#grateful

Dear Life, 

Here we are coming out of November, and several days into December. I'm reminded of all the things for which I am grateful/thankful/appreciative. I feel like this is the time to consider; to look back at the days/weeks/months and discern the journey more clearly. There's been a lot. And I can feel it. 

Sometimes the strength, the courage, the experience we glean comes with great pain, with worry, with burden. It's not an easy process. But often the lessons we learn through those hardships help us understand. It grants us the capability to be compassionate. Or the capability to recognize pitfalls faster. All the same, I find myself in a position where I'm appreciative of the whole thing. I'm cognizant of the what that brought me here, and even more so as I look ahead to the next day, the next thing, the next lesson. 

I don't want to spell out the list. I know it. We all have one. The point is that it's there. The point is that I'm thinking about it over and over again. The point is that it'll likely be there for the rest of my life: people, and things, and lessons, and moments. I'm grateful for all of it. It's made my life all the more detailed. 

You're not always easy, Life. In fact, most of the time you're really hard. So much happening that is devastating. Irreparable. Unequivocal. It makes me sad. Overwhelmed. On the flip side, there are also beautiful, tender, inspiring moments/people that make it worthwhile, that make me want to try. And try again. 

I am grateful for you, Life. Feel like I need to say that every so often. 

More to come, 

J. 

#yes, it's random

 Dear Life, 

I am the first to admit that sometimes my thoughts greatly resemble a bag of cats. They're all in there. There's no order (you really thought there would be order?!? that's funny). It's loud. There are a bunch of claws and screaming. And everything is trying to get out at the same time. So, Life, I figured I would share these pearls of randomness, perspective, and curiosity with you. I fully realize that almost if not all of these things are Google-able, but I haven't got to that point yet. Sometimes it's just more fun to wonder aimlessly. So, here you go: 

• Who was the genius who thought 'whale blubber would be a great flammable substance!!'?
  
  
• How come sometimes my body is soooooo tired but my mind cannot shut off? And of course, it's thinking back to when I was in class in 7th grade but also thinking what it will be like when I'm 90 all at the same time. "Do you think I'll still be wearing Vans?" Probably. 
  
  
• Can someone explain why Jell-o was the centerpiece of meals in the 50's? And how the love Jell-o with sardine paste and cottage cheese was featured as an actual recipe?? I just...don't understand. (And was it served with crackers or something?? salad?? What side goes with it???)
  
  
• And who looked at tree sap and thought 'you know what this would be great with?!? PANCAKES!!' What??
  
  
• Why can I crochet but not knit??
  
  
• Is it weird that it’s already September?? I remember being a kid and feeling like time went by soooooo molasses slowly. Now, it’s like sometimes when I’m in a plane I can feel a fraction of how fast we’re hurdling through the sky. And I have my tiny little seat belt to keep me secured. It’s ironic. Both the comparison of time from then to now and the puny seatbelt vs. literal jet engines. Yah.
  
  
• Who invented the semi-colon? I mean I know WHY it's needed, but WHOOOO? 
  
  
• I love shoes, but I'm at this point in my life where I cannot wear all the shoes that I love. Of all the things about which I am picky, shoes are it. I have to be able to stand in them, fly in them, walk 5 miles in a concourse (no lie), run in them, and not hate them in 7 minutes. 
  
  
• No, really…WHO figured out that if you take the tail hair of a horse and PEE on it, it would make a sound over a CAT’S INTESTINE pulled taught?? WHO was the gross, psychopath who created the violin?? And it's weird accompanying bow??  
  
  
• Who looked at a big pile of cow dung and thought 'yah, I'mma put that ALL OVER my field.' (Shrugging my shoulders confused.) I mean it works, but (shrug). 
  
  
• WHY did Louis Pasteur think that bread mold would be the solution to internal bacteria when it is (in fact) a bacteria all on its own???

I'll stop there for this episode. You know, give you a chance to think about it and dip into your own bizarre bag o' cats. 

More to come, 

J. 

#no, you should really talk about it

Dear Life, 

So, I know I put it out there that there's all this hard stuff...without getting too specific. You already know. Everybody has stuff. Everybody is dealing with a thing...or two...or nine...or infinity (feels like it escalates that quickly, no?). I don't need to get graphic. People hurt. People bear grief. Deep pain. Wild confusion. Standing on the precipice of 'what if'. No one is alone in that regard. Still, I've had too many different instances in recent weeks to dismiss this emerging theme. Moments where I'm having the same thoughts post-conversation, or wishing that I had bigger arms in which to wrap up all of these people who I love and care about. But don't just give me bigger arms, Life. Not unless they come with Michelle Obama shoulders...then, yah, ok, I'll take them gladly. 

Maybe you don't know that I've had this long-standing thing where people talk to me. Yes, I'm in a professional role where it's not uncommon for people to come to talk to me about things that are happening in the workplace, but this knack that I'm describing runs WAY deeper than work. I mean, people I've JUST MET someway somehow feel comfortable trusting me with their STUFF. Their gnarly, intimate, tangled, like, maybe you should see your priest or your therapist STUFF. And not because I'm soliciting them to tell me, they just do. They just have for almost as long as I can remember in the most random of places: concerts, planes, grocery store lines, parks, stairwells, and public transportation. Because of this long history, I can't say that my Counseling & Guidance degree made that pattern more frequent, I think if anything during the pursuit of that degree, the curriculum developed my skill to ask questions or to be more readily able to ask questions with the intent to better understand the feelings of the other person. However, I can't help but feel like sometimes I know too much - things that I wish I did not know; heavy, horrible things that make me cry on the way home, or lay awake at night wondering about how that person is doing. But, I also, in a weird way feel like, given that history, it's kind of my calling. And that I would rather know the story, or be the one to hear these things than face the stark alternative of what it would be like for that person not to have someone to listen to them, not to hear their story or the weight of not having the support they need to carry on. 

I know the holidays in particular are hard for people. When we find ourselves in that space between Thanksgiving and Christmas when magic is supposed to be happening, it often serves as a harsh reminder for many. We just never know. But even outside of holiday-ness, day to day when things hit, we can/may feel alone. We may turn inwardly to deal. Like circling the wagons, don't let anything else in or out. Our thoughts or feelings may turn to isolation because we don't know what else to do. We don't need judgment or telling the story for the howevermanyieth time. We may tell ourselves that no one gets it, that no one understands, that no one has ever before lived through this kind of whatever. And now, at this place in my life, (not to be rude or to even try to pretend that I know all things) I realize that that's not the reasonable or even likely truth. Really. NO ONE has ever had an addicted friend/loved one/family member? NO ONE has ever lost a loved one before you? NO ONE has ever had a failed relationship? Or been cheated on? Or been in a job that felt frustrating? Or faced drama? Or financial stress? Or dealt with someone who is cruel? Or LOST a job? Or is struggling with mental illness? Or abuse? Or loved someone who didn't love you or had someone love you that you didn't want? Or had an issue with a family member that was really hard? NO ONE??? Ok, fine, I get that it may be more that YOU have never gone through this stuff and so therein lies the reasoning behind why it feels like maybe no one has dealt with it, but to REALLY think that NO ONE ELSE EVER IN THE HISTORY OF HUMANKIND has discovered a related or similarly nuanced issue is a blind and unhelpful perception. I think the possible follow-up may be equally blind - to think that there is nothing/no one to help you is like standing in the middle of Disneyland on its busiest day - literally, thousands of people standing shoulder to shoulder - with your eyes squeezed shut screaming 'I'm here all alone!!'. 

Just recently NPR did a piece on dread and how it's not necessarily a bad thing to make time to consider what it is in our individual lives. Or set some scheduled time aside to think about it, and then pause when that time is up.

https://www.npr.org/2022/11/22/1138759124/transform-the-way-you-deal-with-dread

Initially, holistically in an emotionally equivalent kind of way, I thought perhaps that suggestion to schedule time was a reasonable approach. I took it in and thought 'yah, it's a decent compromise' - it's not saying 'forget about it, you're fine.' It was saying, yah, there's stuff. Instead of your concern becoming a vortex of every waking moment and thought, limit it to a place and time that works for you. That was my interpretation speaking live from my own vortex. Then, after reading the comments ("Are you serious, I'm dealing with all of the other stuff, now I have to make time for dread, too?") I respect that what seems like simple suggestions may feel less like grains of sand and more like K2 to add to an already grueling coping strategy. I realize that much like this piece, suggestions are just that - suggestions. 

Truth: There's never a one size fits all that really succinctly, whole-heartedly works for everyone. 

We each have our own way of coping, but I also think that there are people who struggle directly because they haven't been introduced to coping skills or tools. I specifically observe that a lot of men I meet or men I am close to are in that category. There are social roles and norms under which we are raised. Boys are often discouraged from or shamed for any show of emotion, yet they feel everything. It's not uncommon for adult men in this age to have been raised in an environment where they are not conditioned to feel or accept/handle emotions. They may have been told to squash their feelings. Or to 'man up'. Their own fathers/parents may have shown them how it's done. Pretending there are no feelings doesn't help.  

I have a friend who has seen some hairy things in the last year. Things that have devastated him. He's gone through the motions. He's told himself that he just needs to snap out of it. My exposure to life, to people, to counseling theory intuitively says it's not that easy. If we keep doing the thing, ignoring the pain, thinking it'll just go away, the wound won't heal. It'll scab over. Then, it'll just keep opening up every time it's bumped. And it'll hurt and bleed. Think on that. Keep in mind that there's a mental, emotional, AND physiological response to trauma. It's not just all in your head. 

I know that there can be a stigma surrounding therapy, but really...there are some things that should be talked about. Not necessarily as a means of psychoanalysis, but there are just some things that are super cathartic if you can just SAY them or hear yourself talk through the issue. 

Sometimes people think 'I don't need to say it. It's enough to just think it. And think on it for a long time.' But you know what it's like when you just have a conversation in your head and it's missing the dialog of another person - that unknown response. Consider therapeutic exercises where people write letters and read them out loud and then burn them. There is power in speaking words, in letting them out, and as a means to finding peace. 

A past colleague of mine reached out a few months ago. She had made a decision to apply for a position outside of the company we had both worked for and even though we weren't super close, she initiated a conversation to talk about where we were and where we were going/had gone. A handful of times while we were reflecting on some of the challenges we had faced, she said 'I thought I was the only one.' No. That call was helpful for both of us. Closing a chapter is hard. There are usually some really good things about the situation, things that you weigh in the choice of staying or going. And we sometimes rationalize things: maybe if I keep doing the same thing it will magically change, if just stick it out it'll somehow get better. Maybe it'll be different. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe not. The point is that had we not talked, chances are neither of us would have realized the full extent of the challenges we faced, or the hope in walking through a new, different door (bringing with us, of course, the lessons we've learned along the way). The talking about it helped. Now, for clarity, I am NOT saying trash all the things - I acknowledge that there are some things from which you really cannot walk away. In those cases, it may be more about changing thoughts or learning emotional coping strategies to protect your own heart/mind than it is about walking away. It depends. In this case, it was right for me to change jobs. The timing was right for my colleague to explore other companies. We both felt like making that change was right for us individually. 

We get into situations where we know our broken. Even if it's not ideal we are so familiar with its edges, what places you can touch without cutting your fingers off, and what parts are just no-go zones. We think 'I can manage in this. At least I have something that I know (fine, held together with gum, some duct tape, a little hot glue, and some melted wax - but held together (kinda) all the same) and am not without something. At least I have a job, a relationship, a WHATEVER. I discussed this concept with a friend. He looked at me with frankness in his eyes. "Are you done?" he asked me. I closed my mouth tight. "What you're describing is settling. Both of us know you can and should do better than that for yourself." He was right. In that moment, for me, the concept of comfort in brokenness could not become my truth. In that moment, the hard reality was the catalyst toward what was the right decision for me. 

Therapy is not a process by which you go in and a person says, 'here's your problem, this is how you fix it.' No. It would probably be way easier if that were the case. Therapists ask open questions. In your response, in your telling of your own narrative, in remembering the cast members of your life, you come to remember some things or realize patterns that only you can discern. The therapist is there to listen, to ask questions, to suggest some exercises, to help you navigate through the process as you learn your own coping skills to let things go. At your own pace. When you are ready.

I feel like in general, I've made peace with my past. Good, bad, or indifferent, it's made me who I am today. From that perspective, I can forgive wrongs - of others and of my own. Lots of my own. And PLEASE don't get me wrong - I'm not saying 'Look at how awesomely cope-ey I am!!' or 'My life is entirely unicorns and sparkly rainbows made of perfect M.A.C. pigments and winning lottery numbers!!' I'm saying I'm still figuring things out and there are a couple of approaches that really work for me, that really help me. And I feel like given the banana-ness of our world and the pace at which we sprint EVERY DAY, it's important to know we're not alone, and that there is help. 

I am a proponent of therapy. I've had a handful of therapists throughout the course of my life. I've found (and this is key) that when I'm REALLY honest with myself and share those truths, great work comes about. In one session, my therapist asked a question that hit a poignant place in my heart. I became unexpectedly emotional. I sat quietly in the cushy chair, tears streaming down my face as my heart burst open. I needed a minute to collect myself as the rush of thoughts came to the surface. I hadn't seen how tender this place was in my life. I didn't see this response coming. He asked me why it had that effect on me. Initially, I meekly offered up 'I don't know' as the tears were difficult to stop and I felt exposed. But he knew what he was doing, he waited patiently for me to find my voice. I really wanted to do the work, and I asked for a moment to further consider it. I wanted to know why. Why did it suddenly bother me? Why did I allow it to hit me in that way after I had seemingly had no issue with that specific thing/topic for YEARS? 

We don't have all the answers as we climb over the terrain of our lives. And sometimes things happen to us that feel like a baseball bat in full swing to the face. Pain is without prejudice. It lays thickly over everyone. Some have had good examples of how to push through, or how to pause. Some have not. In my case, I've tried to hash through things to the best of my ability only to realize MUCH later that they really weren't resolved. That happens to us sometimes. Have you ever been in a thing and not really understood a word or a punchline or really what's happening? And then maybe YEARS later the circle connects and the world (even in a little way) makes more sense than it did the moment before? Those realizations are not always positive. Sometimes they're a harsh truth. And even if you feel like you've relatively hashed through all of your stuff, you may find yourself one day in a position where it feels scattered AGAIN and you can't sort it out. Talk to someone. Seriously. It's ok. Please also understand that not all therapists are created equally, so finding one who jives with you may take some time which may seem counterintuitive and frustrating, but the human dynamic is not an exact science. One approach is to try group sessions of therapy - if your trauma has come from exposure to alcoholism, or as a result of an illness (say, Alzheimer's or Cancer), there are SO MANY groups out there that are meant to help. 

I think NPR's point is that life gets impossibly hard. Please don't ignore things. Please know that there are resources to help alleviate suffering. Mental health is both real and important. There are different ways to work through a/the problem. Just think on it like this - you may be an expert at biochemistry, but you may not be super great at filing taxes or speaking Spanish, but you CAN learn both the rules and processes of taxation AND take lessons to learn the basics of Spanish. And even if it takes you forever to understand the way these things work, or even if the new words you're learning or trying to use feel weird or you feel foolish trying - totally normal. The point is to keep trying. Coping skills are just like that. And yes - you could get a book on coping skills or listen to a podcast, and both of those things are good. Going TO the therapist gives you a very personalized approach. They listen, they direct. They listen, they direct. Over and over. Until you feel like you're getting closer to the peace you seek. They're a partner in the discerning steps. And to draw on the parallel of learning another subject (taxation and/or Spanish) the more you do it, the better you will be at it. Really. Even if it feels like it sucks at the beginning. You'll get it. 

I think a needed follow-up to my comment earlier about taking people's troubles and wrapping my brain around them requires a postscript: I DO listen in earnest to the things people share with me, and I DO feel for them, empathize, consider intently what I can do to help, because I care. I love. I just do. It's who I am. And the manifestation of emotions in considering that person/those people is the way that I process. It's the double-edged sword of being compassionate. I just feel like I know how to bear those things constructively. I don't hold them up forever or catalog them or grip them with the intent to use them later. I stay in the moment with the person. I ask them for permission to hug them. I bring an authentic heart to a space into which they invite me. Usually, later, I think about how incredible of a person they are. I think about how the things they've shared with me create pain or hardship. I think about how much I love that person. And I can't help but feel like my heart breaks for them. This is when there are tears. I don't feel like they are wasted. Tears are a part of who I am, they are the icing on the cake of my emotions. I shed tears when I'm happy. I shed tears when I laugh too hard. I just do. I'm not uncomfortable with them, nor do the tears or emotions of others make me uncomfortable. And after they're done, after I wipe them away, after I've heard the stories and had the afterthoughts, I let them go. That's not to say that I don't remember them, I do, but the point is that I'm not meant to carry the burden FOR the person. I share it in a moment, and then (of course depending on the person or the situation) I can lay it down. 

For sake of continuing the conversation, and respecting that everyone works on a different timeline at a different pace, there are more ways than one to deal with stuff. The NPR piece talked about writing things down, drawing it (if that's more constructive for you), scheduling time to think on or address it, and also about connecting. And there are SOOO many ways to connect. It's beautiful that we can connect in nature, or with animals, or with people we love, or with strangers who have similar interests. All of us are stumbling through trying to make sense of things - I've not met a single person who doesn't have something on their plate or who are 100% winning at life. We all have stuff. There are so many free resources out there - if your employer has an Employee Assistance Program (EAP) you may be able to access counseling resources for free or at a reduced rate and keep in mind those programs are not limited to discussions about emotional concerns. 

My very long-winded point is that there are solutions that are just right for you. That you are not alone. That there are people who care and want to help. 

xoxo, 

J. 

 

#the ebb & flow

Dear Life, 

Here I am at almost 50 (in a couple of years) and I'm only now coming to discern your subtle little patterns/lessons. You unequivocally do you, Life. I get it. But the way you do you definitely impacts others (AKA me). And makes them (AKA me) cry. Hard. Granted, some of those (AKA my) bitter tears are unmistakably due to agency. Choices. Decisions. And it's easier to say 'That's Life.' But not like YOUR life in random generality. It's the broad stroke over the consequences of the steps we (fine, I) choose (even seemingly good steps) - hoping, praying, gritting teeth that the outcome won't be painful or devastating...squeezing eyes tight, and doing Lamaze breathing in preparation for the next foot out. It's that one scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where he's standing on the edge of a cliff that seems to have no bottom, his leg jutted out, sweating bullets, hoping he won't fall to his broken, bloody, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put him back together again, 'I've been falling for thirty minutes!!' death. Yah. It sometimes feels like that. And like I said, it's kinda easier to say 'that's Life'. Ugh. 

#can this year be over already??

Seems like right about now is the time that I hear peeps say things like 'if I can just make it through the holidays - ugh, I'm so ready for this year to be over already.' We said it and meant it in 2020 and 2021 (mainly due to the isolation and surrealism created by the pandemic), but I've heard this thought since I've been in High School, which brings me to my next point. I think I'm just looking at this wrong, Life. I mean, if ALL THIS TIME we seriously keep thinking that the next year is going to be profoundly better, aren't we just going to keep being disappointed that crappy and hard things KEEP HAPPENING all over the world? Not to be cynical. I'm asking. Thoughtfully. Do we think that at the stroke of midnight leading into 2023 ALL of the existing stresses are going to step back and say 'you know, you're right - this year we've laid on you pretty harshly. We're going to go. Here's your Happy Unicorn card, have a good day.' Who has this option? I want to know. It's definitely not me. And I think I've come at you before about this, Life; how really good people I know face really hard and HORRIBLE (senseless. devastating. speechless.) things. I don't get it. 

#we're all just muddling through

I had a person at work come to me through Messenger recently to put some of their stress on the table because they were stumbling through how to deal with the untimely and unexpected death of a friend. When I read the words come across my heart broke for them. I sat at my desk in an office and tears rushed in. I felt so sad for them, for the people who would feel this tragic loss. They apologized to me - they didn't need to. They described the impossible, crushing weight of emotion that they felt - and still, my eyes watered thinking of how to help, feeling short in that effort, but being mindful to ask and to listen. To be present. Feeling inadequate, wishing I could help them heal. Knowing I lacked the power to do so. Offering only what I could in that moment: love. 

The other lesson, and I know I've also come to this point before, is that we just never know what's happening in the hearts, minds, lives of the people right next to us let alone beyond that. There's SO MUCH. We never know what breaks someone else. And they often know nothing of what is hurting, or strained, or challenging in our lives. Even if we articulate even a fraction. We just don't know. Sometimes we rush and we're short on the grace we could offer, or love we could extend. We think we have more time. We think we have more chances. The lesson is to take the time NOW. To be humane. To lift. To love. 

#don't look back, right?

I get the sentiment to draw a line in the sand and walk over, not wanting to look back. I understand the hope that a new year means new things. And maybe I am cynical if I see things through the lens that it's not necessarily new - loss. Disappointment. Face flops. For me, lots of tears. Lots of not exactly sure how it will work itself through. Too much not positive of how questions will resolve. To be fair, there IS hope of doing better, or getting stronger, or finally understanding, or just making it to the point where I'm ready to let it go or let it be. But I don't see myself making the instant Cinderella change (pumpkin to princess) (or vice-versa - whichever you prefer). Mine is more like you can only really see the progress in time-lapse, that's how painstakingly gradual it is in reality. 

So, by all means, look forward. I will, too, just not going to expect that the world will suddenly be kinder, cleaner, more peaceful, or more content. If anything, I feel like world governments will still seem like a confusing cluster of arguments (and not the constructive kind), greed will still be prevalent, and people all over the world will need compassion and help. And here, Life, is one of those discernable subtleties - for the world to become all shiny and new, I can't wait for someone else to do it. I have to be the change. I have to contribute to it - not pine for governments to get a clue or random people to magically change or care. I have to do something in my own corner of the world, in my own community, in my own spheres of influence. It's not about someone else doing something. 

#sobbing

I'm going to change the tone on this for a minute to share this piece. It's necessary. I promise. This year, I went to Poland. I had the opportunity to be of service to organizations supporting Ukrainian refugees living in Krakow. I didn't know what we were doing before we went - only that there was work to be done and I wanted to help. Years earlier, when I was living in Romania and Serbia had been bombed in 1999, refugees poured into the city of Timisoara. When Kiev faced bombings earlier this year, all I could see in my mind were the people needing to leave immediately, in some cases with only what they could carry to find safety. And the need to lift where I could. 

I don't tell this story to glorify myself. Please, PLEASE do not read it that way. It's about the lesson. It's about being present to change, but also being mindful and respectful of others. What the Ukrainians needed, I could not give them - they needed/need peace in their country and to go home. What I was asked to give and what I could give was time to sort donated clothing for their eventual use; I could give time and money toward shopping carts full of coffee supplies (and gaping grocery store shelves thereafter), and all the feminine hygiene items we could find. We toured a living facility and some in my group were so eager (of course with good intentions) to make improvements to the space based on what we commonly have in the U.S. I had to respectfully object, even if it was simply to be a voice for what felt awkwardly obvious. First, I felt like we were not entitled to a tour - I think the facility leaders were kind to offer, but I almost wish that they hadn't. You accept to be polite, you don't even know what you're walking into. And once you do step foot inside, it feels like it's an intrusion. YOU are an intrusion. There's always the effort to make a space comfortable. And they did such a beautiful job at that, but it's not home. It won't ever be. When people have no other option than to live in what was a school, they don't need people coming through to see what that's like - it's hard. It's not ideal. But it's shelter. And if your family is all together, that is even better. Even if it's in one room. The point is that you're all there - alive - together. You don't worry about furniture or matching aesthetics - none of that matters. You're not on the streets. You're not in a war zone. They needed/need jobs. They need dignity. They need hope. The hope we could offer was just in making sure that simple daily essentials were available. It seems such an easy thing. Until you have nothing. And you never quite know when that will happen. Or think that it will ever. 

I am grateful that in addition to service, as a group we spent a morning touring Krakow. We started early when the streets were empty and it afforded us the time to explore the city as she stood still with no real traffic or noise or interruptions. It is absolutely a beautiful city, despite the horrible history she has endured. What has been left behind (places where the city wall is left intact, rail lines, a Jewish cemetery with overgrown grass and rocks on top of headstones, a square beside the station in the ghetto with an art installation of empty chairs...) is meant as a profound reminder. It's meant to tell the story of people, of families, of communities. Rail lines that once had cars loaded with mothers, fathers, and children, headed to who knew where back then...To add to the perspective, on our last day in Krakow we decided to make a visit to Auschwitz. I cannot say that it was beautiful or wonderful. I would not dare use those words to describe that place. I spent the hours sobbing on the other side of the glass that exhibited hair, shoes, traveling cases, wash tubs, kettles, tin cups...walking down a hall with faces looking back at me...a spoon tucked into their shirt. Imagining the hundred people crowded into a room to find any semblance of rest. Finding only terror. Finding only ash. I cannot call the place lovely. To think about it breaks my heart. As it should. 

There's a building there that has holding cells in the basement. I was already a crying wreck when we descended into that space. I was the last to exit before the incoming tour group came through. On the door, there were initials carved in. It stunned me. There in silence, I ran my fingers over these markings, tears finding their way again. We ascended into a courtyard, where all of the surrounding building windows were blacked out. A firing squad wall at the end. The guide talked about the space, the building, the importance of the work there, and why they didn't just tear it all down. "Because there are people in the world who think this did not happen. Because there are people who do not understand. You may have seen initials carved into walls and doors here on the property. Do not think that Auschwitz prisoners did this - they were not allowed to have anything sharp or anything that could leave such a mark. Anything of the kind that you have seen was done by visitors. People. People who lack respect for what this place means." And that killed me all the more. I stood there in the middle of that space, surrounded by remnants of agony. I could not wrap my head around how one could/would feel moved to knowingly, deliberately deface that place. The sky was stormy and cold. I didn't have an umbrella. My shoes were completely soaked through. I didn't care. It didn't seem important. Not after everything else. 

There's a second property. Barracks. What was rows and rows of buildings and a handful of crematoriums are now ruins, fields, clearings of trees, and a long train track that runs right down the middle. It was terrifying. As it should be. I feel grief and sick when I think about those places. As I should. 

This is when I reflect and think, 'how can I help? How can I make it different?' 

I have to change. Or keep changing.

I have to care. Or keep caring.

I have to give. Or keep giving.

Even if it hurts. And it sometimes does. 

Even if I don't know how or what or where or why. It's enough for me to just take that Indiana Jones step. It'll be ok. Even if I miss the walkway and fall. The point is how it'll make me grow. At least, I think that's the point. 

I know that was sad. I won't apologize for that part - I cannot. But I will switch gears, Life. 

#feel it all

I think because I have a background with some trauma in it, I have struggled to allow myself to feel. Sometimes the extent of my feelings is the equivalent of drowning or waterboarding. When I was younger and didn't understand, my tactic was to suppress and control those emotions (usually by pretending I just didn't feel them). But the flip side then was not really learning how to deal with the things at hand or learning how to define how I felt so that I could work through them. And (another subtle lesson is that) if you don't deal with the things they just stay there...like mud on your car...and one day, you're driving down the road with your window down and that mud decides that it's a perfect time to flake off in clumps and smack you in the face. Or the elephant that's in the room. You seriously think the elephant is going to leave of its own accord? It doesn't even know how it got there, let alone how to leave. YOU have to help it. You have to deal with it. Create an exit. Plan. Try. Fail. Try again. 

There's a value in accepting our feelings, learning what they mean, and in turn, learning who we are. And yes, feelings are hard - or, they can be, but we need them. They're a means to navigating this life, to connection, to learning, to growth, to understanding, to all kinds of things. We have internal signals - our bodies and our souls communicate all the time and when we pay attention we better understand what we need or what we don't need. We always have a choice - to do what we know (even if it's broken), or do something else. Even if it's never been done before. For instance, if you come from a physically abusive childhood - you hated abuse when it happened to you as a child. HATED IT. Why, then, would you perpetuate abuse with our own children? I get it - it's what you know. The point is that you don't have to do it that way. Another example: if you were in a family where you were abandoned as a child - you don't have to perpetuate abandonment with your own children. You don't have to. You can choose to stay. You can choose to learn what it means to stay, to give, to try. If you had a parent who was an alcoholic or addicted to drugs, you don't have to pick up that mantle - even if it's the only example you had of adulthood or parenthood. You CAN choose a different outcome. You can be the change. Even if you don't quite know how or what. You can carve your own destiny. And you absolutely should. 

I think often of Mandela's speech (and I'm paraphrasing) if we had no fear or limitation of failure, what kind of destiny would we create? Even for ourselves - when we imagine a life for ourselves, what characteristics are present? In that space do we self-loathe? Or do we have peace? How do we step closer to being at peace within ourselves about ourselves? It often takes work. Who am I kidding? It takes a LOT of work. It takes giving. It takes forgiveness. It takes honesty and acceptance. Over and over and over again. 

#the Elephant in the Room

Over the years as my littles have grown, and hard things have crossed their paths, we've talked through feelings. Many times. I'm better at it now in my adulthood than I was in my childhood. Still, it's not about me defining things FOR them, but rather giving them space to learn, try, and discern. Their foundation was less about being perfect and more about learning how to stumble through life, know themselves, adapt to change, and get back up when they fail. 'Feel all the things,' I would tell them. 'And when you're ready, let it go.' 

When you've taken the time, the years, the however long it takes to work through the Elephant in the room, it's ok to let the Elephant STAY GONE. You don't have to drag it back into the room. It's reasonable to reflect on the learning, or even how it made you feel, but you don't have to build it back up once you've done the work to accept it, and resolve it. Totally fine to let it go. Picture the Elephant running away, waving its trunk back at you (Byyyyyeeeee!!!), excited for the experiences to come, happy to reunite with its own family, dreaming of a world of peanuts. And think of all the space you'll have once it's let go! You can stand in the middle of the room and stretch out your arms as wide as you can (you feel that??). Maybe swing your arms around from side to side (because you won't risk running into the Elephant). Maybe you do some cartwheels? Maybe you put in a TV and play Just Dance and take up ALL the space with your rad routines (and think of that cardio!!)? Maybe you can get a disco ball and a karaoke machine? Maybe you can convert the space into a library or an art studio! And have parties in that space! Something uniquely you!! How exciting! BUT if you get all freaked out for selfish reasons and decide to drag the Elephant back in (maybe just because you miss it (REALLY?!? It JUST left. It was happy to go!! What about getting a dog instead??) and it was kind of company in a weird, crowded, suffocatingly smelly kind of way) fun lights and amusement, or creative spaces are probably impractical for the area. I think just from a smell perspective it would likely be a little hard to do much of anything else other than just let the Elephant be there. And you got to feed it...I mean, if you don't, the Elephant is going to die...and then it's just a smellier carcass version but still just as big. But now laying down. On it's side. And then there's lots of flies and other unmentionables. Yah. And somebody from the Humane Society is going to come see you. And fine you. For having an Elephant in the room in the first place. They'll lecture you about where Elephants are supposed to live. And they'll accuse you of smuggling. And there'll be some mean tweets on Twitter. People will walk by and point. Even if the Elephant wanted to be there YOU brought it. But you know that's not true. The Elephant DOES like you but it doesn't want to live in the room. No. The  Elephant would be happier roaming free than occupying space in whatever living room or bedroom you initially designated it to. Your roomba would NOT be able to keep up. Unless your roomba was a scoopy dump truck. But then now you have the Elephant AND a truck in your room? What?? Stop the madness! Let the Elephant go! Just saying. Because the Elephant is not going to say anything. It's just going to be there...hoping you give it massive amounts of peanuts. Or other foods. Everyday. Do you see where I'm going with this?? IT'S SO MUCH HARDER TO LEAVE THE ELEPHANT THERE!! Work it out. Let it go. Karaoke. Please.

And no, nobody else can work out your Elephant. It's yours. You. We each have our own. Sheesh. All of these Elephants. You'd think there'd be bigger pet pads at the store. 

So, there you have it, Life. A little irony, a little seriousness, a few lessons (according to me as I do my own stumbling). The point is if I share it maybe you won't feel so alone, or like you're the only one. In some way or in many ways, you're not. We're all here together. Trying to find our voices, trying to be ok where we are and trying to be ok with who we are in the moment, in the now. We have tools - we have examples of people and things who/that motivate us to be better, or influence us how NOT to be, or maybe we land somewhere in between. The point is that for each of us, as we walk our individual paths, it's not about anyone other than ourselves. And we WILL absolutely flop. That's ok. We'll walk together for as long as the paths run parallel. We'll hold hands. Even with strangers. We'll smile at each other. We'll giggle and talk and cry and hurt each other and say sorry. We'll lose each other for a while. We'll walk what seems like alone for a while. We'll wish for better years. We'll wait for someone to do something and then realize that we can do things, too. We'll know joy AND sorrow. We'll know love AND loss. We'll know what courage looks like. But we'll also know what failure feels like. And all the while we'll walk. 

Someway, somehow...it'll be ok. 

J. 

#Progression

Dear Life, 

I know you dig the whole 'change' thing, and the whole 'getting older' thing, and the whole 'hold on to your butts' thing, but dang. All at once, Life? Harsh. Like, ALL THE TIME. 

(In my best whiny voice, with my head totally thrown back and a pained grimace on my face (hey, wasn't that the name of that weird purple monster/mascot/what is that/thing for McDonald's when we were kids?? was that foreshadowing, Mickey D's? (I digress.)).) Whhhyyyy, Life? Whhhyyyyyy? (little stomp on the ground.) (And I get that you (audience) may not know why (whhhyyyy) I'm throwing this tantrum, but I fully realize that you're probably having your own about the same thing at the same time - I got you, boo. Insert your own indignation, your own confusion, your own thing. It's ok.) 

I turned older on Friday. I'm almost to the halfway mark. It's weird. Remember when you were little and it felt like you were always waiting for something to come or happen. Always. It felt like Christmas came once every 10 years. YEEEEARS. Ugh. Forever. And birthdays...you had to wait SO long to turn 7. Now, here it is in the middle of June and they're putting out decorations already for Halloween of 2025 (get it quick before it's all gone). I know you feel me. During the pandemic when we were all home and cozy it did feel like things slowed down. Now it's like, just kidding runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. 

I remember having the occasion to fly during the pandemic. I had to get to the east coast from Seattle due to a family emergency. SEA (the airport) was eerily quiet. I came through security alone. I walked through the terminal alone. There were 4 people at the gate and we were so far apart from each other that it was like we were guarding loaded bases. There were 7 people on that flight from SEA to Dulles (including the flight crew). DC was mostly stoic, monuments with graffiti, lit-up historic landmarks, and pretty much empty streets. Things changed in an instant to get to that point. When I compare it to what the airport is like today, what flights are like today, it's almost like that time was a distant deep sleep dream (where it was so unreal you question if it was real). You know. 

I'm GRATEFUL for the return to industry. So many people were deeply impacted in a painful way by the pandemic. I am grateful that the world is getting back to healthy. That's the most important piece. It's just the pace that feels a little mad, which is a perfect example that lends itself toward my tantrum in protest of the bananas rate of change. And the sprint to get to wherever. And the magnitude of change ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Ugh. (Grimace.) (Now I kinda want fries...no, no, I don't.)

Life, sometimes you don't feel like you're helping me. You feel like the kind of friend who tells you ALL the most critical news at the same inopportune moment. You feel like a prankster sometimes. Only the stuff you're dealing out isn't a prank. I wish they were pranks. They're not. To draw an example (just for fun) you kinda feel like the friend who tells me to drink harmlessly from the hose after a long afternoon riding bikes in the California sunshine. I really want the refreshing element of the drink from the hose. I do. I go willingly. I totally think 'yah, that's a brilliant idea!' I'm organically excited about it. Only, you're standing at the spigot (which is really a fire hydrant) and in reality you've not handed me a gentle, manageable PSI hose...you've handed me a fire hose. (Think of kids playing in an open hydrant in the middle of a city street in the heat of summer.) Isn't that fun? When you're on the receiving end of the direct impact of the fire hose violence, no. No, it's not fun. I feel like I'm going to die. Like this is the worst thing ever. Like I would use every possible wish of the collective years of my life to make it stop. Seriously - every coveted, precious birthday wish from my childhood, every intact dandelion in the whole world. I feel like aggressively shaking the lapels of your Friday night dinner jacket, Life, and with a look of utter confusion yelling, "why is this necessary?" But I can't. Because I'm drinking from a violent, unendingly drowning firehose. Again, it's one thing in a moment to feel like things are out of control or to feel confused, and then to realize, oh, that was a planned joke at my expense. Yah, that was funny. It happened, I hated it, I acted like I was chill in the moment, and then it was over. But...you're different, Life. The hose is in my hands but I can't let go, the broken Hoover Dam is a merciless, drowning deluge, I can't breathe, it's up my nose (painful), my eyes are braced and clenched shut to avoid them popping out at the water pressure (too graphic? maybe?) and the thing won't. stop. 

I feel like that. 

You like to playfully call it progression. That's funny. Can I get a kleenex or something? Some goggles? A super sexy swim cap? A kick board? SOMETHING?? I mean, ok, I know it's just me. I know it's me growing up, growing old, living in the world, being a part of this global community. That lens focuses waaaaay in (molecularly) and then WAAAAAAAY out (oh, look (pointing excitedly), it's the universe!). Ugh. I'm tired already. 'Do you want a little, tiny, itty bitty sip from the hose?' you (LIFE) ask with wide-eyed innocence. And in an instant I'm water boarded again. *Sigh

Remember when the world was broken and closed for 2 years? And nature kinda went back to being herself and the ocean cleared up and the sky cleared up and all kinds of things stopped for a minute (all relatively - a doctor or a nurse reading this would definitely see that I do not have the same lens as they do. For them, the firehose was not the Hoover Dam, it was the Pacific Ocean. No, it was ALL the oceans at the same time for TWO. YEARS. (See, Life?? That's not funny.))? In my span of vision, the world returning to normal was much like race horses at the starting gate. Once the world had a sliver of 'return to normal' (which...what is normal?? But I digress...) it was everything. All at once. Everywhere. And now it feels like it's been wildly accelerated as a way to catch up on the 2 years we seemed to miss. And then, if that wasn't enough, EVERY DAY the news has something new and horrifying to relay. 

Billy Joel says 'it was always burning since the world's been turning.' I don't disagree, but damn. Ok, fine. I get that I can't fix the world. But even as I narrow the field of view and draw the circle tightly around myself, there are things that are included in the lives of my people/loved ones/friends that break my heart. FIRE HOSE. 

Look, I know full well that I can't reasonably do/fix/solve all the issues. And I get that hard things are legitimately part of progression. I just wish in earnest that I COULD do/fix/solve - that would be amazing (in theory). I know that the journey we walk is about choosing. It's hard. Choosing what to do, choosing who to be, choosing how to apply our pain, our joy, our learning, our successes, our failures. Choosing who and how to forgive. Choosing where to direct our attention, our time, our efforts, our energy. Choosing when to stay. Choosing when to go. There's always a risk. There's always a consequence. It's not all bad - hard, yes, but bad, no. It's like that episode of 'I Love Lucy' where she's working at a chocolate factory and she knows she's can't properly prepare every piece of chocolate to task down the conveyor belt, so she starts shoving pieces in her mouth to try to meet the objective. You can see that she's stressing about it, but she wants to do a good job. She wants to finish the task, and it's like she only just makes it across the finish line. And then the supervisor in summary says that that was a training speed, kicks it up to full throttle and the belt goes impossibly faster. She's struggling to keep up, it's desperate, her mouth is stuffed to max capacity with pieces of chocolate and all of these pieces are flying past her. It's clear her head is screaming 'HELP!!!'. Whether the fire hose or the conveyor belt - in both examples it's a lot at once and it's sometimes brutal to take it all in and be ok. 

Sometimes we're not ok. 

In a perspective switch/lens change, Life, I can also see this fire hose/conveyor belt as a means for growth. I mean, duh, right? But go with me on this: There are SO many things happening. There are SO many things that directly and indirectly impact me. Somethings I know I can contribute to. Somethings...well, I don't know exactly what to do to stop a war in the Ukraine. Or to heal places suffering from drought. Or to end homelessness and poverty...I just...I don't know how to solve those things. But I want to. So, my prayers, my acts of service, the intentions of my donations - even if they are grains of sand in comparison to the mountain of whatever it is that poses as the challenge/trial/thing, I have to remember that it's actually grains of sand that compose that very mountain. The fix is not always one grand thing, but rather many small, seemingly indifferent things over the span of time. The choice rests in the doing. If/when I feel a certain way about it, I can do something (add a grain) or not. The point is there is work to do - so, choose. Do. Go. Contribute to whatever moves me/you. Live. I think that's what you're trying to say, Life. At least today, in my present fire-hose-conveyor-belt-ness it is the piece I'm CHOOSING to extract and apply. 

Wait, can I make it a chocolate fire hose?? That possibility made the venture very exciting. I'll still drown. But I'll like it a little more. 

Bumbling through in the dark (don't step there it's slippery...whoops), 

J.  

#change

 Dear Life, 

So, remember that virus thing that you made the world do for like A YEAR (more, actually)? Remember how it really put the hurt on some people emotionally and financially and all of the other -ally things that pertain? I came across a documentary recently, The Year Earth Changed. It showed how impactful humanity really is on nature. And how nature responds when given the space. (P.S. I have no connection whatsoever to the film or the organization - there's no compensation for my thoughts on this piece, so this really is my perspective on what I learned from watching it.)

It's a truly beautiful film and inspiring. 

While it wasn't a slap in the face to many human behaviors relative to waste and environmental impact, it was clearly present and obvious. The only reason why these beautiful things happened was that nature was able to breathe for a year. I can't stop thinking about how we pursue and achieve finding better human/nature balance in a manner that would allow these animals and life to continue to flourish even after we put the pandemic behind us. 

Here we are, opening the world again. Here we are, doing all the things that we were doing before, trying to get back to our normals. And chances are nature, to deal with it, will go back to what she had to do to survive. I just...in personifying the film, don't know how to give nature more of a chance when she's not always the first thing we as a society consider to care about. Until, you know, it's dire and it's in our faces, and sometimes beyond salvage (like when species go extinct). But consider a part of this film: In India, during the pandemic, the Himalayan mountains were suddenly clearly visible in certain cities. When people stopped driving and stayed home, the atmosphere was less polluted, and as a result, the air quality improved drastically. Citizens of those communities were astounded, standing on their roofs and looking toward the mountain range in awe, as they had never realized they were there. 

So, I know already. You're sitting there thinking that the key phrase was 'stopped driving.' Then you're yelling, "YOU CAN'T TELL ME NOT TO DRIVE. I DON'T CARE HOW AMAZING NATURE MAY BE." Yeah, I get that. And my intentions are not to shut down the automobile industry. I don't think it's an all-or-nothing. I think there are simple things we can do in full awareness that are more gentle to the environment and all she offers. 

There are many other examples in the film. And they're presented in a way that the beauty and the positive effects hit you. But at the threshold of 'getting back to normal' what about nature? Seriously. Can we live as a species and make space for nature? We can, but it's not easy for everyone. And I feel like sometimes it's because we're in a similar space: 'I didn't even know it was there.' But it is. 

If we're talking about major changes, perhaps that in and of itself is difficult to perceive. I think when I draw it back only to myself, there are decisions that I can make that I believe will positively impact nature in observance of her amazing-ness. 

- I can be mindful about where I spend my money. Duh, right? But this is real. What am I doing/spending money on that could be impacting nature? Probably lots of things. Do I care enough to learn about them? Do I care enough to be cognizant of where my food/products/etc come from and what happens to the waste created therefrom? 

- I can be mindful of nature in my community. We have deer and geese and ducks, and I see lots of people out there feeding them with bread...which is actually really not great for the animals. I believe in earnest that not everyone knows that but that their intentions are good. I can show that example in the way I feed them. Or I can do things that I know would help the wildlife - like leaving water in the tree break behind my house when the weather is crazy hot. 

- I can be mindful. I can think about the things I do and the solutions I hope to bring to the world. Even if I'm not perfect, I can do better each day. Trying matters. 

What hurts is the thought that one (humanity) or the other (nature) has to suffer. There's a way to meet in the middle, but it demands change and care. What we do impacts everything around us. I just...want to be a force for good and positively impactful. I'd like my children and grandchildren to live in a place where nature thrives. So, I need to do things now that will increase that likelihood for them in the future. That's what I can do. 

J. 

#the trashman

 Dear Life, 

There are lessons that seem prominent at various stages of life. Like when I was young and there was a limitless feeling associated with things I wanted to do in the future, or who I wanted to be as defined through my career or profession. I knew I wanted to help people, I knew I wanted to do things that very few had done, and I knew that I wanted to do something that I loved. When I was young, I set my sights on becoming an anesthesiologist, an astronaut, and a theatrical literature professor. All at the same time. As a doctor, I could alleviate pain. As an astronaut, I could discover and reach deeply into the unknown. As a professor connected to theater and all her power, I would be able to actively maintain my love of the stage. It didn't matter that it would take me 90 years to finish school for all of these things. They all seemed wonderful and exciting and totally worth my passion to pursue. 

I admit that I became a little distracted as I got older. Places and things turned my head as an option of pursuit. Then, toward the end of high school, I had no idea what path made sense or what I should do. The buffet of options made me feel like any mixture of all the things would make me sick, or that if I only heaped up on the king crab legs, I would surely miss out on all of the other delights. It was overwhelming. As was the notion of how to finance my beautiful dreams. 

I remember working with 5-year-olds at a summer day camp when I was between semesters in college. The pay wasn't awesome, but the kids were. Each day we hold scheduled activities, do crafts, lunch, walk to the bathrooms together in one big group, play with water guns, and do snack. At that time in my life, I took to interviewing random people. It was a thing I did. There was so much life, so many experiences, and capturing a bit of it seemed enlightening, and sacred in a way. Not only was I on the receiving end of parts of their lives, but to capture their voices, too, was special. One day, that curiosity spilled over to my 5-year-olds. 

Vincent was a 5-year-old spit-fire who was totally allergic to gluten. He struck me as the kind of kid who generally wouldn't know or care about gluten, but whenever the red vines came out during snack time, he would politely ask for a fruit roll-up instead. "I can't eat wheat," he would say as he shrugged his shoulders and winced his face a little. When he first told me that, I didn't realize there WAS wheat in red vines (weird). "Oh, wow," I told him as I checked the ingredients on the tub cradled in my arm. "Thank you for telling me," I told him. That's a disciplined 5-year-old. 

I can say that I had the perfect group of kids for me. They were happy and giggly. They liked colors and they were nice to each other. They were pretty good at sharing and tears usually only happened when someone fell on their face during a joyful sprint. When I brought my handheld voice recorder, it was more for novelty and fun. Interviewing a 5-year-old I knew I needed to keep the questions light, "what's your favorite color?" Things like that. When I asked Vincent what he wanted to be when he grew up, he shouted out, without any holding back or hesitation, "a trashman!!" "Wow," I said, kinda giggling and taken aback. Why not? 

When he said it, it was with joy. He was super excited at the thought of riding around on the back of a huge truck all day long, and that is all that matters. I think about how turd-like I would have been had I said "Seriously? Why would you want to do that???" and shriveled my face up all snarky-like thinking about the smell of the truck, or the unmentionable content it carries. I didn't say much of anything, I just let him be him. What I should have said was, 'Thank you." Because trash peeps are insanely vital. And I have met no other in my life who has made a similar declaration. 

So, Life, you know you've taken me on a number of Mr. Toad's Wild-Ride-esque journeys. I've decided a few of those crazy paths on my own. They're mine to take, and mine to learn from. Dreams are powerful. Let them be. Let imagination be the motivating factor. I feel like that courage to try is often scrutinized and then lost, which is a shame. I want to have that child-like wonder, Life. I want to be happy, so my choice is to be so, to love what I do, even if it's different than what I had originally thought. To stay true to myself in order to discern what's really right for me, to keep my heart and mind open to lessons through opportunities that come my way. 

I hope whatever that 5 year old chose to become in his adulthood that he's killing it. I hope that he's still giggly and happy eating his gluten-free-ness. I'll eat the red vines on his behalf. :) 

J.