest friends and cried. I could not staunch the tears even if I tried.

I took the paper I'd written last year's goals on, then crumpled it in my hand unread. I didn't need to look at it to know I'd failed.

If it had been any other group of friends, I would have summoned an excuse to skip my turn. But when everyone's eyes turned toward me, I remembered they are my Someones. I let the tears slide down my face while I spoke in fits and starts about how I was truly doing.

It was not pretty. I could not dress my fears up. The future was blank, I told them. Not in that "the possibilities are endless" kind of way but one in which I had no plan B and no sense of direction, all while the rent and other bills need to be paid. My job search had remained fruitless. I had not figured out what I wanted to do with my life, which was the very goal I'd written down the year prior.

My friends saw me. They saw through what I said and didn't say. They asked me the best kind of questions, the ones that lead to a truth you didn't realize you believed, and they also spoke words over me that filled the aching spots inside. They loved me.

That was the darkness and even though I felt like I'd talked too much already, I began to share with them the light. Almost a decade before, I received an impression that 35 would be an important year for me and I could not help but wonder what 2015 would hold as a result.

One of my friends said this would be "the year of Leigh" and as the words left her mouth, a clap of thunder filled the house.

***

Since that weekend, my life has been a series of questions. When you're not sure what kind of job you want, job searching is an almost backward process. I've figured out what kinds of jobs don't interest me or that I wouldn't be good at. I've tried different jobs on for size. I've wondered which of these jobs would offer stability and consistency. No two days have looked the same.

Some days are flexible enough to include coffee with a friend or a slate of conquered errands. Some days mean working at one job, then working at another, and then another. Always, in the back of my mind, I wondered where it was leading and how long I could sustain myself this way.

***

The first glimmer might have arrived last September but certainly in January. There was no mistaking it, though I wasn't entirely sure what direction it would take me. Then there were impressions from two years ago and, of course, ten years ago. I would be remiss in thinking the particular set of circumstances that led me to move to Nashville weren't at work even now.

In January I knew something had to change but that blank slate remained blank. In February I contemplated moving out of state. I gathered up all the glimmers and started considering three distinct options, each of which made me laugh in astonishment. In March I decided not to renew my lease. I keenly felt something was coming down the pike and I needed to be ready for it. Each week the glimmers were refined by fire.

I asked for and received wise counsel. Mostly, I listened to that still small voice.

Then came April. The week before Easter, "house sitting" leaped into my mind.

***

It would take a miracle, I thought, but all the interesting jobs were in San Francisco. Three of my cousins and a few friends lived there but I'd never so much as visited.

I applied for a couple of dream jobs but nothing came to fruition.

And yet San Francisco kept coming up. It was relentless.

***

While I was back in my hometown for Easter, I went on a walk with my friend Megan. We were talking about how we make decisions and how our intuition plays a role.

"It's the jar lid click," she said. And that was it exactly.

You know when you're trying to close a jar and it's not quite aligned and you have to keep unscrewing it and trying until it fits the grooves correctly and snaps into place? For my friend and me, we think consciously and unconsciously about whatever decision we're making from a variety of angles and then one day, sometimes out of nowhere, it snaps into place and we know without any doubt what we're supposed to do. Jar lid click!

We can't rush it but we trust it will happen when it's supposed to.

***

The week after Easter I talked on the phone with one of my good friends from San Francisco. She already knew the things I'd been contemplating and I wanted to bring her up to speed.

I talked about how my virtual assistant work meant I could work anywhere and that maybe house sitting for July and August was the way to go because then I could cover my expenses while I looked for full-time or part-time work.

"You could house sit for us," she told me. My heart started to hammer as she filled me in on the details. I had no idea they had travel plans. I could test the literal and figurative California waters.

Could it be this easy?

Jar. Lid. Click.

***

When you take the road less traveled by, you get to see what lies beyond the fork and sometimes that means you wind up where you needed to go. Or sometimes you come to another fork in the road. You must decide, again, whether to stay the course or take the leap.

I'm taking the leap. I'll be moving to San Francisco at the end of June. I don't know if it will be a permanent move but I have no doubt it is the next right step. After months of considering what to do, there are so many stories and signs already that have confirmed this decision.

My spirit is lighter already. Though it will be hard to say goodbye to my Nashville friends, I am excited to see what San Francisco holds for me, no matter how big or small a role it will play in my life.

This is the time in my life to explore, try, leap. This is the time for adventure.

I'm heading around the bend.

"i thank you god for this most amazing day.

for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,

and for the blue dream of sky and for

everything which is natural,

which is infinite, which is yes." -e. e. cummings

You sensed a shift a month or so ago. You're content, more accepting of imperfection, more accepting of yourself. Your clockwork SAD never visits this winter, in spite of the unseasonable cold. Is it because of counseling or essential oils? Is it the cumulative effort of undoing the lies and shame?

This past fall, you looked at your shortlist of travel destinations and started dreaming of who you'd visit over spring break. So many friends to see, so little time and even less money for airfare. You especially wanted to visit one friend on her fairytale farm but the odds of an affordable flight seem slim. You told yourself it would happen some day.

But the idea wouldn't leave you so you searched flights every so often. Just to see. Just in case. And then one January day, an option appeared and you booked it. No takebacks, airline! You and your friend were giddy over this turn of fortune. (Is this where the shift began? Perhaps this, alongside a slew of other unexpected gifts.)

Two nights before the trip, your friend texted you about expected snow. Oh, snow. But it wouldn't interfere with your flight and you suspected you could live with a ground covering.

"I think it will be good and healing for us to have this time together," you told her. You don't question the impressions and feelings regularly accompanying your day.

And it is indeed good and healing to spend the week at Storybook Farm.

Another friend picks you up from the airport. You talk about life while the car wends its way through country lanes. You pull up to the house and see the cow and her calf grazing. It's a beautiful reunion. The three of you can't stop laughing because you're finally together again. The next day she and her son head back home to Baltimore.

And then it's just you and your friend and her animals and her family. She welcomes you in to her world. Over the next few days you sip hot beverages and talk at various table for hours. Her cat, the one who doesn't like strangers, becomes your constant companion. One of her sons reads a book about sap and syrup to you. You watch her spin wool in to yarn and you see how very much this life suits her.

You never expected to like Virginia quite this much.

You speak truth over one another and when it is your turn to listen, you do your best to accept it. She calls out your most shining qualities. She says you are a balm. She repeats herself until you start to believe. You cry when her words particularly resonate but you do not apologize for your tears. You don't need to.

You are fully seen.

You are fully loved.

You don't have to be anything other than yourself. It is enough. You are enough.

A day or two before you leave, the snow melts and the ground is less muddy. It's in the 60s and the sun lights up everything around you. The grass is green and the sky whispers of spring. It is here. It is almost here.

The maple trees keep filling the jars with their sap. The sheep is about to birth a lamb. The chickens will hatch shortly after that. Farming speaks of seasons, of births, and of new beginnings. You realize you feel whole.

Maybe you have felt whole for a while but there it is, reflected in the eyes of your friend, in the ease of your smile. There's still work to be done, yes. But there is much to celebrate as well.

You add this trip to the list of extravagances from this past year. You stop wishing you had something to show for these beautiful gifts. This is the time to receive, to sit with hands cupped and grateful.

This is infinite. This is yes.

Linking up with my friends at LoveFeast Table for the Gathered Thoughts Party. You are invited to link up a Gathered Thoughts post at the LoveFeast Table Gathered Thoughts Link Party to win a 365 Gathered Thoughts Box of your own. Or leave a comment to win a set of spiral journal notebooks.  Head over there for more details.  

My flight got in later than planned. It was pitch black and cold when my friend's car pulled up to the terminal. I threw my weekender bag in the back and jumped inside, hungry for warmth, thrilled to be here at long last.

We first met at a grammar school volleyball camp in junior high. Several years ago we reconnected at church. We've been friends ever since.

We'd talked about this visit ever since Linda moved to Seattle four and a half years ago. I'd been to Spokane and the Oregon coast and wanted to experience more of the Pacific Northwest. The stars hadn't aligned until now.

Her car zipped us toward her home, past the city skyline, past the glow of the Space Needle. It was strange to finally see the landmark in person. Neither of us could remember the Frasier theme song but we laughed about it anyway.

***

The time zone change threw me off but the silver lining was time to read in the early morning hours while my friend and her roommate continued to sleep. An introvert's vacation dream.

A chance to rest and recharge. A little extra time to dream.

***

We shopped at Buffalo Exchange and the biggest, most ginormous Goodwill I've ever seen. I stopped at the Book Larder, which will forever be known as cookbook heaven. We walked through Pike Place Market and I left my mark on the disgusting yet fascinating Gum Wall.

We tucked into scones and crepes and tea lattes and molten chocolate cakes and one of the best sandwiches of my life. I didn't spy Molly Wizenberg anywhere but I sure did delight in pizza at Delancey and drinks at Essex. 

We walked the beach at Golden Gardens Park and the wind whipped through my hair and my eyes watered from the chill. But I wouldn't trade that beauty for everything. I couldn't get over the mountains, seemingly everywhere I looked in Seattle.

I had mentally prepared myself for gray cloudy, rainy, frigid days. (On the other hand, I chose not to bring my winter coat. I'm in a bit of denial.) And instead we feasted on the sun and weather in the upper 40s or 50s. One gift after another.

***

One morning we sat at Remedy Tea and talked for a couple of hours. Faith, community, callings, work, singleness, social justice. I swear we covered it all. We heard each other's hearts. We offered solidarity. We offered a listening ear.

My tea steeped and her coffee brewed and we tucked into muffins. But the star of the show was the conversation. It always is.

It's amazing the gifts we unknowingly give one another when we take the time to be still. To sit, unhurried and unhindered. To let words meander. To let ideas sink or swim. To truly see one another.

***

Toward the end of the week, Linda's car pointed toward British Columbia. We crossed the border and there I was on Canadian soil for the first time.

We headed to Claire's house and later to Idelette's. It was surreal and magical to see these Amahoro friends for the second time this year, especially since Kelley and her daughter flew up for the occasion.

Kelley asked about the Enneagram and the words scarcely left her mouth before I yelled, "I've got the cards!" and popped out of my chair to retrieve them. We took those first steps in figuring out everyone's type and then let the conversation fly free.

I sat on Idelette's famous red couch. I drank tea. I talked with my friends. They got to know my friend. Did I mention it was surreal?

For American Thanksgiving, our Canadian friends made a feast. Two delicious turkeys and we all contributed the rest. I walked in the door and Sarah barely let me set down the green bean casserole before hugging me. When sister-friends reunite, it doesn't matter if you've seen them a couple of months prior. You're going to milk every moment you can before you have to go your separate ways.

I met husbands and kids and the house was chaotic and exactly as it should be.

We gathered around the table and by the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much. We traded stories and talked about our callings and even what we're grateful for. We teased each other. A few found a way to joke about the Enneagram and I thought my heart would burst.

I left Idelette's house that night nourished. By the delicious food, yes, but more so by the company. I don't know when we'll be in the same room again. Maybe in the spring, maybe the fall.

These are my people. My long-distance friends. There's never enough time together. And yet, there's always just enough time to ask a necessary question, share a word of encouragement, a hug.

***

What incomparable gifts: forever friends, sunshine, amazing food, a soul reset.

You might not guess this about me but I love having my picture taken. By whoever happens to have a camera. Go ahead and take your best shot.

I also love looking at pictures. I have big photo albums stuffed with pictures of friends and family. Pictures from vacations, White Sox games, Chili and Doughnut Night, and hanging with my sweet nieces- and nephews-in-love. Every so often, I'll swing an album off the bookshelf and flip through the pages.

Of course, I have opinions on how I look in these pictures but I'm no Mariah Carey demanding to be only shot from the left. (Or was it her right? No matter. Suffice it to say Mariah has more opinions than I do.) I cherish my hot bridesmaid pictures and the others in which I recognize my beauty.

Last year I turned down the chance to be photographed by a phenomenal photographer. I was on a retreat with friends and feeling out of sorts. Sleep-deprived, emotional, not fully myself. I wasn't ready to be seen. I knew Kelly would really see me in my not me-ness and those pictures would be no good. Except they would be good because she's that good. 

This past weekend we all traveled to the same magical place and Kelly, sweetheart that she is, offered to take my picture again. This time I was prepared. I requested pictures be taken the first day, instead of waiting til the end. (Good decision since I was overtired and emotional when I left Sunday.) I packed my new favorite dress- a stellar thrift find by Danielle Vermeer. I asked Amber to do my makeup. I now want her to do my makeup every day.

More importantly, I was surrounded by dear friends. I felt lighter in spirit and more myself. I was happy and happy to be seen through the lens of a camera. Happy to be captured as I am.

Throughout my session with Kelly, she remarked on my beauty and my sass. And wouldn't you know but it shows? This is me. The me that I am and the me that I want to be each day. I'm in the process of figuring out who I really am at this time in my life but maybe all it takes is an afternoon with a talented friend and her camera. Maybe all it takes is one person really seeing me.

Throughout the weekend, Kelly took the time to tell me she saw me. What an immeasurable gift!

I posed and I twirled and I laughed.

I told Kelly I felt special that day. It's fun to put on a favorite dress and have someone do my makeup, especially on what would otherwise be an ordinary day. It's eye-opening to see myself the way someone else sees me.

It started with Uganda and Burundi. I marked it with a pixie cut. These pictures are proof that life is on the upswing, in spite of uncertainty and change. It's not all perfect. Far from it. But I'm working through it and taking the rest day by day.

I'm ready for what's next.

All photos taken by destination photographer Kelly Sauer. I cannot recommend her highly enough. Are these pictures not the most stunning things you've ever seen? Pretty sure you need her to come take pictures of you.

As we drove down the dirt road and turned beneath the gate, we were greeted with sound. And not just sound but joyful praise.

Bubanza was alive with music.

I slid out of the backseat of the SUV, still unsure what I was walking into. How do you prepare yourself to attend a well dedication? How do you know what to expect from a celebration of clean water?

I walked toward the sound, dozens of children singing and clapping. Just behind them, a crowd of women singing and dancing. I was mesmerized by the expressions on their faces. It didn't matter that I couldn't understand the song. Joy needs no translation.

I clapped along to the music and drank in the sights: the fabric of the women's dresses, the expressions on the men's faces, the range of ages and sizes of the kids, the sprawling hills and valleys around us dotted with 650 families' homes. It was beautiful to hear about and see how many changes had come about since the last She Loves trip. It was hard to believe I was actually here in this place that I'd heard about for so many months.

I could have stood there listening all day but our team headed onward to the well. The tower stood strong before a row of taps. Mounds of buckets and jugs awaited filling. I joined Kelley who was already in tears and looked up at the tower with its holding tank. And when I thought about the power of clean water and what Bubanza might look like a year from now, my tears came as well.

Photo via Idelette McVicker

Photo via Claire DeBoer

Kelley, Idelette, Fiona, Rasmus, and Nicole stood by the 4 taps with a few of the local women. I stood next to Nicole, my heart pounding as they counted down and suddenly

water

pouring

bursting forth

clean clear pure

and the women are singing and dancing behind me and other women are lining up with their buckets and water jugs and I see the lady next to me using the water to clean her dirty jug and the silt and dirt comes pouring out so she can have truly clean water at last.

I took a good look at that dirty water jug that they used for bathing, cooking, cleaning, and drinking for all this time. I drink water all day long and never think twice about where it comes from. I've never had to walk miles for my daily ration of water and I've never had to consume dirty water on top of that.

Because the people of Bubanza have access to clean water, more children will be able to go to school because they won't be spending hours walking to a river to get water for the day. The community will be able to bathe daily and their health will improve. You can imagine what this means for the mothers and fathers and for the future of their children.

Piece by piece, the Batwa are holding their heads high in a country who preferred they disappear. But they are still here. They have identity cards, they own their land, and now they have wells. Where will the people of Bubanza be a year from now? I can only imagine.

Our group looked at the newly built school room and we used a hand pump well donated by another group and completed last month. We walked to the source of the Super Well, built with donations from She Loves readers. Oh, how we carried you all with us that day. I stood at the water taps and I danced with the children because my feet could not stay still amongst such exhilaration.

Photo via Claire DeBoer

Photo via Tina Francis

Afterward we sat in that same school room for the dedication. There were speeches and prayers and introductions but what I will always remember is the singing and dancing.

More than that, I will remember when two of the dancers approached Nicole and me with beckoning hands and invited us to join the dance.

I didn't know the particulars of their dance but you never have to ask me twice. I jumped into the fray and swayed and shimmied and jumped. I danced, I laughed, and I cried more tears of joy.

I am in awe, all these weeks later, over what I witnessed and the tangible hope all around us.

Building new relationships. Sharing stories. Exchanging radiant smiles.

Life at its fullest.

***

You can read Fiona's post about our time at the well. Or learn more about the work of Communities of Hope.