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About Roller Coasters

I'm in a crappy season, friends, and today strikes me as the pinnacle.  I want to write;  I write in my head a great deal, actually. But what comes out doesn't feel valuable for you - it's too raw, too frustrating really to transcribe.  And so ye olde blog languishes, awaiting my keystrokes.

I won't go into it all, at this point in time.  I'm sure it will all make good blog fodder when all is said & done but for now, suffice it to say that those closest to me are riding the roller coaster with me:  trying to make me keep my hands inside the ride, wear my safety belt, and stop trying to stand up in the moving car...every.damn.day.  I really am quite a challenge sometimes.  Thank God they love me anyway.

Book Review: What Alice Forgot

My book club's choice for May was by Liane Moriarty, who is fast becoming one of my favorite authors.  I had read The Husband's Secret a few months back and suggested What Alice Forgot selfishly, so that I would have an opportunity to read it and discuss.

The story is about Alice (clearly);  following an incident at the gym, Alice has amnesia.  Interestingly, she thinks she is in her 20s with her first child on the way.  She can't figure out why in the world she was at the gym or why those closest to her, including her husband, are acting oddly with her when she reaches out from the hospital.  In actuality, Alice is now about to turn 40 with three children and an impending divorce.  Without giving much else away, suffice it to say that Alice has changed quite a bit over the years and simply can't believe it when she hears how she - and things in her life - have changed so dramatically.

This, of course, was great fodder for a book club discussion.  If you were going to sent back to any age, what would it be?  For me, this was a tough one.  Part of me would probably enjoy being back in my early twenties but there was a lot of angst and upheaval in my life at that time that I'd really rather not relive.  And frankly, I'm happier and more "me" than I've ever been right now.  That's certainly not to say things are perfect;  far from it.  But I think I've grown and matured so I deal and cope with those things differently.  I can recognize that I am resilient now and I'm certain I couldn't say that about younger me.

The other deep question that came out of our discussion was this:  what would surprise your 20 year old self about your life today?  There was a lot of quiet reflection on this one;  some chose not to share.  I think emotions were running fairly high and this could have proven to be a tipping point.  I had no trouble finding my answer.  My younger self would be stunned, frankly stunned, to learn what it is I do for a living.  As long as I can remember growing up, once I got passed the weekly ever-changing dreams of what I wanted to be when I grew up (teacher, lawyer, firefighter), which were all fairly dependent on what we were learning about in school or who had come to visit our class that week, I wanted to be a writer.  Any opportunity to write a story or even a paper felt like a win to me.  In high school, I was on the school paper - first, writing sports which, if you know anything about me, was rather ridiculous.  But I did it because it was what I was assigned and because I got to write.  I worked on the paper all through high school, managing to be co-editor with my best friend of the time our senior year.  I wrote creatively a bit as well during that time but the goal and all I worked toward was journalism.

Each year, our newspaper adviser packed us in her station wagon and drove us to downtown Philly for a high school press competition at Temple University.  It was there that I decided where I was going to college - there was no question.  I applied elsewhere because I felt like I should "in case" but I was accepted into Temple's journalism program by September 9 of my senior year in high school and it was  done deal.  I was going to a writer!

But as I started classes and heard what the real life of a journalist often was, I started to doubt myself.  I started to wonder how or if I could make it.  I had no desire to write obituaries or real estate postings for my livelihood.  I wanted to write exciting things, to chase stories that made a difference.
But time and time again I was told that I'd have to start at the bottom...and the bottom held no appeal to me.  So when the time came to pick a concentration, I went with the "safe" bet and chose public relations.  Little did I know, until I had my first PR job, how difficult THAT could be.   Oh, I could write a heck of a press release but I loathed pitching the story to editors and, even more than that, I loathed that any placement I got us was never enough (not even The Today Show or CNN;  come on!!)  And so when the opportunity arose to move into planning healthcare events full-time, I was more than happy to do so.  But my 20 year old self?  She'd be shocked, appalled, and probably more than a little let down.

I won't give away the end of What Alice Forgot.  It's got some twists and turns and in some ways, I was surprised by how completely unsurprising parts were - but isn't that true to life?  I'd give this book two thumbs up and definitely recommend it for summer reading...but I'd also recommend you spend some time thinking on the questions posed above.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Five Minute Friday: Nothing

This week's Five Minute Friday word is nothing, so here goes...well, nothing.

<start 5 minutes>

I believe in this quote wholeheartedly and I try in earnest to live it out.  But sometimes, I don't do so well.  A few weeks ago, I was waiting for the bus.  I stepped into the bus shelter because it was raining.  As usual, I pulled out my phone and started checking my social media accounts.  A few seconds later, an older woman stepped into the shelter and confronted a man sitting on the bench inside who was smoking.  She told him that he needed to put out his cigarette and pointed him to the sign that stated it was no allowed.  He flipped out, screaming and cursing at her.  No one turned, no one looked.  She turned and walked away.  And left me ashamed for not saying a word. He ended up putting out his cigarette and going back into the building.  Even still, my shame stood with me.  I watched the woman, trying to will myself to go over and thank her for her bravery and apologize for my lack.  I watched her until she got on the bus and pulled away.  And weeks later, I'm still ashamed of myself.  If I didn't stand up and side with right in something as minor as that, how can I expect to in a situation where the stakes are higher?  I have but history clearly does not always repeat.

<stop>

The Secret Life of a Good Story

I am not an avid movie watcher.

I like movies; don't get me wrong.  As someone who loves the written word immeasurably, I'm often just as struck by dialogue and character development as I am in a good book.  But for many years, I found it hard to sit still to watch unless I was in a theater. It drives my friends bats.  They recommend what are likely very good movies or television series and I hem and haw.  If they loan me something, I've learned to give them the disclaimer, "I'm REALLY BAD about watching.  I need to be in the "right" mood;  it may be a WHILE."  Often, I end up sheepishly returning the DVDs without having watched at all because I feel like I've borrowed them way beyond the time that is reasonable.

In the past two days, I've watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty twice.

I can't recall if I read James Thurber's story;  if I haven't, I likely should.

The gist is that Walter is living a fairly anonymous life but he daydreams of wild adventures, adventures he may have embarked on if circumstances hadn't derailed his life's plans early on.  Through the encouragement of his love interest, he embarks on the adventure of a thousand lifetimes in search of something he thinks lost.

Beyond the amazing cast, storyline, and pop culture references, I loved the movie for another reason.  It harkens back to my favorite book, a book I've hinted many times over changed my life:  A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller.  The premise of the book is what led me to Romania and ultimately to the adventure I'm currently on;  it'll lead me to my next and more after that, too, I'm certain.  It encouraged me to look at the kind of story I was living.  It was not, by any stretch, a bad one but not one of courage or bravery or, most importantly, change and growth; it was about the fear and comfort and settling. Miller says this of story:

If the point of life is the same as the point of the story, the point of life is character transformation.  If I got any comfort as I set out on my first story, it was that, in nearly every story, the protagonist is transformed.  He's a jerk at the beginning and nice at the end, or a coward in the beginning and brave in the end.  If the character doesn't change, the story hasn't happened yet.  And if story is derived from real life, if story is just a condensed version of life then life itself might be designed to change us so that we evolve from one kind of person to another.  

And isn't that just what life is about, anyway?  I think so.

About Wayfinding

I headed back the homeland last weekend for a triple graduation extravaganza.  I was blessed to be able to spend the weekend with my bestie and her family and to top it off with the party, where I got to celebrate three of the most amazing college grads I have the privilege to know and see a lot of folks I hadn't seen in some time.  

It's a long drive from my place to where my people are and I had a lot of time to think.  I had had a conversation with a friend in town the evening before about some areas of my life with which I'm increasingly unhappy.  I've been slowly but surely trying to look at them a little deeper and plot out a course for the inevitable change that is needed;  my friend's viewpoint was that I was not being open to all the possibilities that were before me.  And frankly, I'm not.  There are some non-negotiables that ARE limiting but I don't see them as negatives.  Like a lot of things, they just are.  It's part of growing and maturing, I think.  In the past several years, I've come to realize that I like what I like and I don't like what I don't like - and that's ok. It's so much easier for me to say, today, "No, thank you.  I really don't feel like" doing XYZ. Or to say, "Yeah, no, I'm not into opera."  I'm certainly willing to try new things but there is a degree to which they have to first appeal to me in some way and some things simply don't. 

Sometimes, though, it's hard to see what you do want to do.  

My best friend and I spent a long while on her sofa hashing out what's been going on and how I can actively pursue healthy changes going forward.  We're of the list-writing variety and so she acted as scribe;  I can't tell you what it means to me to have these plans we created written in her handwriting, to know that she cares and that she is a PART of it all.  I knew that before, of course, but this is the tangible reminder I need while we are far away and I often feel like I'm out here on my own.  

The idea of what I want to do and where I want to end up is fairly nebulous...or at least it was. I spent some time at the graduation party talking with a pastor friend of mine.  We both served in youth ministries and he knows my heart will always be there.  He knows my struggles in my current place to kind of replicate that experience.  We went back and forth a bit about what I want with me hemming and hawing about finances, debt, etc. quite a bit.  But his bottom line was this:  if money and location were not issues, what would you want to do?  I didn't hesitate to repeat what I've said to others in the past few weeks:  I'd work with at-risk teenagers.  

Yet I had no idea what that should look like.  

I've served in church youth ministry for more than 12 years.  For various reasons, that hasn't come "easy" here and I'm willing to bet there is a larger, bigger picture reason I can't see right now.  I thought that serving as a CASA would help to fill that hole and it has, somewhat.  I totally get that my role there is exceptionally important, especially to the child(ren) we serve.  Yet it doesn't feel like that, by itself, is"it".  

Several weeks ago, a bunch of local organizations spoke at my church about their missions.  One was Young Lives, an offshoot of Young Life.  They mentor pregnant teens and teen moms.  It took me about half a second to pull out my business card and write my personal information on it.  I had to cut out quickly after service to meet some friends for lunch but made sure I stopped and talked to the Young Lives person first.  I ended up getting a call from the director of the program a few weeks later and we talked for a long time about what they were doing and how I might fit in.  Yet the end of the year was coming for them and I was held back by my own what ifs (which were totally unrelated).  But my bestie and I put it on the list and so I headed out on Monday evening, after driving six hours home, to check it out.  

It felt like home.  

The next day, I got an email about a new CASA program called Fostering Futures.  It's specifically designed to match teens in foster care with mentors in the community to help better equip them for when they "age out" (I hate that term and the idea of it) of the system.  

Again, my heart was stirred.  

I don't know what will come of any of this or of the plans we wrote out.  But I do know that God is working, even when I can't see or feel it.  

Five Minute Friday: Close

This week, I'm participating in Five Minute Friday, hosted by Lisa-Jo over at Surprised by Motherhood. Each week, Lisa-Jo provides a topic and the goal is to write whatever comes to mind in five minutes:  no overthinking, no editing, and that's that.  So, here we are...

When I decided to move, I looked at it as a grand adventure.  I felt stuck, overall, in my life and I felt I needed something to jolt me out of that and into the next era.  I was so eager to meet new people, try new things, and have a new life.  Don't get me wrong - my life was pretty great.  I'm blessed with a wonderful support system of friends and family that I've known for years and years and I just assumed that being five plus hours away wouldn't change that one iota.

Turns out there is something about proximity;  something about being close.

Some of my relationships have changed for the better but some have drifted further afield.  But what I realized is that I really desire that proximity, that closeness.  I posted early on that I didn't realize that homesickness could be a real, physical ache;  it has been for me, anyway.  There is something about the nearness of those you love, beyond the innate need and desire for hugs and physical contact.  It's talking to your best friend in 3-D, live and in technicolor.  It's looking in the eyes of her little guy while he tells you a story.  It's having a sing-a-long in the car as you travel back from a party together.  You can't replicate that through a phone call, Facebook, email, or even Facetime or Skype.  There's just something about being close...

Reconciliation, Brokenness, and Gypsy Kids

I had a lunch with a new friend from church yesterday.  We were sitting outside, enjoying the warm day and good conversation.  I told him about some of my struggles and how they so interestingly had coincided with Lent and made me frankly consider Lent in a completely different way than I had ever before - and that I was thankful for that.

He asked me how I was processing the theme of reconciliation that our church had be focusing on and I stammered a bit.  Reconciliation, at it's core, is broad, far-reaching, and hard to quantify.  I mean, it really has to be.  Even in the microcosm of our lives, the minutiae of the every day, reconciliation is not an easy concept to grasp or practice.  As a church, we've been wrestling some with what it means from a community perspective, here in this area, here in this town, here in our every day world.  I'm prone to personalizing everything and trying to figure out with whom I need to be reconciled, why, and how...and, honestly, it's not something I find myself often desiring.  Sometimes distance is easier than dealing. Our conversation focused more on the broader implications of this in our community and we both shared some of the issues and  ideas on which we'd been ruminating.

In the midst of this, we heard a yell and saw a kid dash by, chased by what I took to be a store manager or security person, with another one close on his heels.  We watched, as everyone near by, as they ran and shouted at the kid, closing the gap on him.  Not long after, two motorcycle officers flew up the street with lights and sirens on.

In the excitement of the moment, all I felt was sadness.  My friend and I picked back up with our conversation but I soon interrupted, telling him that I was going to think about that kid all day. My friend wasn't surprised, probably likely given what he knows of my background and what he is learning about my heart.  I added that I'd guess that my reaction to the scene was likely different than 90% of those around us. Experience tells me that the majority of folks immediately, without any facts, wrote the kid off as a thief, a criminal.  He'd be caught and get what he "deserved."

I saw a broken kid, who made a bad choice for any of a myriad of reasons.  I saw a kid who wasn't just running because he was being chased.

I told my friend about my trip to Romania and the impact it had on my life, my passion, and my purpose.  I think I've held back on posting about it here in detail for so long because I feel like sharing it in this way, writing it out, might somehow bring it to a conclusion and that's not at all what I want.  I want what I saw to stay with me always, to remind me of all that I take for granted, to spur me into action in my corner of the world when it's warranted - and, perhaps, even when it's not.

I'll say this for now with a promise to revisit it all soon.  Part of the plan for our time in Romania was to visit an orphanage.  In the weeks leading up to the trip, this was the thing that worried me the most.  I was certain my heart would be shattered.  I was certain I would start crying and never stop.  What I wasn't sure of was if I could even do it - to go and see what I was most afraid to see.  But when all was said and done on the trip, it wasn't the orphans who shattered my heart.  It was the kids in the gypsy camps we visited, kids who had parents and other adults present in their lives, yet were unclothed, unfed, dirty, and completely and utterly uncared for.  I left part of my heart with those kids and thinking about it now, a few years past, tears still well in my eyes.

When I got home, I spent a lot of time telling people about the trip and how it went.  I remember visiting friends of mine, one of whom was a former youth pastor and who was then working with the Salvation Army's foster care unit.  I told them the story, of my surprise, of my inability to let go and leave the images behind.  It was then that he gently reminded me that this story plays out all over the world, not just in Romania, and it was playing out in my own backyard:  children, broken by circumstances beyond their control, let down and hurt in unimaginable and unthinkable ways by those who were supposed to love and care for them.  I knew this academically, of course;  I'd been reading about troubled kids since I was a kid myself.  I'd worked with and then supervised inner city kids for years at my very first paying job.  I was a youth leader, for crying out loud.  But that trip and that gentle reminder from a friend changed my perspective in ways I'm still learning.  It's what spurred me into becoming a CASA;  it's what drives me not to let go of my passion to work with teenagers, even when doors aren't opening in the ways or timing I'd expected and hoped. And it never allows me to just dismiss any child, to write them off, to place a label on them and wash my hands of their memory.  And I hope it never does.

 

Olly Olly Oxen Free

Photo credit:  Three Peanuts/Creative Commons

Excuse me, but have you seen my purpose?  I seem to have mislaid it.

The last few months have been tough.  I've been utterly focused on that which I strive NOT to make the focus of my life, that which I consistently tell others not to make the focus of theirs...yet here I find myself looking back and wondering how it is that I can never seem to take my own darn advice. And now that the fog is clearing, the sun is finally making what may be a more permanent appearance, and I'm feeling more in control of my time and my life...I'm not sure what is next.  

As I wiped April from the calendar in my kitchen last night and filled in May, I was taken by how very different my calendar looks these days than it did a mere 18 months ago.  I was traveling frequently for my day job back then, served weekly and beyond in student ministry, and spent the majority of my weekends in search of fun with my friends and family; my life was full, to overflowing, perhaps.  I'll be the first to admit that dialing back has in many ways been a positive in my life...but the flip side is having a lot of unoccupied time.  I don't do well with that; I never have.  I know some reading this will read that as a shortcoming or a way to not "deal" with stuff and to a degree, that's probably true.  But is always who I am.  

When my beloved Grammy passed away, I wrote a eulogy to read at her memorial service.  In it, I talked about how she was always out and about, helping people out, picking mint for tea, patching my cousin's jeans, pulling weeds on the side of the road - getting dirty and being in people's lives.  

I am her granddaughter, through and through.  

That's how I like my life.  Helping others, encouraging others, being real, being present in people's lives - it's part of my DNA.  It's who I am and I believe it's why I'm here.  But, try as I might, I can't seem to get it right here.  My passion and purpose seem to be playing a game of hide and seek with me right now...and all I can do is holler, "Olly olly oxen free!"

Circumstances & Dirty Cell Phone Screens

The weather has finally taken a positive turn and we are once again on friendly terms.  I've promised to not complain about the inevitable springtime temperature fluctuations and rain showers, and it has agreed to not allow it to rain for more than two days in a row.  Judging by next week's forecast, I'm fairly certain one of us will soon be breaking our tenuous truce....

I've been struggling a bit as of late:  I've been busy, exhausted, overwrought, with everything being just too too.  Some times are just like that, really.  In the last few days, however, I feel like I'm finally returning to normal stasis;  I have time to breathe and think and live outside of the chaos that has been my life for the last several weeks.  In a moment of clarity and self-care, I decided that I am going to do my best to walk instead of ride the bus from where I'm required to park to my office and back again each day.

It's a bit of a meander across the campus, with parts that are alternately very historic, stately, and regal and then altogether typical to academia;  other parts are simply bucolic.  There is a piece early in the walk that takes me over the main street.  There is nothing remarkable about this part of the walk, not in the least.  I cross a cement overpass over a busy road;  athletic fields with chain link fences line one side and boxy, brick dorms greet me on the other.  But as I came across the bridge the other morning, I was struck by the beauty of spring in all her finery on one side of the street below:  trees in vibrant bloom, a little creek glistening in the sunlight, looking clear, clean and refreshing.  I stopped for a moment and took it in, deciding to snap a photo as I'm apt.  I pulled out my phone and adjusted my position to try to capture it all as best I could.

But I couldn't see the screen:  between the bright sunshine and my sunglasses, all I saw was a black screen.

I wanted the photo to remind myself of how beautiful life can be, how breathtaking some moment just are.  I wanted to share it with my friends and family, who would appreciate it simply for what it was.  But because of circumstances, all I could see in that moment was a dark and dirty screen.  But I clicked the button anyway and hoped for the best.  And there it was.

Imagine that.

Phoenix Rising

I was asked recently what my spirit animal was.  It’s something that has come into my peripheral vision lately for reasons I’m not sure I understand and probably am not meant to.  And I was stymied.  It wasn’t that I couldn’t think of one, I simply couldn’t put words to that which fit undeniably. 

I recalled later, when off the spot, that I’d recently taken an online quiz that is all the rage right now with me.  It related specifically to Harry Potter’s patronus but correlated with the spirit animal issue and my patronus was the phoenix.  It’s unclear to me now, really, looking back if I had simply shoved that idea back into the recesses of my memory banks or if I simply couldn’t retrieve it because I was with folks I didn’t well know and couldn’t offer that so flippantly.  There is weight to the idea of the phoenix and all of what it represents.  And while most of the quizzes I take are simply for fun, there is a degree to which many hit home, and this one probably more so than others.  I’ve been in the depth of grief for some time now and riding the waves of that, afraid to simply stand up on the board with my arms out, trusting for balance.  I’ve been knocked down, knocked over, pulled under more times than I can count – what’s to say that this time is the time to stand?  But what is it that makes the phoenix rise from the ashes of what once was, with strength and renewal…and hope?  That’s what I need to stand on again.  

More Than Meets the Eye

I’ve been a brown-eyed girl my whole life.  It says so on my driver’s license.  I’ve danced and sung the words to Van Morrison’s Brown-Eyed Girl with great fervor at frat parties and bars too numerous to mention.  Yet, interestingly, I never truly believed that that was all there was to it.  In the right light, the right angle; wearing the right color, in the right mood, my eyes are more than just brown.  They are flecked with gold, with green, especially around the edge.  I know this to be true, as I’ve stared intently in the mirror at them numerous times in my life.

Yet when asked, I say my eyes are brown. 

Those who know me, and love me, will tell you my eyes are brown.

And so I say:  perception is an interesting thing.  It brings us around, often, to what we deem our reality – even when it isn’t truth.

I had an eye appointment earlier in the year.  I was back and forth a million times because of issues with my contact lenses, to see a new doctor in the practice.  She was always lovely and kind and one day, as she peered at me, she said, “You have the most lovely hazel-colored eyes.” 

There it was.  Truth, from one who looks into people’s eyes for a living.  I smiled inwardly and thanked her for the compliment.  And interestingly, this has stayed with me.  I’ve wondered why it is that no one seemed to notice this in all my years of life.  Did they just assume I knew?  That I believed?  Or were they simply not looking at me, at the real me?  It’s easier to categorize when you can be lumped in with a larger group than smaller; that becomes the default.  You’re brunette or blonde or a redhead.  You’re black, white, brown.  You’re tall or short; fat or thin.  But really, in everything, there is so much more than meets the eye.

Book Review: Me Before You

I love to read.

My dad has always been an avid reader;  I truly cannot recall an evening he did not have a book in his hands at some point my entire life.  According to family lore, he tried to read me Moby Dick as a bedtime story when I was small and my mom worked nights.  I'm pretty sure that didn't end well and I don't believe I've read it to this day. I was much more of a Where The Wild Things Are type of child and remain so today.

Reading has always been a sort of refuge for me, and a strong connector to others.  If you know me in real life, you know that one thing I value over most everything is a great discussion - not a debate, not an argument, for I am most decidedly non-confrontational (unless adequately provoked and therefore on the defense.)  I'm always wildly interested in others viewpoints and ideas, and moreover how they came to have them based on their personal stories and experiences.  That, in itself, is truly what colors our world.  We have no opinions or thoughts or ideas that exist in a void.  They all harken back to some part of our story as a whole.

I've mentioned before that one of the greatest things I've done since the Big Move was to setup a book club. Through it, I've met some really wonderful people, many of whom I already consider dear friends.  The beauty of the book club, what has really resonated with me and hopefully with others, is simply the discussion.  Honestly, some months we discuss the given book more often than others.  But our one and only "rule" of book club is that all are welcome, whether they have read the book or not - because we always have wonderful conversations about books in general.  I cannot count how many times one or another or even several of us have pulled out our phones or notebooks to jot down the name of an author or book title after hearing it praised at book club.  My GoodReads certainly is always longer by the end of the night and for that, I'm always thankful.

I also participate in a little online book club with three of my girlfriends I grew up with.  They, along with my other voracious reader friends, are a wealth of knowledge on what to read and have given me opportunities to try books I'd never have considered on my own.

And so we finally come to the point of this post.  I've tossed around the idea of posting book reviews for some time now.  While the idea is appealing, I've gone back and forth on it (as I'm apt) more times than I can count.  But here is the bottom line:  I think there is value in it and so I shall.  There won't be any rhyme or reason to how, when or what I post.  I can't come up with any kind of fancy alliteration such as Meatless Monday or Taco Tuesday or Whackadoodle Wednesday or some such, and so it shall just be so.  I'll do my best to refrain from spoilers whenever able and merely provide the basics of the plot.  If it makes you try a new title or seek out an author you've never read;  if it makes you, even for a moment, escape out of your busy life into someone else's; if it just makes you think about something you'd never really thought of before - then it is probably worth it.

And so here we are.  I've had Me Before You by JoJo Meyers on my to-read list for some time but lately, I haven't really been reading.  I'm not sure what that is about, likely a symptom of other things going on in my life.  There's also been a degree to which I haven't wanted to read because I've been very busy and I know that once I begin a good book, I don't want to put it down and if I have to, I become somewhat petulant. Anyway, my friend made such a strong case for the book, I downloaded it over the weekend and began it last night around bedtime.  I ended up staying up until my Kindle's battery went dead - yes, really - and finished the book this morning.  I was almost immediately caught up in the lives of the characters - their personalities, their foibles, their struggles, their authenticity.  Sometimes, characters on the periphery are made out to be simply one dimensional:  good or bad.  Throughout, even they were shown to be multi-faceted and that just added to my enjoyment of the depth of the main characters.

I won't give much away in terms of plot but will suffice to say this:  it focuses on Louisa Clark, an unassuming girl from an unassuming family who loses her safe and very unassuming job at a cafe after six years.  In her effort to find something else quickly, she ends up being hired on as a companion for a young quadriplegic man for six months.  While they get off to a rocky start, as their relationship grows and develops, it changes both of their lives in unexpected ways.

There was a time in my life when I expected happy endings.  Now, I place more value on a story that is true, that is real, that is honest, regardless of the ultimate outcome.  When a happy ending is the outcome, I'm rarely saddened, don't get me wrong, but I also know that that isn't always the way of the world. You'll have to read this one to see into which category it ultimately falls - and I can assure you, it will keep you guessing until the final pages.

Happy reading!

Over the Rainbow Bridge

My 18 year old cat, Ramona, went over the Rainbow Bridge on Thursday evening.  She had been failing for a long time;  every day was a struggle for her.  It was time.  But none of that makes it any easier.

I've always loved animals and Ramona was my first real pet as a "grown up".  I remember going with a coworker to pick a kitten from her friend's cat's litter and just falling in love.  That night, my friend Liz came over and we laid on my living room rug playing with this little black and white ball of fur, trying to pick the perfect name for her.  We decided it should be literary...and ended up with Ramona of Beezus and Ramona fame.  It suit her perfectly.  

As a little kitten, she'd take a flying leap and hang from my patio screen.  She'd run around my small apartment at full speed, up and over furniture, onto the windowsills and around again.  In her quieter moments, she'd lay on my chest and purr her little heart out.  She would always lick my hand when I pet her and when I didn't wake up in a timely fashion, she'd tap me on the cheek with her paw.  She loved her mama and her mama loved her.

She was with me the majority of my adult life.  She saw boyfriends and friends come and go, and the addition of two other kittens to our home.  She moved with me four times, the most recent to our current home five and  a half hours away from everything we had ever known.  I worried so much about moving the other two but not Ramona.  I knew she would just settle in for the ride, content in knowing that I would take good care of her. And I did as I tried my best to her whole life.  As she got older, we struggled through years of twice daily insulin injections (which I never thought I'd be able to do but I had to) and then twice daily medication for thyroid problems.  There were a few times when I thought I'd lose her but she always fought through.  She was a trooper, through and through, until the very end.  

To say I am sad would be an understatement.  It's so hard to say goodbye.  I posted the pictures above on Facebook on Thursday evening and one comment stood out to me:  it simply said, "I'm sorry you lost your friend."  That's it in a nutshell.   

You are missed, sweet girl.  I love you. And I'll see you on the other side.

Why I Don't Give Anything Up for Lent

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent in the liturgical calendar.  Lent is a 40 day period leading up to Easter that, in my estimation, was designed by the church to help prepare people's hearts and spirits for Easter.  It is a time of reflection on the sacrifice of Jesus and a study of the last days of his ministry on earth.

Growing up in a non-churchgoing home, this was all a very foreign concept to me.  As a resident of a very Pennsylvania Dutch area, I understood the concept of Fat Tuesday and the beauty of the fasnacht.

Source:  http://dailycaller.com/2012/02/21/happy-fasnacht-day/

I knew that this time kicked off something called Lent and that many of my friends would be giving things up for a 40 day period...things like watching their favorite TV show, soda, chocolate, candy and various other things.  I also knew that some friends couldn't eat meat on Fridays throughout Lent.  But all of that wrapped up on Good Friday (which I couldn't for the life of me figure out why it was called that when Jesus died that day...but that's a post for about 38 days from now!) and then we'd all get a visit from the Easter bunny and eat lots of candy and have a big dinner with our families.

When I started attending a non-denominational church in my late 20s, Lent was still a bit of a foreign concept.  We focused our attention Sundays on studying Jesus' last days and often were given supplemental readings to do throughout the period. Some larger local non-denoms offered a Good Friday service, so I'd sometimes attend.  While I came to understand the fasting or giving up component of Lent a bit better, I didn't feel like that was the right way for me to approach it.  While I understand that giving up something I love, like chocolate, is difficult, I couldn't get it to align with a true sacrifice in my mind.

That said, I still wanted to do something that would reflect the solemnity of the time period and allow me to focus on something other than my usual selfish self.  In doing some reading and talking with respected friends who share my faith, I decided that adding something rather than taking away something would be a good way for me to center myself during the 40 days of Lent.  This year will be no different.  As in the past, I've chosen to exercise each of the 40 days.  To some, this may not seem like a big deal, nor may it seem to fit with the Lenten plans of others.  But for me, this is a challenge for many reasons.  I am too easily able to justify not making my own healthy and well-being a priority.  I fall prey too often to taking care of others and other things before myself.  And frankly, I don't LIKE exercise. I'd much rather lie on the couch eating bon bons (whatever those are but they sound wildly delicious.  And chocolaty.)  And so my focus becomes about focus.  It becomes about sacrificing that which might not be the best for me to something better.  It becomes about respecting the body that I was given and remembering that it is entrusted to me for this time.  It becomes about something more than simple exercise, and gives me yet another small reason to stop and give thanks for all that has been given to me.

Why Can't Every Day Be a Snow Day?

The term "snow day" took on a whole different meaning when I was a kid.  For the most part, it meant fun, friends, sledding, snowman building and hot chocolate.  It might mean daytime tv and reading, too.

I had my third snow day of this season today and it meant work.  What a bummer that realization was and always is.  Being a "grown up" stinks sometimes!  On the bright side, between today and a few hours I was in the office on Saturday in anticipation of today's wintry mix, I'm in a much better place workload-wise than I'd be otherwise.  The laundry is done and I had time to make a real breakfast and a healthy lunch for myself.  And I guess there is something to be said for that.  I'd much rather have been relaxing and/or having fun, don't get me wrong - but the peace I'm feeling right now is worth it...and I have the whole evening ahead of me to do whatever I'd like.

It's days like this that I wonder why it's so hard to incorporate some of my "snow day" into my every day.  I'm not as busy here as I was in my previous life (by any stretch) but I still find myself rushed a lot of time, with tasks piling up and threatening to overwhelm me.  I try to jam errands and cleaning and the like into the weekend, along with any fun I try to mandate for my life and sometimes it is just...a lot.

Yet the bottom line is this:  we all get the same 24 hours in a day, nothing more and nothing less - snow day or not.  It matters what we do with it, how we use it, and sometimes even more importantly, how we don't. What if, instead of running around crazily all weekend, I tried to spread my errands out throughout the week?  What if instead of doing marathon laundry on a Sunday night when I should instead be preparing for the week ahead, I did a load of wash every night?  What if I turned off the tv and did a quick "swish & swipe" (thank you, Flylady!) in the kitchen on a Monday night after HIMYM?  What if I pledged to myself that I would make breakfast a sacred time, at least a few days a week?  Or decided that 9 PM was the witching hour for electronics each night?

What if, what if.  It's all a balancing act, to see what works and what doesn't but as with anything - isn't it worth a try?  

About Skiing the Moguls

Let me preface this by saying, I don't ski. I've never skied.  I frankly don't do much that could inflict bodily harm or injury on myself through my own volition.  It's just one of those little rules I try to stick to in life and so far, it's served me pretty well.

But I am an avid Olympic watcher so that, naturally, makes me an expert on all things winter-sports related. And I'm fascinated by any event that includes moguls.  While I get that it adds to the complexity, I can't imagine wanting to excel in a sport that is all about obstacles.  I'm sure, however, that the feeling of accomplishment is great.

I've been quiet here lately because I've been dealing with some moguls of my own.  I keep hoping for a straight, smooth ride where I can enjoy the scenery going by and feel the wind in my hair...but I've been twisting, turning, dodging, and crashing instead.

One way or another, though, I'll get down the mountain.  

About Going to Bed with Jimmy Fallon (and a Smile)

Jimmy Fallon took over the reins of The Tonight Show last night.  At first, I was sure I would not be able to stay up and watch because I hadn't slept the night before but hooray for a second night of insomnia!

I have an unreasonable love for Jimmy Fallon.  I think he is a hoot and I love the creativity and fun he brings to whatever he does.  But last night I was reminded that I also appreciate the man that he seems to be.  The show opened with him genuinely thanking those who came before him, those who journeyed with him, and those who stood by him today.  It wasn't a sappy outpouring but seemed to reflect his gratitude for all that he has been blessed with and his knowledge that he hadn't gotten to this place, this show, this pinnacle of television success, without the support of so many people.

And then he made a promise to work hard every day to ensure that when you watch The Tonight Show, you go to bed with a smile on your face.

That really struck me and I so appreciate the sentiment.  How many nights do you climb into bed and replay the events of the day on an endless loop?  And how many days is that loop full of the things that went wrong, the situations you wished you'd handled differently, the words you wish you'd said or wished you could take back?  How many nights does the ever-growing to do list swirl in your mind, along with your inner critic trying to convince you that there is not enough time, there aren't enough resource, that YOU aren't enough?

But what if you didn't let that happen?  What if you wrote out your to do list and got it out of your head?  And what if you told your inner critic to quit it and you turned off the endless loop playing in your head?  What if, instead, you simply thought of this quote I love from Ralph Waldo Emerson, watched a little bit of The Tonight Show, and went to bed with a smile?

Source:  www.electricfairground.com

 
What if?

Pain Makes You Beautiful?

Back in my college radio days, there was a band called The Judybats that my friends and I loved.  Every time they came to town, we were there - partly because we loved them and probably partly because I fancied the bass player, just a little bit. One of their songs was called, "Pain Makes You Beautiful".

This song has been playing in my head for the last couple weeks.  I've mentioned before that I deal with chronic pain issues but quite honestly, I don't let that define who I am.  Most the time, I can manage the pain and very few are the wiser as to what I am dealing with.  But for some reason, February usually wreaks havoc with my body and this year seems to be no exception.

And so that song is on a constantly loop in my brain.  But here's the thing.  Pain doesn't make you beautiful.

Pain makes you cranky - that irritating relative who overstays her welcome with whom subtle hints to take a hike don't work.  It can make you feel less and left behind, when you can't do everything your friends' are doing or when you need to cancel plans to take care of yourself.  (Side note:  real friends who love you?  They get it.)

It makes you reevaluate your day. It makes you tentative.  What can I do? What shouldn't I do?  What will lessen it?  What will increase it?  If I walk over there, I might slip on the ice.  But if I go over there, I have to walk through the snow and fall.

Pain makes you exhausted.  Your sleep is obviously impacted but there is another, often overlooked and misunderstood component. Interestingly, people with chronic pain conditions often don't present with the same symptoms another might in the doctor's office:  high blood pressure, increased pulse rate, etc.  Instead, because pain is a consistent state, the body works exceptionally hard to maintain stasis.  I can't tell you how often I've gone to the doctor for a pain issue and she's been amazed by my blood pressure (which can also make them think you are drug seeking but that is an entirely different story.)  Mustering the energy to get through the day can be a challenge.  Quite honestly, all I have wanted to do lately is eat fattening foods and laze around (and for the most part, that's been my default.)

The list of what pain does to you physically, psychologically, emotionally, and even spiritually can go on and on.  But from my perspective, there is more than one way to look at pain:

It can make you creative.  Activities you take for granted when your pain is managed need workarounds when it's not and, for some tasks, you need to be very creative and find what works without significantly increasing pain.  It makes you try things you've never tried before - for me, that's been vitamins and supplements, and different types of exercise.  I've got a million tricks in my arsenal these days.

Pain, especially chronic pain, can make you empathetic.  When someone tells me their back went out or they hurt themselves some other way, I understand in a way others might not.  And I can readily share my resources and workarounds.  I can share my experience and my thoughts on pain. Everyone's situation is different but I like to hope that my experience and attitude can impact others positively.

But most of all, it can make you strong.  It can make you resilient.  I believe that each day you get through, fighting an invisible foe that no one else sees (and that some don't believe exists), is a good day - proving that you are more than your diagnosis, that you are so much more than your pain.


*And before you jump down my throat:  Yes, I realize that there are different kinds of pain.  I get that everyone is different.  I understand that everyone experiences pain differently and has different ways of coping; my intent is not to minimize that for anyone but instead to present my story and hope that serves as encouragement for someone who is struggling today.  

About Birthdays

It's my birthday.  I'll leave it up to you to guess which one - careful!

Birthdays are a big deal to me.

It's the one day that is uniquely yours, a celebration of you being on this earth.  It's a running joke with my friends that I really prefer to celebrate my birth MONTH (truer words were never written) but it's all part of that.  I haven't had the joy of some other landmark celebrations that others have:  wedding festivities, anniversaries, housewarmings, those sorts of things that cause folks to rally around and shower you with gifts, cake, fun and frivolity...so I hold my birthday sacred.

Some of the gals I grew up with and our hunky waiter...fun at its finest!

Admittedly, my high expectations haven't always panned out.  Usually, the best laid plans are thwarted by the snow that inevitably falls in February in the northeast portion of our great nation.  (Seriously, INEVITABLY. For my 40th, I even pushed plans back until March...and it snowed.  In March. At the beach.)

We fought through it and strolled the boardwalk and basked in the sun on the deck 

in the cold anyway, because that's how we roll.

 

This year, my dearest friend is stubbornly holding the winter weather at bay long enough for me to get to her for the weekend.  And I simply can't wait.

Time with those you love who love you right back is a balm for the tired, world-weary soul.

About Dropping the Ball

I've been crazy busy at work lately.  I had some hard deadlines and felt like monkey wrenches were thrown in at every turn to seriously derail my progress.  My biggest fear throughout, however, was dropping the ball on another project.

Today, I found out where it dropped.

I knew it would.  Sometimes it is inevitable, you know?  When I started catching up on the things that had to be set aside while I was putting out fires, I realized a deadline was missed.

My first reaction was honestly to freak out.  I felt a pit in my stomach.  My jaw clenched and my thoughts started racing.

How many times has something gone wrong - either within or out of your control - that set you into a downward spiral?  Even a minor error can easily be the first step to letting your inner critic remind you of ALL the other ways you've "messed up" in the recent past...or, best yet, the not so recent past. You know - that time four years ago when  you forgot to cancel a subscription to something and ended up paying full price for it.  Or six years ago, when you didn't respond in time and got shut out of a conference you were required to attend for work.  Before you know it, a litany of mistakes and personal struggles are brought to the forefront of your mind in living color.  Suddenly, that molehill becomes a mountain.  Fortunately, there's an inner sherpa in every one of us who knows the way down.

I took a deep breath and started to work through some important questions that can really be applied to many similar situations:

What can I do to fix this?  I couldn't unmiss the deadline but I could still submit the document and hope it would still be accepted.  Next, I made a plan of how to approach and help those impacted if it's not.

Is the world going to come to an end?  No.  (Some might act like it will but really? No.)

Will this matter in three months?  Six months?  A year?  No, no, and certainly not (except that I'll be sure not to miss it a second time.)

I could spend the rest of my day, my week, agonizing over the fact that I made an error.  Or I can move on and deal with the next thing on my list.  Guess which one I'm choosing?

Be Still & Know

For some people, relaxing & renewing comes in the form of a day at the spa, being pampered.  I enjoy a good massage, a mani/pedi, etc. just as much as the next gal but the relaxation always feels short-lived - as soon as I'm back in the routine of "real" life, it goes away far too quickly.

After taking on what can be a rather depleting volunteer gig in addition to endeavoring to change some things in my life, I've been tasked with focusing more on boundaries and self-care.

These are NOT things that come naturally to me, not by a long shot.

I'm coming to realize that that is in part because I've taken on a caretaker role in many of my relationships throughout my life.  I'm always the planner, the helper, the clean up crew (literally and figuratively).  I've always abided by the "rule" that if you make a commitment, you stand by it unless you are literally sick in bed or trapped under something heavy.

This hasn't always served me well.

In fact, it has led me to a lot of frustration, exhaustion, irritability, and sometimes just downright distress.  It's just not healthy but old patterns are hard to break...yet they can be broken through time, self-awareness, and focus.  Lots and lots of it, I'm guessing, because I am still a long way away.

When I was first asked what I do to take care of myself, my honest answer was,"Um, I don't know.  I like to read.  Hang out with my pets?  Keep my house clean?"  I truly and honestly didn't have a clue.  And I'm pretty sure many of you are in the same boat.  We keep on keeping on, doing what needs to be done, and flop down in front of the tv or fall into bed exhausted at the end of a long list of to dos for the day.  We make cupcakes for the bake sale, we stuff goodie bags for the party, we serve in the nursery on Sunday morning, we remember to check on a friend who had a doctor's appointment, we take the cat to the vet.  All good things.  Yet what in that list is for us?  What helps us relax and renew?  What helps keep us firmly planted and engaged in life with those we love instead of teetering on the edge?

It's more than just healthy eating and exercise.  It's taking time for yourself when you need it.  Even if it is five minutes to breathe and regroup.  Or pray.  Or stretch, take a walk, move yourself physically out of the space and state in which you've found yourself.  Or to create in whatever way best suits you - cooking, writing, crafting, experimenting, coloring.

But sometimes all you can do is simply be still and observe the beauty in the world around you.  Even in the midst of a terribly stressful day, you can find one thing of beauty, one positive thought to take with you.  I try to surround myself with such things, especially at work where stress reigns supreme.  Here's a glimpse around my office:

There is beauty, to me, in each of these things...in the memory, in the color, in brightness when a day or a situation feels dark...and they help me to remember to take a breath and start again.  

About Being Different

IIf there is one thing that has been reinforced to me time and time again during this season of change in my life, it's this:

I am different.

Look, it's not a shocking revelation to me or anything.  I was the tallest girl in my class throughout elementary school (by a lot).  I grew up in a trailer court.  I wore a back brace from the time I was 11 until I was 15, when I had back surgery that made me TWO INCHES taller.  (Thank heavens everyone else was catching up by then!)

I like Nascar.

Honestly, the list could go on and on.  I learned early on how to adapt, react, and respond to make myself seem less different, less "other".  I'm sure there are friends reading this post and wondering how they never knew these few things and I can tell you: it's hard work.  But I became really, really good at it.

When I first started going to church in my late 20s, there was a Bible verse that hit home hard:

Do not conform to the pattern of the world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  (Romans 12:2)

Around that time, I started serving in my church's youth group.  And I realized very quickly that kids can spot a phony from a mile away.  Slowly but surely, I started to come into myself and learned to be more willing to speak my mind and from my heart.  I started to value authenticity above almost everything else in my relationships.  And I realized that there were things I really, deeply, truly cared about in the world, things where I felt I could make a difference, no matter how small.  And that there were a whole lot of things that the majority of other folks seemed to be angry about or get worked up about that didn't make a lick of difference to me - especially those things I don't have the power or, better stated, the inclination to take on. I wholeheartedly believe that we have the power to be the change we want to see in the world but that it takes intention and small steps, steps taken in love and compassion for others.  Sometimes it's a process of figuring out what those steps should or could be; sometimes it's moving forward one step, to take two back.  But it's action and that is where change comes from.

This viewpoint colors my opinions.  It fuels my debates. And it can really piss people off when they don't get it, they feel attacked (rarely my intention) or they are simply looking for a sounding board for complaints without action. Frankly, it's hard to live out "being different" a lot of the time.  It pervades my relationships, my workplace, my interactions with new and old friends.

Funny thing about that, though:  I've begun to realize that all the ways I am different from other people aren't bad - they just are.  They've made me who I am today and they are shaping who I'll be tomorrow.  And from my vantage point, that's not so bad.

About Discomfort

I was struck this week by the reaction of many to last Sunday’s episode of Downton Abbey (SPOILER ALERT!)  One of my favorite characters, Anna, Lady Mary’s maid was attacked and raped the valet of a guest at Downton.  While decidedly not graphic in nature, it was clear what had occurred and it was simply devastating.  I was so sad that this happened to such a good and pure character and that she decided to bear the burden virtually alone made it even moreso.

Many of my friends reacted similarly but some were more outraged and promised to swear off the show entirely.  To each his or her own, of course.  Yes, it was devastating. Yes, it was heartbreakingly sad.  It was wildly uncomfortable for us to witness.  And I think that is the issue, more than anything else.  

It’s been a rough week of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole for me.  And frankly, I don’t care for weeks like that. Who does? They make me want to step back from the stressors, throw my hands up, and say, “Forget it. I’m done.” Wouldn’t that be grand?  To just walk away from that which bugs us, challenges us, confronts us; that which causes us pain and discomfort?  It’s possible, of course, but certainly not easy and often not the right course, either.  

Because not everything that causes us discomfort is bad.

One of my goals for this year is to improve my overall health and wellness.  I’m part of an online group and each week, the moderator posts a challenge:  drink more water, get more sleep, stretch...this week was eliminate something from your diet, such as sugar.  

I was aghast.  

Ok, honestly, I’ve been working to cut down on my sugar intake for a bit now, so it didn’t really send me into THAT much of a tailspin.  But the thought of not being able to have my favorite comfort foods (chocolate, ice cream, more chocolate) made me very uncomfortable. Enter a craptastic week on many fronts and my discomfort is elevated to an extreme.  (I’m not proud;  at least I’m honest.)  But I’m making it through, with only 2.5 more days to go.

Similarly, as part of the same goal, I’ve been trying some new classes and workouts at the gym.  Last week, it was Sweating to the Oldies - which, for those who are familiar with the old Richard Simmons version - this ain’t your old Sweating to the Oldies!  Circuit training, push ups, jump rope, the whole nine.  

I am decidedly out of shape.  Plus, I have a rod in my spine. Exercise was simply something I tried to get out of in school (and often succeeded);  I’ve never been one to “workout” with any kind of regularity until I trained for the 4 Miler in town last summer.  Since then, I’ve been a bit off the exercise wagon again for various reasons but I wanted to try it and tried my best.  There were several parts where I was terribly uncomfortable and just felt like a complete doofus.  I can’t even jump rope, y’all.  Who can’t JUMP ROPE?  But I pushed through my mental and physical discomfort and made it through the class.  

This week, I took a yoga class. I’ve tried yoga before because every single soul on the earth seems to think it is the magic bean I need to shed my Tin Man-ness and increase my flexibility.  It was a 60 minute class.  The ENTIRE FIRST 40 MINUTES, I was writing Facebook statuses in my head about how much I loathed yoga, that it wasn’t for me, about how being the Tin Man probably wasn’t that bad...I mean, he got a heart in the end and that’s pretty good stuff.  

The last 20 minutes wasn’t too bad.  I got past all the thoughts in my head about how it hurt and I couldn’t do this and I couldn’t do that and I just did what I could.  I didn’t do any of it well, that’s for sure.  And I probably did a lot of it wrong.  And some of it still hurt.  But I stuck with it and got through it and the instructor praised me for doing so, which went a long way...I may even try it again.

Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of instances where I do just throw up my hands and walk away rather than deal with something uncomfortable.  I’ve got a neighbor upstairs bouncing a basketball in the living room every night.  Seriously.  And as far as I’ve gotten in dealing with it is complaining on Facebook about it and CONSIDERING scenarios in which I would go up there and tell them to knock it off.

But many of the times when I push through something I don’t want to do or I’m scared to do?  The times when I feel so awkward and out of place and out of sync that I feel physically uncomfortable but I keep on going?  

Pure gold.

What's Your Inside Out Contact Lens?

I spent four hours today with an inside out contact in my eye.

Sometimes when that happens, I know right away.  I'm able to take it out and flip it around before I even leave the bathroom.  Other times, I realize it before I leave the house and rectify it.

But today was a bit different.  Something felt a little off.  It was a little bit scratchy.  It was kind of irritating but I was in a hurry to get to work for a busy day ahead.  Throughout the day, it got more bothersome but I WAS BUSY.  My eye grew a little red.  The irritation grew and grew but I DIDN'T HAVE TIME to stop and go to the ladies room, saline solution in hand, to flip the doggone thing around.

As I dashed to my next meeting, I jokingly posted on Facebook, "My contact has been inside out all day but I'm too busy and probably lazy to flip it."  The response was instant:

"I couldn't stand it!"
"I could never do that.  It hurts!"
"How can you stand it?"

It DID hurt.  How COULD I stand it?

I was busy;  I had back-to-back meetings all morning and folks breathing down my neck for things they wished I'd done yesterday.  And I hate having to hike down the hall with my saline and try not to infect my eye with any of the ick that resides in a public restroom.

It was easier to suffer than make a change.

Isn't that always the way?  We struggle, we suffer, we abide with the pain because we feel like that's easier, safer, less frightening than taking action.  

What's your inside out contact lens?  I can promise you you've got one - we all do.  Is it your finances? Your weight?  Lack of sleep?  Dealing with that person at work?  Or in your neighborhood or apartment complex?  Addressing that ongoing issue with a friend or family member?  Your job?  Or lack of one?  Maybe it's a medical test or doctor's visit you've been putting off.  Maybe it's stepping out in faith on a dream you've had for a while but you've been too afraid to move.

All of a sudden, I simply couldn't take it anymore.  I ran back to my office between meetings, grabbed the saline and took care of the issue. Relief was immediate...and I wondered what had taken me so long.

About Excuses

I am the queen of justification.

You want an excuse not to workout?  I’m your girl.  I can even convince you to go get ice cream with me instead.

You want to buy that top but it’s not really in the budget?  I’ll tell you the 87 places you can wear it (especially to work because who DOESN’T need new clothes for work?!?)

You want to go to Five Guys when you specifically have told me 65 times in the past week that you are on a strict diet?  Of course we should have Five Guys.  If we don’t, your body will think you’ve lost your head and all this hard work will go down the drain.  It’s good to treat yourself now and again.

You don’t want to meet up with a friend who is bugging you?  I can tell you the nicest way to skirt the truth and bail.  

I am a master at my craft.

But my art of justifying things for others (and often myself), also swings in a different direction:  I can make excuses for people and their bad behavior, thoughtlessness, and even idiocy until the cows come home. (How is that a thing, by the way?  Where are these cows?  What are they doing?  The only cows I ever see are hanging out, eating grass and exerting very little energy otherwise.  But I digress.)  It’s true that I’m a people pleaser through and through and that’s something I’ve been working on.  Part of my personality, or so says Myers-Briggs, is to desire harmony in all situations.  So even when my feelings are hurt, I will excuse away:

“I know she is struggling right now, so it’s ok that she didn’t respond.”

“He’s really busy with work and the kids and stuff, so it’s ok that I didn’t hear from him during the holidays.”

“He’s a terrible planner;  even though it’s the last minute, I’ll just rearrange things so I can make it.”

“She’s being really snippy; I must have done something. How can I fix this?”

“I’m a planner so it's just natural that I organize things all the time.”

I excuse, I forgive, I rearrange, I arrange, I bend.  

But you know what?  I’m tired.

The past year has been hard on me.  And hard on my relationships.  But what I’ve been reminded is that the best relationships are a give and take, not just a give...or perhaps rather, not just a take...and take...and take.  Friendships, by their very nature, are meant to be a two-way street - and isn’t that how we balance one another?  A friendship, to me, means being there for one another during the ups and downs, through the crazy rotten times and the celebrations...not simply when it is convenient or easy or fun.  Relationships are messy.  And sometimes difficult.  They take time;  they take effort.  But doesn’t everything that’s truly worth it in life? And I guess that’s what’s up to each of one of us to decide: who and what is truly worth it.