Seven days from today, I leave to go to the windy city to run a half marathon.
I've been writing for days about how anxious, excited, hopeful and at times afraid that I am for the experience.
I'm trying to view it as an adventure and to relish in the moments.
So, as I'm visualizing me in Chicago, and particularly as I run my last 13-mile training run tomorrow...I plan to meditate on the following:
I am strong.
I am trained.
I am powerful.
I am at peace.
I am open.
I will be changed.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Why Can't Americans Enjoy Life?
I read an interesting article the other day sort of nailing the way that we as Americans live.
First, it sited that we're one of the most productive nations on earth.
We work more hours than most, take few vacations, and equate "face time" in the office with a strong sense of work ethic, dedication, commitment, and accomplishment.
Pragmatically though, when we finish our 40, 50, 60 hour work weeks or our 8, 10, 12 hour days, we're often too tired or just plain out of time to cook dinner. So, we grab something on the way home that usually resembles Jimmy Johns or Taco Bell.
Once the weekend hits, we have to "do" all of the things that we didn't get done during the week like the laundry, mowing the lawn, buying groceries (throwing out all of the produce that went unused during the week), and cleaning the house.
By the end of the day or the weekend, we just want to veg out. We don't have energy to engage in something. We want to be entertained. So, we watch garbage cable or movies and binge on crap food. Because, damn it, we've worked hard and we deserve it.
This phenomena or way of life is all our own. The Europeans don't subscribe to it. They may get into the office at 9am, take a siesta from 1-3pm, enjoy a leisurely dinner with family/friends over a bottle of wine, and sleep. And they take a long maternity leave and use their weeks of vacation. Not to say that they don't suffer from challenges like demanding client deadlines and shit that needs to get done around the flat. But, the culture as a whole doesn't promote the need to constantly be "doing" something.
So why do we struggle with enjoying our lives? Why do we equate working an insane number of hours to strength? When we look back, will we feel satisfied, content with our quality of life, and with the experiences we sacrificed to make sure that we were at our desks by 7am?
I'm not sure of the answer. I just know that there's an integral difference between doing and being and that all too often, we're far more productive in shorter stretches of time when we have time to spend with the ones and things we love.
First, it sited that we're one of the most productive nations on earth.
We work more hours than most, take few vacations, and equate "face time" in the office with a strong sense of work ethic, dedication, commitment, and accomplishment.
Pragmatically though, when we finish our 40, 50, 60 hour work weeks or our 8, 10, 12 hour days, we're often too tired or just plain out of time to cook dinner. So, we grab something on the way home that usually resembles Jimmy Johns or Taco Bell.
Once the weekend hits, we have to "do" all of the things that we didn't get done during the week like the laundry, mowing the lawn, buying groceries (throwing out all of the produce that went unused during the week), and cleaning the house.
By the end of the day or the weekend, we just want to veg out. We don't have energy to engage in something. We want to be entertained. So, we watch garbage cable or movies and binge on crap food. Because, damn it, we've worked hard and we deserve it.
This phenomena or way of life is all our own. The Europeans don't subscribe to it. They may get into the office at 9am, take a siesta from 1-3pm, enjoy a leisurely dinner with family/friends over a bottle of wine, and sleep. And they take a long maternity leave and use their weeks of vacation. Not to say that they don't suffer from challenges like demanding client deadlines and shit that needs to get done around the flat. But, the culture as a whole doesn't promote the need to constantly be "doing" something.
So why do we struggle with enjoying our lives? Why do we equate working an insane number of hours to strength? When we look back, will we feel satisfied, content with our quality of life, and with the experiences we sacrificed to make sure that we were at our desks by 7am?
I'm not sure of the answer. I just know that there's an integral difference between doing and being and that all too often, we're far more productive in shorter stretches of time when we have time to spend with the ones and things we love.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
To Work or Not to Work...Outside of My Home
All I can say is ugh.
I've been feeling a general malaise for the past few days.
Maybe it's the start of school for the big kids. Maybe it's anxiety over my upcoming half marathon race in Chicago. Maybe it's that I can't seem to motivate to cross anything off of my to-do list.
Or maybe, it's that I'm reassessing where I'm at, now that I've been an official stay-at-home mama for five years.
The truth is...I hate this damn conversation that I have with myself about every six months.
I should be making money.
I should get out of the house.
I should use my graduate school degree.
Should I work at Starbucks? Lord knows I could have paid the mortgage off by now with my daily trips.
Should I try to re-enter into the world of mediation and alternative dispute resolution? After mediating fights between little people day in and day out, I think I have some skin in the game.
Should I look for something full-time even though I still have a half day kindergartner and 20 month old toddler at home?
Should I try to grow my home based jewelry business and enjoy the tax write offs and flexible hours?
Or should I just put my head in the sand and keep staying focused on the kiddos and watching the pennies so that we don't have to overhaul our household until all three are in school?
Should I take up a crack habit or sell my body on the side?
My husband facetiously said that I could be a surrogate mother, to which I replied, I admire those women, but the idea of being pregnant makes me want to hurl. I'll eat macaroni and cheese for now.
I know I'm not alone in this dilemma that all women struggle with. The question always seems to be what's the best way to stay focused on the kids, make some money, enjoy some time away, utilize your skill sets, and feel a sense of balance?
Not sure that anyone has cornered the market on it. I guess we all just live with the trade offs.
I've been feeling a general malaise for the past few days.
Maybe it's the start of school for the big kids. Maybe it's anxiety over my upcoming half marathon race in Chicago. Maybe it's that I can't seem to motivate to cross anything off of my to-do list.
Or maybe, it's that I'm reassessing where I'm at, now that I've been an official stay-at-home mama for five years.
The truth is...I hate this damn conversation that I have with myself about every six months.
I should be making money.
I should get out of the house.
I should use my graduate school degree.
Should I work at Starbucks? Lord knows I could have paid the mortgage off by now with my daily trips.
Should I try to re-enter into the world of mediation and alternative dispute resolution? After mediating fights between little people day in and day out, I think I have some skin in the game.
Should I look for something full-time even though I still have a half day kindergartner and 20 month old toddler at home?
Should I try to grow my home based jewelry business and enjoy the tax write offs and flexible hours?
Or should I just put my head in the sand and keep staying focused on the kiddos and watching the pennies so that we don't have to overhaul our household until all three are in school?
Should I take up a crack habit or sell my body on the side?
My husband facetiously said that I could be a surrogate mother, to which I replied, I admire those women, but the idea of being pregnant makes me want to hurl. I'll eat macaroni and cheese for now.
I know I'm not alone in this dilemma that all women struggle with. The question always seems to be what's the best way to stay focused on the kids, make some money, enjoy some time away, utilize your skill sets, and feel a sense of balance?
Not sure that anyone has cornered the market on it. I guess we all just live with the trade offs.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Waiting on God...and a Bone Marrow Transplant
I was going to write about something different.
But I can't stop thinking about it.
My dad sent an email telling us that my 13-year old cousin who is suffering from Acute myeloid leukemia is not doing well.
Some of you may remember that I wrote a post about him back in the spring (see below).
Prayers Needed for My Cousin
At the time, we thought that he was a candidate for a bone marrow transplant and that the University of Nebraska Medical Center Lied Transplant Center would accept his case.
In the span of a few short months, his health became more fragile and so he is now in another state at a larger medical center fighting for a chance to receive a transplant...and each day brings a new twist to the roller coaster ride.
I called him last night. His birthday is Sunday. He's turning 14. He asked for the fifth Harry Potter book and told me that he's doing okay.
"I know that God has a plan and I'm okay with that."
Through tears, I told him that we missed him and that we wished that he wasn't so far away. I told him that he was courageous, an old soul, wise beyond his years, and that his faith was awe inspiring.
And now, I volley between anger and hope. Anger in a God that would take a child. And hope that he may be able to stay with us a little longer.
And a reminder that yet again, tomorrow is guaranteed to no one and that we must hold tight the ones we love.
But I can't stop thinking about it.
My dad sent an email telling us that my 13-year old cousin who is suffering from Acute myeloid leukemia is not doing well.
Some of you may remember that I wrote a post about him back in the spring (see below).
Prayers Needed for My Cousin
At the time, we thought that he was a candidate for a bone marrow transplant and that the University of Nebraska Medical Center Lied Transplant Center would accept his case.
In the span of a few short months, his health became more fragile and so he is now in another state at a larger medical center fighting for a chance to receive a transplant...and each day brings a new twist to the roller coaster ride.
I called him last night. His birthday is Sunday. He's turning 14. He asked for the fifth Harry Potter book and told me that he's doing okay.
"I know that God has a plan and I'm okay with that."
Through tears, I told him that we missed him and that we wished that he wasn't so far away. I told him that he was courageous, an old soul, wise beyond his years, and that his faith was awe inspiring.
And now, I volley between anger and hope. Anger in a God that would take a child. And hope that he may be able to stay with us a little longer.
And a reminder that yet again, tomorrow is guaranteed to no one and that we must hold tight the ones we love.
Monday, August 27, 2012
The Joy of the First Day of School
I was that kid.
You know the one who had her clothes laid out neatly the night before with matching shoes, socks, and hair barrette.
The one who always made sure all of the number two pencils were sharpened and that a good breakfast was had before heading out for the big day.
Meeting my teachers, touching my text books, finding my desk, and diving into the task at hand was glorious.
You never had to remind me to do my homework. I wouldn't let myself go outside and 'play' until every last bit of it was done.
I nagged my mom to leave our friends' houses early on nights before tests and took academics seriously, always.
And so, this morning over a hot breakfast, my second grader and kindergartner prepared for their first days of school. Sam (7) said, "Mama, how did you feel when you were a little kid on your first day?" To which I replied, "So, so, so excited!" And he said, "I feel a little sick in my stomach. I guess I'm nervous."
Insanely focused on making sure that we had enough time to take pictures at home and at school, I didn't pay much attention to his concern. But my husband did. He patiently talked to him about how normal it is to feel a little anxious about the unknown and that sooner rather than later, he would have everything down pat.
I sat back and watched. These are the first steps. The first moments of asserting independence and of letting go. These are the times for reassurance, but also for saying, it's okay, you can do it. These are the memories that we'll reflect back on and think, they're not so little anymore. They're finding their way in the world without us.
I'll leave in an hour to pick him up and with a semi-progress report in hand (my husband volunteered to help serve lunch today) feel somewhat assured that all went well. But even knowing that, I recognize that it's okay to be nervous, anxious, worried. The most important part is stepping out in faith, even when you are apprehensive...for both children and parents...especially, this mama.
You know the one who had her clothes laid out neatly the night before with matching shoes, socks, and hair barrette.
The one who always made sure all of the number two pencils were sharpened and that a good breakfast was had before heading out for the big day.
Meeting my teachers, touching my text books, finding my desk, and diving into the task at hand was glorious.
You never had to remind me to do my homework. I wouldn't let myself go outside and 'play' until every last bit of it was done.
I nagged my mom to leave our friends' houses early on nights before tests and took academics seriously, always.
And so, this morning over a hot breakfast, my second grader and kindergartner prepared for their first days of school. Sam (7) said, "Mama, how did you feel when you were a little kid on your first day?" To which I replied, "So, so, so excited!" And he said, "I feel a little sick in my stomach. I guess I'm nervous."
Insanely focused on making sure that we had enough time to take pictures at home and at school, I didn't pay much attention to his concern. But my husband did. He patiently talked to him about how normal it is to feel a little anxious about the unknown and that sooner rather than later, he would have everything down pat.
I sat back and watched. These are the first steps. The first moments of asserting independence and of letting go. These are the times for reassurance, but also for saying, it's okay, you can do it. These are the memories that we'll reflect back on and think, they're not so little anymore. They're finding their way in the world without us.
I'll leave in an hour to pick him up and with a semi-progress report in hand (my husband volunteered to help serve lunch today) feel somewhat assured that all went well. But even knowing that, I recognize that it's okay to be nervous, anxious, worried. The most important part is stepping out in faith, even when you are apprehensive...for both children and parents...especially, this mama.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
They Call Her Love
I've had love on the brain lately.
Mostly, because everywhere I turn, I see ugliness.
Political digs. Facebook commentary. Billboard signage. Commercials. Protests. Sidebar conversations.
So the other day, when I was driving, this song came on. It's an old one. You've probably heard it before. Not paid it any attention. That's cool.
But it grabbed me because the band Parachute personifies love as a woman...a person...an entity...someone who saves.
And the truth is, we're spending lots of time, energy, resources, and space hating on each other. I know it's not that simple. I know, in our minds, we find all kinds of justifications, rationalizations, and reasons for our behavior. We've got to create a better governmental system. We need to save our children's future. What about the environment? The machine is broken.
But at the end of the day, what I'm finding is less people engaged motivated by hope and more people apathetic to change of any kind. It's not true for everyone, but it's certainly palpable.
I told a friend the other day that I was sorry. Sorry for not being there for her. Sorry for the place that she'd found herself in. Sorry that our connection wasn't stronger. And I ended with, I love you.
They call her love, love, love. They call her love, love, love. She is all I need.
Mostly, because everywhere I turn, I see ugliness.
Political digs. Facebook commentary. Billboard signage. Commercials. Protests. Sidebar conversations.
So the other day, when I was driving, this song came on. It's an old one. You've probably heard it before. Not paid it any attention. That's cool.
But it grabbed me because the band Parachute personifies love as a woman...a person...an entity...someone who saves.
And the truth is, we're spending lots of time, energy, resources, and space hating on each other. I know it's not that simple. I know, in our minds, we find all kinds of justifications, rationalizations, and reasons for our behavior. We've got to create a better governmental system. We need to save our children's future. What about the environment? The machine is broken.
But at the end of the day, what I'm finding is less people engaged motivated by hope and more people apathetic to change of any kind. It's not true for everyone, but it's certainly palpable.
I told a friend the other day that I was sorry. Sorry for not being there for her. Sorry for the place that she'd found herself in. Sorry that our connection wasn't stronger. And I ended with, I love you.
They call her love, love, love. They call her love, love, love. She is all I need.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Just Listen to Me...I Love You
This morning, I ran 12 miles.
The evolution of the run was pretty typical. My first two miles are always the hardest. The music starts to pump, my feet hit the pavement, my breath is choppy, and I spend what seems to be an inordinate amount of time trying to find my groove.
I start to fuel and hydrate. I exhale and then it happens, I get lost. I know my training course so well that I could probably run it blindfolded and this morning it served me well.
I was able to really think and clear my head.
It's been a long week. An intense week with my husband out of town and all of the last minute summer festivities unfolding before school starts on Monday.
So, it was with a big smile on my face that I remembered Kate, my little girl getting ready to start Kindergarten. It was the night of her Open House and for some reason, I was distracted and not paying attention to her. All of a sudden, she grabbed the sides of my face and said, "Just listen to me, I love you."
It caught me completely off guard and captured all of me immediately.
With all of the hoopla and anxiety surrounding my trip to Chicago to run a half marathon race, I've been clinging to my faith. Praying that the logistics will take care of themselves. Hoping that the weather will hold out on race day. Trusting that my legs, heart, and spirit will get me through. Believing that I'll feel connected to the friends that I haven't seen in years. And feeling secure that the time, the energy, and the agony will have been worth it.
And strangely in those moments, I hear God saying, "Just listen to me, I love you." I'm with you...each step...each moment...each memory. This is a gift. Enjoy it.
The evolution of the run was pretty typical. My first two miles are always the hardest. The music starts to pump, my feet hit the pavement, my breath is choppy, and I spend what seems to be an inordinate amount of time trying to find my groove.
I start to fuel and hydrate. I exhale and then it happens, I get lost. I know my training course so well that I could probably run it blindfolded and this morning it served me well.
I was able to really think and clear my head.
It's been a long week. An intense week with my husband out of town and all of the last minute summer festivities unfolding before school starts on Monday.
So, it was with a big smile on my face that I remembered Kate, my little girl getting ready to start Kindergarten. It was the night of her Open House and for some reason, I was distracted and not paying attention to her. All of a sudden, she grabbed the sides of my face and said, "Just listen to me, I love you."
It caught me completely off guard and captured all of me immediately.
With all of the hoopla and anxiety surrounding my trip to Chicago to run a half marathon race, I've been clinging to my faith. Praying that the logistics will take care of themselves. Hoping that the weather will hold out on race day. Trusting that my legs, heart, and spirit will get me through. Believing that I'll feel connected to the friends that I haven't seen in years. And feeling secure that the time, the energy, and the agony will have been worth it.
And strangely in those moments, I hear God saying, "Just listen to me, I love you." I'm with you...each step...each moment...each memory. This is a gift. Enjoy it.
Friday, August 24, 2012
My Collection of Stories
I have to admit that one of the things I'm most looking forward to...traveling solo to Chicago to run a half marathon...is the collection of stories.
I'm not sure why, but for as long as I can remember, perfectly good strangers have always been willing and primed to tell me their tales.
Truly. It happens to me on planes, in the line at the grocery store, at dinner parties, while pumping gas and certainly in the usual suspect spots like at the kids' schools or on the playground.
But the truth is, I love it. And, I really can't help myself. I typically probe to learn more. Dip in and draw out the back story. Learn about the idiosyncrasies of the characters. Affirm where they're at in the process and often find a nugget of wisdom that I can take from the situation.
So the other day at the park when I was yelling at my two older kiddos to not ride so far on their bikes and trying to keep my toddler from launching off of play equipment, I was surprised.
A very sweet woman with a baby wrap around her front came walking up to me.
"You probably don't remember me. But we met last spring at another park when I was pregnant. You were so nice to me and told me that having three children was a huge gift and that it was going to be okay."
And then, I remembered her. She was the one with tears in her eyes scared about the future.
She gave me a big smile and said thanks for listening to me that day. You're right. It's hard, but I wouldn't trade it.
All of our lives are a collection of stories universally connected by themes of love, joy, pain, hurt, regret, and hope.
I'm thankful when I take the time to get to know another and realize that we're not so far apart in our journeys. Often, it only takes a few moments to appreciate that we're really not such strangers after all.
Stories are a beautiful thing.
I'm not sure why, but for as long as I can remember, perfectly good strangers have always been willing and primed to tell me their tales.
Truly. It happens to me on planes, in the line at the grocery store, at dinner parties, while pumping gas and certainly in the usual suspect spots like at the kids' schools or on the playground.
But the truth is, I love it. And, I really can't help myself. I typically probe to learn more. Dip in and draw out the back story. Learn about the idiosyncrasies of the characters. Affirm where they're at in the process and often find a nugget of wisdom that I can take from the situation.
So the other day at the park when I was yelling at my two older kiddos to not ride so far on their bikes and trying to keep my toddler from launching off of play equipment, I was surprised.
A very sweet woman with a baby wrap around her front came walking up to me.
"You probably don't remember me. But we met last spring at another park when I was pregnant. You were so nice to me and told me that having three children was a huge gift and that it was going to be okay."
And then, I remembered her. She was the one with tears in her eyes scared about the future.
She gave me a big smile and said thanks for listening to me that day. You're right. It's hard, but I wouldn't trade it.
All of our lives are a collection of stories universally connected by themes of love, joy, pain, hurt, regret, and hope.
I'm thankful when I take the time to get to know another and realize that we're not so far apart in our journeys. Often, it only takes a few moments to appreciate that we're really not such strangers after all.
Stories are a beautiful thing.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Is Everything Possible?
You'll never find anyone more hopeful than me.
I love inspirational quotes, sayings, anecdotal tales and in general, have always adopted a belief that with enough skin in the game, passion in the heart, smarts in the head, and support...anything and virtually everything is possible.
But this morning, I was exhausted. My husband had been out of town for three days and my routine was shook up. I hadn't been running in the early mornings and today was the first day back at it.
And I felt every step of five miles. At two miles, I was about to literally throw the towel in. My legs felt like lead. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. My mind felt like it was in a fog. And I was pissed. I've not had a bad run in a while. And, I 'm days away from a half marathon race.
So when I decided that I would have a triumphant snails pace run if it killed me, I started playing mind games. Just get to the next quarter mile. Just get to the end of this song and you can stop. Visualize yourself on Lake Shore Drive whipping past the crowd flying to cross the finish line. Imagine that you're carrying your children on your back through the desert and its the only way out.
I know...I was desperate.
But I guess in retrospect, it causes me to pause and remember that 99.9% of the time, it's all in our head. All of it. All the second guessing. All the game playing. All the fantasizing. All the fear, the dread, the worry, the why me's?
And when we decide to change the game and create our own rules of play, it can happen. It's harder than fuck. But it can happen.
And so today, I thank God and Eminem and my friend who showed up early to run as well. And, my belief that everything on any given day is possible.
I love inspirational quotes, sayings, anecdotal tales and in general, have always adopted a belief that with enough skin in the game, passion in the heart, smarts in the head, and support...anything and virtually everything is possible.
But this morning, I was exhausted. My husband had been out of town for three days and my routine was shook up. I hadn't been running in the early mornings and today was the first day back at it.
And I felt every step of five miles. At two miles, I was about to literally throw the towel in. My legs felt like lead. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. My mind felt like it was in a fog. And I was pissed. I've not had a bad run in a while. And, I 'm days away from a half marathon race.
So when I decided that I would have a triumphant snails pace run if it killed me, I started playing mind games. Just get to the next quarter mile. Just get to the end of this song and you can stop. Visualize yourself on Lake Shore Drive whipping past the crowd flying to cross the finish line. Imagine that you're carrying your children on your back through the desert and its the only way out.
I know...I was desperate.
But I guess in retrospect, it causes me to pause and remember that 99.9% of the time, it's all in our head. All of it. All the second guessing. All the game playing. All the fantasizing. All the fear, the dread, the worry, the why me's?
And when we decide to change the game and create our own rules of play, it can happen. It's harder than fuck. But it can happen.
And so today, I thank God and Eminem and my friend who showed up early to run as well. And, my belief that everything on any given day is possible.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
You're Lovely
When I was growing up, my maternal grandmother used to tell me,
"You're lovely."
It has stuck with me all of these years mostly because I'm a fanatic about the power of language.
Specific words hand picked to describe people, experiences, and emotions can give you the perfect window into the moment. And if it's really done right, can make you viscerally feel or taste the situation.
And so, I love the word lovely. It's not beautiful or pretty. It's not intelligent or smart. It's not precocious or coquettish. It's not charming or delightful. It's not pleasant or amiable.
But rather, it's a slice of all of those adjectives wrapped into one. And at it's linguistic core, it means that you're lovable. Something to be adored. Someone to wrap your arms around. An entity to be cherished.
And she is certainly someone that I feel blessed to have been loved by.
So, now, when I'm thinking about how to describe a person, I hearken back to "lovely" and I try to spend time contemplating..."If I could pick the perfect word (or as my friend called out the other day the perfect ten words) to describe you...just you and only you...what would I say?"
Lovely is just so lovely.
"You're lovely."
It has stuck with me all of these years mostly because I'm a fanatic about the power of language.
Specific words hand picked to describe people, experiences, and emotions can give you the perfect window into the moment. And if it's really done right, can make you viscerally feel or taste the situation.
And so, I love the word lovely. It's not beautiful or pretty. It's not intelligent or smart. It's not precocious or coquettish. It's not charming or delightful. It's not pleasant or amiable.
But rather, it's a slice of all of those adjectives wrapped into one. And at it's linguistic core, it means that you're lovable. Something to be adored. Someone to wrap your arms around. An entity to be cherished.
And she is certainly someone that I feel blessed to have been loved by.
So, now, when I'm thinking about how to describe a person, I hearken back to "lovely" and I try to spend time contemplating..."If I could pick the perfect word (or as my friend called out the other day the perfect ten words) to describe you...just you and only you...what would I say?"
Lovely is just so lovely.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Last Moments of Summer
By now, most school aged children have gone back to the classroom.
We're one of the last school communities to head back.
With five days left until school starts, we're cramming in everything...swimming, swinging/sliding at the park, bike riding, ice cream eating, garden tending, library going...and I have to say that it's sweet and painful in the same breath.
We purposely planned very few activities this summer. We wanted to fly by the seat of our pants and enjoy the moments. It was a gamble knowing that we could all go insane without much of a schedule.
But to our surprise, aside from the normal times of sibling rivalry, we all seemed to do more than fine.
Our oldest is headed into second grade and our middle one is going into kindergarten. And even the kindergarten program is a half-day (well, more like a three hour) experience. So, not super committal.
But my heart feels heavy trying to savor them, trying to remember these times.
And so today at the park, while they gathered sticks and pine cones to make a village in the sand, I watched them, took a mental picture and begged God to help me remember them just like this.
It was perfect for a brief moment...until Sam kicked Kate's castle down, Claire got sand in her eyes and the little boy playing along side them pooped himself and stunk up the joint.
Ah, summer is officially coming to an end.
We're one of the last school communities to head back.
With five days left until school starts, we're cramming in everything...swimming, swinging/sliding at the park, bike riding, ice cream eating, garden tending, library going...and I have to say that it's sweet and painful in the same breath.
We purposely planned very few activities this summer. We wanted to fly by the seat of our pants and enjoy the moments. It was a gamble knowing that we could all go insane without much of a schedule.
But to our surprise, aside from the normal times of sibling rivalry, we all seemed to do more than fine.
Our oldest is headed into second grade and our middle one is going into kindergarten. And even the kindergarten program is a half-day (well, more like a three hour) experience. So, not super committal.
But my heart feels heavy trying to savor them, trying to remember these times.
And so today at the park, while they gathered sticks and pine cones to make a village in the sand, I watched them, took a mental picture and begged God to help me remember them just like this.
It was perfect for a brief moment...until Sam kicked Kate's castle down, Claire got sand in her eyes and the little boy playing along side them pooped himself and stunk up the joint.
Ah, summer is officially coming to an end.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Equal Parts Passion and the Sacred
I'm re-reading Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love," mostly because I feel like a different woman coming at it today than I was four years ago when I first picked it up.
If you're not familiar with Gilbert's memoir, it's an account of the year that she spent in Italy, India, and Indonesia finding balance between her passion for the worldly, her investigation into the spiritual and the perfect blend she strikes between the two.
Since I studied briefly in Greece and Turkey in undergrad, I've dreamed (for what seems like an eternity) about living in Tuscany. Italy symbolizes indulging in the guiltiest and most beautiful of pleasures...food, wine, gondola riding under the moonlight and dancing in villas far into the hills.
Post undergraduate school and a really bad break up, I came face to face with my own personal relationship with God. Lost, abandoned, stranded in a life that didn't look like what I crafted on paper, I became intimately and forever gratefully acquainted with the sacred.
And since that time in my mid-twenties, I've always struggled with how to marry the two.
We are both human and divine. We desire the flesh, but we also are called to sacrifice our desires. We yearn to indulge, but we're also taught to repent.
Gilbert's forging of her own personal relationship with God and coming into the divine is beautiful for it gives the reader hope that faith is personal. And it isn't righteous. God knows us. He knows our desires. And He doesn't love us in spite of them. He loves us because of them. He made us.
Indulging in the worldly...the flesh, the food, the blood, the tears, the passion that is before us seems wholly natural. But recognizing that we're from the divine gives us room for grace, for forgiveness, for starting anew, for unconditional love.
Maybe someday, I'll find myself on the streets of Italy and if I do, I'll be saying a prayer of thanks.
If you're not familiar with Gilbert's memoir, it's an account of the year that she spent in Italy, India, and Indonesia finding balance between her passion for the worldly, her investigation into the spiritual and the perfect blend she strikes between the two.
Since I studied briefly in Greece and Turkey in undergrad, I've dreamed (for what seems like an eternity) about living in Tuscany. Italy symbolizes indulging in the guiltiest and most beautiful of pleasures...food, wine, gondola riding under the moonlight and dancing in villas far into the hills.
Post undergraduate school and a really bad break up, I came face to face with my own personal relationship with God. Lost, abandoned, stranded in a life that didn't look like what I crafted on paper, I became intimately and forever gratefully acquainted with the sacred.
And since that time in my mid-twenties, I've always struggled with how to marry the two.
We are both human and divine. We desire the flesh, but we also are called to sacrifice our desires. We yearn to indulge, but we're also taught to repent.
Gilbert's forging of her own personal relationship with God and coming into the divine is beautiful for it gives the reader hope that faith is personal. And it isn't righteous. God knows us. He knows our desires. And He doesn't love us in spite of them. He loves us because of them. He made us.
Indulging in the worldly...the flesh, the food, the blood, the tears, the passion that is before us seems wholly natural. But recognizing that we're from the divine gives us room for grace, for forgiveness, for starting anew, for unconditional love.
Maybe someday, I'll find myself on the streets of Italy and if I do, I'll be saying a prayer of thanks.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
You Can't Go Home
I'm 37 years old.
That age feels terribly old to some, primarily to my 7-year old son and my former high school students.
And it feels incredibly young to others like my mother and my elderly neighbor.
But something happens when you realize that you're caught between where you remember yourself to have been and where reality calls you to be today.
Let me clarify.
Sometimes, I think of myself as that girl who showers, puts a suit on, goes to work, talks to her besties about the boy who's never going to marry her and the latest reality TV show. I enjoy long hours on the phone with my girlfriends from undergrad. I paint my toes while watching bad Lifetime movies and listen to the moans and groans of my apartment neighbor getting her groove on. I go to happy hours. I date. I read. I learn to cook. And I pine for the days when I'll be a wife and mother. Oh, and I sleep a lot.
Fast forward to today. Let's begin with the given. I don't sleep. At least not until 10am on any morning of the week. I don't know where my business suits are. Anyone who talks to me on the phone has to get really comfortable with multiple interruptions from children begging for something. And, I don't know what time happy hour starts at. PS-did you know that they make good wine in a box nowadays? I cook a lot. And I pine for the days when I'll return to eating pints of Haagen Dazs while watching bad lifetime movies.
My mom once said to me, "You can't go home." Not literally. I know that she'd always take me in if I really needed a place to go. But metaphorically, you can't go back.
And any longing that you have that life was better then or now is really a farce. We tend to glamorize and retain the positive memories and conveniently forget the negative ones.
But knowing that you can't go back...I've discovered that there is a way to celebrate the season you find yourself in knowing that there are always trade-offs.
For now, I celebrate the sexy girl who can fit back into her pre-pregnancy jeans and could easily sneak into that business skirt if she wanted, while walking down the street with her brood of three crazy kiddos. I honor the woman who without sleep can still find time to support her friends and her family even if the support is a bit chaotic.
And mostly, I give thanks for the season that allows me to read "Where the Wild Things Are" instead of Voltaire because I know that while the days are long...the years are short.
That age feels terribly old to some, primarily to my 7-year old son and my former high school students.
And it feels incredibly young to others like my mother and my elderly neighbor.
But something happens when you realize that you're caught between where you remember yourself to have been and where reality calls you to be today.
Let me clarify.
Sometimes, I think of myself as that girl who showers, puts a suit on, goes to work, talks to her besties about the boy who's never going to marry her and the latest reality TV show. I enjoy long hours on the phone with my girlfriends from undergrad. I paint my toes while watching bad Lifetime movies and listen to the moans and groans of my apartment neighbor getting her groove on. I go to happy hours. I date. I read. I learn to cook. And I pine for the days when I'll be a wife and mother. Oh, and I sleep a lot.
Fast forward to today. Let's begin with the given. I don't sleep. At least not until 10am on any morning of the week. I don't know where my business suits are. Anyone who talks to me on the phone has to get really comfortable with multiple interruptions from children begging for something. And, I don't know what time happy hour starts at. PS-did you know that they make good wine in a box nowadays? I cook a lot. And I pine for the days when I'll return to eating pints of Haagen Dazs while watching bad lifetime movies.
My mom once said to me, "You can't go home." Not literally. I know that she'd always take me in if I really needed a place to go. But metaphorically, you can't go back.
And any longing that you have that life was better then or now is really a farce. We tend to glamorize and retain the positive memories and conveniently forget the negative ones.
But knowing that you can't go back...I've discovered that there is a way to celebrate the season you find yourself in knowing that there are always trade-offs.
For now, I celebrate the sexy girl who can fit back into her pre-pregnancy jeans and could easily sneak into that business skirt if she wanted, while walking down the street with her brood of three crazy kiddos. I honor the woman who without sleep can still find time to support her friends and her family even if the support is a bit chaotic.
And mostly, I give thanks for the season that allows me to read "Where the Wild Things Are" instead of Voltaire because I know that while the days are long...the years are short.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Why Run?
The other day, a friend asked, "Out of all the things you could have picked. Why did you decide to start running?"
Which begged the question, why do I run?
So, on my 11-miler this morning, I focused on the question and came up with these thoughts.
Below is a picture of where I'm headed next...in 2 weeks, I'll be running
the Chicago Half Marathon alone on Lake Shore Drive remembering why I run.
the Chicago Half Marathon alone on Lake Shore Drive remembering why I run.
The Chicago lakefront path (courtesy of Chicago Runner Girl blog)
Friday, August 17, 2012
How are you feeling...in your Heart?
Since my children were born, I've asked them one question daily.
"How are you feeling in your heart?"
It's a gauge...a compass...a bit of a barometer on the state of their soul.
And you know little kids, they're brutally honest. And they will tell you.
"Mama, I'm angry." "Mama, I'm perfect." "Mama, I'm cold." "Mama, I'm super happy."
The other day, my husband with a bit of a silly grin on his face and somewhat facetiously, said to me:
"How are you feeling in your heart?"
No one had ever asked me that before. And so, even though I should have laughed back, I was more taken aback. How is the state of my soul...in this moment...in this day?
It's a good question to ask because it begs not what you should be feeling or doing or how you should be behaving...but it gives you permission to answer from the depths of your being.
And we all know that the heart is far more accurate than the mind. The heart is where the joy, the fear, the anticipation, the hope resides.
The heart is where it hurts and it feels good and when it's tapped and connected with keeps us aligned to what we want most.
Nothing is black or white. But everything guided from and by the heart keeps us authentic, purposeful, and living honest lives.
And so I ask, "How are you feeling in your heart?"
"How are you feeling in your heart?"
It's a gauge...a compass...a bit of a barometer on the state of their soul.
And you know little kids, they're brutally honest. And they will tell you.
"Mama, I'm angry." "Mama, I'm perfect." "Mama, I'm cold." "Mama, I'm super happy."
The other day, my husband with a bit of a silly grin on his face and somewhat facetiously, said to me:
"How are you feeling in your heart?"
No one had ever asked me that before. And so, even though I should have laughed back, I was more taken aback. How is the state of my soul...in this moment...in this day?
It's a good question to ask because it begs not what you should be feeling or doing or how you should be behaving...but it gives you permission to answer from the depths of your being.
And we all know that the heart is far more accurate than the mind. The heart is where the joy, the fear, the anticipation, the hope resides.
The heart is where it hurts and it feels good and when it's tapped and connected with keeps us aligned to what we want most.
Nothing is black or white. But everything guided from and by the heart keeps us authentic, purposeful, and living honest lives.
And so I ask, "How are you feeling in your heart?"
Thursday, August 16, 2012
"The Only Way Out is Through"
"The only way out is through."
I stumbled upon this quote by Robert Frost and thought...
Damn it. He's right.
I've always fancied myself a fairly self aware individual. Whether that's accurate or not is definitely debatable.
But most times when something is amiss in my life, I'm highly attuned to what needs to be changed...it's just committing to the work... that's challenging.
And then because I'm stubborn and determined (when I decide it's time), I get amazingly tunnel visioned and throw every part of my blood, sinew, sweat and tears into the task at hand...many times to the detriment of others around me.
And then, like all seasons of life, it's time for change and I'm pissed.
Because I've gotten really good at where I'm at and also really comfortable again.
I hate even documenting it...but I think I'm at that point again.
It's time for change. It's time to mix things up. And to keep pushing myself through. Four months left until the end of my year of change. What do I need to do? Am I capable and willing to do the work? How can I keep pushing myself? Where do I need to strip the fat? What's next?
The only way out is through. Here I go.
I stumbled upon this quote by Robert Frost and thought...
Damn it. He's right.
I've always fancied myself a fairly self aware individual. Whether that's accurate or not is definitely debatable.
But most times when something is amiss in my life, I'm highly attuned to what needs to be changed...it's just committing to the work... that's challenging.
And then because I'm stubborn and determined (when I decide it's time), I get amazingly tunnel visioned and throw every part of my blood, sinew, sweat and tears into the task at hand...many times to the detriment of others around me.
And then, like all seasons of life, it's time for change and I'm pissed.
Because I've gotten really good at where I'm at and also really comfortable again.
I hate even documenting it...but I think I'm at that point again.
It's time for change. It's time to mix things up. And to keep pushing myself through. Four months left until the end of my year of change. What do I need to do? Am I capable and willing to do the work? How can I keep pushing myself? Where do I need to strip the fat? What's next?
The only way out is through. Here I go.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Truth about Soul Mates
Not long ago, I wrote a post on soul mates.
Whether or not they exist...
Whether or not it matters...
Whether or not you could be content with a myriad of different people throughout your life...
Or is there just one person that your soul longs to spend eternity with?
It generated some buzz.
I got messages from readers indicating that soul mates are a farce....that they are a Halmark fiction...that they ruin the good work that people put into their unions that are flawed by nature because we're all human beings.
Others said that they believed in the power of one person who they can't shake has indelibly changed their lives...and for those, it wasn't the person that they are with today. Not short changing the person they picked just simply recognizing that someone at sometime changed their trajectory.
Ruminating on this, I found this passage from one of my favorite books "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.
A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master.
And so I ask, who shakes you up? Who breaks your heart wide open and takes you to that uncomfortable place and makes you a better you?
Who loves you more than life itself and by virtue gets under your skin like no other can? Who shows you the beautiful, the ugly and takes you to the dangerous spots that make you feel alive? And who are you grateful came into your life briefly or who walks by you daily mirroring the true you?
Whether or not they exist...
Whether or not it matters...
Whether or not you could be content with a myriad of different people throughout your life...
Or is there just one person that your soul longs to spend eternity with?
It generated some buzz.
I got messages from readers indicating that soul mates are a farce....that they are a Halmark fiction...that they ruin the good work that people put into their unions that are flawed by nature because we're all human beings.
Others said that they believed in the power of one person who they can't shake has indelibly changed their lives...and for those, it wasn't the person that they are with today. Not short changing the person they picked just simply recognizing that someone at sometime changed their trajectory.
Ruminating on this, I found this passage from one of my favorite books "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.
A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.
A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master.
And so I ask, who shakes you up? Who breaks your heart wide open and takes you to that uncomfortable place and makes you a better you?
Who loves you more than life itself and by virtue gets under your skin like no other can? Who shows you the beautiful, the ugly and takes you to the dangerous spots that make you feel alive? And who are you grateful came into your life briefly or who walks by you daily mirroring the true you?
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Just Do It
At the end of last year, I dubbed 2012, "The Year of Kelly."
I was tired of being overweight.
I was tired of feeling exhausted and having my self confidence reside in the toilet bowl.
I was ready to inhabit my body again not for the purposes of feeding a child but rather to reconnect with the woman, I know, to be me.
That was 8 months ago. Since that time, I've lost 35 pounds, ran one half marathon, am training to run another one in a few weeks, have gotten back into the clothes that sat dormant in my closet, and have regained the core of me.
It's definitely a work in progress. Most days, I'm still tired. Many times, I fall short of a satisfying run. I still find myself regularly apologizing to my kiddos for being too impatient, being too quick to yell or short with my temper. My house is almost always cluttered and in some form of disarray. My front lawn looks like it belongs in a barn full of hay. My jewelry business is slowly coming out of hibernation. And my husband just looks at me and laughs.
But, I'm doing it.
And if there's any message over this last year that I want to impart...it would be to...just do it.
It doesn't matter what it is.
I know that there's something sitting and staring you in the face. Or, maybe it's not so obvious, maybe it's that quiet voice inside of your heart that keeps patiently calling out. Or, maybe it's a booming pain in your ass that won't seem to leave you alone.
Whatever it is...deep down...you know what you need to do. And, deeper down, you know you're capable. It doesn't take much to make some small change today.
Just do it.
As Jesse Jackson once said,
"Both tears and sweat are salty but they render a different result. Tears will get you sympathy. Sweat will get you change." Here's to change.
I was tired of being overweight.
I was tired of feeling exhausted and having my self confidence reside in the toilet bowl.
I was ready to inhabit my body again not for the purposes of feeding a child but rather to reconnect with the woman, I know, to be me.
That was 8 months ago. Since that time, I've lost 35 pounds, ran one half marathon, am training to run another one in a few weeks, have gotten back into the clothes that sat dormant in my closet, and have regained the core of me.
It's definitely a work in progress. Most days, I'm still tired. Many times, I fall short of a satisfying run. I still find myself regularly apologizing to my kiddos for being too impatient, being too quick to yell or short with my temper. My house is almost always cluttered and in some form of disarray. My front lawn looks like it belongs in a barn full of hay. My jewelry business is slowly coming out of hibernation. And my husband just looks at me and laughs.
But, I'm doing it.
And if there's any message over this last year that I want to impart...it would be to...just do it.
It doesn't matter what it is.
I know that there's something sitting and staring you in the face. Or, maybe it's not so obvious, maybe it's that quiet voice inside of your heart that keeps patiently calling out. Or, maybe it's a booming pain in your ass that won't seem to leave you alone.
Whatever it is...deep down...you know what you need to do. And, deeper down, you know you're capable. It doesn't take much to make some small change today.
Just do it.
As Jesse Jackson once said,
"Both tears and sweat are salty but they render a different result. Tears will get you sympathy. Sweat will get you change." Here's to change.
Monday, August 13, 2012
The Nasty Should's
It's easy to get caught up in all the should's.
I should call my mom.
I should clear out the office.
I should be dedicating time to my business.
I should lose some weight.
I should write a thank you note.
I should stop nagging him.
I should stop eating out so much.
I should put more into savings.
I should stop being such a bitch.
I should...I should...I should.
While running this morning and trying to incrementally increase my pace, I felt plagued by all the should's running in and out of my head.
I've always been a person who struggles with guilt...not doing enough...doing too much...I really can't win.
But today, in this moment, I say goodbye to should's. I want to operate under the assumption that I am enough and that when it's time to do more or to do differently that I will.
But until then, now will be enough. It's far too easy to be critical. What happened to extending oneself grace, kindness and maybe, a little bit of a break?
I don't think it's a cop out or a justification for poor behavior...I think it's merely acknowledging where you are, what you can handle in the moment, and trusting that time and experience will help you change...when you're ready.
So for today, I'm not paying the should's much attention. They're sort of dead to me.
I should call my mom.
I should clear out the office.
I should be dedicating time to my business.
I should lose some weight.
I should write a thank you note.
I should stop nagging him.
I should stop eating out so much.
I should put more into savings.
I should stop being such a bitch.
I should...I should...I should.
While running this morning and trying to incrementally increase my pace, I felt plagued by all the should's running in and out of my head.
I've always been a person who struggles with guilt...not doing enough...doing too much...I really can't win.
But today, in this moment, I say goodbye to should's. I want to operate under the assumption that I am enough and that when it's time to do more or to do differently that I will.
But until then, now will be enough. It's far too easy to be critical. What happened to extending oneself grace, kindness and maybe, a little bit of a break?
I don't think it's a cop out or a justification for poor behavior...I think it's merely acknowledging where you are, what you can handle in the moment, and trusting that time and experience will help you change...when you're ready.
So for today, I'm not paying the should's much attention. They're sort of dead to me.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Last Will & Testament
On my way to a birthday party, I grabbed the mail.
Inside the box was a fat envelope from my father and stepmother.
It contained all of their legal documents outlining their independent wishes for their financial estate declarations and their healthcare decision making...in the event of their deaths.
It was sobering.
And yet, relieving knowing that they are prepared and have their affairs in order. It will certainly make it much easier for my brothers and I to execute their last will and testament.
Fast forward to this morning, picking up my Sunday New York Times, reading my beloved "Modern Love" column:
Modern Love, Sad News Like a Warm Hug Goodbye
about a woman who gets a phone call from her stepmother that her father went for a swim and drowned. You'll have to read the piece. It's really quite good.
I know that at the age of 37, I'm blessed to have my mother, stepfather, father, and stepmother on this earth. Some of my friends have had to say goodbye to a parent and to endure the sadness that comes from not sharing your children with the ones who raised you.
But it's hard. I can't imagine not being able to pick up the phone and share the latest about my kiddos, how my running is going, or when we're planning to get together.
And yet, the Modern Love column is so powerful because of a particular line. When asked by her coworkers how she's hanging on, the essayist replies,
"Thank you, I'm fine. He died doing what he loved, living fully. No regrets. He loved us and we loved him and we all knew it."
I love that. They had no doubts about their love for one another.
I fear that I've not done a good job of sharing the love I feel in my heart openly and transparently with some on this earth.
I need to pick up the phone or send a letter. It's too important to tell those you love how you feel.
There's just really no reason not to.
Inside the box was a fat envelope from my father and stepmother.
It contained all of their legal documents outlining their independent wishes for their financial estate declarations and their healthcare decision making...in the event of their deaths.
It was sobering.
And yet, relieving knowing that they are prepared and have their affairs in order. It will certainly make it much easier for my brothers and I to execute their last will and testament.
Fast forward to this morning, picking up my Sunday New York Times, reading my beloved "Modern Love" column:
Modern Love, Sad News Like a Warm Hug Goodbye
about a woman who gets a phone call from her stepmother that her father went for a swim and drowned. You'll have to read the piece. It's really quite good.
I know that at the age of 37, I'm blessed to have my mother, stepfather, father, and stepmother on this earth. Some of my friends have had to say goodbye to a parent and to endure the sadness that comes from not sharing your children with the ones who raised you.
But it's hard. I can't imagine not being able to pick up the phone and share the latest about my kiddos, how my running is going, or when we're planning to get together.
And yet, the Modern Love column is so powerful because of a particular line. When asked by her coworkers how she's hanging on, the essayist replies,
"Thank you, I'm fine. He died doing what he loved, living fully. No regrets. He loved us and we loved him and we all knew it."
I love that. They had no doubts about their love for one another.
I fear that I've not done a good job of sharing the love I feel in my heart openly and transparently with some on this earth.
I need to pick up the phone or send a letter. It's too important to tell those you love how you feel.
There's just really no reason not to.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
"Lose Yourself" in 10 Miles with Eminem
I woke up at 4:30am ready to do this thing.
My training program called for a 10 mile run...only 3 more left until I run the Chicago Half Marathon.
Feeling anxious and hopeful, I'd never run more than 9 miles before my previous half marathon and I was wondering whether I could do it.
Walking out the door, the weather was amazing...55 degrees with a slight breeze...hello gift from God.
Ear buds in place...fuel in my pockets...water on my back...I hit the road.
Five miles in, I was feeling the love and starting to feel the burn.
And then, he came on...and it was on...like a lioness mother fucker, I ran the shit out of the final 5 miles and finished with an average pace that I've never seen before on my Garmin.
Hats off to you, Eminem and Justin Timberlake and Katy Perry and Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5...you got me through and helped me to lose myself in my beautiful 10 mile strong run.
My training program called for a 10 mile run...only 3 more left until I run the Chicago Half Marathon.
Feeling anxious and hopeful, I'd never run more than 9 miles before my previous half marathon and I was wondering whether I could do it.
Walking out the door, the weather was amazing...55 degrees with a slight breeze...hello gift from God.
Ear buds in place...fuel in my pockets...water on my back...I hit the road.
Five miles in, I was feeling the love and starting to feel the burn.
And then, he came on...and it was on...like a lioness mother fucker, I ran the shit out of the final 5 miles and finished with an average pace that I've never seen before on my Garmin.
Hats off to you, Eminem and Justin Timberlake and Katy Perry and Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5...you got me through and helped me to lose myself in my beautiful 10 mile strong run.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Surrendering to Joy
I'll never forget it.
The days leading up to my wedding were more than mass chaos.
I was working full-time directing a busy youth leadership development program with energetic high school students.
Finalizing a master's capstone project for my graduate school program in conflict resolution.
Feverishly crossing off all of the last minute to-do's for the ceremony, reception and out of town guests.
And I was running. Almost every morning using the exercise as both stress release and a way to get into my honeymoon bikini.
Then, I got sick. My body went kaput. Nothing more to give.
I went to see a massage therapist and her first question before she assessed my body was:
"What do you want from your life?"
And immediately, I started crying and simply said joy. I just want to be consumed with joy.
To which she replied, then stop fighting. Let what wants to be, be. Don't make it something else.
28 days until I get on a plane and run the Chicago half marathon by myself. No one on the other end of the finish line. Just me. Me and my hope. Me and my strength.
10 miles of running tomorrow morning...11 the next Saturday....and 12 the following.
It's getting close and yet again, through my fear, anxiety, and expectations, I'm praying for joy.
Let me be open to surrendering to joy.
The days leading up to my wedding were more than mass chaos.
I was working full-time directing a busy youth leadership development program with energetic high school students.
Finalizing a master's capstone project for my graduate school program in conflict resolution.
Feverishly crossing off all of the last minute to-do's for the ceremony, reception and out of town guests.
And I was running. Almost every morning using the exercise as both stress release and a way to get into my honeymoon bikini.
Then, I got sick. My body went kaput. Nothing more to give.
I went to see a massage therapist and her first question before she assessed my body was:
"What do you want from your life?"
And immediately, I started crying and simply said joy. I just want to be consumed with joy.
To which she replied, then stop fighting. Let what wants to be, be. Don't make it something else.
28 days until I get on a plane and run the Chicago half marathon by myself. No one on the other end of the finish line. Just me. Me and my hope. Me and my strength.
10 miles of running tomorrow morning...11 the next Saturday....and 12 the following.
It's getting close and yet again, through my fear, anxiety, and expectations, I'm praying for joy.
Let me be open to surrendering to joy.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Misty May-Treanor & My Daughter
Hot damn last night was fun!
We all congregated around the TV to watch the Americans face off for the Olympic gold and silver medals in Women's Beach Volleyball.
And, most importantly, to see if the unbelievably dynamic team of Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh-Jennings could do it one last time and win gold for three straight Olympic games.
Riveted by each play, every dig, every set...we couldn't move. And each time that Misty and Kerri scored, we screamed our lungs out!
But when they won, huge tears filled my eyes knowing that after 11 years of playing together, they were done as a team.
Ultimately, it was the first interview that had me sobbing. When asked what the experience meant to them, they could not stop thanking the people who supported them in their lives. And they could not help but acknowledge the amazing bond that exists both on and off the sand for the two of them.
And then Misty said it...we are wives, mothers....we have whole lives outside of this. We are so grateful to have 15,000 fans here elevating the sport, but we know that its time to cultivate the other parts of us.
While she intends to support Kerri as she moves forward, she's excited to start a family with her husband.
Looking at my daughter, I was so grateful that she could see examples of strong, powerful, committed, faith and family focused women.
I want her to know that it is possible to follow every dream and while you may not live each dream simultaneously, there is a season for everything, if you just follow your heart.
We all congregated around the TV to watch the Americans face off for the Olympic gold and silver medals in Women's Beach Volleyball.
And, most importantly, to see if the unbelievably dynamic team of Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh-Jennings could do it one last time and win gold for three straight Olympic games.
Riveted by each play, every dig, every set...we couldn't move. And each time that Misty and Kerri scored, we screamed our lungs out!
But when they won, huge tears filled my eyes knowing that after 11 years of playing together, they were done as a team.
Ultimately, it was the first interview that had me sobbing. When asked what the experience meant to them, they could not stop thanking the people who supported them in their lives. And they could not help but acknowledge the amazing bond that exists both on and off the sand for the two of them.
And then Misty said it...we are wives, mothers....we have whole lives outside of this. We are so grateful to have 15,000 fans here elevating the sport, but we know that its time to cultivate the other parts of us.
While she intends to support Kerri as she moves forward, she's excited to start a family with her husband.
Looking at my daughter, I was so grateful that she could see examples of strong, powerful, committed, faith and family focused women.
I want her to know that it is possible to follow every dream and while you may not live each dream simultaneously, there is a season for everything, if you just follow your heart.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Going Through the Motions
I don't want to keep doing this.
What do you mean? This is our life. It can't be fireworks and roller coasters all the time. Plus, you say that you want spontaneity...but you end up ordering the same meal over and over again.
What are you talking about? This isn't about food...I'm talking about us.
I know...but you don't just throw ten plus years of 'us' away...because you're bored.
Over the last month, I've heard versions of this conversation from a few of my friends...places that they find themselves in...or spots that their family members are working through.
God, it's hard. The truth is that at many points in both marriage and parenthood, you are just going through the motions. Trying to do your best, trying to hold down the fort, trying to make sure that everyone has what they need.
And then, somewhere along the way, primarily out of necessity, you lose pieces of you. And that's okay. It's kind of what you signed up for. Marital unions dictate that the two shall become one and sometimes, you trade your innermost longings for security/stability. And of course, the minute that your newborn baby enters the world....your life is absolutely and unequivocally not the same. You willingly sacrifice sleep, money, time, energy and endless amounts of peace for unconditional love.
And one day, you look up.
And you ask yourself, am I just going through the motions? And if the answer is yes.
You ask yourself another question. Is that okay? For now? Is my partner doing the same for the greater good of the whole?
Or are we both in a rut? Do we need to rediscover parts of ourselves to better contribute to the collective?
Or is the collective broken? Irreparable?
Everyone finds themselves in different spots. But when I feel like I'm simply going through the motions, I need to acknowledge why and then determine whether its healthy or not...especially when I've grown comfortable, lazy, and even apathetic.
Life is meant to be lived in joy. The joyful can be found in the mundane and in the rote and in the ritual....but its often not found in those who are coasting expecting it to simply sustain on its own.
What do you mean? This is our life. It can't be fireworks and roller coasters all the time. Plus, you say that you want spontaneity...but you end up ordering the same meal over and over again.
What are you talking about? This isn't about food...I'm talking about us.
I know...but you don't just throw ten plus years of 'us' away...because you're bored.
Over the last month, I've heard versions of this conversation from a few of my friends...places that they find themselves in...or spots that their family members are working through.
God, it's hard. The truth is that at many points in both marriage and parenthood, you are just going through the motions. Trying to do your best, trying to hold down the fort, trying to make sure that everyone has what they need.
And then, somewhere along the way, primarily out of necessity, you lose pieces of you. And that's okay. It's kind of what you signed up for. Marital unions dictate that the two shall become one and sometimes, you trade your innermost longings for security/stability. And of course, the minute that your newborn baby enters the world....your life is absolutely and unequivocally not the same. You willingly sacrifice sleep, money, time, energy and endless amounts of peace for unconditional love.
And one day, you look up.
And you ask yourself, am I just going through the motions? And if the answer is yes.
You ask yourself another question. Is that okay? For now? Is my partner doing the same for the greater good of the whole?
Or are we both in a rut? Do we need to rediscover parts of ourselves to better contribute to the collective?
Or is the collective broken? Irreparable?
Everyone finds themselves in different spots. But when I feel like I'm simply going through the motions, I need to acknowledge why and then determine whether its healthy or not...especially when I've grown comfortable, lazy, and even apathetic.
Life is meant to be lived in joy. The joyful can be found in the mundane and in the rote and in the ritual....but its often not found in those who are coasting expecting it to simply sustain on its own.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Butterfly Story...A Lesson in Compassion
"Oh wow!"
"It's so cool!"
"Careful, don't step on it!"
"Oh no, it's not really flying...what's wrong with it?"
"Come here, little buddy."
Commentary from my 7-year old son, Sam, his buddy, and 5-year old sister, Kate as we were leaving the pool today.
They stumbled upon a gorgeous yellow and black zebra striped butterfly on the sidewalk. Wounded, the butterfly looked like it was on its last leg.
They tried. Picking it up and gently placing it in a bag, they asked if we could take it home and nurse it back to health with orange slices. To which I replied...maybe we should leave it in the wild.
Leaving the parking lot, the three kids began collectively praying aloud. "Please God, keep the butterfly safe. Don't let any cars run him over and let him stay on earth...a little longer. I don't think its his time to go to Heaven just yet."
Shit. Making an illegal U-turn, I flip back around and grab the butterfly, incognito-like.
Exhausted from swimming and sweating about having a dying delicate creature on my hands, I pull us through the Starbucks drive through. Surely, some apple juice will perk this little guy up.
Unfortunately, I think my little friends half drowned him in his bag with apple juice...trying to get him to chug and "rehydrate."
Sam suggested that we donate him to the butterfly exhibit at the zoo to which his buddy replied, "Are you crazy? They just throw fruit at those butterflies...they don't really care about them. It's okay, little guy, we'll save you."
And then, they started debating how long a bug lives to which Kate replied, "Maybe his year is up and he's going to die."
The car erupted when our winged friend apparently croaked. Sam tried to get him closer to the air conditioning. His buddy tried to repair his wing. And Kate prayed.
In the end, we laid him to rest by the tree. A peaceful, dignified, loving death.
The beauty of children. They just get it.
"It's so cool!"
"Careful, don't step on it!"
"Oh no, it's not really flying...what's wrong with it?"
"Come here, little buddy."
Commentary from my 7-year old son, Sam, his buddy, and 5-year old sister, Kate as we were leaving the pool today.
They stumbled upon a gorgeous yellow and black zebra striped butterfly on the sidewalk. Wounded, the butterfly looked like it was on its last leg.
They tried. Picking it up and gently placing it in a bag, they asked if we could take it home and nurse it back to health with orange slices. To which I replied...maybe we should leave it in the wild.
Leaving the parking lot, the three kids began collectively praying aloud. "Please God, keep the butterfly safe. Don't let any cars run him over and let him stay on earth...a little longer. I don't think its his time to go to Heaven just yet."
Shit. Making an illegal U-turn, I flip back around and grab the butterfly, incognito-like.
Exhausted from swimming and sweating about having a dying delicate creature on my hands, I pull us through the Starbucks drive through. Surely, some apple juice will perk this little guy up.
Unfortunately, I think my little friends half drowned him in his bag with apple juice...trying to get him to chug and "rehydrate."
Sam suggested that we donate him to the butterfly exhibit at the zoo to which his buddy replied, "Are you crazy? They just throw fruit at those butterflies...they don't really care about them. It's okay, little guy, we'll save you."
And then, they started debating how long a bug lives to which Kate replied, "Maybe his year is up and he's going to die."
The car erupted when our winged friend apparently croaked. Sam tried to get him closer to the air conditioning. His buddy tried to repair his wing. And Kate prayed.
In the end, we laid him to rest by the tree. A peaceful, dignified, loving death.
The beauty of children. They just get it.
Finding Your Passion
I remember I had my first teacher crush on him.
He was amazing. Alive. Focused. On fire. And definitely, insane.
He taught English Literature and I couldn't wait to find my seat and watch him do his thing. He made me love the authors and the works of study because he ate them up. He made me want to read, to write, to teach, and to consume. I wanted to be steeped in his passion.
He was the perfect vehicle for channeling passion living in a utopian undergraduate environment where the world was my oyster.
And now, crazily, 17 years later, I find myself asking again...what is my passion?
I've known since I was a little girl that I wanted to be a wife and mother. It's been very clear that if I was blessed to have babies that they would be my primary focus.
But if we do it right, one day, they will be gone steeped in their own goings ons and focused on discovering their own deal. And I will be here.
They always say that the money will come, if you follow your passion. So what is my calling? What brings me joy and conflict? Love and frustration? Longing and exasperation? Where is the marrow for me?
The more that I ponder. The more that I get real with me. I feel that it lies somewhere in the written word. I'm just unsure of how to get there.
I suppose that's the challenge with harnessing passion...you just have to keep trying, honing, filtering, playing and ultimately, believing until one day, you're there, doing it.
He was amazing. Alive. Focused. On fire. And definitely, insane.
He taught English Literature and I couldn't wait to find my seat and watch him do his thing. He made me love the authors and the works of study because he ate them up. He made me want to read, to write, to teach, and to consume. I wanted to be steeped in his passion.
He was the perfect vehicle for channeling passion living in a utopian undergraduate environment where the world was my oyster.
And now, crazily, 17 years later, I find myself asking again...what is my passion?
I've known since I was a little girl that I wanted to be a wife and mother. It's been very clear that if I was blessed to have babies that they would be my primary focus.
But if we do it right, one day, they will be gone steeped in their own goings ons and focused on discovering their own deal. And I will be here.
They always say that the money will come, if you follow your passion. So what is my calling? What brings me joy and conflict? Love and frustration? Longing and exasperation? Where is the marrow for me?
The more that I ponder. The more that I get real with me. I feel that it lies somewhere in the written word. I'm just unsure of how to get there.
I suppose that's the challenge with harnessing passion...you just have to keep trying, honing, filtering, playing and ultimately, believing until one day, you're there, doing it.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Power of Dreams
I awoke like a shot in the dark at 4:12am from a dream.
It was frightening and beautiful all in the same breath.
My 7-year old son, Sam and I were in a prison cell.
There were two beds. He and I were facing one another aware that this night would be our last on earth.
We were talking about all of the things that we would do together in Heaven...dance, sing, run, ride bikes, swim, play...and all of the people that we'd be so happy to see.
It was painful. I vividly remember trying desperately not to cry or to seem alarmed or anxious...but only to be in the moment with him...grateful for our time together.
And then the guard came in and turned the lights off.
I woke up instantly scrambling to find him. Stumbling downstairs, I opened up his door to see him sawing logs...sleeping blissfully.
Turning on the coffee pot, I thought, "Am I enjoying my children or am I surviving these very needy moments of childhood? Am I seeing them as temporary gifts from God or am I feeling them as burdens?"
The truth is that it is a gift to have as much time as I do with them and before I know it, they will be in school all day, participating in activities in the afternoon, and spending time with their friends at night. And, our story book reading, puzzle making, swimming days will be limited.
Dreams. They can be powerful and thought provoking especially if you find yourself in a prison cell.
It was frightening and beautiful all in the same breath.
My 7-year old son, Sam and I were in a prison cell.
There were two beds. He and I were facing one another aware that this night would be our last on earth.
We were talking about all of the things that we would do together in Heaven...dance, sing, run, ride bikes, swim, play...and all of the people that we'd be so happy to see.
It was painful. I vividly remember trying desperately not to cry or to seem alarmed or anxious...but only to be in the moment with him...grateful for our time together.
And then the guard came in and turned the lights off.
I woke up instantly scrambling to find him. Stumbling downstairs, I opened up his door to see him sawing logs...sleeping blissfully.
Turning on the coffee pot, I thought, "Am I enjoying my children or am I surviving these very needy moments of childhood? Am I seeing them as temporary gifts from God or am I feeling them as burdens?"
The truth is that it is a gift to have as much time as I do with them and before I know it, they will be in school all day, participating in activities in the afternoon, and spending time with their friends at night. And, our story book reading, puzzle making, swimming days will be limited.
Dreams. They can be powerful and thought provoking especially if you find yourself in a prison cell.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
The Good Run
I have a friend.
And she's always telling me, "You know the crazy thing about running. It's just like life. For no apparent reason, it can be amazing or it can be shitty. Doesn't necessarily matter if you've eaten a good breakfast, gotten a good night's sleep, or prayed to the running gods...any given day can bring a phenomenal experience or a crap one. So, keep running. Then, the odds will eventually be in your favor."
Saturday morning was a precarious one.
My husband and older two kiddos were camping.
So, I enlisted my mom to come to our abode at 5:30am, so that I could get a 9-mile run in hopefully, before the baby woke up.
My phone alarm went off at 4:30am. I turned on the coffee and baked a loaf of banana bread for my sweet mom who drove across town at the crack of dawn.
Expecting to start my period at literally any moment, I was in a shitty mood. Irritable. Tired. I rarely sleep well when my better half is gone. And reminiscent of my previous week's 8-mile fiasco of exhaustion.
But, I headed out anyway.
And by the grace of God...it was the best god damn run of my life. I don't know how...but I shaved almost a minute off of each mile. And even with a pretty vicious north wind, I felt strong, powerful and on my game. The songs kept jamming. The legs felt light. And I was on top of the world.
It was indeed a lucky day. Hats off to the good run.
And she's always telling me, "You know the crazy thing about running. It's just like life. For no apparent reason, it can be amazing or it can be shitty. Doesn't necessarily matter if you've eaten a good breakfast, gotten a good night's sleep, or prayed to the running gods...any given day can bring a phenomenal experience or a crap one. So, keep running. Then, the odds will eventually be in your favor."
Saturday morning was a precarious one.
My husband and older two kiddos were camping.
So, I enlisted my mom to come to our abode at 5:30am, so that I could get a 9-mile run in hopefully, before the baby woke up.
My phone alarm went off at 4:30am. I turned on the coffee and baked a loaf of banana bread for my sweet mom who drove across town at the crack of dawn.
Expecting to start my period at literally any moment, I was in a shitty mood. Irritable. Tired. I rarely sleep well when my better half is gone. And reminiscent of my previous week's 8-mile fiasco of exhaustion.
But, I headed out anyway.
And by the grace of God...it was the best god damn run of my life. I don't know how...but I shaved almost a minute off of each mile. And even with a pretty vicious north wind, I felt strong, powerful and on my game. The songs kept jamming. The legs felt light. And I was on top of the world.
It was indeed a lucky day. Hats off to the good run.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Weekend Plans
Ah, it's Friday.
Praise God!
Even though I'm not sure where the week has gone, I know that I'm really looking forward to the weekend.
So, without further adieu, I'll be doing the following:
Reading:
Watching this movie:
And maybe this one:
Running 9 miles in my favorite Lululemon shorts.
And, if I'm lucky...eating sushi, laughing with my children, getting my house back in order, packaging up baby clothes to send to a sweet friend, and in general, smelling the roses.
I'm not holding my breath...but one can hope.
Here's to weekends!
Praise God!
Even though I'm not sure where the week has gone, I know that I'm really looking forward to the weekend.
So, without further adieu, I'll be doing the following:
Reading:
Watching this movie:
And maybe this one:
Running 9 miles in my favorite Lululemon shorts.
And, if I'm lucky...eating sushi, laughing with my children, getting my house back in order, packaging up baby clothes to send to a sweet friend, and in general, smelling the roses.
I'm not holding my breath...but one can hope.
Here's to weekends!
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Letter of Apology to my Gay Friends
I've been wanting to write for sometime.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that from the moment you knew you were gay that life has not been easy.
I'm sorry that you've been ridiculed and ostracized because of your sexual orientation.
I'm sorry that you've had to be hyper aware of who you share details of your personal life with.
I'm sorry that walking down the street, hand in hand with your partner (especially in Omaha, Nebraska) feels like you're breaking the rules or doing something deviant and wrong.
I'm sorry that important security measures and foundations of stability like healthcare, insurance and ultimately, marriage have not been givens for you...like they have been for me.
But more than anything, I'm sorry for the hateful language, righteous commentary, and ugly ways that we have treated one another.
As a member of the human race and as a Christian, I believe that we're called to love one another...not to agree or to advocate for the others life choices, but to serve our fellow man/woman.
Recently, my heart has been exploding with sadness for the lack of our tolerance for one another. My prayer is that one day, my grandchildren will turn to me and ask how we lived like this....much like I asked my grandparents how they could live during a time that people of color were mandated to go to separate schools.
Please know that you are loved for exactly who you are. We are friends and always will be.
Love, Kelly
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that from the moment you knew you were gay that life has not been easy.
I'm sorry that you've been ridiculed and ostracized because of your sexual orientation.
I'm sorry that you've had to be hyper aware of who you share details of your personal life with.
I'm sorry that walking down the street, hand in hand with your partner (especially in Omaha, Nebraska) feels like you're breaking the rules or doing something deviant and wrong.
I'm sorry that important security measures and foundations of stability like healthcare, insurance and ultimately, marriage have not been givens for you...like they have been for me.
But more than anything, I'm sorry for the hateful language, righteous commentary, and ugly ways that we have treated one another.
As a member of the human race and as a Christian, I believe that we're called to love one another...not to agree or to advocate for the others life choices, but to serve our fellow man/woman.
Recently, my heart has been exploding with sadness for the lack of our tolerance for one another. My prayer is that one day, my grandchildren will turn to me and ask how we lived like this....much like I asked my grandparents how they could live during a time that people of color were mandated to go to separate schools.
Please know that you are loved for exactly who you are. We are friends and always will be.
Love, Kelly
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Can We All Be Great?
I was completely inspired by the following video.
Take a minute (literally) and watch it.
This boy is me. Almost every morning and certainly every Saturday morning when I'm running 6, 7, 8, 9 and soon to be another 13.1 miles.
Somewhere along the way, we decided that the word "Greatness" was to be equated with an elite status. That in order to be great, you had to perform some extraordinary, super human task or feat that merited Olympic recognition.
The truth is that greatness is extremely personal.
It's different and triumphant for each soul that chooses it.
And when we decide that this moment we're going to put one foot in front of the other...we're going to push...we're going to try...we're going to be available, vulnerable, open, willing...we are great.
We are an example to others, particularly to our children, that greatness resides in our hearts. We were born with it. It is an innate gift that never goes away. We simply have to choose to access it.
It's a myth that greatness is for the chosen few. Believe in yourself and know that beyond a shadow of a doubt, your greatness will shine...if you just let it.
Take a minute (literally) and watch it.
This boy is me. Almost every morning and certainly every Saturday morning when I'm running 6, 7, 8, 9 and soon to be another 13.1 miles.
Somewhere along the way, we decided that the word "Greatness" was to be equated with an elite status. That in order to be great, you had to perform some extraordinary, super human task or feat that merited Olympic recognition.
The truth is that greatness is extremely personal.
It's different and triumphant for each soul that chooses it.
And when we decide that this moment we're going to put one foot in front of the other...we're going to push...we're going to try...we're going to be available, vulnerable, open, willing...we are great.
We are an example to others, particularly to our children, that greatness resides in our hearts. We were born with it. It is an innate gift that never goes away. We simply have to choose to access it.
It's a myth that greatness is for the chosen few. Believe in yourself and know that beyond a shadow of a doubt, your greatness will shine...if you just let it.
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