AncestryDNA Results

Results are in! Ahead of schedule which is a nice Christmas present for yours truly. For those just reading, my DNA was analyzed by scientists at AncestryDNA to estimate my heritage. So...here it is...large percentages of my DNA are from Europe West (region from France to Poland) and Great Britain with lesser percentages being from Ireland. The "trace" regions or small DNA matches are Scandinavia and Italy/Greece.

As most Americans are...I am a lovable mix of many different and diverse backgrounds. A breed unto my very own. A few of my predictions were right: Ireland made the list as did France. No big surprise there. I was a bit taken back by Scandinavia...those blue eyes/blonde hair genes apparently didn't make the cut for this girl. However, hailing from the "North Men" or Vikings is something to be intrigued by. The greatest joy in this process is seeing Italy/Greece. It may be a small percentage...but it is there! My love of all things mediterranean runs deep...all the way to my DNA it seems.

The ironic and magical twist in my results is that I've actually been to 90% of these regions. Scandinavia may still be on the travel map BUT my feet have literally touched each and every other region. From Ireland, to the Highlands of Scotland, to the moors and hills of England, to the beaches of Normandy and the streets of Paris, to the mountains of Germany and Switzerland. My feet, my journey, carried me back to these lands. The parts of this earth where generations ago my ancestors once lived. I cannot help but begin to imagine their lives now. In a way I feel connected to these unknown faces in time. Now, because of these results, I feel even more in tune with who I authentically am.

We all are a sum, a detailed building of many different parts. The beauty in knowing these parts is that it reminds us just how connected we really are to each other. Not only to those here in this present time but to the ones who've come before...to the ones who will come after us. A complex, intertwined collection of data that traces itself back to the very beginning and extends itself throughout the course of time. A living cord which tells a single story of immeasurable truth: we are one creation.

-Authentically Me

The Truth Found In Our DNA

History has always fascinated me. I grew up never really thinking about the future for I was quite too mesmerized by the past. You see when I was a little girl I ventured out into the yard after a frightful summer rain. Playing in the muddy, soft ground, my stick scrapped against a hard surface. Digging a little deeper I noticed a yellow object in the ground. Curiosity getting the better of me, I began to etch around it with my tool, to slowly uncover amongst the dirt an old toy truck. Neither my brother nor I had such a object. It was left there by someone who came before us. My eyes gazed from the earth tarnished truck to the rest of my backyard...what other treasures might I find?

The incredible thing about history it is not just within the ground we walk on or the books we read in school...it's actually stored within us. Our DNA is now a roadmap to our very own history...our own biological journey across time itself. Given my rapture with history and the past, it's not a surprise that I would be slightly curious about my own ancestral heritage. I've wanted to do a DNA test for years...and now I am! With a little help from ancestryDNA. 

There are many at-home tests out there...many out of my price range. AncestryDNA is a starter course so to speak. It tests your DNA and breaks down your ethnicity into categories (there are 26 viable options in the database). 

After purchasing online, you simply DIY. Collecting the DNA is easy...just collect spit. It might not be the most flattering process BUT it is simple and guided. You cannot eat or drink 30 minutes prior to the test...so make sure you use the mobile app to set a timer. After a few minutes of saliva collecting and a quick seal the return package is ready. 

Simply mail the package back to ancestryDNA! 

Upon receiving the DNA it takes at least 6-8 weeks for it to be fully analyzed. No Amazon Prime membership on this one. Patience is a virtue when it comes to finding out your own history I guess. Plenty of time to ponder just what it might be! 

My ethnicity has always been a question. Despite being "Caucasian" on government paperwork, I never really felt it. I can't tell you how many times people have asked me:

"Where do you come from?" 

I reply, "Nashville." 

They reply, "no, I mean what's your ethnicity?" 

I reply, "what do you think?" 

I've heard the gambit over the years. From Japanese, to Polynesian, to Italian, to Spanish, to Native American, to Hispanic. If you looked at a picture of my mother's father you would've thought he was Native American. Rumors from that side of my family whispered the idea of being French Creole...however being in the South this was never a proper topic of conversation. My father's side always held to the idea that they were Irish. A few family members even tried to track down our ancestors. Reports indicate that we did come from the mystical Isle...but I guess we'll just have to wait and see. 

The beauty in this process is realizing that I am a part of something larger than myself. Despite how much our modern and progressive world tries not to categorize or separate...we still check off a box that denotes our race. We see and divide based on color, category, and geography. So why am I doing this test? I am asking the questions not many want to ask: where do I really come from? The farther back we look into our history, the longer the journey within our DNA's record, the more obvious it is that we all come from the same place, the same beginning. Our DNA binds us...not separates us. 

-Authentically Me

Fall-ish Dreams & Musings

I almost lost hope that fall would ever come. While waiting patiently for it's arrival, Authentically Me mused about many a things:

Comfortable reading nooks with every flowing cozy blankets. 

Dreamy tablescapes with modern twists. 

Rustically sweet scented candles. 

Nestled stone cottages covered in too many green vines. 

Minimalist muted clothes. 

Scottish Highlands with nothing to see for miles.

Rock candy cupcakes. 

Starry blue high heels. 

Hiking trails covered with falling leaves. 

Whatever your authentic fall musings are embrace them and give yourself permission to explore. I don't know if I'll be able to experience all of these wonderful dreams but who knows what the season will bring? (ticket to Scotland please?!)

-Authentically Me

FORTITUDE

If you type "fortitude" into Google this is what you'll find: "she endured her illness with great fortitude". Given my current circumstances I found this not only hilarious but also quite fitting. Fortitude essentially means: courage, brave, to be resilient, having strength of character under trial and tribulation...or my personal favorite: true grit.

Undergoing any type of surgery takes fortitude. Let me be honest, writing this while taking round the clock medication takes fortitude. For those of you who've experienced it or know someone whose undergone any sort of operation the truth is simple. It's a hefty process from beginning to end. It's no walk in the park, well unless you live next to a fire swamp.

After surgery, or as I now call it...being screwed back together, I forgot all the lovely words and phrases I spoke about Turning The Page. Nope, all those pretty words and images flew right out the hospital window. Truth be told I asked my mother in my delirious state, "this is voluntary, right?". Apparently, I needed to be reminded that I did in fact literally sign up for all of this. Pain has a way of doing these kind of things. You want to know what's really funny about having this surgery? I can now say I am screwed up...literally. There's a certain kind of relief and freedom in knowing this. God's titanium reminder to a recovering-type A of how out of control I really am in the grand scheme of things.

All joking aside, here's the truth. For as painful, debilitating, terrible and at many times embarrassing as this process is...these horrible moments are not what I remember. I consciously know I spent those first few nights in the hospital bed in excruciating pain, in tears, feeling hopeless, and unable to communicate to my care-givers how they could help. IV's sucked, sitting up for the first time...a nightmare. Walking for the first time...let's not get me started on that one. Throwing up...well we won't go there. Being forced to depend on others when you're Miss Independent...not easy. My head knows these things, I can recall those moments, but I do not feel them. My body, my mind, does not hold onto this pain.

What I do remember, what I truly feel even now is not the pain...but the joy and love the pain brought me. I remember:

• My mom never wanting to leave my side...my constant hand to hold.

• As the nurses flittered around me, my 84 year-old grandfather looking at me from across the room and mouthing: I Love You. 

• My dad sleeping on the floor of my hospital room because he wanted to spend the night with me.

• My grandmother kissing me on my forehead...every chance she got.

• Laughing to myself when my friend Amber "lawyered up" at seeing me in pain post-surgery...I knew the nurses and doctors did not stand a chance against my best friend.

• Watching two of my best friends, Morgan and Keri Anne, meet for the very first time when they visited me in the hospital. 

• Seeing Keri Anne's 18 month old daughter Rachel clapping her hands as I finished my walk around the hospital wing. 

• How gracious, kind, patient, and sweet my Vanderbilt nurses and care-givers were. 

• The smile on my face when meeting my new bro Harper. Puppy-therapy is the best! 

• The smell of beautiful flowers, thoughtful gifts from sweet friends and clients. 

• Seeing the purple initials marked onto my body for surgery..."JC". 

• The abundant messages I received from friends and family members letting me know how they were praying for me. 

These are snapshot moments my soul clings to. Memories I recall when the pain courses over me again, when I doubt Turning The Page, or when I need a kick in the butt for being Un-Authentically Me. 

In our culture, fortitude often conveys the image of bolstering up or pressing forward alone. It brings about the image of one person using all that they have within themselves to accomplish a goal, to bring about change, to persevere through a trial. However, all the memories I have during this hefty process include family members, life-friends, even strangers who became new friends...all individuals who weave together to make up my community here in Nashville. Ironic isn't it. 

I was wheeled to the operating room, but not before my mother squeezed my hand. 

I sat up in the hospital bed, but the nurse held me.  

I took my first steps to the chair, but my grandmother walked beside me. 

I walked to the nurse's counter, but my father stood beside me the whole time. 

After making two laps around the hospital wing my grandfather taking every step with me, my nurse brightly said, "you're doing great". I nodded and with a simple smile I spoke a single word: FORTITUDE.

Fortitude no longer means simply having within me the courage to face adversity, being resilient through trials, or having true grit. It holds a new power, the ability to do all these things but appreciate the people who walk beside me. Often times we honor the individual person, we praise their unique abilities, their solitary journey through the crucible set before them. However, the greater power of fortitude is not something that happens in isolation but rather within the arms of community. 

-Authentically Me

Turning The Page

In six weeks I will be in an operating room. 

In six weeks I shall endure pain in the hopes of overcoming pain. 

Ironic isn't it? 

Before Pinterest there was the art of collaging. Technology now makes it easy to thumb through countless pictures and pin them to a virtual board. Despite this addicting application, every year I still grab a stack of magazines and a pair of scissors setting aside an afternoon to create. In a way it's become a personal timeline, a snapshot of ideas, dreams, and hopes. The last five years currently hang in my room all capturing authentically me from 2011-2016. Studying them you might find similarities, subtle nuances carried over throughout the years. Yet each year seems to hold its own theme.

Glancing at my hope for 2016, I can sum it up with one phrase: turning the page. Regeneration is always at the heart of authentically me. The lotus is after all my favorite flower. I seek to pursue the art of restoration, to live life better to be more each day than I was the last. I seek to be kinder, more patient, more accepting, more generous, more loving, more considerate, more faithful, more compassionate. I hope to be strong in the face of adversity, to conquer fear, to seek to heal, to listen, to reach out.

Despite our best intentions and the internal struggle, our flesh can be weak. So is the case with me. Most of my life I've struggled to feel in control of a failing body. As if there are two drastic parts of me: the spirit and the vessel in which it is kept. The spirit is adventurous, energetic, capable, fearless. The vessel is weak, stubborn, weighted, exhausted. When your body's entire foundation is broken, the structure upon which you stand constantly working against you, life itself becomes a daily struggle. So is the case with me.

After having multiple orthopedic surgeries before I reached high-school, I grew up keenly aware that something was fundamentally wrong with me. Yes, I was capable in academics. Yes, I was kind to those around me. Yes, I was a loyal friend. Yes, I was a dreamer, a writer. Yet I wasn't able to be active like my peers could. Sitting in a chair for long period of times brought numbness, running was out of the question, walking was okay for short stretches. Swimming preferred. If I walked, I hurt for two days after. If I played volleyball, I struggled to move the next day. Any sort of prolonged activity brought me debilitating pain.

Ever since I can remember my back issues and the symptoms they produce have been an active painful part of my life. Ever since I can remember I've suffered in silence. Those who struggle with chronic pain often do not realize how much their pain isolates them. We live our lives the way we were forced to. We survived, adapted, carried on, moved forward. We clenched and bore it. We got on with it. We deal with it alone and rarely speak of it. In my case, I never wanted it to limit me. I've walked up the Acropolis in Athens, I've scuba dived in Cozumel, I've been skydiving, I've climbed the stairs to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I've prayer-walked the red-light districts of Bangkok and played upon the beaches of Ireland.

Over the course of the last four years my structure has progressively gotten worse. So much so that today when I went to church I could not stand to worship Jesus. As hard as I tried to make it through four songs of praise, I was forced to sit down. My spirit was willing my flesh was weak. Usually in these first few moments my anger dissolves to disappointment, upset at myself and the limitations of the body I've been given. In the darkest of times I give into despair and self-hatred. Today however Jesus renewed my spirit and gave me a vision. As a grasped the chair behind me to sit He breathed life into my hope of turning the page.

I watched on as Jesus placed his hands over my chest, over my heart, to the very center of my body, where my soul dwells. His Carpenter hands, the Builder, the Maker of all things, revived me. His hands pressing down three times as if signaling me being brought back to life. As I sat there overcome by sadness at my limitations and the desperate desire to be beyond this pain, He gave me the vision of restoration. My restoration by his hands.

As June 28th approaches I am more ready each and every day to turn this page in my life. For the last fifteen years I've dealt with the pain caused by my spine. No more. I trust and choose to move forward in the hope of a better life. A life where my body and spirit are not divided. A life where my spirit and body reflect who I authentically am.

Around The Table

What's the secret behind building community? If you're like me there are periods where life is abundantly overflowing with friends and a sense of belonging then times where you feel as if you're stranded on a deserted island with just yourself for company. I've neglected my Authentically Me musings of late because I've been pursuing a combined passion...the art of building authentic community.

Transitioning is never easy and for me it's been surprisingly harder returning to an old life than it was building a new one. The process may be slow but I've been dreaming of a way to make it easier! One part event planning, one part amazing friendships, and one part creativity. Around The Table Nashville was born. To learn more check out: www.aroundthetablenashville.com 

This exciting new venture is sure to be a roller coaster ride of fun and hard work. However I can't wait to start!