R. Francis Williford

I’m hoping the pictures below can express how grateful I am for the life I’m able to live with these people in it.

And so there you have it: quite possibly one of the most beautiful months of my life summed up in pictures with a few short words. I am continually grateful for how much this life unfolds every single month, how I am able to unlearn all of my mistakes in order to become who I am becoming.

I’m grateful for the ability to be myself and to be accepted in that adventure; grateful to be able to fail and still move forward; grateful to not always have the best of days, but to know that tomorrow will be different and new and as spectacular as I’m able to make it.

I’m thankful to have the opportunity to express to others — human to human, heart to heart — how much I need them in this life. I’ve said before and I’ll say again: without them, there is no me. So thank you to each and every person that has allowed me to hitch a ride, even for a brief moment, on all of the moments of astonishment, growth, crisis, and beauty. I am changed because of you.

In May, I will let go.

There is something poetic in taking apart all of the things that we’ve built in order to get to where we need to go. It isn’t always pretty. It’s definitely not easy. But it’s in these moments that we begin to learn what we’re made of.

Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing anyways? Constantly finding ways to be better versions of ourselves? Trudging through all of the mud to get to a place that fosters our true identity? Searching for what it is that makes our world right again? Getting closer to ourselves than we’ve ever been and doing the things that put us in a position to be better?

That’s what I want out of this life. And I won’t stop until I get there, wherever “there” may be.

There are times when I sit with myself and listen. Just listen. No strings attached. Not pitch, no catch. Listening to the sounds that my mind makes, the sounds that my body makes: blood flowing through my limbs, my heart thump thump thumping away to the beat of my life, and a voice inside telling me to keep listening.

Keep breathing.

Keep moving towards whatever it is that this life gives me and nothing it leaves behind.

I begin to realize that there are so many questions I’m searching for the answer to. Like how is it that we can love something or someone so deeply and still struggle to keep it/him/her close to us? Or why do we worry more about teaching someone else and not learning ourselves first?

Listening isn’t the easiest action. It’s certainly not the smoothest. My mind wants to respond. It wants to find the answers that my heart keeps asking. It wants to figure this life out.

This month, I focused my energy on using anything but my tongue to understand the world around me better.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

• Listening is the active choice to sacrifice your own voice in order to take in, comprehend, and understand the voice of another. It means giving up a response to every question, every answer, every in-between, every silent moment in a conversation, and all urges to add your two cents. Not everybody wants your money anyways.
• “I’m not okay.” It’s as simple as that. Relinquishing the idea that you have to keep it together for the people around you means that you’re liberated from the invisible walls you put up. It means vulnerability. It means being your true self. If I’ve learned anything this month, it’s how to be honest with myself; to feel something so deeply and to allow others to do that, too.
• There’s a voice inside of you that is telling you how you really feel. Don’t neglect that voice. It’s telling you something for a reason. No matter how irrational or wild of a tremble this voice is giving to you, give yourself the time and space to take that message in. When you stop listening to that voice, you begin to give up your ability to be a human being. You give up your ability to have a clear voice altogether.
• There are multiple students I work with who really struggled this past month. Tests and exams and heartbreak and the feeling of intense overwhelm took their lives over. Helping them sift through these feelings is what it means to be a mentor and advisor. Listening to them tell me a small part of their story is truly rewarding. Listening without an agenda of your own has a way of helping old wounds close up. It has a way of helping new wounds begin to heal.
• Listening will center you. When you’re always doing the talking, you’re never doing the learning.

• You only have one body. You get to decide on how to treat it. For me, listening to the way my body reacts to me looks a lot like getting up early to exercise and also to fill my body only with things that are going to nourish it. This isn’t a perfect process. Yes, sometimes I have ice cream. No, I’m not a body builder. But what I do know is this: my ideal self has ample energy throughout the day to tackle the biggest activities in my life. If I don’t get enough sleep and if I don’t eat right, my ideal self is not attainable every single day. I want to put myself in the position to love everything about me in a way that shows the world who I truly am.
• Listening looks a lot like soul-searching on a Saturday afternoon:

 

• It also looks a lot like a pillowy sky with the sun peeking through.

 

• “How is your heart?” I have a mentor who asks me this question every couple of months when we finally get to catch up. It’s jarring to think critically about where my heart is in that moment. The only way I know how to respond is with as much honesty I can muster. “It’s in a constant state of awe when it comes to life and all of the beautiful things in it.”
• Shawn Achor wrote a book called “The Happiness Advantage” where he talks about some key principles to living a happy life. Interestingly enough, it’s never about seeking it out explicitly. But he does mention that happiness can be attained through the small, everyday actions that you take to change your circumstances. This bulletin board is a reminder of how grounded we can be in relentlessly seeking happiness that we forget our purpose altogether.

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• I have a friend from my undergrad years who I worked with on-campus and also studied English/Creative Writing with. During my first year of graduate school, we became pen pals and would periodically update each other on life happenings via snail mail. One day I received one of her larger-than-life envelopes in my work mailbox. Inside of it, a painting that said, “Be an explorer of the world.” It resonated so much with my soul that I had to put it on my wall as a constant reminder to seek out every opportunity to bring myself closer to my purpose.
• I recently came across this graphic and it showed me that I, too, need a few reminders to listen more, and that being an explorer of the world means committing myself to wholeheartedly listening to what the world is telling me:

I’m still trying to process this idea of feeling what I feel. So much of my identity has been built in being a role model for others that sometimes I forget what it means to feel something so full, so consuming, so genuine.

February was unfiltered. It handed me a number of things that gave me the opportunity to be a human. I took a few of them.

• One-on-ones with the students I work with gave me the opportunity to connect. I facilitated a workshop in early February that allowed this group go a few layers deeper with one another. It was two-fold: first, they were to write down all of the things that they identified with a past self, a present self, and a future self. The goal was to help them reflect individually, but together, about who they were, who they are, and who they still have time to be. Second, they were to share 2–3 moments of impact in their lives that helped them become who they are today. The goal was to open up. To be vulnerable. To feel a little bit deeper. From this meeting came one-on-one meetings with each student to talk more about it. I was able to feel what they felt about who they thought they were, how they perceived themselves, and what they want to accomplish moving forward. This journey — short in the grand scheme of things —of my time with them is meant to be powerful. It’s meant to change us for the better. I probably won’t realize the impact made until years from now.
• I had the opportunity to attend the National Association for Campus Activities (NACA) National Conference in Louisville, Kentucky. The feeling of conference trips can sometimes be exhausting. For me, this NACA could very well be my last. My graduate student experience has given me the opportunity to continue working in activities as I did as a young student leader. Having this opportunity again after graduating from my undergraduate institution believing I’d never see an artist showcase or attend a marketplace again was exciting for me. And now, with this last trip to Louisville with three young student leaders and my advisor, I’ve come to terms that I may never be able to go again. To feel the end of something in the middle of the ending is something that can’t be explained. Not with words. Not right now.

• Leadership speaker Jon Vroman came to campus and talked to students about living life in the “front row”. His message revolves around this idea of becoming a leader through being your authentic self, committing fully to your life, and the create your future. Prior to Jon speaking, the picture below was on the screen. It struck me that “coming alive” means being the person I tell people I am. It means not sugarcoating it anymore; I am an individual with values, with goals, with needs and wants, with a yearning to make life better for people in this world. It’s amazing, isn’t it? This idea that we can make a difference in the lives of those around us simply by committing to making ourselves better. Coming alive is a constant process. I’m still learning what it means to feel those words so much, to take them in, to own them.

• My Master’s-level comprehensive exam was this month. Studying for it meant eliminating distractions (Facebook, Twitter, most of the rest of my life) so I could commit myself to knowing what I needed to know to do well. Getting rid of all unnecessary distraction can be tricky. FOMO (fear of missing out) is so real! But at the end of the day, it meant more to me to do well on this exam than to be connected and up-to-date with things happening in the world. Disconnecting meant feeling less cloudy. It meant being able to feel in the moment, even if “in the moment” meant studying budgeting techniques in higher education or how student development theory impacts my role as an administrator on campus. It was entirely overwhelming but absolutely rewarding.

• Sometimes the feeling of being overwhelmed needs to be addressed by getting out of the environment you’re in and to reset your perspective. Spending a few mid-afternoons with a friend and colleague amidst so much studying really helped me process my life and feel confident about the future. It’s fascinating how some of the most impromptu moments can leaving such a lasting impact on someone.
• Attending a job placement conference was entirely overwhelming. As a self-identified introvert, I do better when I’m able to spend some time with myself to recharge my batteries and assess where my energy is at. While that may be an ideal situation for me, it doesn’t always happen. Feeling that lack of energy start to take a toll. But learning how to manage the process will help me be a better version of myself.

• Much of what I do in my daily work is help students realize their development. Essentially what this means is to help students feel what they feel, when the feel it, and how to navigate those feelings, good or bad, in a positive way. Feeling anxiety over a test or feeling burnt out as a result of over-commitment to obligations is common for students who are still learning what it means to be alive. Being the reason why they want to do better, why they want to do more with their life, is one of the true gifts of working in higher education and student affairs. I will never really know the impact I’m making each and every day with every interaction. Questions as simple as, “How is school? How’s your writing? Are you eating enough?” can go a long way. Noticing in others what they sometimes don’t notice in themselves is a humbling experience for them and for you. Genuine care doesn’t always look big. Sometimes it’s small.
• As a friend begins her writing journey and another friend learns to focus more on finding a voice in his writing, I’ve found myself feeling the effects of practicing a craft. Writing hasn’t always been easy. Most of the time it feels awkward, like a square peg trying to fit into a trapezoid hole. It hasn’t always been happy writing. In fact, historically speaking, most of my best writing has come from a place of doubt or anxiety. More feelings can be generated from the things lacking in life or the negative outcomes than the things to be grateful about. Feeling that weight is heavy. But helping others navigate that journey brings clarity to my own journey.
• For the last few weeks, I’ve been committed to waking up earlier to get to the gym earlier. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I feel as if I’m locking in more with my workouts and I’m more willing to go the extra mile, to dig a little deeper, to try a little harder. Whatever the case may be, the feeling of getting up before most of the world around me and getting a jump start on the day is a satisfying feeling.
• As expected, feeling what I feel isn’t always a smooth process. Sometimes it’s tearing apart the parts of my life that I’m still learning how to own. Sometimes it’s developing an identity of broken-but-getting-better. Sometimes it’s feeling on top of the world, but only for a few seconds. Feeling what I feel means being vulnerable. It’s trusting that my next step will be the right one, even when it’s not. So for me, this past month has felt awkward and jagged. It’s clear that there’s not enough observance of what I feel when I’m feeling it. In retrospect, I’ve got a lot of growing to do. We all do.