Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Defining Moments
 |
| My mom being a trooper taking a ride in my Jeep despite the forecast for rain! |
"This will be the first time I
don't have to move out in the middle of the night."
A simple statement
from my mom had the impact of a punch in the stomach when I was least expecting
it. I felt it slam into my chest,
the whoosh of air leaving me breathless. My chest locked down, my
stomach hurt and the burning shame of memories closed off my throat, causing a
dull ache in my forehead.
I think I responded, and I must have
managed to respond almost normally. I somehow kept talking and the phone to my ear. I am not sure how, because while my mouth and body
were carrying on a conversation, my heart and my soul were spinning back in
time and re-living every midnight move of my childhood.
There were many. They were always
unexpected. A middle of the night wake up, and an order to pack
everything, dictated by his mood and alcohol levels. We would have a couple hours to grab what we could.
Then we were off hurdling down a dark highway toward a new town and new
levels of uncertainty. There was never a chance to tell friends, get addresses
or say good bye to your favorite things. It was before Facebook, Twitter
and even email, so as we drove away leaving layers of our life behind one more
time, it was another goodbye with no forwarding address. There was no new house
to live in, we would simply find it once we got where we were going, which
hadn't yet been decided.
The phone still to my ear, I struggled
to come back to the moment. Gripping the phone I forced myself to pay attention
to what she was saying. Several weeks
ago I finished the last detail of buying a house for my mom. Although I
am proud of this, pride is secondary to the relief I feel at giving her a place
to live which will finally be hers. After years of living in other
people's spare rooms, ranch hand quarters, hotel rooms for staff, and rental
houses that sometimes had no finished walls or flooring, she had settled for
the last 20 years in an apartment. When she moved in it was nicer than
anywhere else she had lived. Today it is a disgustingly neglected unit with
apathetic and uncaring management.
For years I have worked hard to be in a
position to give her a stable home, a house that feels like home and has room
to grow flowers, hang a bird feeder and allow her to paint the walls whatever
color she wants. Her only window these past 20 years has been a patio
door with a view of the highway.
In the last few weeks, I hear
excitement in her voice every day as she talks about having a yard, sitting
outside on the screen porch, planting flowers, having sunshine and a view from
her living room. Although she has repeated the same statements over and
over, each time I listen again, smiling.
I smiled up until I heard "You know what the best part
is?"
"What is that?" Expecting
another round of excitement about extra closet space.
"It will be the first time I don't
have to move out in the middle of the night."
A punch in my gut, packed with memories. Remembering every one of those midnight moves.
The tears I couldn't shed because it would have made him even more angry.
The pain of lost friendships, lost memories, and an identity never quite
formed. The pain of being the new kid again, the outcast. A combination of my poor kid clothes and a protective shield I held high, kept anyone from getting too close. The shame of my life, my family, my
story and the fear of someone discovering who I really was, made it easy after
a while to leave the towns behind.
Easier but never less painful.
Maya Angelou defines
an epiphany this way. "It probably has a million definitions. It's the
occurrence when the mind, the body, the heart, and the soul focus together and
see an old thing in a new way." What I
hadn't realized during this process, was
I wasn't just buying my mom a house or a home. I was buying her
freedom from the only way she had ever experienced change in her life. I
was buying her a chance to do this the right way and in a way she could talk
about, brag about and look forward to. It was the first time ever she had
been able to talk about moving before she did and the first time she could tell
other people!
As we wrapped up our call that night, I
managed to hit the button to disconnect before I sank to the floor and cried the sobs of a little girl and years of choked
back tears. I cried so hard my eyes hurt and my stomach hurt. I held my dogs close as they rushed in to
comfort me and I cried for all I left behind each time we got the wake up
call. Twenty six times before the age of
15. I cried until I physically could not
cry anymore and my exhaustion gave me a respite from the overwhelming grief of
all that had been lost and taken.
Hearing her sound so happy should
have been a happy moment and I am happy for the moments my mom will have in
the first home that will be hers. The reason I have some
happiness only exists because of the gut
wrenching pain, which adds an indescribable layer to it. It brings a lost and vacant
feeling that comes with years of
homelessness and wandering, searching for new places to be homeless.
So many things in life start out as one
thing and turn into something else. I wish I only felt the single dimension of joy and happiness and anticipation that she does. The truth is,
without the shame and pain as a driving force I am not sure this would have
been on my bucket list. Would I have had the drive
and dedication to do this for her? I can handle all the sharp angles this comes with, as long as she just feels the happiness. Because that is what this particular journey was about anyway. Her happiness. And I smile with tears in my eyes as my mom tells me for the hundredth
time "do you know what the best part is going to be?"..... This was a
defining moment for me and in the pain I see the old things in a new way. I wish it didn’t hurt so much but I am
grateful beyond measure to hear only joy in her voice. As the memories raced through my mind, body
and heart felt the full impact, I
wouldn’t trade it for a moment.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Don't play safe
If each experience we have
adds a piece to our lives, then I became a bit stronger today as the
thermometer read frigid and my teeth chattered in the single digit temperatures
and below zero wind chills. The sun was deceptively bright making it look like a
beautiful day. The reality of the biting
cold was anything but, and no matter where I stood or moved I could not get
warm.
The beer tent evidently
was enough of an insulator for some, as they ran around in shorts and T-shirts
and some even less. Men in underwear
were running around, men that should never be publicly seen in underwear. Struggling
to comprehend their indifference to the cold, I waited until the very last
possible moment to shed my layers. I had
intentionally avoided the plunge area, not wanting to see what I was about to
do. There are times ignorance is bliss and I wanted to hold onto my ignorance
as long as possible. Finally getting in
line, my stomach danced with the anticipation and the realization of what I was
about to do, denial being ripped from me in quick layers. Why was I doing
this? I could have said no. But I never say no to things that scare me, in
fact I intentionally always say yes. The more it scares me the quicker I am to
say yes, shifting into a stubborn five year old girl stamping my feet and going
toe to toe with fear.
There is no preparing for something
like this, yet it is impossible to avoid the imagined experience in anticipation. I knew it would be bad, but I had no idea how
painfully bad it would be. As we stood
on the edge of the hole we were going to jump into, I settled into the familiar
lack of feeling. Much like skydiving
once you are in the plane and on the way, you begin to disconnect from the anxiety
and the motions become automatic. The
decision had been made long before this and despite my fantasies of imagined
escape there was no way I would have backed out. So standing there looking at the water, the
ritual of a decision already made took over. Wanting to just move I grabbed the
hand on either side of me and we jumped.
The physical shock is
indescribable and the pain is so overwhelming and intense that my mind could
not keep up. Yet I was painfully aware my brain was falling way too far behind.
Like a sideline spectator I distantly heard a screaming voice telling me to
move, move faster and get out. Yet the
paralysis of shock made it seem impossible to breathe and move. I struggled to fight through the mental fog
slowing my brain but the pain in every cell of my body made it impossible. I had assumed
the dive team in the hole was for emergencies. But as they verbally
directed me to keep moving, to go toward them, grabbing my hand and helping me
toward the exit I understood they were not so much for emergencies but to
prevent them. Immediately as I the water I was physical and mental shock,
beyond description overwhelmed me and I lost all rational thought.
Recently I have been priveleged to do some clinical work with veterans and the reminder of how long some have endured
daily and repeated stress, pain and suffering was with me as I stood on the
edge of the hole. I reminded myself this
was a short and brief pain I was about to feel, with a known end and safety
guaranteed. Questioning what I could
endure with this reminder put things in perspective.
I didn’t change the world
today by jumping into a 30 degree lake. I raised money for Special Olympics and
I was part of a shared experience and I
took a leap outside of my comfort zone. Part
of my life philosophy is to be something and represent what I believe is
important. I was true to that today for
me the plunge was simply another opportunity to step up, to be part of a team,
to step into fear, and to be part of something bigger. It is a little piece of my foundation and added
to who I am. I didn’t play safe.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Humbling Courage
Most of my life has been spent
outside the lines, being a bit different and not fitting into the averages. My
early years are a story of traveling, living in cars, hotels, horse ranches,
orange orchards and other bizarre places.
We never lived in one place very long, we didn’t stay long enough to
make friends and the constant transitions meant I never really fit in anywhere
I went.
Throughout my life, the pain of
this this uniqueness paid off in many ways
and most days I am proud of my stance in my beliefs and my ability to be
different from others. The silver lining
in my odd childhood was I had traveled through most states by the time I was in
middle school and geography was a cinch, since I had been through the map
several times over. My ability to be
different and unique has been a solid foundation many times in life, but the
fear and aloneness that comes with it can be painful. Sometimes I find myself on the brink of
melting into the crowd so I can belong and be liked.
Most of us have a painful experience
or two from childhood that sticks with us because of the emotional intensity it
leaves in its wake. If that statement made
you think back to one of these, you probably felt it somewhere in your
body. Your chest tightened, maybe your
face flushed, your shoulders tensed. You
felt that hot pit in your stomach. It
might have been a word or more from someone, it might have been a disagreement,
and it might have been a comment from an adult or teacher. One of my experiences was walking into yet
another new school and starting new classes with new faces. I was in eighth grade, and on top of dealing
with the awkwardness that comes with that age, my clothes were not cool and it
was the only set I had. My uncoolness
radiated from me as I slipped into a seat and tried to stay off of anyone’s radar. It never worked. Within minutes I was overwhelmed with the heat of
shame that comes from knowing you don’t belong and never will. The things the boys said to me have faded,
but the feeling in my stomach, my heart, my head remain vivid. I have come to
know them as the red flags of shame. I know
the feeling and to this day it triggers
a hot angry response in me. The shame of
not being good enough, the shame of comparing yourself to others and falling
short.
The pain and anxiety of being
different from others is tough to step into and it takes courage to endure this
with grace and dignity. Back then, in
eighth grade I wasn’t so good at it. Up
to fifth grade, I hid from those kinds of taunts. After that I discovered fighting and the power
it had, back then the only power I could find.
Growing up with two brothers and a hard ass father I was good at fighting. I learned that I got
immediate respect when I kicked the ass of the boys who taunted me. It didn’t mean I fit in but people did leave
me alone. Not exactly the result I wanted
but the taunting usually stopped.
As an adult, after years of work and brutal self-reflection I began
to learn to tolerate the pain and stand by my beliefs and to let go of what people
thought. I learned the courage of
standing tall but proud in the face of bad behavior and after years of practice
I got much better at not taking it personally.
I still intensely dislike feeling
uncertain, and I try like hell not to be rejected. Welcome to the human race I guess. I have amazing friends and am so incredibly
grateful for them, yet I’m cautious and have to push myself to take the risk,
taking the chance of being hurt. I feel the
weight of the gamble, and the chance of feeling stupid aka shame for being a
sucker. Because if I get hurt that is
what I am right? How many times have you
thought that very thing? Said those
words to yourself….”I am so stupid” , “
I knew better” , “ How many times do I have
to get hurt” …..
As an adult who has accomplished
some good things in life, I still find myself standing on the fringes many
days, not sure where I fit in and feeling as though I don’t.
I want to belong and in some ways
I do, certainly more than I ever thought possible in my younger years. I have gained enough confidence and self-worth
that I no longer come out swinging to
shame and rejection. Nor do I shrink
back and make myself invisible. Both are
still tempting and at times instinctive for me, but discipline practiced year
after year have helped break this pattern.
Today I felt the sting of shame
deep in my stomach and the worst part is
I didn’t realize it was shame until hours later. I felt the anxiety of being different, of not
belonging, of standing by my beliefs but even more of standing up for myself
and my own importance. I forgot today
that this is courage, because I still think of courage as feeling strong and
powerful. In fact, courage today felt
small and anxious and uncertain and different and scary and alone. Courage didn’t feel big to me today, it was
painful emotions and I struggled to take responsibility for those emotions let
alone be responsive to them. Brene Brown
defines the first step one of being wholehearted as letting go of what other
people think. Being wholehearted is
ironically enough the opposite of shame. I was humbled today by how little progress I have
made in life in my childlike desire to be liked, to belong, to be approved of and
to fit in. I spent entirely too much
time today on other people’s opinions which meant I didn’t honor my own emotions or honor my courage to be different and true to
my principles.
The lesson from this isn’t entirely
clear yet, and whatever it is will be challenging to face in it’s
entirely. It will mean standing out, and
standing up. It will include painful
moments no doubt but that is usually the most valuable lesson. If strength,
character and courage come from tolerating this type of pain, the pain of not
belonging, it was something I developed early on in life. It is hard to step
into the pain and accept that its part of the experience and part of my choice.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Monday, December 31, 2012
New Years Eve: Intentions & a quote
 |
| Snow shoe running 12/30/12 |
2013
Today is one of my favorite days of the year! It is a symbolic way to start fresh, turn a new page and reflect on what we should keep and what we need to let go of.
What will you have the courage and wisdom to face this year? To face today?
What are the parts of you which will help you with this and which parts do you need to let go of? Who will help you and who will you ask? How will you start this amazing year?
How will you grow as you head into 2013?
Here is my framework~
"Live~faithful
and gracious, to love God, to remember what my knees are for and to always
remember to be grateful for all I have been blessed with, both the good and the
struggles. To use my "gift" of whatever it is that causes people to
reach out to me and trust me with their lives. To contribute in whatever way I
can to help add quality to this world I live in.
Me~ To be
known for who I am , to be able to be me and be loved for all that entails, to
live out loud with all my contradictions and edges, finalize the unfinished
chapters from 2012
Love~ to dance
in life, to live in passion, to skinny dip in the moonlight, to run with my
dogs and to enjoy moments with family and friends
2013 Bucket list~ snow shoe running (did it yesterday), paddle
boarding, winter camping (survivalist style for just 1 night in Yosemite) , run
in 3 countries, run 100 mile race, ride in a hot air balloon"
don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing
what’s going to happen next.”
— Gilda Radner
— Gilda Radner
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Dark Moments
The fog was so thick it
wrapped a suffocating blanket around my chest, making breathing difficult. Or maybe it was the fear that made breath
impossible. Pitch black and lit only by
the occasional noise from the trees which lined the road. The neighborhoods with their porch lights and
Christmas trees were several blocks back and as I put one foot in front of the
other I was aware of the futility of my headlamp.
The final stretch of road
between me and the park was long and black in a way you can find only in the
country away from the noise and lights.
I started down the last stretch knowing it well from hundreds of miles
pacing this path. I knew the only thing to either side of me was thick woods
and furry creatures. I hesitated for a
moment and my running partner slowed with me, always in tune with my thoughts,
often before I was. In fact it was only when she altered her stride that I
became aware of my own change. An
internal battle was taking place, a mental tug of war. “You
will be fine, you know the road and Ellie is with you”. The dialogue of the other end of the rope,
the one I named fear was not understandable in dialogue, it was a general sense
of dread and vague uneasiness. There was
nothing specific to be afraid of, rather it was the feeling of being so completely
alone and vulnerable which gave me pause.
Maybe it was the fog, so thick I could feel it fill my lungs as I ran. Maybe it was because it had been a while since
I had run in the dark, or since I had run at all.
This all took place in my
head in a matter of seconds. I looked at
Ellie, gave her the usual “let’s go” and grabbed my pace, plunging into the
darkest section of my run.
Up until this brief
struggle I had been enjoying one of those rare occasions in running when everything
is flowing so perfectly you wish it would never end. As I ran into the thick air, I felt the flow
return and couldn’t help but smile. I
realized the metaphor immediately of course and spent the next couple miles thinking
on how often I have experienced similar moments of hesitation. Without doubt I have never once in my life
turned around away from the fear. From
the youngest age I can remember I have always dove headfirst into the darkness,
even in times I probably should not have.
I don’t have a fairy tale ending and the outcome has not always been
what I was hoping for. On the flip side
however I can say wholeheartedly that I have not one single regret for any of
those moments, they become me and my story.
Earlier in the night I had
decided to go for a run on a whim. I
hadn’t been out in a while, over two months because of a broken foot. I was heading out with girlfriends for a
night out, my first night out in too long to admit. I figured I would run/walk which is what I
had been doing the last couple weeks but walking more than running.
Everything seemed to be
clicking though and as I started I knew right away it was going to be one of
those magical runs. And it was. Had I turned around I would have been missed
out. I know the pride that comes with
facing the fear and coming out on the other side and I know the disappointment
of not accomplishing what I have set out to do.
Make no mistake, the
majority of that dark section in the fog, I was afraid. Every noise I heard meant a skunk was ready
to spray. Yes a skunk. I know there are no bears, the other animals
don’t scare me, but I am consistently nervous about being sprayed by a skunk
while running in the woods in the dark.
I am afraid of creepy humans who might be out there and people who have
twisted and malicious intentions. And
yet I know the odds of this are small and in fact no bigger than any other time
running.
My victory though is in
allowing and accepting my emotions, but not letting them drive my decisions. This is a battle most of us face and
fight. The most important reminder I
give myself is this is how I have gotten to my most amazing experiences. From world travel to achieving my
“impossible” to a foggy nighttime run, the fear has been overwhelming. The only thing bigger than the fear? My pride and my gratitude after I make my way
through the darkness.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Happiness is.....follow up to 1st run in the snow
I headed out to the trails yesterday just as it was starting to snow and in the short drive there, reflected on how incredibly happy I was to be in that moment. My dogs start to cry and whine as soon as we leave the driveway and by the time we have made the 6 minute drive to the trailhead, they are crying at a ridiculous volume. They move from window to window so rapidly they shake my vehicle. In the weeks I was not able to get out there and run or even walk, I felt the same way.
I was filled with peaceful happiness and I headed out and so very aware of how much I was grateful.
I was reminded of the Charlie Brown song.....
Lyrics
- Charlie Brown: Happiness is, finding a pencil
- Sally: Knowing a secret
- Linus: Telling the time
- Schroeder: Happiness is, learning to whistle
- Linus: Tying your shoe for the very first time!
- Sally: Happiness is playing the drums in your own, school band
- Charlie Brown: And happiness, is walking hand in hand.
- Charlie Brown: Happiness is, two kinds of ice cream
- Snoopy: Pizza with sausage
- Schroeder: Climbing a tree
- Charlie Brown: Happiness is, five different crayons
- Sally: Catching a firefly
- Linus: Setting him free
- Charlie Brown: Happiness, is being alone every now, and then
- Everybody: And happiness, is coming home again.
- Charlie Brown: Happiness is, morning and evening, daytime and nightime too.For happiness, is anyone, and anything, at all, that's loved, by you!
- Linus: Happiness, is having a sister
- Lucy: Sharing a sandwich
- Lucy and Linus: Getting along!
- Everybody: Happiness, is singing together when day, is through, and happiness is those who sing with you.
- Everybody: Happiness is morning and evening, daytime and nightime too. For happiness, is anyone, and anything, at all, that's loved, by you!
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Blog Post: Who I hope to be.
Sometimes the most
dramatic things in life happen without another soul even noticing. I
experienced this recently and was reminded of the power of connection and the
power of our stories, even those chapters closed so long ago. Talking with a friend I caught a glimpse of
me then.
This friend is close, comfortable
and ours is a friendship safe enough to share real secrets and genuine
reflections.
We sat at my dining room
table, eating lunch, enjoying our Saturday and the sunshine streaming through
the windows. We covered too many topics to count and then began talking about
the possibility of an agreement we were considering. As we talked my motivation
for pursuing the deal slipped out, and I mentioned a significant chunk of my
childhood had been spent homeless. Although
I am usually cautious in how much I talk about this, with her it was barely a blip
on my screen. It wasn’t a blip for her. She didn’t just hear my words, she connected
to the experience and to what it must have been like for me. In the split
second following my statement tears barely noticeable filled her eyes. Her connection was so spontaneous and heartfelt,
I was catapulted back in time, landing
in a kaleidoscope of emotions. This has so long been a part of my story history
that I talk about it as though I am citing a reference,
rather than my story, lived. But
in her spontaneous emotions so visible, I was left unguarded, feeling for a
moment the way I felt as that little girl. A shooting star of events long ago, yet
living just below the surface of present moment ready to spring forward and
delight in the gasp of emotions it unlocks.
Those feelings have little power over me these days, but it remains a
part of my history. More than that, it
remains a driving force today in who I want to be.
The first chapters of my
story were written for me without any sense of control over my life. Kids like me didn’t grow up and do well, go
to college and become successful. Girls
like me marry young, marry poor and drift into disappointed lives.
So I did, at first anyway. Except I kept finding footnotes that pointed
me in different directions and kept
whispering in my ear. I attribute faith as the author of these footnotes which
kept appearing.
I spent a lot of time as a
child traveling the world and making friends in books. I read about people who persevered and I read
about the person I hoped to be.
It was this hope that
pulled me back from a much different life, a life filled with diminishing
dreams year after year. It was this hope
that allowed me to hold my head high when I wore the same outfit day after day
to school because it was the only one I owned.
It didn’t matter that it was clean and washed each night. It was a bull’s eye marking me as an easy
target.
The target I wore became
part of my story and me. It instilled a
deep empathy in me for all living creatures,
no matter whom or what they are.
I have instinctive recognition of human pain and it reminds me to never
take for granted what we see on the outside, because after all is such a small reflection of the inside.
I somehow found the courage to stand tall and
decide and then re-decide over and over to be different and to live different. It was my flirtation with accepting what
others expected that allows me to understand the numbing relief which comes
with living a life of pain and defeat.
It is also that same chapter which reminds me pain is never a good
enough reason to lighten up.
Yesterday I took brief
flight back in time, feeling that same insignificant feeling. Only for a moment though, as I looked at my friend caring enough to cry
for me. I saw my three dogs lying by our feet, my home which I cherish, my new
business which has been built on tears and pain. My life which is full and blessed with so
much which easily might not have been.
I am happy to be on a never-ending journey of who I hope to be. My
real story knows I will never be who I hope to be.
Writing from my journal:
Who I hope to be.
My dream is not in the present moment it is always
in the future and in the past. What I
long for and what I long for which could have been. It flutters ahead and dances in the breeze,
taunting me with the illusion of how close I am. I chase it as it twirls,
knowing the chase is futile and yet knowing I must participate in this
dance. For what else would I do but
chase my dream. The experience is my choice to participate fully in the dance.
And once upon a time I dreamed of
believing these magical words which seemed so impossible. I smile as I read them these days, knowing I
feel them in me.
Maya Angelou
Phenomenal Woman
It's in
the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)