Shower Praying My Way Through Life

shower prayer

noun
[sh-ou-wer pr-ay-er]

The formalized act of spiritual cleansing performed when one desperately prays in the shower to a higher power. 

Example: I sat down in the shower and did a lengthy 40-minute shower prayer that brought me into direct communication with the divine. I felt at peace with my life and for a moment, I even thought I saw Jesus. 


 

This past May, I sat in my shower and prayed so hard that I actually began chanting at one point. Had this sacred ritual turned me into a Tibetan monk?

That’s one secret I’ll never tell.

XOXO, Gossip Girl…  

The truth was, I was hopelessly content at my job.

Many people aspire to be content, but I’ve always hated this word. Content to me says that you’re perfectly happy where you’re at in life and you’re not willing to ever venture outside of the little bubble you’ve created for yourself.

Something about being content makes my skin crawl.

Living in California did a lot of things for me: it prepared me to be where I’m at now, it forced me to chase my goals, it gave the mentorship and guidance to write better and become a pro, and I met my lovely boyfriend there.

Those are all wins.

Was living there the key to everything I ever wanted and more? No.

For me, moving to California was a symbol of freedom… so, why didn’t I feel free?

I had ruthlessly come to the realization that living and writing in California was a stepping stone. But after about two years of doing this, I realized I was knee-deep in some serious murky-ass water.

I had overstepped. I wasn’t supposed to stay on this course forever. 

I always used to say, “Someone else will be so happy with this job… it’s just not me.”

It’s like knowing a relationship is wrong for you, but continuing to be in it. Deep down, you know you’re only doing it because it’s comfortable and safe.

I had great benefits, an INCREDIBLE boss and I lived right next to the beach. So, what the F was missing?

Creativity.

I lacked the creative environment that I needed to truly thrive and be the best version of myself, not only as Hannah the human girl, but Hannah the boss b*tch, all-star employee and entrepreneur (we’ll get there).

“Working for the man” was all too real. I didn’t feel heard, valued, and honestly at times, I felt like a total pee-on.

The only time that’s acceptable is if you’re having an intimate relationship with R. Kelly.

And I wasn’t.

When I left my company, I wrote a LENGTHY essay about creativity to our HR department to pull some kind of last minute, fight-for-your-rights stunt for the rest of my copywriting team, who also hated being cooped up in their tiny office.

Employees work better when they are offered opportunities to work outside of the box. They feel inspired, happy, motivated, and ready to come to the table with new ideas and a hungry work ethic.

Staring into florescent bulbs all day is draining. 

The shower prayer came sort of like it happens in a Disney movie. It crept over the house and poured a magic sparkling dust over me and everything I touched.

The next day, I woke up with a kind of clarity that wasn’t there before.

I was done.

After this magical interaction with the divine, I started getting serious about looking for another job where I could rock and roll the hell out of the box I had been stuffed into.

I started applying for different jobs, but about two or three weeks later, my best friend told me that the content director at her company quit.

I thought about the shower prayer.

It wasn’t likely that I’d get this job… I lived in California, and it just seemed too fitting. I get to work for a creative branding agency with my best friend? Yeah… that was not going to happen. Working remotely most of the time, getting a bunch of awesome new friends and getting paid to write and lead a team? Nah, it couldn’t happen for me.

Shower prayer said different.

Shower prayer reminded me that anything was possible, so I better effing try.

Shower prayer was the Britney Spears in my ear saying, “You betta work, bitch.”

So, I threw my name in the hat, was interviewed several times, and… got offered a job.

I was going to have to move back to Nashville to take it though, at least for awhile. I wanted to be the very best at what I do and get to know my team.

Making this all work was not going to be easy, but somehow, shower prayer was there motivating me and saying, “Girl, you asked for it, here it is. I didn’t say it would be pretty.”

In 8 days, I:

Quit my job. LOL BYE SECURITY NET!

Found someone to sublease my apartment, so my roommate wouldn’t be screwed over. BYE HOUSE I LOVED!

Packed up my Mini Cooper with all my worldly possessions. BYE CUTE LAMP THAT WON’T FIT IN MY CAR.

Got a new place in Nashville. HELLO, FACING ALL MY FAILURES AGAIN!

I was shitting in my pants. 

Leaving California was the scariest decision I’ve ever made.

As I said, California represented my freedom. Nashville, a place I had already lived, and previously bottomed out of, represented FEAR.

What if I failed again? What if I moved and destroyed my life?

I was comfortable in California, but Nashville scared me—Nashville was the place where I got my heart broken years ago professionally and personally. Nashville was where I developed depression, anxiety and bad habits. What if all that happened again?

There was no time to resist. I either fully committed to what I had asked shower prayer for, or I could continue sulking at my poorly lit desk, memorizing my co-worker’s eating schedule.

One Coke Zero at 7:00 a.m., followed by one canteen of coffee finished by 9:00 a.m. 

Hesitation wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

The morning I left California, I cried so hard I thought my face was going to fall off. It was the worst and hardest breakup I’ve ever had in my life. I was letting go of a place I fell in love with.

Before I left, I went down to my favorite coffee shop by the beach and enjoyed the life I was leaving behind. I had a good run. I did everything I set out to do.

Plus, California will always still be there…unless there’s a giant earthquake… In that case, California might break up into a few islands that I could visit again some day.

Opportunities to better myself and the person I’m becoming will not always be there.

I took off in my Mini and set out to the Grand Canyon, the first stop on my trip across the country.

It seemed fitting to go big or go home.


 

I planned out three stops on my trip across the country from California to Nashville. I was originally just going to go straight to Flagstaff, Arizona, but I decided to take a little detour, so I could see the Grand Canyon.

I pulled into the large parking lot and made my way towards the giant southern rim of the canyon. It’s one of those views that is honestly breathtaking.

Even more stunning, were the idiots who were trying to get a great shot for Insta by literally hanging off the edge of a cliff. I was scared even walking along the side, but I can’t imagine sitting on thin tips of rocks ready to fall 1,000 feet at any God-given second.

I felt my inner 80-year-old woman quaking with anger due to these millennials’ careless attitude.

You know where is NOT a great place to have your bestie film you doing yoga? Four inches away from a death drop.

I then proceeded to Google how many people die from this a year, and it’s only 12. Still… I swear people have no common sense.

After walking around for an hour, I bought a few postcards and called it a day. It was great, but I was tired and ready to get to my stop for the night.

On the way home, I developed a new paralyzing fear:

Elk.

Which I thought was the same thing as a moose. My bad.

As I was coming out of the park, a GIANT male elk was in the middle of the road with a couple of his groupies. People were taking photos as the elk continued to graze on the side of the road.

I got all the ammo I needed for the GRAM and drove away, realizing that I had seen about 900 signs warning me about elk in the area. This was basically the equivalent of performing a handstand on the edge of the Grand Canyon just for a photo, so who was the dummy now?

Me.

If you hit that thing with your car, you’d be dead in a matter of seconds.

It was now almost completely dark, which meant that I wouldn’t be able to see anything at all. I’m practically blind when it comes to driving at night.

I drove 30 miles per hour the entire way to Flagstaff. On top of that, I was convinced there were an army of elk hiding alongside the road. I’d slam on my brakes at the slightest flash of a road sign reflector, thinking it was elk eyes.

I became paranoid that elk were everywhere.

Thankfully, the elk creatures did not come out of the woodwork (literally) and I made it to my Airbnb safe and sound.

The next day was a lot more exciting, because I drove through some serious Hills Have Eyes shit.

My next stop was in Amarillo, Texas, which meant I was going to have to drive through half of Arizona, all of New Mexico, and part of Texas (in one day).

This was by far the most horrifying part of my journey. I had no cell phone service and if I thought the elk were scary, I was about to see the real deal.

Not only did this area also have elken beings, I also went through the gauntlet of:

  • ancient roadside attractions
  • meter craters meant to lure young girls into a mole people colony
  • random trailers in the desert where no one lived
  • billboards about alien museums
  • and towns that looked like they survived an atomic apocalypse

Normally, all of these things would be very appealing to my inner weirdo, but when you’re alone with all your possessions in the middle of a toxic wasteland, it’s not as cool.

It was like out of a horror movie. I couldn’t believe this part of America actually exists. Who lives here? Why?

Is this where they filmed The Colonies in The Handmaid’s Tale?

I decided to ask.

I stopped in New Mexico at a gift shop manned by a woman who had a strange accent, long dirty blonde hair with 80s-style poofy bangs, and a dress that screamed, “I haven’t seen civilization in a long, long time, sweetie!”

There was a giant eight-foot rabbit statue outside the store that included a seat. It was the perfect photo opportunity for NO ONE, because this town’s population was probably in the negative digits.

I struck up a conversation with the lady who looked like she just escaped a guarded polygamist cult.

“What do people do here for fun?” I slyly said, needing to know more about this dilapidated area.

“Well, a lot of us leave, then we always find our way back. It’s just home to us,” she smiled with stars in her eyes.

Umm… okay, missing-episode-of-West-World—had she been programmed to say this? This all sounded a bit Dolores-y to me. Sure, just avoid my question and turn it into a soothing message about home and heart.

I needed to get out of here quick.

I bought a couple of items casually excused myself like someone who had just realized the host of their dinner party was actually the Human Centipede.

After I left the desert, I drove through some more flat land than you can imagine. Miles and miles of wind turbines. Cows. Rocks. Dirt.

It was painful.

Finally, I got to Texas. In a very dumb decision, I decided to not get any food before I made it to the Airbnb. Instead, I ate two granola bars and took a bath at a stranger’s house.

Everything was Hollywood Regency style and the house was incredible. I explored a bit and pried open a door in my room that I shouldn’t have. After that, I felt like something bad had been in the empty closet, and that I had probs just let out a succubus to terrorize me all night.

NBD.

After contemplating what the ghost would be like, I realized I was hungry.

So, I called Jimmy Johns, who refused to deliver to me, even though I was only a mile away.

They probably already knew about succubus and didn’t want to get involved in that shit past 9:00 p.m.

The only other place open was a pizza place. I ordered spaghetti (another terrible decision), fell asleep and woke up to the delivery man calling.

I ate the spaghetti and went to bed.

I woke up, got back on the road and did it all again, until I got to Kansas City—my last stop before I made it to Nashville.

The whole time, I never really noticed how drained I was… until I got there. Pretending to be a truck driver is hard. I honestly don’t know how they do it. It is incredibly tiring driving 8 to 9 hours a day.

I went to bed around 7:30 p.m., woke up early, and made it to Nashville.

But not before being pulled over! LOLZZZZ. 

As I passed through Memphis, I noticed blue lights flashing behind me.

I set down my phone, took a deep breath, and prepared myself for a performance.

I sobbed my way out of a ticket and kept driving to Nashville like nothing ever happened.

Catch ya later sucka—yeah, I’m probably going to receive a ticket soon for saying this. Karma sucks.

I had finally made it. When I got back in town, it didn’t feel like three years had went by. It felt like I never left. Like I was living through an immense case of deja vu.

Nothing, yet everything, was the same.


 

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