#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.

#mile 12

The last few weeks have reminded me of mile 12. I’m sure I’ve talked about this before, but in a half marathon, mile 12 is where I really feel the fatigue, and where I start to drag and want to stop. Despite it being so close to the end. Mile 12 is where those questions (why did I do this to myself? Whose idea was this? Why did I think this would be fun?) start to press down on my already tired body. Mile 12 is the point where I start to listen to the fatigue, because up to that point, I was listening to my body and felt like the aches were normal and bearable. Mile 12 is where I start to doubt my strength and my endurance. Mile 12 is where miles 1-11 seem a distant memory, which is bunk because they were equally hard (especially when there are gnarly steep hills involved). But in that moment, mile 12 crowds my view. Each next step seems heavy and impossible. But mile 12 is also where I find these peeps who are in it with me, who believe in me, and somehow knowing that they’re in mile 12, too, and knowing I believe in them too to do maybe the ordinary things which under the circumstances feel like super extraordinary things...these are mercies. They remind me. They speak to my heart and give me courage. They humble me. They give me pause to consider what I’ve given thus far, and quiet the noise to take those next steps. I’ll say those peeps are often my family members. They’re ever so good to me. They stand with me. They’re also my peeps at work trying to chip away at the same challenges. And peeps all over the world who I’ve come to love and appreciate. It’s like a minute to breathe...and then get back to it. To take it through to the full measure of the 13 and change. This is where I remember that I didn’t start just to stop. This is where will gains power. #wedothistogether #253>19 #sparklymugging #princessjasmine #grateful #evenifidontalwaysknowhow #findtheway #adventuresinthepacnorthwest

#love

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent...and maybe the stupid, too.

Dear Life,

I just want to let you know that this love gig is rough. Yes, I know that it's supposed to be the foundation of all good things, right? It's supposed to lift and heal and soothe and be the miracle amidst pain and turmoil and have unicorns and rainbows and like, Neil Diamond in the background or whatever...but sometimes, it flat out bites. It hurts. It sucks. It turns the world stark and grey. Sometimes all of the risk and rejection associated with the 'TRY' of love is just...cruel...and disheartening...and makes you feel straight up broken. And foolish. And it makes you never want to 'TRY' ever again. Because it hurts...and it hurts hard.

#love sucks
I don't want to get into the finite details of my love life (or maybe the lack thereof - I'm making no admissions...yet). It's it's own equal brand of hilarity and plain sad. Fine, I'll tell some stories to illustrate, but that's not the full focus of my rant today. I will say, it's kinda not where I wish it was. I will say my track record shows I pick in a way that makes me feel kinda stupid later. I will say, that I've had my fair share of putting myself out there (because that's who I am) and a few instances where the response/reply was not what I had hoped it would be. I've had plenty of conversations in my head about the signs...about being gullible...ugh. I've shed plenty a tear...some completely out of my control. I've eaten many a log of cookie dough (thank you, dear girlfriends for introducing this ritual), or pint of Haagen-Daas coffee ice cream...and then thought I was going to die from the remedy a few hours later (the different brand of tears of pain and regret). I've foregone many a comforting meal because my heart felt shattered and nothing helped. I'll also admit that, of my own accord, I've turned down a hopeful boy or two and felt badly, but did it...knowing it had to be so because it was the right thing to do...I've allowed myself to like two people at the same time (don't judge me - that was WAY early in my life)...and suffered the sorrow and humiliation of that choice. I've fallen completely in love a couple of times...and I consider myself lucky to have had them genuinely love me back for a blissful, but short, while. For now...that description...that status...or experience is not the case. And I find myself in a position where I've reflected a LOT on this whole LOVE process...what I want...why I want it...and, surprisingly, arriving at the conclusion that I really may NOT get it...and taking it a step further by coming to a place where I'm genuinely ok with that probability.

So, the cruel but laughable ongoing joke with my peeps is that my mattress is my boyfriend. Yes, it's pathetic. But it's kinda true. I LOOOVE my mattress.He's always there for me. Supportive. Gives me the space I need. He's warm. Inviting. Comforting. And ALL MINE. I have a friend who reminded me that we both knew I could do way better than a mattress...or way better than crushing on a celebrity that I've never met but whom I adore (let me introduce you to Edgar Ramirez...you're welcome)...BUT, I say, I don't think I want to. I don't think I want to put myself out there...and drag myself through mind-numbing small-talk...and/or be a face amidst THOUSANDS. It overwhelms me. And it makes me grouchy. Sometimes I think I'm cool to just stay on this path and be alone...with Matt Ress...and my dreamy celebrity guy (Hi, Edgar Ramirez). I mean, yeah - I'd love arms (particularly celebrity guy's) around me all the time, and laughter, and that unique kind of friendship. Sometimes I miss love. And then other times, I realize I've got it, just in a different way, because for the first time in a LONG time - I realize, I'm good. I'm really, really good. Anything in addition to this brand of happy - it's icing. Granted, it hasn't always been this way. For the longest time, love was my definer...it was my pinnacle.

#Hello...is it me you're looking for?
When I was young(er), I thought the one thing I was missing in my life was the affection of another person. I had my Mom, my family...but I wanted a love...and an adoration that was 100% my own. I thought that if I could JUST find that/have that in my life, I would be/know happy. The real problem was that I had very little true love for myself, so love in it's various shapes and forms and methods made this need very confusing. My own voids added to the chaos. I could conform to just about anything that another person needed me to be. Really. It's the whole Gemini thing. I would pay attention, deliver on making them feel special (because they were), and initially ask for nothing in return. And I would ultimately find myself miserable. I could give and give and giiiiiive...and then get bored because: a) I hadn't allowed them to get close enough to me...and they really had no clue who I was. Most of that was because of self-guilt. But I didn't accept myself and I was worried if my true colors were shared - they would reject me...so arms length was the only comfortable proximity...even though I wanted more...b) they couldn't access my need because I didn't even know what that was, and c) if they gave, it was never truly enough because I was a void. SO MUCH messed up stuff...that took years to open my eyes to, and accept in it's ugly forms...and then discern between what I was giving/getting and what I really needed.

The media and the world exposes us to so many different varieties of love. In my case, I knew what it meant to be physical from a VERY young age (not recommended). I saw things and connected it with the brand of affection I was looking for. When I gave it/got it...it left me sad, and empty. Not all love given or received is done so equally. Not all forms are meant to express love. And I was too young to figure that out.

This has nothing to do with the story right now, it's just a pretty picture of my celebrity crush.

#one less problem without you
While, yes, the concept and power of love offers the ideal of wholeness and completion...or this perspective that if you have it, it heals...if your objective in looking for love from another person is ultimately to fix YOU...the reality is that it almost never will...at least not fully. Case in point, I met a guy once who expressed interest in me. I want to say from our first or second conversation, it was about what dreams might be fulfilled if we pursued a future together. This was straight out the gate. I didn't think he was serious at first, but then it was clearly evident that he meant it...and I was not game. Those kinds of discussions are not normal or comfortable for me...I was genuinely flattered, but..the feeling was not remotely mutual. At the time, I really REEEAAAALLLY liked someone else with all my heart...and to my dismay it didn't pan out. So, I did what I do and shut my heart down for awhile. I lacked the willingness to try love with anyone else for awhile. My ego had been a little wounded and, in my head, I consequently hated boys for a spell. I still wore a good face. No one would know that I lost the battle or the war or whatever, but I did...I knew...I could feel the effect. This is my way to deal - good, bad, right, wrong; I don't care. This is the way I cope. For the boy I wanted but couldn't have, I shed an alligator tear or two privately. I held counseling sessions with myself  and offered sound advice that it was WAY better like that, right? - sure...for reasons unbeknownst to me...I had to put that want and hope...that pining...away. I had logic. I had reason. I had all of the stable methods of dealing with the issue...but when I was alone, I could hear the softness of his voice in my head...I could close my eyes and quite vividly see the details of his face...like the way his eyes shined when he smiled...or the ring in his laugh...and it conjured a colossal lump in my throat whenever the image was mustered. My love for this boy was unrequited. My heart ached...and there wasn't a replacement. I knew I couldn't just snap my fingers and be over it - even if there never was an 'IT' to speak of. I still had to let him go...because holding a candle where it's not wanted is parallel to torture...and I don't/won't do that to myself if I can help it. I needed the time to heal. I clutched to the distractions - embracing my work, diving into things that were meaningful to me, loving my peeps a little harder, and doing things that restored that strong feeling in my soul. I wasn't going to find the answer in this other guy. There was no rebound to this feeling...and I told him the straight truth...but that didn't stop him, however, from asking me consistently, diligently for my time, for my emotions, for my attention. Overzealous. Harmless, but overzealous. I finally relented and agreed to go out with him, if only to prove that I was not/could not be what he needed...a fixer/a magician.

That evening was difficult. MOST of the conversation was good...except the too many to count parts where he verbally bludgeoned and gouged himself over and over again. I actually had to tell him to stop - the self-deprecation was hurting my heart and making me angry. Suddenly, it was HIS fault that I wasn't into him. It was HIS fault that I wasn't attracted. It was HIS fault that the sky was blue. It was HIS fault that there was too much ice in my water. It was HIS fault for all the things...and I couldn't handle it. Just. Stop. Already. Pleeeease. omg. Stop.

While he very well MAY have had this perception of himself, what it intuitively felt like, to me, sitting across the table from him, was fishing. Fishing is a tactic where I cut myself down and I tell you how lame I am, and YOU tell ME (out of kindness and mercy) that it's not the case - that I'm AMAAAAAZING and brilliant and blah blah blah. And then it seems like YOU like ME because you're pouring compliments over me. It's a stupid approach. But peeps do it. In this case, I wasn't biting, but I also didn't want a front row seat to this self-harm. The more he'd clobber himself with his self-proclaimed incompetence, or his self-surrendered lack of intelligence, or his self-declared twisted self-perception...the more I was inclined to sit there with my brows knit together...wondering when he would have enough and be done already. Exhausting. Pointless. Banging my head on a spiked wall would have been more fun...and less painful.

Again, totally unrelated image to the point, but just a public service. 

#i am beautiful no matter what they say
WHY are we gentler with strangers than we are with ourselves? WHY is that?? I don't get it. I am HAPPY to extend kindness and grace to people I don't even know...and yet, I cannot forgive myself for weakness...No. I must. Because at the end of the day, I'm all I've got. Right? I have to look in the mirror and take account of all of my junk...I want to be happy...how can that truly be if I self-loathe? The two sentiments cannot exist in the same space. It's either one or the other. One will seep into the other and vice versa. Overall, I think Other Guy would be more content in the world if he was his own ally FIRST. Rather than looking to someone else to fix him, give him validation...or define him externally as enough.

#send me an angel
Being a fixer...being a Savior to another person is an almost impossible role to magnify and fulfill. And I acknowledge that during early stages of my life - I was perfectly willing to try to be that. I was able and ready to pour love over whatever wounded soul entered my life...ask my Mom - so many friends would come home with me who were from horribly abusive situations. I would offer kindness...and compassion...and friendship. In some cases, I'm still a rescuer...still a healer...but I can see where it's really useful (mainly with animals...not so much with people any more). Now that I'm in adult relationships, I'm not at a place where I see wisdom in being an emotional Savior.

Have you ever been a lifeguard? At first, you think, I will SAVE EVERYONE!!! And then, in training, you realize that you also have to protect yourself...SAVE yourself...be smart about approach and technique, because peeps in survival mode...in their own fear and desperation, will take you down to save themselves. I know that sounds harsh - but it's the only example I can use right now to illustrate my explanation. Someone drowning is not going to wait patiently...when they have a chance to grab hold to something/someone else who is buoyant, they will...even if it means the Guard is going under. They're not thinking about mechanics, or how much air the guard has, or that their ride is suffocating. Nope. Stay alive. So, I bring it back to day-to-day relationships. Peeps gotta figure out their own ish...and fully taking on the pain of another is often unhealthy if it's one-sided and you don't have the support you need to tread through it. Truth: I don't want to be someone else's fixer. I don't want to be a Savior. I don't want to be your mother, either...and I don't need you to be my father, or to save me. Period. I'll love you/take you for who you are - flaws and all. I would expect the same approach in return. We're people, we're human, we ALL carry baggage. In an ideal situation, we'd be cool to work our stuff out together.

My first marriage was all whirlwind. I mean, I was so beautifully wrapped up in what I thought was the romance and it was magical. My second time around, my approach was more about foundation - friendship and trust. I took WAY more time to get to know my second guy, to be sure I was asking the right questions - all of it. I've learned that in love, agency is always the wild card. As much as we claim to know the heart of another...we really can't. We can have intimate familiarity, we can observe patterns, we can have indepth conversations...but peeps still have choice. They can choose to be loyal, to be faithful, to be true...or not. This is always a reflection of THEIR agency, regardless of you.

When my first marriage ended, I took on a LOT of the fail because it was who I was. It must have meant that I wasn't enough - not pretty enough, not giving enough, just not...enough. Because, (in my mind) if I WOULD have been enough, he would have loved me enough, right?? The response to that sad perspective is No. Whatever my ex-man's choices - they were HIS, not mine. I could have been made of gold and that STILL would not remove his control of his choices, or maybe even the outcome...I took the time I needed to look at my part - to be responsible for my piece of that half...and acknowledge that despite the finality, I DID love him fully. I could take comfort knowing that I had given him my all, no matter what.

This is my celebrity crush looking at me like I'm crazy when I think that I'm not enough. 

#the only exception
So, basically even with two failed committed relationships under my belt (ugh, the admission), I still feel like I've been relatively lucky in love. I've known love - even in boyfriend relationships - that has been profound, and amazing, and powerful. Loved to the extent that I really did feel that ANYTHING was possible...that the world was a perfect place because they were in my life. I've had love that has challenged me as a person; partners who have seen me in my truest form, and accepted, and supported me to grow...and relationships where I have known indescribable joy. Again, despite the end result, there WAS love at the origin of those stories. Well, at least for me there was. And I'd like to think it was present for them, too...but the reality is that I can only control/base this post-thing on what I know...aaaand...yeah, in my head, I'm saying my heart was in the right 'love' frame of mind.

With that, can I say that I've had a handful of friends who have known the worst pain and suffering in their relationships because of choice/agency on the part of the other? Can I explain that it's senseless? I mean, yeah, there are reasons...but sometimes, even knowing the 'why'...it never makes it fall into place where it takes away the pain. Beautiful people...who were hopeful, and loving, and devoutly faithful to their significant others/spouses...who feel like their hearts have been ripped out of their chests, put through a meat grinder and are actively working to try to make sense of the mess. Choice is the wildcard. Sometimes you cannot explain. Sometimes you cannot make this right...I can only tell you that whatever you decide - to stay or to go - it's completely your call based on what YOU can live with. And that's all. You don't have to stay and deal with the residue if you can't. You don't have to leave that person if you don't want to. But it's YOUR call, and noone can take that from you...even if you may want someone else to make that choice on your behalf/tell you what to do. You have to decide what you can live with. ALSO - you'll live. I promise. It may not feel that way today or tomorrow...but in the wise resounding words of my mother...one day, you'll wake up and it won't hurt anymore. I say this with firsthand knowledge. It's true.

#talk
At some point during my marriage, we were talking divorce more than we were talking togetherness. And again, I'm not going to slap the walls with all of my business, just this story in particular. I knew I needed something to NOT lose the last shreds of my mind. Our personal dysfunction was starting to make me crazy and I wasn't feeling like myself. I sought therapy. I found a male therapist (in the event that my man would go - he totally would have discredited the opinion of another woman...and I thought that the difference in opinion would be helpful/insightful for me in the journey) and we started to meet. After a few months, my man agreed to come to one visit. It was painful. He was a total wall and missed the point of the whole thing. From a pride standpoint, counseling was a waste to him - he needed to talk to noone (not even me) and it shut down any potential from that resource. I went back - because it was genuinely helpful for me. After months, the therapist asked if he could give me some advice. He asked if I had ever waterskiied. I told him I had. He asked me what happened when people fell. I wasn't sure where he was going with the example, and I told him to tell me. He said, usually when people fall, they get dragged behind the boat for who knows how long. People actually tell themselves that from that prone position - in the process of the drag - that they can fully get back up on their feet. I could see the visual in my head. He went on to say that all it takes, though, is to let go of the rope. It's not about fixing or changing HIM...this is totally about recognizing where my control lies in all of it. I get to control how long I hurt. I get to decide how long I'm dragged behind the boat...or not.

In recent articles and posts, I've come to really appreciate Melissa Hartwig. She's the founder of the Whole30 and regularly posts personal bits about her journey, her life...and she has this style that resonates with me. Today, actually, she wrote about the steps we take to deal vs. not deal with our stuff. She says, "So I did something. And it WAS hard. But listen: It was not harder than the path I had chosen by doing nothing."

In the course of all things that frustrate or hurt...in any process we endure...in any relationship...we have choice. Hang on...or let go...and in so many instances, they both bite. Both paths impact you. The opening or closing of your eyes to a situation...both are gnarly. The let go can be in any situation where you feel like you settle, or don't have control...just let go. Start over. Position yourself. Try to get up. If you fall, let go. Only you can decide how long you hold on to the rope. Your call, your standard, your specifics, your choice, your life.

#respect yourself
Love, first and foremost, to be healthy, to be real, has to come from love of self (in some form). Acknowledge issues, yes, maybe you screwed up and you screwed up badly; yes, it probably could have been done better or you could have used better judgment; no, you have no idea why you did that and you probably never will; no, he/she didn't dig you, that doesn't mean you're not worthy or that NOONE will love you...whatever. Learn. Move on. You do yourself a wretched disservice in withholding love from yourself and wallowing in guilt, like being a pit with no PERMISSION to get out. Guilt is like the smell of campfire - it permeates EVERYTHING. The only way to get rid of it, is to wash that ish away. Showering, washing clothes, airing it out, tears if you must - just STOP DRAGGING THAT STUFF AROUND. If you did it, you did it. It's part of being human. Get over yourself already. Go back to the beginning and start over - this time, you know more. So, do more. Be better. Stop being your worst enemy already. Dude, be your own hero. Do things that make yourself impossibly proud of who you have become EVERY DAY. But for real, do it differently. Continuing to make the same choices, the same mistakes, following the same patterns...will never land you in a different place. If you think you're a bag of poo - do whatever you need to do to change that perception. BE YOU...in the best possible version based upon who you are today...with the aim to do a little better. For yourself. In a way that nobody else may ever know.

I may never find or be graced with the type of romance that I dream about...and, in reality, that's ok. I can choose to apply that definition to myself however I want...and in the long run, I want that lovely satisfaction and peace that comes with acceptance...with defining myself as worthy. I'm on my own side. I'm my own protector. I'm my own rescuer, my own personal savior because I can make those needed choices to save myself from pain and anguish and discord. And MAYBE, just maybe, if something knocks on my door one day, it'll be more about just seeing what kind of magic can be made one step at a time.

You know what's beautiful? Peace. Peace of heart, peace of mind...and there are moments where I feel that...like when I'm with one of my kids and they laugh whole-heartedly. I think to myself then - I'm lucky. There are moments when I'm laying in bed in the morning, and the curtains are wide open, and I have the most amazing view of the very tall trees behind my neighbors house that are bathed in the light of the rising sun and look gold at the tip tops...and I think to myself - I'm lucky. I may not have what I had initially hoped for, but looking at what I DO have - what remarkable blessings and grace exist in my life...I'm good. I'm happy. I'm healthy. This path is me-specific...yours is you-specific...so let's walk it. Find happy or joy in the different steps we take. Freaking out over the trips and falls...and then letting them go instead of sabotaging the journey with play by play from 4 trips ago. I'm NOT at ALL saying 'look at my life!! (flipping my hair) it's SOOOO awesome..." I'm saying 'look at OUR lives (pointing between you and me) - look at how different they are (opening my arms and hands up wide)...and how uniquely beautiful they are (shaking my hands emphatically)...look at what you've overcome (grabbing you by the shoulders)...look at what you can DO...for reals! look at how special you are...look at how full our lives are because we're connected as people and friends.'

Whatever your relationship status - whatever your current love situation - to have a successful relationship is not the sole defining factor in a meaningful life. It's ideally wonderful to have, yes. It adds a wonderful texture to this experience in life. It's just not a black spot upon you if you don't. Love of self, however, IS a defining bar. It will guide you through your decisions, through your paths...self-love is different from conceit or pride...it's loving this distinction, this personality, this life that is uniquely yours. So, try to be nice to yourself. Try to stop bludgeoning yourself, your heart (in its fragility, or even its fierceness...or it's tenderness), your loveliness (your kindness, or your humor, or your shiny eyes)...just start over if you need to. Use your sensibility. Lean on spirituality. Find your giggle that rings brightly when you use it. Read every day if that's what does it for you. Indulge your personal happy. Find your glow and let it SHINE. Unrestrained. Unbridled. Just be, baby. In the words of Billy Joel, 'I love you just the way you are.'

Unless you're my celebrity crush...then, I DO LOVE you. I'll adore you FOREVER. ;) just kidding. kinda. ok, fine. maybe not kidding. And I'm not sorry, either, for plugging in a bunch of pictures of him. You're welcome.

xo,
j.

#confessions of overwhelm

Dear Life,

Thank you for making April one of the hardest months of the year thus far. I think because you've given me my fill of jerks, pranksters, a**clowns, and imposters, I should be given a "Have a Great Rest of the Year" card. I've paid my dues for 2017, Life. Make this happen. Pretty please.

#straight shooter
Do you ever have that realization? The one where you are smacked in the head with the cold, hard fact that you're tormenting yourself? That it's not that guy, or that girl that's doing this TO YOU, but rather, that you're kinda doing a lot of it to yourself? Yeah...me either. Fine, for reals, I maybe sorta a little bit know what that's like.

#the rocky theme
So, I've said this before, but I'll say it again, my life is a little bit nuts. I'm positive yours is, too. This is not a competition. This is my admission of personal overwhelm. Work is a lot, single-mothering is a lot, and trying to keep my perspective all at the same time is not often a piece of cake. I'm not whining. I really do feel like even with all of my chaos, I'm pretty centered, but the truth is that recently, mainly April, it hasn't taken much to push me off kilter, to dent my zen, or to make me lose my cool...at least tip/dent/lose me for a moment. I try my bestest to get back to reality and fight a good fight. Let's just say that I don't always feel like I win.


#lay me down
This morning as I was rushing around, saying good-bye to my bed (really the only relationship I have right now - don't judge me), I distinctly noticed the night stand on the side on which I don't sleep (passenger side)...

Empty glass jar (not mine), my glasses and work out book, and a small handful of legos (also not mine). This made me stop for a second. I stepped back over to my side...

Computer bag (mine), book (mine), book in progress (mine), books to study (mine), mail (mine), glass jar (mine), all the things (mine). So much more happening here. This is my life, Life. That passenger side glass jar and those legos - my youngest left those there. For me, actually. At least, that's what he'll tell me. "I left the legos there for you to play with, Mom. They're lots of fun." (It's really because he didn't want to put them back in his room...and it makes me smile when I see them, so I'll leave them there.).

#Saturday
Sometimes on a Saturday, when I pretend that I don't have anything going on, I REALLY like to bury myself in my (amazing) bed (don't judge) under pillows and blankets and take solace in my only friend, Hulu. Sometimes, my kids like to join me at playing this game. We've watched many an episode of Stranger Things (in one sitting), many a series of Harry Potter, or Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars (well, we try to get through them, but then it gets too hot...or we need a drink, or need to grocery shop, or I have to do some form of adulting)...Please don't misunderstand, it's not like the only way my littles see me is if they burrow into my bed. We see each other every day in a meaningful way. It's just Sunday through Friday, there's a lot of business. There's a ton of managing, and many commitments, and an equal amount of follow up. So, I admit, I'm not as structured on Saturday as I am on all of the other days. All of the other mess on the driver side of my pictures shows that I'm making an effort at having a normal (ha! that's funny) life...but like, no...it doesn't work all the days. For anyone.

True story, I used to HATE Saturdays. My mom traveled a bunch for work and the weekends were all we had to clean and clean and clean and laundry and clean and clean. Mind you, while I was home during the week, I chored. Every day. I used to try my most hardest to get out of Saturday chores. UGH..but sometimes it didn't work, so I did them. Begrudgingly. Well, mostly, I mean, I could/would/should not cross my Mom. I put on an agreeable face and grumbled to myself. Maybe cut a few corners. Meh.

#buggy
My mother taught me (many, many things, but in this story, she give me the skills) to really clean. My brother is a cookie cutter version of my Mom and he has the "I must clean" bug, too. It's kinda sick - I mean, when I'm sad or overwhelmed, I clean. Correction, I clean regularly, but when my mind is buzzing, and I have something I need to work out, my bathroom and kitchen usually reflect that even more so. (No, I don't want to come over and clean for you - my issue is not THAT extreme.)

Another true story, I had to have been 12 at the time. My mom and I were in New York. We checked in to this 4-star hotel close to Central Park. I was excited to be there. It was summer and we were going to do a bunch of stuff for my birthday. We got into our room and the FIRST thing she checks is the bathroom. NOPE. Dirty tub. We're not staying in this room. We switched 3 TIMES during that stay. And finally, after all of the switching, she sent me down to the corner store to buy a bottle of bleach to do it herself. Yup. I don't know where my mania comes from, do you?

So, yeah, I hear you out there, judging (even though I told you not to) - making this a simple fix - just say 'no' more. I was with someone once who said actually said to my face, 'it's your own damn fault that you're like this.' Ouch. (No, we're not together any longer. And no, he didn't get me.) But true, I suppose...depending on how you see things. I get it. The easy solution IS to put more things down. Put more things away. Right? No. I mean, yes, it makes sense. But do you understand that I'm intrinsically this way and have been since childhood? The issue is that I've ALWAYS ALWAYS been like this. I think I'm non-diagnosed ADHD with a little OCD mixed in and a sprinkle of attitude and a splash of I don't Care. I don't know how to do JUST ONE THING at a time. I'm working on it (being fully present, being mindful of the moment - all yoga-like). Mine is a mind that needs feeding - reading, trying my hand at new things, drawing, planning, wrapping my thoughts around whatever is at hand. This is who I am. And writing about it - AIRING it out to you, Life...this is just another way of discovering. Another way of being painfully accountable. Another way of trying to tell the other lives out there that they're a) not crazy, b) not alone, c) straight killin' it in their own way...even if it's unconventional, even if it's wacky. Even if no one else does it the same way. You're all good.

#hard things
This gig is a lot, but I get it. I can play it to my own degree. I say this more to confirm to myself that I'm capable - this is not a 'look at me' rant. This is a reminder...most of my/our hurdles are mental. Doubt. Distraction. And yes, this is who I am, but I'm still working through things to be a better version of myself. I can train for a half and do a crazy eating program at the same time and not lose my mind. I can make difficult decisions, knowing that my intent is to do what's best. I can raise kids to be healthy, good people who have the perspective to become the best versions of themselves, I can give. I can work full time and NOT be married to my job...(yeah, I keep telling myself that one, but more and more I'm not sure of the total veracity of that statement). Ok, maybe I'm a little bit married to it. Maybe. Regardless, I can be all of the things that I am in days - like last night, my cousin needed me. I was standing in the grocery store in the middle of the detergent isle walking her through the good things and the hard truths because that's who we are for each other. And because this is ALSO who I am. And because really, that's the only place we could hear each other over the phone in the store. I'm not EVER going to say "I don't have time for you" or "I can't play friend right now, I'm shopping." No, I'm always going to listen. I'm always going to take the moment. One of these days, it's going to be me. I'm going to need a voice of reason...and there's never a really good time or place to be that because we ALWAYS have something happening. You just have to roll with it. And I feel like that's the theme of my days so often - roll with it. I have 20 things on my calendar, but someone needs time - ok, I'll make it work. Yes, let's talk. Yes, I can walk out for a minute to look. Yes, you can call me. No, it's not a problem.

I feel like the best medicine for what ails me is not cutting things out, but rather adding meaningful connection to others. It grounds me. Gives me a sense of healthy perspective. I've seen intense circumstances in other's lives. Serving them makes me forget about all of my stuff for a moment - and that's a rare gift. It gives me a taste of gratitude when I may have forgotten. It brings me back to fundamentals, like the need to love, and the freedom found in unselfishness. It also gives me a moment to step away from my self-harshness and give some gentle to myself. This life experience is not a simple feat. I need to be friends with myself, or I'll fail miserably. There's a try in my life to find that 'place' inside of myself.  Also not easy, but overall, a better mindset for me.

#fishy
No, I'm not losing my head. Not yet. Yes, it's a lot, but there's happy, and that's what matters. The madness does offer me some satisfaction - some joy. If I wasn't happy, I would stop. I would make it different. I would alter the course, but the what all of this has taught me - the various experiences, the passes, the fails, is that the rough waters don't scare me. If anything, I'd like to believe that I've learned that swimming through them will make me a stronger fish/mermaid.

SO, hit me up with that card, Life. 'k? I can manage my own stuff...even if my driver side looks out of control, it's not too bad for me...it's all of the other peeps and things upon which I sometimes/lots of times/all the times can firmly, emphatically check a 'No' vote. Work on THAT, will you? Pretty please, again. I'll just do my deal over here. Away from all...of...THAT.

Greeeeaaaat.
J.