Without Reservation

This week has been full of the ordinary, necessary work of moving into a new city and settling into an empty apartment—the kind of week made up of errands, firsts, and small discoveries. I found grocery stores I actually enjoy. I located the car dealership and got my oil changed. I wandered into a few antique shops and even stopped to take pictures along the way—small proof that progress was happening, even if it felt quiet.

Sometimes when you’re really stretching, it can feel safer to hunker down. To hide in your own little world while you wait for the storm to pass. But I’m beginning to embrace the idea that maybe life is the storm. So instead of hibernating, I turned toward one simple task this week.

One goal anchored the week: introduce myself to my neighbors with a small gift.

I grew up in the 80s, when big was the point. Big hair. Big shoulder pads. Big gestures. If you were going to do something, you did it all the way. I still feel that pull—to go over the top, to make it personal, to make it memorable. Dialing things down can feel boring. Almost like quitting.

But this is a new era for me, and I’m learning to think differently. Simple. Inexpensive. Easy.

So I found a local specialty popcorn called Poppy, Handcrafted Popcorn—cheese, caramel, and buttered popcorn all in one bag. It sounded good to me. I bought a few bags and headed home.

As I walked, my mind raced. Would they receive my small gift? Would they be standoffish? Do I look presentable enough in the only clothes I have unpacked? I felt nervous, so I tried to focus on the task at hand.

I stopped first at the leasing office and dropped off popcorn for the staff, thanking them for helping us get settled. They seemed genuinely surprised—and grateful. Our leasing agent, Nancy, even asked if she could hug me. I wasn’t expecting that.

Next, I gave a bag to the maintenance man. I don’t think he’s thanked very often. He didn’t quite know how to respond—but he had spent an entire day coming in and out of my apartment trying to get the hot water tank working properly. It mattered to me to say thank you. I’m genuinely grateful for his work.

Then I went upstairs to meet my neighbor. She invited me in and shared that she’s actually moving out soon. Still, she was kind and warm, offering help if I needed anything while settling in. The other neighbors have been harder to catch, but I’m still working on it.

It took a day or two, but I finally met the neighbors across from my apartment. They are busy, loud, and come with a pair of toe-headed, constantly chirping little humans who seem to run on pure noise and motion. The dad introduced himself as Adam, which works out well because he’s officially the first man-neighbor I’ve met here.

These small encounters taught me something important: people are good, and people respond to kindness. There isn’t nearly enough of it in the world.

As I move forward this year, I want to be more open—to truly see people, to connect, to share what I have, and to receive from others as well.

In my years as a pastor, inclusion and kindness were part of the job. Inviting, welcoming, loving others as Jesus would—those things were expected. But when I wasn’t working, it was easy to retreat. To hibernate.

I didn’t truly see people outside of church spaces. Often, I didn’t want to. Most days, the job felt like it took all the kindness I had.

That’s no way to live.

I came across this quote by Jim Morrison, and it stopped me in my tracks:

“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first.”

— Jim Morrison

This rings true for me. After a lifetime of wearing masks, I’m finally at a stage where I’m willing to explore who I really am—outside of roles and requirements. It is truly time for a personal revolution.

I’m committed now to living in a wholehearted way—seeing, connecting, and loving when I have no obligation and nothing to gain. If you look up the word wholehearted, it means being completely sincere, enthusiastic, and committed—giving your full heart without reservation.

That word—reserved—used to sound like a compliment to me. Refined. Sophisticated. Buttoned up. I aspired to be those things. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that being buttoned up isn’t nearly as satisfying as being free.

Freedom looks like expressing emotion. Welcoming others fully. Loving in ways that don’t cost you anything—but somehow give you everything.

Freedom is also knowing when to close up shop and shut the door for the day. I think we need both.

For me, freedom right now is unlocking the ability to move beyond fear and assumed perceptions of the people around me. Freedom is found in the reach, the touch, and the courage to step through an open door.