25 years. My husband and I have been married 25 years today! I don’t know how we got here. I mean, I do but I don’t.
In our newlywed years, we never doubted our “together foreverness.” We were young and in love. We couldn’t imagine anything derailing that. We were a love-at-first-sight couple and our wedding was one fun party. So, we just figured we were one of those couples with a bullet-proof marriage. But, as our marriage grew in age, we began to witness the separations and subsequent divorces of friends. A few of them were not surprises – to them or us. However, more often than not one of the two spouses was completely blindsided by the split. You’ve heard it, too. Cue a random Tuesday in July. She comes home from work like she always does, tells him that she isn’t happy, that she hasn’t been happy in years and that she is leaving. They had just spent the weekend together having dinner with friends, doing yard work, watching a movie. Everything seemed fine. She seemed fine. He is completely blindsided. And this is a terrible situation because the spouse that has been unhappy for years has been molding this moment in her mind for a long time. She is prepared. But for the spouse that is blindsided, this is devastating. He’s had no preparation, no chance to see it coming and now he’s desperate to work on saving his marriage and she’s already long gone – literally and figuratively. How’s that going to work in marriage counseling? It isn’t and it doesn’t.
As these marriages were falling like cards around us, Matt and I would continue to be shocked by the couples that were dissolving. We started to look at each other and acknowledge “If it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us.” I’m not talking infidelity, lawlessness, drug use, or some other “well, obviously” marriage dagger. Many of these couples were so like us. I understand that we can never really know what goes on behind closed doors, but several couples were as similar to us as I could ever imagine. So, yes, if it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us. Scary.
So, how did we get so lucky to be here together, 25 years later? The truth is, I don’t know! Seriously, I don’t have an answer. But, as I replayed those 25 years in my head, I kept returning to something that Matt and I have been practicing since we realized that divorce doesn’t discriminate. We check in with each other. It goes like this:
Hey, we’re good, right? We’re still good? Remember, we always say that if we are not good, we will say it and we will start the work to fix it. So, look me in the eye and tell me how you are.
This is not on a schedule. It doesn’t happen every Sunday at 4. It just happens every few weeks or months. If there’s been another heartbreak on a marriage train, then it’s going to happen more often because that’s scary. If life is flowing like a river, then it’s going to happen less often because that’s bliss. We just check in with each other. And we’ve been doing it ever since our first friend was blindsided.
Does this bulletproof our marriage? Nope. But, do you know what it does do? It allows us to live in a tiny fraction of uncertainty, comfortably. Marriage is uncertain. It might only be a very tiny bit of uncertainty, but it’s uncertain. And this is because no matter what vows we take, words we say, or acts we do for the other, we can never, ever be 100% certain that our marriage will last until death. We can’t. And the reason we can’t is that we can never know for certain what is actually happening inside of our spouse’s heart and mind. So no matter how much my husband does for me, says to me, or showers onto me, there will always be a small space of uncertainty because I can’t be in his mind and know his thoughts. It is in this space of uncertainty that I have to trust in us. I have to trust that his actions and words are true. Marriage is uncertain but uncertainty doesn’t have to equate to doubt.
We are currently raising teenagers. This has been our marriage’s greatest test and is the hardest thing we’ve ever done. By this point, we have been on our knees countless times. We have even been flat on the floor. And when there is as serious of an issue as a teen’s life at stake and the two of us are at odds as to the right plan of action, fissures form quickly in the marriage. We have had some terrifying marriage moments in the last five years. Checking in has been crucial. Because when one of us spoke these words “I’m actually not okay. We are not okay right now” for the very first time, we both cried a river. It was so, so painful. We had never answered the “Hey, we’re good, right?” question that way before. We were already struggling at parenting and now, one of us had pointed out that the marriage was in a brutal hailstorm. We almost didn’t know what to do. I think we looked at each other and said “Does this mean it’s over? Did we not make it??” I can laugh about it now, but we truly weren’t sure of the next steps or what it meant for our future.
Marriage is some hard, hard work. You have to check its pulse every so often. Give it some oxygen, or a nap, or a vacation. I think that’s how we got to these 25 years. We started asking “how are we doing?” and we learned to not fear the answers, however painful they might be.
Happy 25th Anniversary to my husband, Matt, who really does make my life sparkle like the sunshine. May we never be afraid to ask, and answer, the hard questions.
“Look me in the eye and tell me how you are.”
Have you seen “The ‘Burbs”? It is hands-down the best “neighbor” movie ever made. I first saw it in the mid-90s and at that time, I just loved it because it was hilarious. It wasn’t until decades later in life that I came to realize how much truth was embedded in that movie. This post is for the neighbors out there that have forged some of the deepest friendships known to man simply because they weren’t afraid to get to know their neighbors.
Here’s the first thing to know about neighbors. You don’t get to pick them. Yes, when you house shop you scope out the neighbors as best you can. You make judgments based on the appearance of the yards, the number of cars parked on the street, how well the house is kept up. You might judge their outside lighting – is it loud, white, and fluorescent or is it soothing, soft, and yellow (I might be biased)? You might try to gawk at their bumper stickers – how many stick figures, dogs, cats? But, this is not really knowing them. Not at all. You don’t really get to know them until after you’ve moved in. And by that point, you own the house. Nope. You don’t get to pick your neighbors.
Here’s the second thing to know about neighbors. Embedded in the very essence of “you don’t get to pick them”, a neighborhood is by default a menagerie of people. The neighbors have varying personalities, ages, quirks, careers, lifestyles, religions, and opinions. The chances are super high that you would not have matched with many of them as friends if you were doing a Match.com for friendship. This can be daunting when you move into a new ‘hood. We tend to make friends with people who most align with us. So, when we first move to a new ‘hood, we make brief introductions and small talk and we assess who amongst them is most like us. Then we decide who we want to get to know better. And that’s where a lot of neighborhoods begin and end – stick with what you know. Gravitate to those most like you and leave it at that. Well, I’ve come to realize that friendships with neighbors can go much deeper than that.
Three years ago, it was a Sunday evening and we had only been living in our new house for about two months. Suddenly, Matt went missing from the garage. When I last checked on him, he had been doing some work in his garage brewery. Ten minutes later, he was gone. If you know Matt, this is not urgent so I just went about my business.
Within half an hour of his disappearance, our doorbell rang. I’m an introvert – I don’t answer the phone or the door or the kiosk salespeople at the mall and I also don’t actively search for a missing extroverted husband unless at least two hours have gone by. Whoever it was would not go away so I reluctantly answered it. There were two of my new neighbors at the door, whom I had never met, telling me that they had my husband next door. They said “It’s nice to meet you! Come over to meet our spouses and have drinks and food!” I was horrified and probably a little annoyed. It was Sunday night. I don’t do things on Sunday nights. It’s practically Monday on Sunday night. Preparations need to be made and some routines need to be followed. However, these two ladies I had never met would not take no for an answer. So, I begrudgingly went. I’ll spare you the details, but who knew you could have fun on a Sunday night!? They taught me that.
Fast-forward three years and our gang have grown six couples deep. We are, in many ways, as different as night and day. These neighbors have taught me what it truly means to be a part of a diverse community. Last week I paused to consider what the common thread is that binds us together. Is it that we live on the same street? No. That’s just how we first met. We have grown so close because we respect each other and all of the ways we are different. We are kind to each other. And that is our common thread.
Here is how different we are. We have golfers, cricket-players, gardeners, socialites, introverts, early birds and sleeper-inners. We have neat garages, messy garages and everything in between. Some of us have a lot of kids and some of us have one. Some of our kids are bookish and whip-smart and responsible and some of them tend more toward the social, funny, wild side. Some of us have too many cars (LOL) and some of us have only one for the whole family. Guess what? We don’t care about any of that!
Of the 12 of us, we are Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, and Christian. My neighbors bring us gifts on Christmas and wish us a Happy Easter. In turn, we support them through Ramadan and celebrate their New Years’ and their festivals. Some of us don’t eat certain meats, some of us can’t eat gluten. Some of us can’t handle spice and some of us buy Thai chiles by the pound. Some of us drink, some don’t. Some of us take breaks from drinking and we diet and exercise and go through phases. We have it all here on Briargrove Way and diversity doesn’t scare us. Here’s the bottom line: We care about each other and we are never rude to one another. We never make fun of each other for our diets, preferences, opinions, and idiosyncrasies, no matter how different they may be from the next. We started with a basic level of respect and that was our foundation for building an amazing neighborhood posse.
And here is why this matters. Mostly, the past three years have been rainbows and unicorns on Briargrove Way. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations. We celebrate chess victories, gymnastics medals, business successes, May Day, and the addition of a new hot tub. We celebrate green grass and Costco treasures. But, because statistics are a thing and life doesn’t stay the same forever, I know that many of our families will face some sort of hardship or tragedy or sadness in some coming season. So far, we’ve only faced hunting for the lost cat or dog (found!) or the sudden need for cooking ingredients or the craziness of quarantine. But I know a hardship is always a possibility and I also know that when that happens, they will have my back and I will have theirs. It’s a beautiful thing.
None of us gets left out in our ‘hood. For any reason. Would my posse of neighbors go help Ray dig up that dead body in the Klopek’s basement? Hell yes, we would! Why? Because after three short years with these people, we would do just about anything for each other. And how did we get here? Because we started off by respecting each other and all of the ways we are different. I love these neighbors. They have my heart and have taught me so much more about diversity in community than I ever thought possible. I owe them so much more than I will ever be able to give back to them. I’m one lucky girl that my friends kidnapped my husband and rang my doorbell three short years ago!
Last weekend, my youngest and I spent two big, fat, glorious days together. The other people that live here were occupied in various ways so we went wherever the day carried us. Saturday was a gorgeous day – 65 and sunny. We did some work in the backyard. We weeded and trimmed. He hammered some wayward deck boards. We ran the dog in crazy circles. Then, we climbed into my husband’s truck, rolled down the windows and sunroof, and set off to Boulder. He was in charge of the music. We sang, tapping the steering wheel and the armrest to every beat. We discussed the song lyrics, the state of the nation, the state of the world, the state of our minds. We hiked. We shopped. We ate. We laughed. We let Saturday circulate all around us and it was good.
Yesterday was Saturday, again. I texted my son “Hey, Trader Joe’s, Costco, Dick’s…Come with?” An hour later, we’re cruising around town again, playing more tunes, carrying on more conversation. We bought all the unnecessary things at Trader Joe’s, commented to each other on the inordinate amount of people who seemed to be in a hurry at Costco (we decided those people would be better served if they shopped on a Tuesday evening) and, let Saturday settle all around us once again. On the way home, Journey’s “Who’s Crying Now?” came on Sirius and we really cranked it. It was so good.
At one point, I asked him if it bothered him that I sang along to the music. He said “No. You don’t really sing loud or anything.” And then he went on to say, and I’m paraphrasing, that he enjoys hanging out with me, he enjoys listening to music with me, he enjoys having conversations with me, and that he likes having fun with me. Did you hear that?? He said I was a cool mom, even if he didn’t say that exactly. The rest of yesterday, I was strutting in my coolness. I was like “I’m that mom. I have his ear and his heart. I am so smart and so wise and I know how to parent. All you have to do is drive with the windows down and listen to Journey, people!”
This morning, I was alone with my thoughts, sipping coffee in the quiet house. A nagging thought started coursing through me and it wouldn’t leave. I sat with it for a while. Then, I went and found that 14-year old, youngest son and said “Do you remember yesterday when you said you enjoy being around me? That I’m a good mom to hang out with, that you’re glad we like many of the same things? Well, I want you to know that you won’t always feel that way. In the next few years, you are going to like things that I don’t. You are going to have opinions opposite of mine and feelings that are contrary to mine. You are going to do this because part of growing up is cleaving away from your parents – both literally and figuratively. In order to grow up, you’re going to seek out things that your parents don’t like and you’re going to do this all ON PURPOSE. You’re going to become contrary and it’s going to cause some friction between us. You’re going to find a way to be different than us. I know that doesn’t seem possible right now, but it will take place. So, right now while I have your ear, I want to tell you that this will be completely normal. And all I ask is that, when you are going through this growing-up necessity of life, you pause often enough and listen to your soul guide you on what is wrong and what is right. When that time comes, you won’t want my compass but you can use your own – it will be reliable and you will be ready. And, finally, while I still have your ear, if you want to rebel in something, don’t pick music. I like just about every kind of musical style there is and I will keep up.”
I so wish these thoughts of mine would have appeared in my conscience when I was younger. I wish I would have said these same things to my oldest, who is now 19. How much easier would entry into adulthood have been for him if he’d been warned about what to expect and reassured that it was normal? If he’d been told that he had a fine compass and that we couldn’t wait for him to use it, all by himself? Hindsight is always so crystal-clear. For some reason, our eldest children are parented more from a place of fear than from a place of assurance. Fear is the “emotion experienced in the presence or threat of danger” whereas, assurance is “a state of mind in which one is free from doubt.” (Merriam-Webster) By design, we become better parents through age, experience, trials, errors, misjudgments, good judgments, and sometimes, total and complete flub-ups. As we become more seasoned parents, we become more assured and less fearful. The good thing is, it’s never too late. We can always roll the windows down, play some music and ride around with our kids as sidekicks. We can keep connecting with them in whatever way they will let us. And that is truly a good thing.
Do you know how many blogs and essays and opinions are out there for us to soak up? I’ve never googled it. But, I know it’s a lot. There are so many, that there are no words or ideas or phrases that I will pen here today that will be necessarily new. So, why do those of us who like to throw our ideas onto paper keep doing it, if it’s not really laying down anything that hasn’t already been said before? Because in the same way that many give big, giant hugs as a means of support, I give words. I do like hugs. Human touch (especially now) is golden. But, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always recorded my deepest emotions in words. And then I give them to other people. Like a hug.
I’m sitting here on a Sunday afternoon and the window is open because it’s 62 degrees with a barely noticeable breeze. I hear a bird. I hear a dog. I hear the bouncing basketball and the dad and the son shooting it around on the driveway. I hear the unattended tv in our family room – also hoops. I hear an airplane. And because we had an unbelievable tragedy in our state last Monday, as I pause and listen to my surroundings, my mind takes me back 7 days to last Sunday. The day before that tragedy. Did any of those 10 souls, whose lives on Earth were cut short without their permission, hear any of these same things last Sunday? It was cooler that day, maybe the windows weren’t open. Dogs surely barked and birds sang, though. Families played ball. People flew in airplanes. Same as today. Just seven days ago.
My mind wonders what sounds each of them noticed last Sunday. Of all the sounds that competed for brain space, which ones sped VIP to the frontal lobe, beating out all of the other riff-raff sounds that didn’t matter? There are a lot of sounds that come into our ears every minute. We don’t pay attention to them all. We can’t. Filtering is vital to our survival. The world would be a cacophony from birth to death without it. The possibilities of what each of those 10 heard and noticed on that Sunday before that tragedy is endless. As I listen to the dad, the son, the basketball, the dog, the bird, the airplane, I find myself hoping that whatever it was they each heard and processed, noticed, and felt on that day was full of meaning, emotion, reverence, and love. That they heard the most important things for him or her on that day, at that moment.
How do we move forward in light of a horrible tragedy? How do we fix what’s broken? How do we heal people who hurt? And how do we heal people who might hurt other people? How do we heal them before they hurt people? Fractured families, workplaces, schools, nations? How do we help people to visit stores, attend movies, drive down the highway, get on airplanes, and go to school without a fear that tomorrow might not look like today?
The truth is, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. But, you know how a loved one will jump in to hug you as tight as a vise when the sadness in your heart threatens to overtake you? I know you know what I’m talking about. There are people we encounter in our lives that can literally hug the hurt out of us – if only just for a few seconds. But, there is power in that few seconds. Those seconds allow you time to catch a needed breath and get some clarity. Clarity not to forget what brought you the hurt in the first place, but to know how to move forward when the hug is over and in a way that doesn’t destroy you in the process.
In that same vein, I offer my words. They are my hug to you. And in the same way that a hug can’t directly make you feel at ease getting on the airplane or walking through the shopping mall or ducking in to buy those eggs, that hug gives you so much power. You have power. We have power. We have a beautiful world full of birds and basketballs and people who hug us so tight we see stars. Is it fragile? Of course, it is. Why do you think we see stars and only stars for a quick second when somebody hugs us that tightly?!? Because life is fragile. Fragility is okay. The world doesn’t require us to be tough and unbreakable. It only requires that we care more than we fear. That is how we help each other. Give and get all the hugs this week. They don’t always come physically, especially in Covid.
XOXO
It’s Sunday. We need fuel for the week ahead. Let’s arm ourselves.
The Four Stages of Creativity
Stage 1: The Problem
Last Thursday, I was told that something that was supposed to be approved/done/operating by this point in time, was now going to take another few months. I was counting on this particular thing to come through. It has the potential to grow my business more quickly and get us into a more stable position. Less worry=happy owner. But, it’s just not going to happen right now. It’s almost completely out of my control, aside from writing a few letters to my state representatives. The Calvary is not coming. They’re busy. It is time to pivot (I am really hating this word).
When I am delivered a dagger such as this, the feelings are overwhelming. Me, talking to me: What am I going to do??? I was really counting on that coming through and it would have made such a difference. Think. Think. You’ve got to come up with something different. Why does this have to be so hard? There’s got to be another answer, another option, another way to do this. Think. Think. You’ve got to keep fighting, keep clawing, keep climbing. Think. Think. You’re smart. You’ve done this before. You just have to find the right answer. Think. Think. Think! Why aren’t the answers coming??
All the time I’m having this conversation inside my head, I’m still going through the motions of the day because the day doesn’t stop. I can’t just sit and stare at the wall. People need me to do what I do, no matter the banter inside my skull. So I carry around this urgent, scary matter. It’s not productive, but I carry it because it’s urgent and scary and somebody has got to fix this problem. It’s like a ball and chain around the ankle. I can move all about, I’m not shackled in place, but the damn thing is stuck to me and it goes everywhere I go and it’s ugly and heavy. Stage 1. The Problem.
Stage 2: LaLa Land
At some point, my brain becomes tired of carrying this mental anguish around and decides that there has got to be a break. I cut off the ball and chain. I tell it “I know you’re not going away. You’re going to be back here Monday morning. That’s fine. But I need to not think about you right now. I need a break. I need to feel normal and believe that everything is fine.” Then, I spend time doing things that make me feel like there is zero problem. Time with friends, family, a book, a tv show. Something that takes my mind away to a better place. Stage 2. LaLa Land.
Stage 3: The Creative Process
LaLa Land typically lasts 12-24 hours. You can’t disengage for much longer than that or there will be even bigger problems than the original problem. Gradually, I start to come back into the mainstream. I take control of some things that can actually be controlled like my schedule, my environment, my thoughts. Grab anything that can be controlled and corral it. For me, it was a cleaning frenzy.
In the midst of my cleaning, I let my problem edge back into the forefront. Lenny Kravitz, who is just the best there is, was singing to me through all my chores. Creative ways to approach my crisis began to randomly pop into my head. The thoughts were jumbled at first. But, I just kept doing what I was doing – controlling what I can control, in this case, cleaning the bedroom – and just letting the thoughts flow. I was feeling more optimistic and more in control. As ideas were taking on a more concrete form, Lenny belted out “Go get all that you’re after.” Hmmm.
Go get all that you’re after. Inspiration and energy were creeping in. I was starting to see new ways of looking at my problem. And there was Lenny telling me what to do. I grabbed my husband and we went to lunch. We spent two hours hashing through the ideas that were forming and devising plans for carrying them out. I was operating on all of the cylinders and I felt so in control. It was a great day and the world was deliriously full of promise because I now had a laundry list of solutions. I was ready to fix everything. Stage 3. The Creative Process.
Then, I woke up the next day…
Stage 4: The Creative Process Hangover
This is where you have to be really, really aware. You will wake up the next day and you will question everything you told yourself the day before at the height of your creative inspiration. You will doubt every one of your ideas. You will look them over and think “These might be good ideas, but it’s going to take too much energy to carry them out. I’m not bold enough or brave enough or skilled enough. I don’t know enough. I’m not the right person. I need to slow down a minute and think about this. This might get UNCOMFORTABLE.” Stage 4. The Creative Process Hangover.
Listen up. NO, YOU DON’T NEED TO SLOW DOWN. DO NOT SLOW DOWN. Do you remember how energetic, how alive, and how inspired you were yesterday when you were in the midst of all those ideas? Remember how good it felt to crack open novel solutions that you knew were the right answer for YOU? THAT is who you are! That is YOU! You are NOT the timid, questioning, cautious, scared person that you think you are. You are brave, bold, and daring and your soul knows it. That’s why it gave you all of that content in Stage 3. That’s why your heart beat the most perfect rhythm, your smile hogged all the facial real estate and your energy was infectious to all who were around you in that creative element. That’s your best you. It just is.
I don’t know why we can’t live in Stage 3 all of the time, but we don’t get to ask those questions. As near as I can tell, this is the process. Maybe the desperation of an “unsolvable” problem followed by the subsequent LaLa Land escape have to happen first so we can enter this creative nirvana? Problems are not solved when we stick too close to the problem. We have to get off the highway and roam around for a while. Find something else to do. Go bury ourselves in something we CAN control. Pretty soon, the answers will come. When they start to take shape, we have to relish the feeling of empowerment, courage, optimism, and energy. We have to ride that wave for as long as we can. We have to squeeze as many ideas as we can out of that moment. Let it go on for as long as it must! Document, document, document. Journal, Tik-Tok, paper napkin, sketches – put those ideas any and everywhere, but put them down! We will need the evidence tomorrow, I promise you. Stage 4 has never NOT appeared on the heels of Stage 3. I hate her.
You must expect the creative process hangover. It’s real. Every time I go through one of these really intense dreaming/planning sessions where the ideas and possibilities explode, I have to beware the next day. I wake up and I doubt all those great ideas. I get caught up in the logistics. I get stuck in the “Yes, but…” and I disbelieve that I am the one that has the authority to carry out these dreams of mine. It’s good to ask some questions, but please don’t doubt what your soul told you in those really fruitful moments. The reason you felt so alive and so proud and so full of enthusiasm was that these solutions were true for you. You gifted them to you! They are genuine – use them!
As I get older, I realize the importance of documenting everything I come up with when I am in Stage 3. Every idea, no matter how wild. We need that hard evidence. We lose our memories as we get older and we won’t remember every one of the great ideas. Only figments. And figments aren’t enough to fend off Stage 4. When Stage 4 comes around you need to gather all of your evidence, your hard-fought ideas, your sketches, your videos, your notes and shove them right into Stage 4’s eyeballs. Fight back. Don’t believe the negativity that Stage 4 feeds you. It is not true. It is not you. You have to go get all that you’re after. You wrote all the good stuff down in notes to yourself, yesterday. That is the truth. Reference it as often as needed. 💪👊
Have a glorious week, ladies. Go get all that you’re after! XOXO
Hi! Long time, no see! Sorry about that. 😬
When I started this blog, I made a deal with myself – that the blog was a HOBBY and that the writing must be enjoyable and never forced. So, I just haven’t felt the passion to write over the past month. If I don’t feel it, the words don’t appear on the screen. It’s just how it is. I hope you have a hobby where you do the same. Hobbies should never be forced. Take a moment (seriously) and make sure that your truest, most beloved hobbies are present when you need them and not required when you don’t. Okay, let’s move on.
How are you doing at this mid-point of February??? This time of year is always a mixed bag. Maybe you are crushing some of your beginning-of-the-year goals and maybe some of the other goals had to be hurled out the back door, reimagined, or rewritten. February always brings a reckoning of sorts. We have to decide which things we are going to “stick to” and carry right on into springtime and which things we are D.O.N.E. with. Hence, this little write-up. I don’t know what you need right now because mid-February is a motley for all of us as we sort these things out. So I have for you some words of advice, some food ideas (both healthy and not, because we are all in a different space in time) and some cool stuff I’ve found. It’s a menagerie of things and maybe you need one of them!
First things first. The advice of the day is to keep showing up. Whatever it is you’re grappling with, keep showing up. During the big quarantine that began last March, I started a daily Bible reading practice using the Bible in One Year app. Before last March, I had never really shown up daily to read the Bible. I had a few microbursts through the years, but I had never been this faithful to the practice for such a consistent time. I am now 9/10 of the way through reading the entire Bible. I’ve never done that before.
And now this is where you think I’m going to say “And wow! This consistency has changed my life!”
Well, I’m not going to tell you that. The first 6 weeks of 2021 have been HARD. Much harder than I thought they would be when we flipped the calendar over on January 1. I’ve had increasing stresses, worries, and issues that keep appearing and I thought for sure we were going to turn a corner. Multiple times I have mumbled to God “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, God, what is THE DEAL? I need to see the plan. I don’t think you have the right plan…”
The other morning I came downstairs, made the coffee, grabbed the Bible and opened the app. Just like I always do. And I distinctly remember thinking “Why do I keep doing this? I’ve been doing this for almost a whole year. Daily, I’ve been showing up and poring over His word. I’ve never been this devoted to this practice before and yet, nothing magical seems to be happening. Things seem messier than ever. I’m running out of ideas. I thought this would bring me closer to God and make my path in life clearer and instead it feels like I am stuck on pause.”
But, I opened the reading for that day anyway and I sat down and did what I’ve been doing every morning for the past eleven months. Why??? Because in my soul I feel this practice is important and valuable. Even if nothing results that I can tangibly grasp at that moment. Even if nothing results that I can tangibly grasp, ever! This advice is not about whether you should read the Bible or pray or meditate. We’re not getting into religion here. This is about showing up for whatever you believe is important FOR YOU. So, whatever it is that YOU KNOW IN YOUR SOUL to be so important that you just have to keep doing it, keep showing up for that. Even if you can’t see the reward. Because that is the foundation of HOPE. And where there is HOPE there is always another day, another opportunity, another way.
Now. Onto more whimsical, but equally important things. Let’s talk food.
Do you need easy ways to feed your kids? Yourself? Do you need healthy? Do you need yummy? Here are several ideas I’ve relied on through the years that have yet to fail.
Okay, enough about food. Now, here are a few other things that I love.
So there you go. A menagerie of things, depending on where you are and what you need. February can be a bear. I’m cheering for you. I will see you soon. XOXO
New Year’s Day is THE best holiday of the year (hold tight, I’ll explain). This year I am absolutely gaga over the fact that so many other people believe this to be true, also! 2020 made short work of that. I didn’t even have to campaign. There isn’t a soul around that isn’t counting down the seconds to 2021. And it makes sense – dumpster fires are interesting for a bit but who wants to perpetually watch one for months on end?
Why not make New Year’s Day your new favorite holiday! You see, New Year’s Day is a zero-obligation holiday. No gifts. No big family gatherings. No travel. No musts. It literally is a holiday whose only reason for existence is that the number designating the year changed. That’s it.
You don’t have to answer the door and hand out candy. You don’t have to have a bunch of people in your house. You don’t have to buy a bunch of gifts, make a bunch of food, spend a bunch of money, light a bunch of fireworks, or string lights and decorations around the entire front yard. You don’t have to DO anything but you CAN IF YOU WANT TO. That is the beauty of this day (except for the “bunch of people in your house” – please not this year).
New Year’s Day, as the zero-obligation holiday, is the day when you get to do whatever you want. You want to sleep until noon, eat nachos, and watch football? There you go! You want to get up, start your new exercise routine, meditate, and set your goals? Do it! Do you want to make animal pancakes with the kids, go for an afternoon walk, be in bed by 8 p.m.? It’s all yours! You want to take down every piece of holiday decor, clean every inch of your house, and put your feet up with a glass of wine? Be my guest. Do you want to work on a puzzle? Bake a cake? Meal prep? Boom. All the other holidays boss you around with their fancy to-do lists. New Year’s Day is a holiday just waiting for YOU to tell it what to do.
But, here’s the bigger reason why I love New Year’s Day. I am a hopeful person. Behind every crap day is the hope of a better day tomorrow. Behind every crap year is the hope of a better year. New Year’s Day has always been this day-long pause in which I take a deep breath, square up the dreams in my head, and rev the engine for what’s to come. Some years I am up early and making resolutions. Other years I am sleeping the day away and eating whatever sounds good (like last year…because my neighbors had an NYE party and they throw the best parties 🎉😁). Who knows what tomorrow will bring?? I will just wake up to that great pause of a holiday and see where it takes me.
New Year’s Eve puts a period on the past. Bye-bye, 2020. Sayonara. It’s been real – maybe a little too real. And now we are leaving it in the dust.
New Year’s Day is the pause. Do as much or as little as you want. It is your recess. Your intermission. It is your space between what went down last year and what fantastic adventures await you in the new year. It’s recess and you get to spend your recess however you want. No obligations.
And then, on January 2nd, you start 2021 like this:
“2021: _________________________________________
After the colon, you start listing all the ways you’re going to have a glorious 2021. List as many or as few as you want. The colon is made to handle an endless list or a brief one. I’m sure there are grammar police who would argue, but do we care? No. The list is all about hope for the future and we cannot bog it down with rules.
See? It’s the best holiday. Go enjoy your day doing whatever it is you want to do. And then? Go explode into 2021 with ferocity, a loving spirit, and a giant grin on your face. The period won’t reappear until December 31st, 2021.
I once heard a man give this advice: When I come home at the end of the day, I visualize myself hanging up the work day’s stresses on a tree outside my door. I know I can pick them up the next morning on my way out. This way, I can come inside to my family and be present, knowing I left my worries outside.
I liked the concept, so I tried to practice this. The way he described it, I pictured him walking up his curved brick sidewalk, draping the problems on his Japanese Maple and then breezing through his red front door. Carefree, of course, because he left his problems on the maple! Duh!
I hit a few snags while trying to make this work, First, this guy assumes a distinct transition between work and home. Before Japanese maple, work. After Japanese maple, home. Line drawn. Done!
My drive home is more like this:
Text one son about haircut while walking to the car; think about first patient tomorrow; ask myself why my car keeps making that clunky noise when I start it; add paper towels to the grocery list; outline email to dental equipment rep in my head; stare at the Christmas decorations while I’m idling at the light; think about how we should gussy up the office for the holidays and that we should play Christmas music over the next week; make mental note to find non-annoying 8-hour Christmas playlist by tomorrow morning; wonder about the decisions I made today; wonder what decisions I’ll have to make tomorrow; think about whether I should ride the bike, play with the dog, make dinner, order dinner or even what IS for dinner? Ladies, even our thoughts multi-task.
So, that’s the first problem. That guy’s line between work and home is a tree that greets him every evening like clockwork. Same place, every day. The line between my work and my home is a hurricane spaghetti model at best. And if it’s a spaghetti model, when/where am I supposed to hang the day’s worries?
The second problem is, I enter my house through my garage (I actually park in the driveway, not the garage, but that’s another story). We do have a tree out there by the driveway, but it’s an ugly pear tree and I don’t really like it. It seems ill-suited for this task. As I walk through the garage there are PLENTY of places I could hang my next-day-worries, not unlike many of your garages I’m sure. But, once I fling my problems into that garage, good luck finding them again! Those problems will disappear into the garage abyss just like my favorite folding chair, the basketball airer-upper, 27 flashlights, 18 Phillips-head screwdrivers and my cute little mini shovel that I have needed and can never find every single May since 2002.
What to do? Where am I going to hang these worries for at least a few hours or days at a time?
I recently started my own business. Last week was slow, which generates stress, anxiety, and a general sense of impending doom. You know how it is: “This isn’t going to work and we’re going to lose everything and live under a bridge!” (Because thoughts like this are super-helpful and productive. That’s exactly why we have them. Duh.) I worked throughout the week tweaking marketing plans, changing my outreach approach, reviewing my advertising and social media outlets. Pretty soon it was Friday afternoon. By that point, the people I needed to market to were long gone, out of their offices and home with their families. I needed to leave it for Monday and go home to my family. But that stupid voice kept prattling away about losing everything and living under the bridge, making my head hurt and my stomach upset. My body felt so heavy. I knew it was time to go home and do the weekend but I was trying to figure out how to do the weekend with this anxiety in the background.
Then I had a thought (thank you, good part of my brain, where have you been anyway?). I walked into the house and told my husband “I’ll be with you very soon. I need about 15 minutes to put some things on paper and prepare for Monday so that my weekend is all about being here, with all of you, and not about work or the bridge we might have to move to.” I grabbed one of my favorite journal books, poured a glass of wine, slapped on the noise-canceling headphones, and began to write. I made a list of 10 things I would do on Monday that would work to move my business forward. Some tasks were small, some were larger, some were scary. Also, I added this to the list: Every time I have a negative/anxious/worried thought this weekend I will immediately refocus back to the present moment and what I have to be thankful for right now. Even if it’s as simple as my dinner plate or the fact that I have fingers and toes.
Guess what? It helped! It wasn’t perfect. My anxious part of my brain is frequently running ahead of the rest of the pack so the thoughts would slam in out of nowhere and interrupt a perfectly fine moment. But I got better at refocusing on being thankful for whatever I could find – one time it was an avocado. I had a good weekend and Monday morning, I picked up the plan and I went to work.
This list gave me permission to relax and spend time with my family knowing that I had a plan for those worries come Monday. It’s not as idyllic as a Japanese Maple along a curved path to the door, but the wine helps! I think I’ll do the same this afternoon. Maybe it will even become a Friday afternoon ritual.
We have to learn to put our thoughts down every once in a while and pick them up later. Our brains do their best work during these breaks and often give us the solutions we are seeking. You need peace this weekend. Find an avenue for that in any way you can because you need a break. Monday will be here soon enough and the list of tasks will be waiting for us and we will be ready to take them on, even if we have to go bridge-shopping! Xoxo
That voice in our head goes all day long, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s positive. Sometimes it’s negative. Sometimes it’s contemplating what to cook for dinner or reminding you of the need to put gas in the car. Sometimes it’s making a long wish list for the future or telling you to be nervous about something coming up on the horizon. Sometimes it’s just content looking around, feeling the good vibes.
If you read up on the subject, there are actually two inner voices. I call one the outer inner voice. This is what they call the ego in the woo-woo world of books and podcasts. The outer inner voice hardly ever shuts up. It thinks its job is to protect you and to fight for you. It thinks it needs to constantly give you feedback because the world is a dangerous and scary place. It makes you question if you are good enough, stable enough, smart enough, able enough.
The other voice is the inner inner voice. This is the deep down who-you-are at your core. Call it what you want – a spirit, a source, a being, a soul, a light. This is a beautiful voice because it’s at peace, it’s comfortable, it’s vibrant. It doesn’t need to be anything else at that moment. It is very comfortable with what it already knows. It’s just you. Brilliant, beautiful you.
I think it’s hard for many people to hear the inner inner voice. I’ve been trying for a long time to listen more closely to that voice. I’ve done a lot of reading and listening to podcasts about this process and I started where they all told me to start – meditation, prayer, walks, nature.
We’ll start with meditation. I slapped on the noise-canceling headphones and tried varying degrees of meditation. Guided. Not guided. Sitting just right. Sitting in whatever way was comfortable. Inside. Outside. Sometimes at home, sometimes at the office. But nothing really happened. At least not yet. I’ll keep trying – I think it’s good for our minds and bodies. It just doesn’t seem like my real self wants to talk during this process.
So how about prayer? Back in March, when we started quarantine, I developed an early morning habit of reading a bible passage, praying, meditating on it, and journaling. I do it every morning now. It’s become a part of my routine and I miss it terribly if I skip it. I am a spiritual person and this helps connect me to my faith and grounds me in the right mindset as I start my day. But I wouldn’t say this is where I really hear my true inner voice. I read. I pray. And I wait to hear my spirit burst forth with amazing insights for the day ahead. But that hasn’t happened yet and it’s been 8 months now. Again, I’ll keep doing this because I believe it is helpful to me, but my inner inner voice isn’t talking much here either.
What about walking, being in nature? Love it. My mind does wander when I spend time outdoors and I get a lot of creative ideas and fresh perspectives. But it doesn’t feel like I’m hearing from the truest, most inner part of myself here either.
So, last night I was in my bathroom getting ready for bed. I took out my contacts, washed my face, and removed my makeup. This is my routine every single night. Then I climbed up onto the counter between the two sinks, sat criss-cross, and stared at myself closely in the mirror. This is also my routine every single night. I look at my complexion, my eyebrows, my lips, my chin. I check out the pores, the wrinkles, whatever needs to be inspected and I sometimes take the tweezers to whatever needs tweezing. So last night, as I was sitting there looking over my face like I do every night, I was pondering about what to write today. I knew I wanted to write about the inner voice, I just wasn’t quite sure where I was going to go with it.
And then, after I’d stared down the wrinkles, took care of the eyebrows, looked myself over from forehead to chin, I sat there and stared at my eyes. I was looking into them and thinking about how I sit here every night, for as long as I want just staring at myself, never really being critical of what I see. Sure, I adjust the eyebrows and fix a few things up, but it dawned on me that I never engage in negative self-talk while I’m sitting on this bathroom counter at the end of the day. I don’t wish for my complexion or my hair or my eyes to be different than they are. I just look them over and know they are exactly as they are supposed to be. While I do this, my mind will wander back through the day, turning over the events and looking at them from different perspectives. Then it will wander into what is to come tomorrow, looking that over from different angles. Then sometimes it wanders into my goals and dreams and ponders how to make them happen. It’s all kind of slow and non-deliberate and it just does this without my help because I’m busy looking at myself in the mirror. Honestly, I didn’t even realize this was happening in my life every night…
Until last night when I was sitting on that countertop thinking of how to blog about listening to my inner voice. I sat there staring at my green eyes from two inches away and boom – I realized that RIGHT HERE ON THIS COUNTERTOP is where I hear my innermost self loud and clear. Here’s why:
Apparently, my bathroom counter is where it all goes down. Who knew? I have been looking everywhere else but there. Maybe meditation or nature walks aren’t really it for you either. Or maybe they are! Maybe your thing is exercising or driving aimlessly in your car. Or cooking or making art. Or staring up at the clouds or watching the sunrise. Whatever it is, identify the space in your life where the ego is at a complete loss for words and you are 100% comfortable being you. THAT, my friends, is where you will find your innermost voice. And she’s perfect.
Olive: Grandpa, am I pretty?
Grandpa: You are the most beautiful girl in the world.
Olive: You’re just saying that.
Grandpa: No! I’m madly in love with you and it’s not because of your brains or your personality.
Have you seen Little Miss Sunshine (2006)? Olive Hoover stole my heart from the minute I met her. At 7 years old, Olive believes that if you want something bad enough and you work hard, practicing every day, you can achieve your dream. When do we stop believing this? Most assuredly, adulting kills the Olives of the world.
I first met Olive when I was 36 years old and I remember thinking “What a glorious personality! I wish I’d met her when I was a child! To feel free to create, perform, dive in head-first despite the fear! Who doesn’t love Olive!?” But, I soon left Olive behind because the very next day my 3rd son was born and, as they say, life took over again. I haven’t thought about Olive for years. Until today.
The purpose of this blog is to feed women funny stories, tidbits of energy, ideas to help us all push forward into another day. We might talk about things as big and terrifying as opening a business and as small and insignificant as eyebrows and socks. Maybe you’ll see things about coffee or wine, how to find balance, or how to find the car keys. We’re most definitely going to talk about how to stop beating ourselves up with our negative self-talk. We’ll just see where this journey takes us. And all blogs need a name and a personality so sweet, beautiful Olive popped right into my brain today!
This blog is written for women. Women who work, women who work at home, women who are raising kids, never had kids, who are married, divorced, single. Women who are having a good time or a rough time, women who just want to make the most of what time we have. Women who are trying to train a new puppy or raise the most challenging child. Women who have lost something precious, who are sick to death of social isolation, women who need a reason to smile right now. Women who wake up with energy, thinking “Today, I will…” and then subsequently hit the pillow that night thinking “Dammit, I fell short again…”
Here is what I am. I am a dentist. I recently opened my own business after working for others for years. I am married. I have three teenage sons. I am more introverted than extroverted. I love my small group of friends and I love my alone time (introvert, after all). I listen to all types of music, I read all kinds of books. I love to learn about new things and share the thoughts that pop into my head. I love words and I like to write. I’m awful in front of a camera and I think my voice sounds ridiculous when I hear it played back to me. Hence, a blog.
Here is what I’m not. I am not a business expert, parenting expert, financial expert. I’m not a gourmet chef, exercise aficionado, or fashionista. I don’t have connections or links to things that will make your life a million times better by Saturday. I don’t have all sorts of tricks, tips, or easier ways to do things. I barely know how to run Instagram. I’m not a crafter and my house will never be Pinterest-ready. I don’t think I really have very many answers. But, I do love a community of women who want to support each other and that is what I want to grow.
I’ve entertained the idea of a blog for a while now. Content would pop into my head, I would get that excited, butterfly feeling that it was interesting and worth sharing and I would resolve to get the blog up and running. And then a few hours later, the inspiration would fade into this:
Poof. The inspiration fluttered away into nothingness. This has happened at least 150 times in the past two years. But it just so happens that I picked up Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear and on page 90, she gave me a permission slip to write this blog:
“All of which is to say: You do not need a permission slip from the principal’s office to live a creative life. Or if you do worry that you need a permission slip — THERE, I just gave it to you. I just wrote it on the back of an old shopping list. Consider yourself fully accredited. Now go make something.”
So, here we go! I’ll post every couple of weeks (ish). I’ll share ideas and observations about all kinds of things. Business. Work. Family. Recipes. Funny things I see or hear. My only real agenda is to bring more of our internal Olives front and center. Welcome to Beautiful Olive!