Category Archives: Gratitude

Less Than 100!??

08 Wednesday Feb 2017

Posted by in Gratitude, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Yes, it’s true. Today I took my motorcycle to the State Inspection Station for the annual mandatory vehicle inspection.  The temp this afternoon was already over 70, so I decided it was a good time even though the sticker is good until the end of the month. The guy asked me if I’ve been riding much, and I told him, not really, that today was the first time in “I can’t remember when.”  He wrote down the mileage for the inspection report: 13,777.

I had to wait a few minutes while he checked brakes, lights, horn, etc. And very shortly he was done. I received a copy of the report, and as I was putting it away with my other registration and insurance paperwork, I pulled out last year’s report to toss.  I glanced at it and noticed the mileage from one year ago (admittedly, it was on the 16th, and today is only the 8th).  Mileage 13,699.  Wait – what?!?? Yes, that’s right, I had driven only 78 miles since last year!!!!!!

I remember when I got her, Valentine’s Day 2011, a gift to myself.  Kevin and I were in South Dakota, and I had two somewhat silly goals. (1) Drive “year round” by getting her out of the driveway at least once every month.  That first year I was chopping ice at the end of the driveway so I could get out and then go up and down the street because the road itself was dry and it was almost +40 degrees out. And I did it; I rode at least once every month that first year.   (2)  In this first year, by February 14, 2012, I wanted to have driven her 5,000 miles. I had a friend who drove 10,000 miles annually on her bike, but I was a newbie.  The Sunday before this magic day was up, I was still short. It was COLD outside, and windy, but the roads were dry. So Kevin bundled up with me and we drove around the countryside for a hundred or so miles until I turned the magic 5,000. It was a proud moment.

pat-black-hills

I used to really get into it!

And then today…78 annual miles … the proof stared up at me.  Uff-da! My first thought was, clearly it’s time to sell her. My second though was, I’m glad she’s paid for because if I was making payments on her while she just sat in the garage taking up space, I would not be happy. Then I thought, it’s time to go riding.

So I did. After what seemed like an hour-long ride , I stopped at Au Bon Pain for an afternoon coffee and a croissant. My hands were a little stiff from the reach between the clutch handle and hand grip, and the breeze made it somewhat cooler than 73 degrees on the back deck with my feet propped up. I looked at the odometer and was surprised to see I had gone all of 15 miles!!! Two more miles to get home, and I’m still short of 100 for the YEAR by 5 miles. But I just didn’t care to drive around so I could hit that mark. So I came home and put her away.

my-new-honda

My Honda VTX1300T

I don’t know if I’ll ride again….and that does make me just a little bit sad.  Maybe it’s time to release her to someone else who will get more joy out of having her. Maybe I should try harder (or just try) to find a riding group. Maybe I’m just done. I guess time will tell.  In the meantime, I will remain grateful for the good times we had together (Beartooth Pass, Pig Trail, Nashville construction zone in the dark and rain, Sarasota, Black Hills, and more). I am especially grateful that all my rides have been safe ones. I hope yours are, too!  If you don’t ride, please SEE MOTORCYCLES so they can be safe. Maybe they’re trying to hit 100…or 5,000 miles…or some other milestone.

 

Sabbatical v. Marching

23 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation

≈ 1 Comment

This past weekend, January 21, 2017, there was a significant demonstration of solidarity for human rights, not just in Washington DC but across the USA and around the world.  It was a focused time to think about what really, really, really matters, and to do something about it.  I had 2 nieces, 2 sisters, 2 granddaughters, one daughter, and several friends attend in Washington DC, Los Angeles, St. Petersburg FL, Fargo ND, and even here in Williamsburg…these are the ones that I know of.  I did not attend, and I’m not even sure how I feel about it after the fact….I don’t regret not attending but I am very proud of those who did.

I stayed away deliberately, because I don’t like huge crowds and, frankly, I was concerned about it turning ugly. The criminal protests and damage that was done on Friday for the inauguration was deplorable. I also don’t attend concerts because of overcrowding, and the anticipated gridlock on the interstates and city roads also was a deterrent. It seems to me that my preference for solitude is growing, and that too is food for thought. I am comfortable with my choice and I am comfortable with the choice others made. That is one of the benefits of living in the USA – the right to make these choices for myself.

It’s not that I want to have others speak for me, or that I am unwilling to stand up for what I believe in. In the past, this Mama Bear has been known to not only defend but to attack priests, the medical profession, family members, bosses, and even basketball coaches, among others, when I felt thwarted, threatened, or demeaned. It’s just not my style if I have other options these days. The option I chose this weekend was prayer, for those marching, as well as for our country and the people in charge of it. I even attended church on Sunday, which those who know me will be (pleasantly?) surprised about, and then several of us talked about the marches for a few hours afterwards. One had been to DC and two others had participated right here in town (which I hadn’t known about). No judgments were made on either side; it was a true time of simply sharing experiences.

I am also proud of those I know who did go. I got tears when I saw the pictures of my daughter and granddaughters dressed in Superwoman and Wonder Woman capes, holding signs and smiling. They are learning that they have a voice and are using it, and that they are not alone. I was happy to see my nieces also taking risks and making statements with their clothing and signs to stand up for what they feel strongly about, not to just attend because it was a thing to do on a Saturday. My sisters are on vacation but still took time to join in a march near where they are. Making time for what is important, instead of making excuses for what is inconvenient, is a valuable skillset we can  all learn from. We all do what we can, when we can, with what we have, in our own ways.

What I’ve been thinking about is how I took the past year as a sabbatical to recalculate what is important to me now. It is too easy to get lost in the everydayness of our lives, to stay on autopilot because we don’t know what else to do, to wait for a better time to do what needs to be done.  I spent many months thinking about my values, religious, political, and otherwise, and I still can’t recite them, but I feel more whole for having gone into the weeds and through the vast fields of doubt and uncertainty to find myself again.

Going within, taking the time to do this, relearning how to take care of myself, and coming up with a plan for being true to myself has been a priceless opportunity for me. I think everyone should take a sabbatical to do this because a single-day march, even for a cause as big as this one, is not enough to sustain new thoughts and ideas. We need action, planned, deliberate, sustainable action. Maybe this is where I can help. We have not begun anything new yet; we have declared the ending of what was. Now is the time to prepare for a new beginning. That is what my sabbatical did for me. It helped me let go of the old ways, the old ideas, the old relationships, the old dreams, and it gave me time to process the change that had occurred and ushered in the necessary space for rethinking these ideals. I am just now sprouting a new beginning.

An Open Letter to my Children on Inauguration

16 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Traditions, Transformation, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Dear Children, One of the posts I saw on Facebook this morning was from a friend who shared a “good read for those who are afraid, upset and disquieted by what will take place this coming Friday…”  Both she and I are in a Speaker’s Academy, and this Friday is when we have our final “showcase” speech and graduation.  She actually was going to withdraw a week ago, feeling unprepared for the event, but she has reconsidered.  Imagine my amusement when I opened the article and discovered it was about Donald Trump’s inauguration set for this Friday also! It was 10 Acts of Resistance on Inauguration Day, and one of them struck a chord with me.

I am writing this letter in response to idea #7, Reassure Your Children, by nurturing their hope.  I urge you to remember that as dramatic as things seem right now, as impossible as the future seems, as opposite the ideals are of the incoming Administration from what you think you would like to see, please know that it will be okay. You have to trust me on this. I don’t mean things are going to be easy, or feel good, or that all the streets will turn to gold and love and peace will overflow.  But I have walked through some parts of hell already in my life, and I do know there is always something else ahead.

You may not think of it this way, but here are a few things that have happened in my time…things I remember for myself.

Collage

  • JFK was assassinated. I was in kindergarten, and I remember the announcement, the crying, being sent home. I didn’t know what it was about, but I knew it was BIG.  I also remember MLK being shot when I 9 years old, and Grandpa’s reaction (one I’m not proud of, but then, it was him, not me), and RFK too.
  • Viet Nam.  Grandpa’s cousin, Bernie, served, so it always seemed personal, although I didn’t really understand it. I was still young.
  • Nixon and Watergate.  I was 16, and we were all in the car driving to Utah for vacation when Nixon resigned. I heard it on the radio, and Grandpa was so angry about it. I remember a fleeting thought of how bad it was going to get if no one was in charge, and wondering if it could be worse than having a crook in charge.
  • Reagan’s victory. I remember standing in a line at the school polling place when it was announced he had won, and we hadn’t even voted yet. It wasn’t long after that I paid 10% interest on a car we bought, and 16% mortgage interest on our home in Cuyamunge. I was making $1850/month working for the state. We survived that, and look at us now.
  • Clarence Thomas hearings, and the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky scandal. I know where I was, I remember watching the broadcasts.  Same with Oliver North. President Bush and the Gulf War, which my cousin Rick served in, and the next President Bush…’nuff said.
  • 9-11 I was at work, and got a call from Auntie Di asking me if Renae was okay. Renae was, in fact, visiting in my home in Brookings (divine intervention?). I rushed home so we could watch CNN together. What was a last-minute weekend trip became a week, and nothing has really been the same since then.
  • Yada-yada-yada.  Suffice it to say, it’s always something. And yet, here we are.

In the midst of the political angst over the past 40 or 50 years, I also had some personal shit in my life that helped make the politics less important.

  • I buried both my parents and a husband. I also witnessed several good relatives and some friends being laid to rest.
  • I divorced, and moved 6 times after that, trying to provide for my family while completing my college degree, raising teenagers and helping them into college.
  • Tino broke his knee, Renae had endometriosis, Gabe broke his wrist, Brandy rolled a car, Ethan shot out a window in Gabe’s truck, Heather had a baby, Renae got divorced.
  • I loved people who suffered through cancer, had an abortion, were foreclosed on their home, lost a job, went to jail, had surgeries, got divorced, fought with children, were abused, committed suicide, were hospitalized, lost their reputation, buried their children or spouses, and otherwise started over again.

On the other hand, while all this (and more) was going on in my world and other people’s lives, good things happened, and are still happening.

  • I brought up amazing children, who themselves have amazing children.  As my hero Kahlil Gibran reminds us, life goes forward, not backward.  (Donald Trump is already 70; you and your children are the future.) I was able to give each of you an education, a respect for nature, and a strong familial relationship. You are good, kind, hard-working, responsible, nurturing, and loving people. That’s what the world needs. Pass that on to your children, and to your friends and their children. Life is an evolution, not an event. Keep trying to make it better.
  • All my children found and give mature love as adults, and they have made meaningful lives with wonderful partners. They also show love to their families, their friends, their neighbors. I am so proud of each of you.
  • Despite whoever was in the Oval Office, I was able to mend a broken heart, more than once. I know what’s really important to me, and I don’t get so caught in the drama of the news cycle.  It’s good to know that this is possible. Life goes on, and it is worth the effort to see what’s next, to know new people, to try new things, to go new places. There is life after life as you knew it, and there will be life after Donald Trump goes home again.
  • Despite whatever was going on in city hall, or the state capitol, or the Capitol Beltway, I always believed that what I did mattered. Not because I had a select or elite position, but because I know that the everyday little things add up.  All politics are local, and I focused on what I could manage in my own way. Starting at home, always.
  • I still have access to new ideas, books, movies, music, and art. I can avoid the “real” world and all its drama by the diet I feed my mind. I choose to read positive stories with happy endings, I listen to uplifting music, I surround myself with the stuff that makes me feel good. I know people who have lost all that and had to flee their homes in a communist country, and they still survive; they live better now. Be a role model to your children, give them hope.
  • I still had time to experience life, absent the stream of bad news trying to assault me. The Little League games, the indoor soccer matches, the hockey games I still don’t understand, the basketball trips, the Disneyland days, that bus trip to Duluth, the chanting of a choir, the sun in Jamaica, the wine in Italy, country music line-dancing, the cross-country road trips, camping, geo-caching for treasures, hugs and smiles from granddarlings, the singing birds in my own backyard, the antics of puppies and old dogs, good coffee. The mental breaks are vital to my health. I want to see happiness in pictures and videos, share in the moments you think are important, stay in touch with my friends. There is little room for political drama, except West Wing on Netflix!

I don’t think I am abdicating any personal responsibility by not publicly voicing my displeasure at the state of the world and contributing to that negative noise. I have chosen another way, and I do take full responsibility for my personal condition.  Every week at Toastmasters I join like-minded people who are interested in making the world a better place by improving their communication and leadership sTMkills. As I see it, the world is desperately in need of these attributes. Last fall I had the incredible opportunity to see 144 counties sharing a weekend in the pursuit of a better world, at a Toastmasters International conference.  Proof that we can live in a different world. That’s how I serve,  what I choose to be a part of.  As John Lennon said, you may say I’m dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

Right now there is uncertainty because everything is changing.  Remember, not all change is bad, and in the final analysis, at least we are in the USA, not some third world country or communist regime. It’s never been a perfect world, and it likely won’t be while we live on this earth. That’s what heaven is for. And there is always hope for a better, different tomorrow, because you are here and I am here. We can make a difference, we can make choices, we can prove the naysayers wrong about how bad it is. And with my rose-colored glasses on, just think what it might be like if Donald actually does some good!

I challenge you to continue to be grateful for what you have, and to not dwell on what you don’t have. I am grateful that you all are in my life. You and your partners, your children, your friends. 20160627_165608Keep on loving your children, encouraging them, playing with them, nurturing their positive spirits.  Someday probably we will look back on this week and all we feared, but for now I will remember that January 20, 2017, is my son’s birthday, and the day I graduate from the National Speaker’s Association Speaker Academy.  I don’t have any inclination to cast a shadow on this day by worrying about other things.

With everlasting love, Mom

 

Going “home” for Christmas

30 Friday Dec 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Grief, Traditions

≈ 1 Comment

I spent Christmas 2016 in Santa Fe with all three of my adult children and their families, plus some of their extended families (in-laws, cousins), and my brother. I have spent the last three Christmases now with some of my kids, but this was the first time we have all been together in over 2 years, and it’s maybe 10 years since we all celebrated Christmas together.  I am adapting to the holidays without Kevin, but it’s not just about having distractions to keep me from thinking about him.  I found more of me this year, which I suppose is another step along my grief path to the rest of my life .  It was an awesome holiday vacation, and they just keep getting better.

family-2016

I lived in Santa Fe for 17 years as a young woman, wife and mother. We moved there when our daughter was 2 months old, and both of our boys were born there.  I’ve been back a few times since I left over 20 years ago, especially since the youngest son moved back there. When I left, it was a few years after my divorce from my kids’ dad, who still lives there.  I had always struggled to fit in, never quite feeling like I belonged there; not unaccepted but not embraced.  It was always a nice enough place to visit after the divorce, yet I never wanted to move back.  But now I think about it, partly because I have found some peace within myself about that the relationship he and I used to have and the one we have now.  Now I am more sensitive to the shortness of a life span, more aware of what makes me happy, more interested in thinking and being than doing. This trip I even went to see him for a few minutes and wish him and his girlfriend a Happy New Year.  (It wasn’t creepy; she had already given me a Christmas present, and my kids and brother were there also.)  How I feel about him is fodder for another story someday. Suffice it to say that I can now appreciate my own life differently.

Anyway, in these intervening years, I went back to college and completed a both an undergrad and graduate degree. I moved three more times, always for more progressive employment opportunities. I married and buried a second husband. I lost both my parents and a stepmother. I have traveled to nearly all 50 states, and been to Europe, Canada, and Jamaica. I learned how to drive a motorcycle, and I adopted two furry four-legged boys. I have read probably a thousand books. I’m now starting my own business. In other words, I have expanded my world view significantly, reprioritized my life a few times, and changed a lot. I like myself and the life I have created, and I have released old ideas of who I was and what my role was supposed to be. I had more confidence about this visit to Santa Fe than I have ever had.

I

kids-2016

Gabe & Kelsyn, Renae & Andrew, Tino & Jenna Olivia, Ava, Isla, Mayzie, & Nikos

 

always hate to leave my kids and tear up when it’s time to say our goodbyes.  I fantasize about moving to be with them all the time.  I scope out real estate ads and contemplate other job options. I daydream about a Waltons kind of close family (ironically, Waltons Mountain is here in Virginia). I imagine the kids think about it some, too, for me.

 

And then when I get on the plane, I feel myself relax, already anticipating the peace and quiet of my own home, with my own stuff around me, making the mental move back to my regular life. The freedom of not having to be in full-on parental mode and the independence of coming and going as I please without having to be accountable to anyone else.  When I get in the door, I breathe a sigh that comes from deep within and says “you’re home now.”  Is it the lure of Virginia and my house? I don’t think so; it’s my lifestyle. Which is portable. As am I. Portable, I mean. I would bet the kids are also happy to get back to their own lives.

I don’t think I am ready to move, and for sure the idea of packing and doing all it would take to make another cross-country move is daunting. So it’s time for a little transition or compromise of sorts on my part.  One easy thing I can do is to initiate more contact with my kids by phone and email, or preferably by Face-time or Skype. I also can re-evaluate my budget and see about more trips to see them. Although I whined that my flight yesterday left at 6 am, I was home by 2:30 local time, so a bit less than an 8 hour trip door to door. I have driven further than that and not been anywhere! I also introduced a tiny bit more Santa Fe style to the house.

pottery

Acoma on left, Jemez on right

I added a gift piece of Acoma pottery to my little collection that includes Jemez and Santa Clara Pueblo pieces already.  I bought two colorful ceramic light switch covers and installed them.

lightswitch

Lightswitch

And I brought a Native American wool blanket out to my family room so I can enjoy it daily. I can have it all, in a way…it’s not eccentric, it’s just me.

The “reason for the season” reminds us of the goal for peace on earth, which begins with me.  I think I have finally achieved that, or at least I can see it.  I don’t have to GO home again, I take the sense of home with me where I go.  I felt at home there, and I feel that now here.  The best gift I got this Christmas is knowing that.

 

Master Procrastinator, or not?

10 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation

≈ 3 Comments

It just dawned on me last week that next month will be the one year anniversary of my sabbatical!!  Uff-da…where did all the time go??!?!??  There were so many things I was going to do, places I was planning to see, people I was going to spend time with.  And now, like the Christmas countdown, I am seeing days flash before my eyes. And guess what?  I don’t care all that much.

The primary reason for my sabbatical was to rest and recover my equilibrium from the grief experience.  Mission accomplished! I have found my natural rhythm, which is about 7 hours of sleep, some times 6, sometimes 8, and only a rare nap.  I am back to staying up late and sleeping in in the mornings. It’s not uncommon to find me up past midnight.  And the good news is that the dogs have adjusted as well. It’s unusual to have them need to go out urgently in the morning, although Bo is still my waker-upper one.

A secondary activity I wanted to indulge myself in was reading.  For quite a while after Kevin’s death, I could not manage to read a magazine article all the way through. My concentration skills were zilch.  Even though I haven’t read some of the books I had planned to read, I have enjoyed 2-3 books per week on average. They are a mix of trashy romance, cookbooks, biographies, a few mysteries, some self-help, and some business advice-type books.  I have even re-read some of my favorites: The Prophet and Something More among them.

I also wanted to get to know the woman I am now and am still becoming.  I don’t ride my motorcycle much, but I did buy the camper and have taken it out a few times. I have use my kitchen more (yesterday I dried apples, am making granola now, and have given my juicer and my crockpots a workout), and I have gotten to know some new people.  I cut the cable (tv) but did get Netflix (I have now seen all 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls) and am reconsidering the tv thing. I cleaned up my yard (well, I hired someone to do it), and I play with my crafts again. It feels so right to do what feels good. Interestingly, I notice that I don’t spend a lot of time in retail therapy, or if I do go out, it’s window shopping instead of buying.  I don’t need things like I used to.  I’d rather spend my time with people.

So do I need a big push here at the conclusion? Nah, I don’t think so. I still want to find an apple orchard, visit my niece in Baltimore, get to the Biltmore in Ashville (via the Blue Ridge Parkway), and maybe finally release some of Kevin’s hunting and motorcycling clothes to those who will enjoy them.

And the book I was going to write? Well, that is still on the list, too.  In fact, I am joining a new writer’s group called Word Weavers. The first meeting is tonight, and  I am excited about it. New people, fresh motivation; what could be better?

I don’t consider myself a procrastinator, even when I know I am deliberately distracting myself. I am a recoverer, a creator, a human being, and a happy one at that.  It’s a beautiful, fulfilling thing to know you are taking good care of yourself.  To enjoy your own company. To appreciate the little things as well as the big things, and to be okay with taking small steps along with the crazy leaps. It’s not what I would have ever asked for, but this is all part of the gift of grief.  I would take him back in heartbeat, but since I can’t, this is the next best thing.

This lifestyle also has other costs in addition to the loss of loved one.  The real costs of insurance, food, utilities, mortgages, etc.  So one of these days soon I will have to work harder at building an income source, but I’m ready to do that now.  I am truly blessed to have had this year, and it’s not over yet.  Watch out, World, I’m on my way!!

The paper chase

29 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Reading, Traditions

≈ 3 Comments

I miss the days of twice-weekly newspapers and once-a-day mail, of photo albums and paperback books.  I’m one of those people who likes to touch and reminisce and ponder and … well, you get the idea. Lately, one of my struggles has been trying to keep track of appointments and notes and receipts and itineraries.  I think I’m on about my 4th or 5th planner system this year. I keep trying to adjust to my Kindle and Microsoft Outlook and Evernote and Contacts.  But when my phone was hijacked a few months ago, I lost my patience.  Call me eccentric or what-have-you, but I have a “thing” for my paper. Paper has a way of slowing me down, thankfully. I don’t need the speed of light or sound or transactions zipping by me willy-nilly.20160630_133826

I like to have pictures up on the walls of my house, not my Facebook wall – pictures that are of my kids or grandkids, or which represent places and evoke memories of good times.  I like to cuddle with a blankie and a book (a real one, not an imaginary one on a screen) and a pillow. I like to flip through my address book and decide who to call today (and remember each place that person lived before this address). I like to look at the bulletin board and immediately see what time I leave for Sioux Falls next week (instead of clicking and searching). And I don’t care that my desk seems disorganized – I know where things are – because I wrote it on pink paper, or it was a small yellow post-it, or it was in the pile by the binders.

I was looking for someone’s phone number the other day. The problem was that it had been kept in my Contacts on the phone that was stolen from my car.  I had only had my new phone for about a month, so hadn’t transferred all the data yet.  Not only did I not have the phone number, I didn’t have the email address either.  I had to call someone else to get the info.

And then there was the email I read on my phone but which got lost in the ether and didn’t sync on my desktop computer, so I forgot to respond to someone who was waiting to confirm an appointment with me.  The grocery store app didn’t work inside the store, so it was useless to me. And it turns out my bank debit card doesn’t tell me my balance like my check register does, so I can spend-spend-spend until it’s too late!

I went to a new grocery store in town – Aldi. It cost $.25 to unlock the chain so I could use a grocery cart! If you didn’t have your own bags (which I did), you have buy them. The clerk is timed on how quickly she can get me through the lane, so I couldn’t bag my own groceries while she scanned; I had to wait until she was done. Then I bagged my own food. It was not a great shopping experience.

And then I had to take the recycling and trash out. For the paper person that I am, I was suddenly aware of how little paper I actually threw away, although I tend to print out what seems like a small tree’s worth of correspondence or research on my computer every week.  Things change fast enough, and I have no control over much of that.  But keeping my lifestyle simple and working for me seems like a small price to pay.  It helps me slow down and stop being in “instant” mode so much.  It could be my age, I guess, but I think it has to with my willingness to consciously remember and appreciate small, simple things.

I have an iPad on my nightstand, a small tablet computer on the kitchen counter, a Wii hooked up to the television, a smart phone, and television used as a monitor for my laptop in the office.  I am not a Luddite and not without adequate technology for when I want or need it.  But there is an itch that can’t be scratched with a swipe or a back arrow.  It’s like chasing a paper tiger. I realize that technology has given us many advantages and time savers – but they are negated when I have to do double-entry or make a second trip or get ambivalent about someone’s story I am seeing but not really reading. 

I’m again fixing my own meals instead of eating out so much, having coffee on the deck in the morning instead of at my desk, reading on the couch with the dogs on either side of me instead of watching television. And I’m sleeping better at night and not feeling rushed in the daytime.  Given my circumstances, I’m living the good life right now.

 

Paying a Debt

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

I’m so lucky! Today I had the opportunity to pay a debt I have owed to the ones who have held me, lifted me up, supported me, and reminded me that I am enough just as I am.  I have a friend who is feeling irrelevant because she has been ill lately, and so she says she is not contributing to the world like she used to. I remember someone telling me once that it was okay to take a sick day or three, because I always went above and beyond, and that just maybe it was time to let work carry me for a bit.  That little bit of permission and perspective was all I needed to spend some time putting myself back at the top of my priority list. And yes, all sorts of things got better after that.

There were other times, too. During the “Flizzard” in Fargo-Moorhead in the winter of 1996-1997, my house flooded.  A friend told me that just maybe this was God’s way of letting me know that receiving help is as important as giving it. It had nothing to do with asking for help; it was about letting others show me how much they cared by whatever act of kindness they offered me. Amen.

I hope my friend who is feeling irrelevant finds her way back to making meaning, not just making a life. tiredShe has taken on a lot lately, and I know others are depending on her.  She’s the kind of woman who will keep on keeping on as long as she can, but I plan to help her see the light another way, by reminding her that she is enough all by herself.  It may not exactly fit her situation, but when she said she felt irrelevant, this quote came to mind.

It makes me happy to able to help…even if she doesn’t see it that way right now. She chose me to confide in, and that is all the entre I need to make her my mission right now.

 

September is the new January

13 Tuesday Sep 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Sabbatical

≈ 2 Comments

I read on Facebook or Pinterest recently that “September is the new January.” It was in connection with a back to school promotion maybe, or planning or a fall house cleaning concept or something.  For me, it resonated because Fall has always been my favorite time of year, and while many are reaping and harvesting, for me it has always been a time of planning and planting.  There is the mounting excitement for the upcoming holidays, and the subtle end-of-year pressure to finish what I have started, or start what I have yet to get done.

A couple of the bigger things I have not gotten to in the preceding 8 months of this year include going through Kevin’s hunting or fishing gear and finding new homes for it; power-washing the garage floor; and getting a fence up in the back yard. Some of the smaller things include …. well, actually, there aren’t any smaller things left undone. I have done most of what I set out to do, and a few more.  Like developing some friendships here in the neighborhood and in town in general, getting more involved in Toastmasters, camping, and visiting my extended family. What I hadn’t planned on was starting my business, which had consumed most of the past four months.  This is my sabbatical year, and I am happy to say I have also reset my internal clock, lost a few pounds, read dozens of books, walked miles and miles, and let go of my old dreams to make way for new ones. All things being equal (which I know they are not), I’d have to declare the year a success, even though it’s not over yet.

The turning leaves remind me of how I am also turning around. My own color has gone from bluesy nostalgia to sunshine yellow and blushing pink. The crisper air is in balance with my own fresh perspective these days.  The early arrival of pumpkin-everything is in sync with how I am also accelerating my work plans.  The general anticipation in the air is contagious, as I prepare for yet another meeting with potential clients.

I will still write down my 2017 goals around the time of the New Year. But for now, I’m happy that I still have the autumn to enjoy.  It’s comforting to know that the best is yet to come. My life cycle for my new year is starting again.

Reaching out and opening up

30 Tuesday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gratitude, Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation

≈ Leave a comment

You just never know the path that other people have been on. Our world has gotten too good at denying the open expression of our feelings, especially at work.  That doesn’t mean that people aren’t hurting, or confused, or wanting to help others. Let me tell you about a week I had recently when I was training.

The subject was leadership. A facet that many in the group were interested in was managing change. I told them that you don’t really “manage” change, although that is the popular lexicon. The change happens. Sometimes we know it is coming, sometimes it just jumps out at us in one fell swoop, and sometimes we don’t realize until after the fact that the change occurred. Change is usually an event.  I’m not talking about PMS and menopause, by the way!

So if we can’t manage change, what then? Well, we can manage the change process, I said. More accurately, we manage the transition that follows a change. I explained this to the group, and we then discussed the stages of transition and how we go through them and how we can help others. From the ending and letting go, to the middle space where we let things settle out, to the new beginning.   Yes, I took a slight risk and used my husband’s death and my grieving as an example, rather than, say, converting to a new case management system. (But later I did use that example also.)

The risk I took was that I would make my audience too uncomfortable with such a personal example, or almost worse, lose my composure and start crying.  Horror of horrors! Not at work!!  But that didn’t happen this time. And that in itself is proof that I have managed this transition and am on the upswing again.

What was interesting is what happened as a result.  A man brought up a situation in which people were moved to a new office. From a small space with no windows to a larger office with a view. And the person cried. He didn’t know what to do. He could not understand that the employee wasn’t jumping for joy.  I explained that even when we want the change to happen, we still have feelings that need to be honored and expressed. I might guess it had to do with security, comfort in the status quo, or the prospect of people now watching her, or maybe even increased expectations as a result. Maybe it was going to be more distraction, or … You get the idea. The man in the class seemed amazed at these possibilities. He said he would handle the next time differently and ask questions instead of making assumptions.  And that’s not all…

A woman in the class brought me a card the next day. She didn’t want to say anything in front of the entire group, but she had lost her only sibling 26 years ago.  She occasionally struggles with questions of “what would it be like to have a niece or nephew?” And she sometimes is frustrated because she is now the sole caregiver for her aging parents. She thinks this experience has made her stronger, but she is proof that we don’t just “get over” a loss.  The feelings change, recede, visit from time to time, but never go away completely. It doesn’t mean we are still sad 26 years later, or forever, but simply that our feelings change, especially as situations change. With her parents now needing attention, the reason she is the only one left to give care seems fresh.  She will remember that others may also be going through the same thing, and we haven’t a clue why. She said I was courageous and showed integrity. And there is another story, too.

This woman came to me as everyone else left at the end of the course. She had tears in her eyes. I’m not sure of her age, but I would guess late 30’s; she has a 14 year old son. Her husband passed away suddenly a year ago of a heart attack. She told me that she doesn’t ever talk about it at work at all because she doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her or pity her. She tries to maintain an “everything’s just fine” appearance. She took off her wedding ring and replaced it with another favorite of hers.  (I took mine off and don’t wear any rings at all most of the time, on either hand.) She was appreciative that I was willing to talk out loud about it, said it gave her courage. In her view I gained credibility because of my story, and she also appreciated that I shared it so she knew she wasn’t alone.

And then there is the woman I met at Starbucks. She lost everything when her 19-year-old son died in a car accident. She couldn’t concentrate and didn’t care; she lost her job of 20 years. She had bills to pay (including a funeral and medical expenses) but no job. She lost her home. She became difficult to be around, and she lost her friends. But it’s all okay, according to her, because she is “dealing” with it.  She blamed her ex-husband for allowing the son to have a driver’s license, for letting him drive his car. She also has a 14-year-old son who is bigger than she is, and he grabbed her arm. She knew he needed a man in his life, so she sent him a thousand miles away to live at Dad’s. All she wants now is to not sleep in her car, and to get her late son’s ashes back from the hotel that threw her out because she didn’t pay her bill. She smiled and laughed as she told me her story, and I could see the pain she was trying to deny.

There, but for the Grace of God, go I.  We all have our stories.  All of us, not just those of us who have suffered a death of someone close to us. We all walk our own path that might be uphill at times, have twists and turns, potholes, or quicksand. And we also have views of hills and valleys filled with flowers and freshness, rainbows to give us hope, signs to guide us, and scampering critters to let us know we are not alone.

I realized that in the early days I hadn’t really “talked” about my grief much, although I do talk about Kevin all the time now, as if he were still here (because I believe he is, and no, I’m not crazy). I looked for grief support groups but wasn’t successful find one I fit with. So I “showed” my feelings instead.  I was short-tempered, angry, confused, loud, and even mean-spirited.  I hated to cry at my desk, but I couldn’t help myself, and then I felt bad about that – because There’s No Crying In Baseball!!! (According to Tom Hanks in League of Their Own.)  I was making the effort we must make to keep on living, but I was so exhausted from crying and not knowing what would happen next and not sleepingsoIdidwhateverIdidwithoutthinkingmuchuntilIcouldn’tanymore. And when I talked it out and rested, finally, it all sorted itself.  When I talked about my feelings instead of trying to be strong all the time, I released them and made space for other, better feelings.  I even came to like myself again.  When I started sharing my experience, I felt able to accept the gift of grief I had been given.  If it weren’t for this time in my life, I wouldn’t be who I am, doing what I’m doing, being more of who I am, getting closer to being a better version of me.

If you need to talk, I’m here. Or at my camper. I’m going camping next week, to recharge and refresh my perspective once again. I’m learning to recognize the signals my body gives me, and do something about that. Autumn has always been my favorite time of year.  I’m glad it’s coming.  Open windows, open mind. Fresh air, fresh ideas. Vibrant colors, vibrant living.  We can walk while we talk, even if it’s on the phone.