Coming Up for Air
My front passenger tire has a slow leak… or a bad valve… not sure. But every two days, I have to stop at a gas station to add air. I have a service appointment to get it fixed next week, but this has been going on for more than a month… during the busiest time of the whole year.
According to Integrity1 Automotive via a quick Google search, driving with low tire pressure presents several risks…
- “Your tires become less stable and lose their grip and traction. You will notice steering becomes sloppy and braking is much slower – which could be horrible during an emergency situation when you’re trying to avoid an accident.”
- “Low tire pressure forces your vehicle to work harder due to the increased resistance that your under-inflated tires face when moving.”
- “Low tire pressure reduces the life of your tires.”
- “The most dangerous issue caused by driving with low tire pressure is a tire blowout.”
It’s a new year and I’m always more motivated with the turning over of the calendar… and able to embrace that motivation given less plans, obligations, and scheduled activities during the winter months. (I want to say something here about how long it’s been since I’ve made a blog post, but I’m still working on Embracing Imperfection. Besides, I’m at least consistent in what I don’t do. Oy vey!).
Anyhoo… all of this got me thinking.
How often do we feel low and long for a boost just to get where we’re suppose to be?
How often do we come up for air?
What if we, as humans, had a warning light that would come on when we need attention to operate not just better, but at our best?
The risks of driving with low tire pressure seem apropos to tired, overscheduled, exhausted human living. I know I feel less stable, sloppy, and slower when I just power through. And if you power through too long, everything does seem harder. Daily stresses take a toll. And many of us teeter on a precipice of barely getting by… survival by default.
One of my dear friends chose “CONTINUE” as her word for 2024. She said she wants to, “just continue to do all the things that make [her] happy and healthy.” I love the simplicity of this. It is perfectly her.
That too got me thinking… what do I want to continue to do (that makes ME happy-er and healthy-er)? What should I lessen or stop doing? All exceptional thought-provoking questions to consider as I embark on this new year.
The wonder of all this reflection is that it has helped me choose my 2024 word:
PAUSE
I’ve been forced– out of obligation, concern for safety, and a blinking orange warning light on my dashboard– to stop and add air to my tire. It takes just a few minutes. But it fixes the problem, even if only temporarily.
In 2024, I’m going to give my life… MYSELF… that same attention. Regardless of the chaos ensuing or the never ending to-do list, I’m going to force a pause and come up for air… not when I’m gasping for breath, not when the warning light is already on… but before either occur.
;
WTF!? (just read it)
I’m pretty sure my most frequent phrase of 2023 thus far has been WTF!?
January lasted FOREVER! I am Wholly Thankful it is February. My bank account was saying, “Where are The Funds?” after what seemed to be double the weeks in just the first month of 2023.
I try not to set the tone of the entire year by January alone. First is rarely best. But, after a month of what felt like forever-long hours, days, and weeks, I chuckled today when a Facebook memory from 12 years ago reiterated my current thoughts… and the header graphic above.
Twelve years ago… Let’s see, I would have been serving as the Director of Special Events at Virginia Tech, still married, and the mother to a 4-year-old and a 2.5-year-old. Yeah, nothing too crazy about that!
Funny enough, I shared this Insta post with my sister-in-law this week… knowing full well what her “day in the life” with a 3-year-old and an 8-month-old looks like.
WTF.
WTF!
WTF?
It is really a quite versatile phrase. Useful in numerous and differing situations. But adaptable too.
Allow me to demonstrate…
TODAY. Who is This Family?
This morning, despite waking a bit later than normal, was (dare I say) perfection. I mean, my hair was in a ponytail and I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but I was showered and dressed, kids were up and at it, lunches were made, coffee was hot, we got out the door (one kid appropriately clad in her “Wacky Wednesday” themed outfit– with items generously shared by a sibling), and everyone was on time (including me to my chiropractor appointment). No one was grumpy. No one yelled at another. No sibling snips, intentional annoyances, or rude commentary. No complaints about touching each other or other people’s belongings. Everyone knew the after-school plan. It truly was phenomenal. It rarely happens… okay, I cannot actually recall it EVER happening before today. I was so proud. And I’ve probably jinxed myself for tomorrow. Won’t That be Fantastic?
THE PAST WEEK. Where’s The Fun?
Spring is going to be B-U-S-Y! With three daughters in three different activities, we have Weeks That are Full of dance and rehearsals, cheer and tumbling, lacrosse and weightlifting… and as much as I feel like my car should be bright yellow with a checkerboard stripe down the side, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I love that my girls enjoy and are good at their own things. I wish I could be everything, everywhere, all at once, but it’s clear we must “divide and conquer” to make it happen. And it really does take a village.
In all the planning, scheduling, driving, practicing, hoping, waiting, and doing, the fun can sometimes get lost. I was reminded this past week that these moments in life are fleeting. Especially since my first born took her first solo drive as an officially licensed Virginia driver. EEK.
It’s being there for them, WITH them– in ALL the moments– that’s fun. Fun for me, but– if this momma has her way– fun for them too! I want them to work hard/play hard. I want them to make endless memories, incredible friends, and major milestones. More than anything, I want them to have FUN!
THIS PAST MONTH. Why The Fear? and Where’s The Faith?
January has been a little tough on the emotional front. My Dad had a major (and painful) surgery. He’s tough as nails, so he’s going to be better than good. He’s ahead of his recovery schedule (no real shock there). But the role reversal of parent-child still throws me off. I don’t like seeing the man I hold in such high regard… the man who quite literally achieves anything he puts his mind to… in pain, dependent on others, not at 100%.
I have a dear friend from my Up with People cast in palliative care, losing her battle against cancer. This summer is our 25-year reunion. I don’t want another name from Cast C98 on the “In Memoriam” list. It makes me mad. Downright pisses me off, actually. She’s too young. She has a family. No one deserves what she’s gone through. This is a true (not to be translated here) WTF?
Then the husband of another dear friend who has been in the fight for his life after a case of flu-gone-absolute-worst-case-scenario. And yet, he’s making truly miraculous and remarkable strides toward recovery. It is still a very LONG road ahead, but I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed the level of faith I’ve seen demonstrated from his wife, in particular, as well as their family and friends. It’s humbling.
ALL of these things, scary and sad and emotionally draining, have led me to a lot of introspection on What’s The Future– for them, for me, for us? What drives our fear(s)? How do we combat them? When are they valid? How do we “outsmart” them? Where do people draw their faith– in medicine, religion, humanity? From where do I draw mine? Could I be as solid and sure and steady as I’ve seen others be if needed?
I’m not sure I have the answers… in fact, I’m certain I don’t. But I want to. Woah, The Frustration!
What do I know? I know that I am ever so grateful to have WordPress as The Forum to Write Through (or To) my Feelings. And how Wonderful To have Friends, like you, who take time to read it.
Hubris and Humiliation
I am not sure if it is a universal rite of passage, but it seems fairly consistent among my friends that as our parents age, they purge. I would say purging, in and of itself, is a good thing. “You can’t take it with you,” as my mom likes to say. The phenomenon, however, is that as they purge, they decide that we (their children) need these things.
In particular, these parents seem to believe we need ALL “our” stuff (that they kept) back, for nostalgia’s sake of course. Now I don’t know about you, but I could probably live the rest of my days (and I’m absolutely confident my own children will survive) without that Plaster-of-Paris imprint of my hand from pre-school… but “awwwww.” #Memories
Then, there are the things that aren’t solely ours, per se, but are familial or from a collective childhood. How the parent decides who gets what, I’ve not quite figured out. Regardless, these are things they no longer want but feel 100% confident we do (or should).
At present, I am squarely situated in the “sandwich generation.” My parents are in their 70s. My children are in their tweens and teens. Some days, this stage of life (using the sandwich metaphor) is as beautiful as a perfectly golden brown and melty grilled cheese. Other days, it’s like trying to eat chili between toast. It’s compelling to watch your children gain independence and autonomy. It can be staggering to discover your parents are fallible or enervated.
When I relocated five years ago into my “forever home” (or, at minimum, the “until the kids are out of school” house), I suddenly had a larger-than-I’d-ever-need section of unfinished basement for storage. The problem with closets, basements, and storage? You tend to fill it. Like clockwork, things that had been out-of-sight and out-of-mind for decades started to appear.
“Look what I found…”
“Do you remember this…”
“You have to show it to your girls…”
“I didn’t know if you’d want this…”
Generally speaking, I operate off the “if I haven’t needed or used it” in, say, the last few years—I’m good!
Nope. Not how this process works.
So after five years in this house, in a somewhat futile attempt to lessen the accumulated clutter, I decided (for posterity) to convert some old VHS tapes to digital… because 1) I no longer own a VHS player and 2) a thumb drive takes up WAY less space than three banker boxes of old tapes.
As we were sitting around this holiday season, I remembered that the jump drives had come in. I thought it might be fun to look at old videos with my partner, daughters, and mom. We connected my laptop via HDMI to the TV, inserted the USB, and we were off on a new adventure down memory lane.
I have two overwhelming observations from this humbling experience.
1) You do and say a lot of things—rather confidently, I might add—when you are young and dumb… okay, okay… young, less wise, and without experience. #Hubris
2) Despite bringing them into this world, feeding, housing, clothing, and caring for them– your children will be cruel. #Humiliation
I put decent effort into arriving at this moment… where my daughters could see their mom at their age… and for me to see my parents at my present age… especially when today’s society is recorded ad nauseam. Admittedly, numerous photo albums cataloguing my children’s lives exist in Facebook. As a child of the 80s who lived all her youth and most of her twenties without social media, I’ve thought on more than one occasion how happy I am to not have had ALL that recorded.
I’m even more grateful now because I’ve seen enough of young me and my youthful idealism courtesy of this most recent VHS to digital conversion. No matter how cool you thought you were, trust that your children will inform you otherwise. They’ll make fun of your hair, your clothes, YOU. They will find everything about you hysterical. They’ll be shocked that THAT person, albeit a younger version, is their parent.
And you’ll shock yourself.
These converted VHS tapes contained some home videos, some sporting events (both of my brothers played football and all three of us ran track), and there were a lot of talent shows, dance recitals, and pageants. (Yes, I competed in pageants from age 16-22).
For me, the pitch and tone of my voice (and how much thicker my accent was then—which is saying a lot) were surprising. I’ll gladly accept the pubescent and the hormonal changes to my voice. I miss the deeper drawl of my accent.
It was a bit cringeworthy to see how strongly and overtly I shared my religious beliefs and political views (courtesy of recorded pageant interviews). Or, at minimum, disconcerting to modern day me. Yet, when I think about the life, opportunities, heartbreaks, and experiences I’ve had since then, I am pleased with my personal growth and evolution.
Seeing my body as a teenage girl (when I was overly critical and demanding of it) was astonishing– knowing all too well the complicated relationship females have with their bodies across the course of their lives. As a mother of three daughters, I’ve probably reflected on this the most.
And “back then,” I believed my parents were perfect. Now, I see them with more grace and humanity. They are so much more, as individuals and as the people who raised me, than what I thought I knew of them then.
While this walk down memory lane may have damaged my ego, it didn’t damaged my pride. And, truthfully, my children’s laughter… which resulted in my own laughter… eased the dent in my self-esteem. To quote my high school football coach, Nick Colobro…
Remember who you are, where you come from, and what you stand for!
I’m proud of who I am, where I came from, and what I stand for—then and now.
And, because 2023 is the year of embracing imperfection, I thought I’d share a few of these gems with all of you (should you be interested, need a hearty laugh, or simply wish to marvel at how far AV technology has advanced in my four-and-a-half decades of life).
Weber City Elementary School (VA) Talent Show
(~1983, 6 years old, Kindergarten)
Music Credit: “Tomorrow” from Annie
Local Talent Show
(~1985, 8 years old, ~3rd grade)
Music Credit: “New Attitude” by Patti LaBelle
I’m just a little younger than Layken here… meanwhile, she’s doing back handspring back tucks. : )
Gate City High School Track & Field
100 meter Hurdles (I’m in Lane 4)
Spring 1992, 14 years old/Freshman in High School
First season as a track athlete (mom was the coach). I was winning, until I wasn’t. A trip to the ER and 3 seasons later, I was the VHSL Region IV 100m Hurdle Champion.
Portion of interview from Miss Lonesome Pine, a local preliminary (my first) to the Miss Virginia Scholarship Pageant
(Fall 1993, 16 years old/Junior in High School)
Advocating for SWVA then, just as I do today. #ProudAppalachian
Miss Virginia Teen USA
(Spring 1994, 16 years old/Junior in High School)
Interview introduction from Miss Bristol, a preliminary to the Miss Tennessee Scholarship Pageant
(Winter 1996, 18 years old, Sophomore at UT)
“Substitute/Fill-In” Weather Personality on WKPT-TV 19, a local ABC affiliate
(1999-2000, 22-23 years old)
Embracing Imperfection
Perfection is prevention.
It prevents you from doing… acting… being.
It tells you, “if only,” and “one day.” It sounds like “must” and “should.”
I knew I wanted to write this blog. It’s been stewing for about a week. I kept putting it off for “the right time.” I haven’t written since February 2022… 10 months ago… LAST YEAR! How can I call myself a writer if I don’t write often (however “often” is defined) or put what I do write out for others to see? What will people think about this blog post? The topic? Will they wonder where I’ve been, or could they care less? Will they even read what I write? And, if they do, will they like it or hate it? Welcome to the internal trappings of my brain. Please enjoy your front row seat to my insecurities.
I finally sat down today to start writing and spent thirty minutes looking for the “perfect” opening quote… because, in my head, my own words aren’t strong or captivating enough on their own. I finally opted against the quote and then started looking at royalty-free images. I spent (wasted) too much time looking for the “perfect” way to start this blog.
Perfection is prevention.
When I say, “I knew I wanted to write this blog,” I mean that I had an idea inspiration. Stay with me for a moment for a little backstory.
My Christmas stocking growing up was handmade by my mother. I love it and still use it to this day. When I had my first daughter, I made her a stocking. In hindsight, it’s pretty remarkable… she was born in late October and that stocking was handing on the mantle at Christmas. How I had time to hand sew a stocking with a newborn I simply do not know. When I had my second daughter, who was born in late April, hers too was hanging on the mantle for her first Christmas (~7 months). With my third daughter, who was born in July, she had to wait until her second Christmas. Oops. It took me 18 months to complete… I guess having three kids was a little distracting. HA!
When my partner Steven came into my life (and I knew he’d be around for a good long while), I decided he needed a Hunter-handmade stocking too. I picked the pattern in 2020 (hopeful optimism about the relationship- but it was 2020, so we’d spent A LOT of time together). I started the stocking in 2021. I finished the stocking on Christmas Eve 2022. I also took numerous liberties and shortcuts. I take directions for sewing (and cooking) as more of a recommendation than requirement. My love and intent were pure. My time availability and dedication to completing the project was a little lacking, I guess. Nevertheless, it is done.
And while I absolutely love how it turned out… it is EXTRA sparkly… I kept looking at the backside. It was a mess! I vaguely recall a cross-stitcher once telling me that the back should look as good as the front. Eek. Uhmmmm. Ut Oh!
I have ideas (and inspiration) often, but I’m “busy” or I don’t have my computer, or I need to be in the right head space, or I want to dedicate “special time” to write. In reality, if I’m being honest, I’m looking for perfection. The perfect moment. The perfect opening line. The perfect blog (or book chapter). The perfection seeking leads to prevention. To inaction. To nothing.
Eleanor Roosevelt once asked,
“What would you do if you knew you could not fail?”
Wise words from a wise woman. How often do we stifle ourselves, our talents, and our interests because of fear? Afterall, isn’t perfectionism an attempt to avoid failure, disappointment, and embarrassment or to maintain some perceived image of ourselves that we believe (or want) others to have of us?
Admittedly, I want to be perceived as the front of that stocking. Honestly though, I feel like the back of the stocking more days than not… a hot mess of chaotic moments stitched together.
But isn’t that life?
And isn’t it beautiful in its own unique way?
Each new year, I choose a word (or words) for the year. An idea to focus on that might guide me to be more purposeful or reflective in my doing and being. So, this year, I’ve decided on the following…
To be perfectly clear, I’m not going to be a slacker or do things half-assed, but I am going to DO THEM… ESPECIALLY when the time isn’t just right, when the idea isn’t fully formed, when I don’t look my best, when I’m too busy, when my house isn’t clean, when the laundry isn’t done, when I don’t feel like it.
I’m going to keep a notepad with me for writing inspiration when I’m not near my computer. I’m going to go for a ten-minute walk even when I wish I could exercise for thirty minutes. I’m going to put my phone down and be fully present more often. I’m going to multitask less and focus on what is in front of me in that moment. More so, I’m going to (try to) stop apologizing when things aren’t… when I’m not… perfect.
I’d welcome you on this journey and I’ll gladly give you the grace to be intentionally imperfect too!
A Love Letter to My Daughters
I always wanted to be a mom. Always.
When I was pregnant with my first child, I thought it was a boy. Wrong.
When I was pregnant again, it was so different than the first pregnancy, I was convinced it was a boy. Nope.
By the third, I just trusted the law of averages, statistics, and popular opinion. I’m not sure claiming the default made me right, but I definitely wasn’t surprised.
I was raised with two brothers. The only girl.
I’ve always been feminine. I like bows, glitter, and ballet. But I never been overtly “girly.” Pink was never my favorite color. I wasn’t boy-crazy. I didn’t talk on the phone incessantly. I don’t giggle. Flirting and flouncing were not specialties. I played with G.I. Joes and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles more than Barbie.
My Dad had us ALL out working in the yard… mowing, raking, and picking up sticks. This princess wasn’t protected from getting her hands dirty. The expectations for me weren’t any different than those of my brothers.
Then, I met and married a man who also had two brothers. No sisters.
When our first born was a girl, I thought, “We don’t know what to do with a girl.” Then we had two girls and started calculating dance classes, prom dresses, and wedding costs. By the time we found out we were having our third daughter, their dad declared, “Olly Olly Oxen Free!”
We are a split family now and I often wonder what it’s like at his house every other week because, in mine, it’s Little Women meets Ramona and Beezus with a side of Legally Blonde served up as a musical. A friend of mine even refers to our home as the sorority house, without the down feather pillow fights and the keggers of course.
2022 is a year full of milestone birthdays for me and my girls. I turn 45 (probably less ahead of me than behind, which is humbling). Abigail turns 16 (clear the roads). Karly turns 13 (another teenager). And Layken turns 10 (double digits). My girls are growing up.
While we hoped COVID would be a thing of the past by now, we manage to be quarantining with the first positive case among our household… on Super Bowl and Valentine’s weekend.
We’re thrilled, as you might imagine.
I don’t care so much for the actual football game, but this year’s half-time show is channeling my youth. I’m not sure I can handle the eye-rolling and lack of knowing such awesomeness that will come from children. I could use another 90s teenager to get nostalgic with… not to mention, I’ll never make wings as good as we’ll all be craving.
As for Valentine’s, well, it’s some pretty stupid commercial hogwash in my opinion; but it is a holiday…. and I do love holidays! Any holiday… all holidays! Mostly because I believe there is always something to celebrate (I just don’t think celebrating love should be relegated to only one day per year).
I haven’t always gotten it right. Romantic love, that is. But I have loved freely, willingly, happily. I’ve always considered the risk of loving to be worth any possible heartbreak. Walls have gone up over the years. They do for so many of us. But then there is someone who I meet and trust just enough to start lowering them down again.
Every connection and relationship, no matter its length… or potency… or ending, has left a mark upon my heart. Some required bandages, others required stitches … but mended and healed they all are. I’ve grown emotionally. I’ve become a better person.
Was it easy? No. But, it has always been worth it.
This Valentines, as I am cooped up and housebound with my three beautiful daughters, it seemed fitting that I pen a love letter of wisdom to them…lessons I’ve learned along the way… things I wish someone had told me.
My daughters are smart, independent, and fierce. Each unique and special in their own way. I trust them, and I want them to trust themselves. Experience is a great teacher, but sometimes a cruel one. If I could shield them from heartache and hurt, I would, but each of us has our own journey. The best I can do is share what I’ve learned and remind them constantly that their momma’s love is unconditional.
14 Lessons I’ve Learned about Love:
1) You are enough, just as you are. Period. Not up for debate with anyone.
2) Love with your whole heart. Yes, you might get hurt… but is better than not loving at all.
3) You are worthy of love in return. Don’t ever let another person determine your worth.
4) Pay attention. Trust what people DO (how they act) more than what they SAY (or promise).
5) Your first responsibility is to yourself.
6) Do no harm but take no shit.
7) You are (will be) okay, even if others are not okay with you. You are not responsible for others’ emotions and reactions, just your own. Manage those.
8) “No” is a complete sentence. No further explanation is required. Say it again, louder if necessary.
9) Find comfort in being alone. Know that alone and lonely are different. Don’t settle for unhappy together just to avoid being alone. Understand that you can be lonely even if surrounded by others.
10) Never sacrifice your own happiness believing that someone else is responsible for providing it to you.
11) Loyalty, integrity, and honesty matter. To yourself and to others. To Thine Own Self Be True.
12) Don’t wait for “as soon as,” “if only,” or “one day.”
13) Listen carefully for your “should,” “ought,” and “must” statements… then question them.
14) When you find the person who always makes you laugh, who makes your heart beat faster just by entering the room, who loves you despite (not because), and who willingly gives you the best hug exactly when you need one… hold on to them tightly. Fight for them. Be their champion and their best friend. And never stop dating them. Because that kind of love is worth it, and so are you!
Good Riddance
Ahhh, a new year. 365 days… well, 364 now… of endless possibilities, fresh starts, a new me or you. Little blank squares on a calendar just waiting for us to be whatever we make of them. Celebrating a new year, and the resolutions that often go with such, has a long history.
That said, it’s kind of a load of crap. Right?
Don’t get me wrong… I love noise makers, party hats, and singing “Auld Lang Syne” as much as the next person. But, just as Valentine’s Day says, “Show those you love that you love them TODAY”—on one specific day in the middle of February—a New Year makes some pretty empty promises. And to that I say, good riddance.
January 1 offers no more possibility to us than yesterday, the day before that, last month, or last year. To quote my favorite musical (RENT), ultimately there’s “No Day but Today”—whether that is Jan 1, March 12, July 29, or November 3. Don’t we get to decide?
Admittedly, some days, months, and years are better than others. Some are joyful, full of light and laughter… memory makers that are extraordinary. Others are (or can be) really hard, exhausting, sad, even lonely. Most are… well, they just… are.
It makes me think of the John Lennon quote…
Or the old Yiddish proverb…
Let’s face it, we love the idea of possibility more than the actual process.
366 days ago, I wrote “Feeling Good.” My guiding words for 2021 were Intention, Courage, and Growth.
Did I pursue those? Yes.
Did I do and accomplish all I thought I would a year ago? Nope.
Of course, leave it to me to have three words instead of just one. Classic overachiever.
If turning the calendar over is merely a practice in reflection, then I can look back and adequately assess my year. I can say that my priorities were intact, which feels good. I was more intentional with some things (my relationships, for instance), and far less so with others (my writing). I was courageous enough to take on a huge photography assignment in the spring, and to re-enter the workforce part-time in the summer.
I value growth (personal, professional, emotional, etc.), and while it was a less painful process in 2021 than in past years, there were definitely moments were I had to stretch… and I recognize the ways that I’ve evolved and changed for the better. I can also admit that 2020’s word (Boundaries) remains a struggle for me. (Admitting it is the first step, right?)
As for some other things I understand more, well…
I too often sacrifice my wants and needs for others. (It feels selfish even writing those words.) Putting others’ first can be noble, admirable… and it can be exhausting. We can’t fill another’s cup if our own jug is empty! Guilt may be a useless emotion, but it’s a powerful one… and it makes too many decisions for me. This manifests mostly in my inability to say, “No.” The shortest complete sentence in the history of sentences… and apparently so damn hard for me to say. But, I’m practicing.
And…
I let fear hold me back. It isn’t trepidation, shivering and hiding in the corner fear. Heck, often I don’t consciously know it’s even happening. It’s sneaky and manifests as “I’m too busy” or “There’s not enough time” or my favorite, “Maybe tomorrow.” When, in reality, the hidden message… the one I don’t really want to acknowledge… is, “Maybe I’m not good enough” or “What if I fail?”.
You can probably see how those create a fear cycle of not meeting the possibilities of my potential.
Green Day released a song called “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” when I was a senior in college… back when I was a bright-eyed 20-year-old and a world of possibilities was legitimately at my feet.
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why
It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time
I’ve loved the song since it debuted, but its meaning for me has changed over time. Nearly twenty-five years later, the lyrics are both ominous and optimistic, hopeful yet sobering. None of us is promised tomorrow, but it’s fair to say that I likely have less life ahead of me than I’ve already lived. I’m not being overly dramatic; I’m just going on the average life expectancy of women in the United States. Regardless, that thought is humbling.
I’ve lived enough life that I can see the turning points, the decisions (good and bad), and where they’ve led me. Wisdom may or may not come with age, but it definitely comes from experience. And, time teaches many lessons, regardless of your willingness to learn them. I still have more living, learning, growing, and hurting to do—no doubt—but I trust the process. I know now that it is the process that offers me possibility. What I do with it… well, that’s up to me.
As for the year ahead, I know whatever it is or will be… that’s up to me too. So my word for 2022, it’s…
Why?
Because the clock is ticking, the possibilities are endless, and I’m in charge!
No Medals for Suffering
Olympian, gold medalist, most decorated U.S. gymnast ever, and all-around bad ass Simone Biles has been in the headlines non-stop for the past two weeks. Not for the gold medals she was predicted to win, but because she chose her health and well-being over her accomplishments.
She chose herself over the expectations of others.
If you are a follower of my blog, you may have seen the prior post talking about my feelings related to my oldest daughter, who is 14 years old, going to New York City to participate in the Joffrey Ballet School’s SPECTRUM Jazz and Contemporary Summer Intensive. She was supposed to be there two weeks. She only stayed for one.
I’ve no desire to over-share my daughter’s personal life on this blog, so the specifics and circumstances surrounding this decision have no place here, but it did make me think about the origins of the phrase…
What I very quickly understood was this is much more than a phrase. It’s a philosophy, a mantra. Hell, it’s pretty much a societal directive. After a series of web searches offered nothing with regard to where it originated– other than a largely unhelpful (and, admittedly, unknown to me) Van Halen song by the same name that came out when I was eleven– Google did offer a plethora of support for the phrase.
Now, let me be clear… I am not a procrastinator. I live by checklists. It’s fair to say I’m known for getting shit done. By and large, I’ve tended to believe and adhere to the idea of finishing what you start… until now. I mean I still support the concept… generally speaking. I expect people to be true to their word. Integrity is a value I uphold. Commitments made are important to keep. BUT…
When did what other people think matter more than what we, ourselves, feel?
What if what you started no longer serves you?
What if finishing could actually hurt you (physically, mentally, emotionally, etc.)?
The silliest analogy I’ve come up with in all my consideration of this topic is eating. I’ll acknowledge upfront and with hindsight and education that the following statement is wrong on numerous fronts… but, that said, I often heard “there are starving children in Africa” at mealtimes growing up.
In short, and more politically correct, I was raised to be a member of the “clean plate club.” I was expected to eat everything on my plate. Why did the conversation not focus on listening to our bodies, learning the signs of “fullness,” and only taking what we were sure we could initially eat?
It was in all this internet prowling and soul searching that I came across the concept of “multipotentiality.” It’s a big word. Emilie Wapnick coined it and, to learn more, you should check out her TED Talk or her book.
It was a post on her website, Puttylike, titled “Why You Shouldn’t Finish What You Start” that initially caught my attention… mostly because it was the ONLY thing I COULD find that supported NOT finishing. For the lovers of random learning, feel free to do a deep dive into the concept of multipotentiality. It isn’t a direct link to the rabbit hole I was down, but I was hooked.
For me, here is what resonated…
“To a specialist, finishing means hitting an external end point, like obtaining a degree, or even devoting your life to one path…
“Anything short of mastery is seen as a failure–as giving up.
“To a multipotentialite, however, finishing looks very different. As Barbara Sher discusses in her amazing book, Refuse to Choose, finishing simply means that you got what you came for…
“It helps to know what your goals are before embarking down a new path. That way you’ll know for yourself when you’ve hit your end point, and you won’t inadvertently start applying someone else’s definition of finished…”
I know most of my (very few) readers will likely go, “Huh. Interesting.” and then they’ll move on about their day and probably never consider it again. I, however, haven’t stopped thinking about it. Mostly because of my daughter. Reiterated by Simone’s courage.
We could ask ourselves, “Who benefits from my pushing through just to claim completion?” We could all probably provide an answer; but, how might our thinking change—our decision-making change– if we asked instead, “Who suffers from my pushing through? What is at risk to finish what I’ve started?”
The answer is Other vs. Self… and last I checked, there were no medals for suffering.
Thank you, Simone, for being the example we need… for the conversation we must continue.
I Hope You Dance
Being a parent is hard!
It’s often feels like walking a tightrope… balancing between being your child(ren)’s biggest cheerleader and a drill sergeant… between tough love and teachable moments. They grow from entirely dependent and cuddly babies, to sassy toddlers, to “me” and “mine” children full of insistent independence. Then, they become tweens and teens who see-saw between loving and despising you… one minute they need a hug, the next they don’t want to even share the same air. It can be hard to keep pace and stay sane. I know there are more stages to look forward to (and fear), but this is as far as I’ve personally made it to date.
I’ve always been an independent, adventure-seeking, “home”-is-where-you-make-it kind of gal. I went off to camp the summer after 5th grade (~10 years old) for two-weeks. I didn’t want to go home when it was over. For the next handful of summers, I went for a month! It never really occurred to me what my parents were thinking when they dropped me off, trunk packed and bright eyed, for a month. I guess a part of me thought I was giving them a little break, a summer reprieve.
Then, after college and on the morning of my 21st birthday, my parents put me on a plane to Colorado. I was off to travel with the international organization Up With People… alone, knowing no one… and knowing that I wouldn’t be home until Christmas. I was ecstatic. They had to be apprehensive, but they didn’t show it.
But now… now I’m the parent.
I’m on an Amtrak train headed to New York City to take my oldest daughter to the Joffrey Ballet School’s SPECTRUM Jazz and Contemporary Summer Dance Intensive. She’s 14 years old and tomorrow I’ll hand her over to JBS’s care for the next two weeks in the Big Apple. I’ll give her a hug, say goodbye, and wish her good luck on the sidewalk outside her residence hall (an apartment building in lower Manhattan) because only residents are allowed to go inside the building as a COVID safety measure. She’ll greet roommates, unpack her bags, make her bed, and go grocery shopping… without me. On Monday, she’ll take the subway to Long Island City (with other dancers and a chaperone) for 6+ hours of dance instruction… and will repeat such for the next two weeks. Admittedly, I’m a ball of nerves… and yet also full of pride.
I know parents send their kids to camp and to college all the time. They put minor children on flights alone, trusting they’ll get safely from point A to B. I know I’m not unique, or special, or different. But this one is mine… my baby, my first born. She is kind, smart, fierce, and talented. She loves to dance and always has. She is a performer! This experience is an incredible opportunity… for the dance, absolutely, but also for so much more.
She’s been raised in a quiet, mostly rural, small university town. It’s a tight-knit community where it’s hard to go anywhere without seeing someone you know. She’s not sheltered, but I wouldn’t necessarily call her street savvy either. We’ve travelled a lot (she’s already been to 34 U.S. states). She’s visited NYC three times prior. She’s been on planes, trains, and boats, ridden in taxis and Lyfts, and knows how to use her phone’s navigation and an old-school map.
She’s a child of divorce, raised in a split family and bouncing between two houses for nearly half her life now… which has created (like it or not) an adaptable spirit and sense of resiliency. That said, numerous roommates will be a new adventure as she’s never really had to share her personal space. She’s capable of doing laundry, preparing a basic meal, and cleaning, but hasn’t been solely responsible for such for any significant amount of time. She’s not trained in self-defense, but knows to trust her gut and listen to her “Spidey sense.”
There are more-than-acceptable safety measures and precautions in place by JBS (and a few extra by me). Nevertheless, I’m leaving my 14-year-old daughter in New York City, largely on her own, for the next two weeks. In my head, that’s terrifying. In my heart, I am so proud of and excited for her!
I hope she makes lifelong friends and is free of major roommate drama. I hope she says, “Hello!,” introduces herself, and actively welcomes others in… realizing they may be as uncomfortable and feeling as uneasy as she is. I hope she grows as a dancer in ways she’d otherwise never be able to. I hope she embraces her independence and is bold in saying “yes” to new and different experiences. I hope she rests when she’s tired, listens to her body, and stays out of her own head (avoids overthinking and negative self-talk). I hope she “remembers who she is, where she comes from, and what she stands for”—and doesn’t change her accent, personality, beliefs, or her sense-of-self to fit in. I hope she has so much fun she doesn’t want to come home, even though I’ll be counting down the moments until she does.
There is so very much I hope for her.
But Lee Ann Womack has already captured most of my thoughts…
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…
I hope you dance!
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance,
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’,
Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’,
Don’t let some Hell-bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin’ out… reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…
I hope you dance!
Dance, sweet girl… I hope you dance!
44 Revolutions
Yesterday, I turned 44.
It was a nice, quiet day with my significant other featuring a smattering of texts, FB messages, and phone calls from family and friends. The sun was shining. We went to one of our favorite outdoor nature spots. I took pictures. He sketched. We ate a delicious meal and enjoyed some live music. There was Starbucks in the morning and Rosé in the afternoon. I even squeezed in a documentary on Netflix and an early bedtime. It was a good day!
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written a blog post. A “hot minute” in this case is 145 days, but who’s counting? Actually, I am and that is WAY too long and a bit unacceptable for my own personal standards. Nevertheless, it is what it is. I’m writing today and that is good enough.
COVID isn’t over, but the world (or at least my little section of it) is coming back to life. My girls finished their 3rd, 6th, and 8th grade school years—fully masked and on an adjusted schedule, but they did it. I still hold the utmost respect for our children and educators for the astonishing feat they accomplished across the 2020-2021 academic year.
This spring was a vast improvement from 2020.
We cheered at lacrosse tournaments. We applauded at an outdoor dance recital… thankful they got to perform. We can go to our community pool whenever we like without a reservation. We are enjoying some family vacation time. School resumes in less than a month. College football will return this fall. We got vaccinated and we continue to do our part to keep ourselves and others safe.
These are the markers indicating a return to “normal.”
Between “Mom-ing” three girls full time, a global pandemic, and another trip around the sun, I’ve been thinking about the lessons I’ve learned in life. For heaven’s sake, I’m middle aged now. (UGH!) So, I wanted to capture them… for posterity, if nothing else.
“Lessons” may not even be the most adequate descriptor… and “wisdom” seems way too self-important… they’re insights, realizations, new awareness, or a better understanding gained than some prior moment. I don’t suppose they’re groundbreaking nor Earth-shattering. Some were easily learned. Some were painful. Some were “Oh Shit” shockers. All are exceptionally true, for me.
Here is one for every trip around the sun I’ve made thus far (in no particular order) …
- Love is the answer, no matter the question.
- Consistency is hard.
- The truth can hurt… but it can also be liberating.
- You can’t go back, so make great memories.
- Kindness matters. You never know another person’s struggles.
- Racism is real, and it’s a white people problem that needs rectifying.
- Your parents are still your parents no matter how old you are or annoying it is.
- To quote Dolly, “If you want the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain.”
- Stories matter… and deserve to be told. Share your own and be sure to listen to others’.
- Love, even if it ends in heartbreak, is not to be regretted.
- “Should” and “Must” are terrible words that rob you of happiness.
- Intelligence has nothing to do with schooling or a college degree.
- Your health is the best investment you can make.
- People who knew you as a child are critically important relationships to maintain.
- Celebrate birthdays… your own and others. A year older is better than the alternative.
- Laugh every single day. And don’t be afraid to laugh too loudly.
- Crying is therapeutic.
- Luck and hard work are identical twins.
- Say “YES” … especially when it scares you, but not if it will kill you or bankrupt you.
- Travel as much as you can… to all the places you can… in all the ways you can.
- Smile. It is a free gift that you can give away constantly… and it makes people wonder.
- Try to eat the rainbow every day.
- Assuming is a bad habit. Break it.
- To each their own. Mind your own damn business.
- You can have it all, but probably not all at the same time.
- Real success is not your job title or annual salary.
- Life can change in a moment. Never leave something important unsaid.
- Stay curious… take a moment to Google that shit!
- Having a rock-solid plan is the best way to get off course.
- Find a “ride or die” friend in life… a Thelma to your Louise.
- Do what is right, especially when no one is looking.
- Climate change is real and science matters.
- Everyone has 24 hours in their day, but not everyone has priorities.
- Say what you mean. Mean what you say.
- Fail forward. Experience, especially the bad ones, are life’s greatest teacher.
- Don’t make others do what you can easily do for yourself. That said, don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.
- Hurting people hurt people.
- You can be mad; You cannot be mean.
- Sunsets and rainbows are magical things… pause and take them in.
- Everything in moderation but ration social media for your own mental health.
- Be present for and attentive to your own life.
- Reality is subjective.
- Self-worth can be a hard-fought battle.
- Everything doesn’t happen for a reason, but you can make reason of everything that happens.
Unsung Heroes
COVID-19 sucks. Period. There are more elegant ways I could say such, but I’m going for brevity and clarity. Discussing it more than I already have over the past year would be like beating a dead horse, except this damn horse never dies. People are tired. I am tired. But this needs to be said.
I have the utmost respect for medical professionals. I appreciate their dedication, commitment, compassion, and tireless efforts. I don’t wish to diminish the critical role they’ve played, and continue to play, day in and day out. Sure, it’s their job– but this has to feel like an endless series of bad days. Thank you. I see you and appreciate you.
I want to give a shout out to the parents too. For those trying to do their job, keep up their home (laundry, cooking, dishes, lawn care, etc.), raise their kids, care for their aging parents, feed the pets, and/or any variety of other things, here is a high five and “you got this.” Show yourself some grace. Cut yourself some slack. Take a nap. I see you. I feel you. I am you.
I’ll also go ahead and add that I am annoyed by individuals who think this global pandemic is “just the flu,” who can’t be bothered to wear a mask, or refuse to wear one properly (cover your mouth AND your nose). Seriously, it’s not that hard. Take one for the team. I see you. You frustrate me.
THIS blog, however, is about the unsung heroes of this unprecedented, relentless, never-seeming-to-end merry-go-round of a shit show. The unsung heroes to me are those who are bystanders to all that is happening TO AND AROUND them, who’ve been dealt blow after blow and (even if they wallow for a few hours or a few days in the understandable stress and anxiety) still get back up with a smile and GET IT DONE.
The unsung heroes, at least in my world, are the K-12 teachers and our children.
For nearly a year now, our teachers and our children, their students, have been asked to “make it work,” “stay positive,” “roll with the punches,” and “know it won’t be this way forever.”
For the teachers, it’s meant more work and more expectations. More hats to wear. More roles to fill. Teach remotely. Adjust that… teach remote students AND in-person students, simultaneously. Back to fully remote. And, back again, to hybrid. Between classes, wipe down desks and sanitize everything. Do this. Adapt to that schedule. Wear a cloth mask and a face shield. Make sure kids keep their masks on, at all times. Orchestrate meals. Be flexible. Adjust everything. Yes, by next week. You can do it. You’ve got this, even with little to no notice. Oh, and yes, we’ll be assessing you all the while.
TEACHERS: Underpaid. Under-appreciated. Under-resourced. Under-supported. AND… Brilliant. Patient. Creative. Loving. Encouraging. Inspiring. Effective. I see you. I feel for you. I want to validate you and your experiences. This sucks. I don’t envy you. You are truly AMAZING human beings. It isn’t enough, it will never be enough, but from the bottom of my heart I want to say…
CHILDREN: Tired. Trying. Afraid. Anxious. Withdrawn. Affected. All in the same boat. AND… Innocent. Hopeful. Willing. Resilient. Optimistic. Promising. Our future.
I hate to think about kindergarten students who, to date, don’t know what “real school” is or looks like… they think “this” is it. They haven’t experienced the school cafeteria or recess. What is right now is all they know.
I admire the juniors and seniors who envisioned Friday night football games, Homecoming, Prom, and Graduation. I ache for the athletes who won’t compete, won’t get to enjoy Parent’s Night, won’t experience the camaraderie amongst the team, and won’t have memories to share of “that time they” did whatever at their future reunions. These students hopes have been turned upside down. I’m disappointed for them. I imagine they’re devastated. And yet, they do what they can to make the most of it. They adjust their dreams and aspirations determined to make the most of what is. They’ve no other choice.
I’ve had 43 years on this Earth. A small fraction, 1/43rd of my life, has been spent living during COVID-19. I remember the before. I have enough experience and wisdom to know there will be an after. It’s hard to think about my daughters perspectives… having 1/8… 1/11… or 1/14 of their life like THIS. Ouch.
COVID-19 is our children’s JFK Shooting, Challenger Explosion, Columbine, and 9/11… but it didn’t come and go. It’s still here. It will define an entire generation, worldwide. The true impact won’t be known for years. I am impressed, humbled really, with the tenacity, strength, and resilience of our children.
To that, I say…
Talk may be cheap, but words are powerful. When I feel helpless, I write. This blog won’t change or solve a damn thing, but it does allow me to embrace gratitude… to share my appreciation and respect… to type a HUG and send it out to the world, earmarked for those who just keep going… and, especially, to recognize and acknowledge the unsung heroes.
This is dedicated to K-12 teachers and our children, their students.
GlitterBombMom 