I heard someone say the other day, "Everything gets done by someone who had a hard time getting out of bed this morning."
SO TRUE!! I've yet to hear about anyone over the age of 10 leaping out from under the cozy blankets singing, "GOOD MORNING, WORLD!"
Nope. We are all a bunch of grumps in the morning. And I'm a morning person, once I get going. But every single morning, I chant to myself, "Just keep moving. Just keep moving." and eventually I stumble my way out into the cold world, coffee in hand.
Just. Keep. Moving.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
The Good Old Days
I have a spectacularly terrible memory. I count on pretty much everything in my life being written down.
I've been revisiting an old blog lately because I am having problems getting back into the kind of lifestyle I actually want to lead - one that is about being healthy, being active and being an active participant in my own life.
I was thinking, wow, it was so much EASIER when I first started this years ago. But in reading those old posts, I realized, no, it actually wasn't. It was hard then, too. It was hard to learn how to eat properly. It was hard to find the motivation to get out of bed hours before dawn just to go to the gym. It was hard to find people who also wanted to be active and were interested in things like hiking and working out and dancing and stuff.
But I realized that somewhere along the line I thought this would all be so second nature to me, that I would someday burst out of bed with a smile on my face thinking, YAY! I GET TO WORK OUT TODAY!
That has never happened. The best it got was that it was so routine after a while that I didn't question it... I just kept moving until my clothes were on and I was walking out the door.
Knowing how to eat healthy has been easier -but ACTUALLY eating healthier is still challenging. When I'm tired and sad, I want comfort food -like mac n cheese or cookies. I have yet to crave carrots.
In a weird way, it DOES help to know that the struggle isn't new. It helps to know that the way in has been paved. It helps to remember that, like all journeys home, it is simply one step at a time.
I've been revisiting an old blog lately because I am having problems getting back into the kind of lifestyle I actually want to lead - one that is about being healthy, being active and being an active participant in my own life.
I was thinking, wow, it was so much EASIER when I first started this years ago. But in reading those old posts, I realized, no, it actually wasn't. It was hard then, too. It was hard to learn how to eat properly. It was hard to find the motivation to get out of bed hours before dawn just to go to the gym. It was hard to find people who also wanted to be active and were interested in things like hiking and working out and dancing and stuff.
But I realized that somewhere along the line I thought this would all be so second nature to me, that I would someday burst out of bed with a smile on my face thinking, YAY! I GET TO WORK OUT TODAY!
That has never happened. The best it got was that it was so routine after a while that I didn't question it... I just kept moving until my clothes were on and I was walking out the door.
Knowing how to eat healthy has been easier -but ACTUALLY eating healthier is still challenging. When I'm tired and sad, I want comfort food -like mac n cheese or cookies. I have yet to crave carrots.
In a weird way, it DOES help to know that the struggle isn't new. It helps to know that the way in has been paved. It helps to remember that, like all journeys home, it is simply one step at a time.
Monday, October 24, 2016
Camino Heart
My gorgeous niece, Kat, and I walked the Camino de Santiago a few weeks ago. I carried with me many prayer intentions from my friends, family and work colleagues. (The benefit of working for a Catholic college is that everyone gets pretty excited about pilgrimages.)
We have been back for two weeks, but it feels like a year. Trudging up steep hills, wandering through vineyards full of fat grapes, the astonishment of the wayside chapels and shrines, and the easy chatter of complete strangers seems almost like another life.
I think I had hoped for some grand revelation. The past two years have been a moving battlefront and I have to believe there was purpose to it all. I thought the answer might lie on a dirt trail in Spain.
The only thing that really struck me was how very human we all are, even as we strive to great spiritual heights. Starting the day with prayer contrasted with small arguments. Praying the rosary while hiking contrasted with the final few miles of every day just wanting to be done, feet pounding to the beat of "this sucks. this sucks. this sucks." Embracing simplicity contrasted with a grimace at yet another bocadilla, jamón y queso, gracias. Great intentions met pneumonia and ugly blisters.
Perhaps that is the message, everything gets dragged down by the mundane.
But there is more.
I saw my niece, (who was, frankly, thoroughly unprepared to walk across the countryside of a foreign land) lift her chin and walk alone, and learn that she is far more capable than she really knew. I experienced the kindness of complete strangers when we needed help. We saw the faith of people who had just walked 300 miles to kneel on the stone floor of the cathedral to thank God for the blessing of this experience. I saw the piles of small slips of paper like hopeful snow in the crypt of St. James, as pilgrims from all over the world carried their intentions to this holy place.
And somewhere along The Way, I felt fully heard, fully loved and fully known.
We have been back for two weeks, but it feels like a year. Trudging up steep hills, wandering through vineyards full of fat grapes, the astonishment of the wayside chapels and shrines, and the easy chatter of complete strangers seems almost like another life.
I think I had hoped for some grand revelation. The past two years have been a moving battlefront and I have to believe there was purpose to it all. I thought the answer might lie on a dirt trail in Spain.
The only thing that really struck me was how very human we all are, even as we strive to great spiritual heights. Starting the day with prayer contrasted with small arguments. Praying the rosary while hiking contrasted with the final few miles of every day just wanting to be done, feet pounding to the beat of "this sucks. this sucks. this sucks." Embracing simplicity contrasted with a grimace at yet another bocadilla, jamón y queso, gracias. Great intentions met pneumonia and ugly blisters.
Perhaps that is the message, everything gets dragged down by the mundane.
But there is more.
I saw my niece, (who was, frankly, thoroughly unprepared to walk across the countryside of a foreign land) lift her chin and walk alone, and learn that she is far more capable than she really knew. I experienced the kindness of complete strangers when we needed help. We saw the faith of people who had just walked 300 miles to kneel on the stone floor of the cathedral to thank God for the blessing of this experience. I saw the piles of small slips of paper like hopeful snow in the crypt of St. James, as pilgrims from all over the world carried their intentions to this holy place.
And somewhere along The Way, I felt fully heard, fully loved and fully known.
photo of La Virgen Peregrina, Pontevedra, Galicia, España.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
All Grown Up or A Tale of Brassieres
So, a couple weeks ago, it hit me that I am a full-fledged grown-up.
Now, you'd think that would have hit me, oh, about 25 years ago when I bought my first vacuum cleaner or had utilities in my own name. That felt adult-ish. Or graduated with a law degree. Meh. Or got my first job that had paid vacation and health insurance benefits. That felt pretty cool, but mostly like I was an imposter that I hoped no one discovered until I figured out what was going on. Bought a house. Not so much.
My first inkling that yes, I am a grown-up came when I started a Roth IRA, a purely optional financial decision based on the idea that I might someday be forced to retire at least a few days before I die.
But what really drove it home was when I took my niece bra shopping this past weekend. I felt my mother snickering up her sleeves from Heaven the entire time.
You see, as soon as I hit college I stopped wearing a bra except when I really, really had to, like, at work, working out, or wanted to display impressive cleavage. My mother fought relentlessly against the idea of Free Bosoms, even trying to enlist the help of my benighted father to impress upon me the Necessity Of A Proper Bra. (He fled the room every time, BTW, occasionally calling over his shoulder, "Listen to your mother!" as the ignition turned.)
"Droop is coming," she would intone as ominously as a Stark contemplating The Wall. I rolled my eyes at her, my perky confidence undiminished.
Fast forward to Present Day.
My darling college-student niece came to visit me and upon one glance at her underpinnings, I declared we were going Bra Shopping ASAP and I would not rest until we found her proper foundation garments. She did not resist the idea at all. She welcomed it. Embraced it. I felt properly shamed about the HOURS I spent in my teens and 20s in shouting matches with my mother on this very topic.
I heard a faint snort of laughter from the skies. My mama was watching.
I knew this mission was blessed by my mother because not only were bras on sale at the store we chose, but parking was abundant. (My mother, FYI, is the patron saint of good parking -and excellent sales if her grandchildren are involved.)
Purchases made, my niece beaming with happiness over her presents, I admitted silently to my mom that she was Once Again Right and A Proper Bra Is Pretty Important and I Should Have Listened To Her And Not Been So Argumentative Sometimes.
The self-satisfaction she felt radiated around me, and made me laugh.
Now, you'd think that would have hit me, oh, about 25 years ago when I bought my first vacuum cleaner or had utilities in my own name. That felt adult-ish. Or graduated with a law degree. Meh. Or got my first job that had paid vacation and health insurance benefits. That felt pretty cool, but mostly like I was an imposter that I hoped no one discovered until I figured out what was going on. Bought a house. Not so much.
My first inkling that yes, I am a grown-up came when I started a Roth IRA, a purely optional financial decision based on the idea that I might someday be forced to retire at least a few days before I die.
But what really drove it home was when I took my niece bra shopping this past weekend. I felt my mother snickering up her sleeves from Heaven the entire time.
You see, as soon as I hit college I stopped wearing a bra except when I really, really had to, like, at work, working out, or wanted to display impressive cleavage. My mother fought relentlessly against the idea of Free Bosoms, even trying to enlist the help of my benighted father to impress upon me the Necessity Of A Proper Bra. (He fled the room every time, BTW, occasionally calling over his shoulder, "Listen to your mother!" as the ignition turned.)
"Droop is coming," she would intone as ominously as a Stark contemplating The Wall. I rolled my eyes at her, my perky confidence undiminished.
Fast forward to Present Day.
My darling college-student niece came to visit me and upon one glance at her underpinnings, I declared we were going Bra Shopping ASAP and I would not rest until we found her proper foundation garments. She did not resist the idea at all. She welcomed it. Embraced it. I felt properly shamed about the HOURS I spent in my teens and 20s in shouting matches with my mother on this very topic.
I heard a faint snort of laughter from the skies. My mama was watching.
I knew this mission was blessed by my mother because not only were bras on sale at the store we chose, but parking was abundant. (My mother, FYI, is the patron saint of good parking -and excellent sales if her grandchildren are involved.)
Purchases made, my niece beaming with happiness over her presents, I admitted silently to my mom that she was Once Again Right and A Proper Bra Is Pretty Important and I Should Have Listened To Her And Not Been So Argumentative Sometimes.
The self-satisfaction she felt radiated around me, and made me laugh.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Most Beautiful
Got tagged today in a dear friend's post:
"Women can sometimes be mean, so let's change that and instead share the love.
All of the women that I'm nominating (you have been tagged) are strong, beautiful, smart, loving women whom I admire. These amazing women inspire me for a variety of reasons.
You're all beautiful. Life can present us with many challenges. Some are not so fun. And now I'm challenging you to something uplifting and encouraging.
Please upload 4 photos of yourself where you felt the most beautiful. Then nominate all the gorgeous Goddesses that you think are beautiful to do the same, build each other up instead of tearing each other down!! 💙💜❤💚
Let's see all the beauty! Tap and hold the status to copy."
Normally, I kind of ignore these things, but her gorgeous photos inspired me to think a bit about those times I felt the most beautiful. Scanning my FB photos was a sweet trip down memory lane, as I realized the times I FELT the most beautiful, were not necessarily the times I was the most photogenic.
and as I looked over the thousands of photos of smiling faces, I realized that it would take me all freakin day to tag every one of my beautiful friends and ask them to share their photos. So, if you read this, consider yourself tagged!
"Women can sometimes be mean, so let's change that and instead share the love.
All of the women that I'm nominating (you have been tagged) are strong, beautiful, smart, loving women whom I admire. These amazing women inspire me for a variety of reasons.
You're all beautiful. Life can present us with many challenges. Some are not so fun. And now I'm challenging you to something uplifting and encouraging.
Please upload 4 photos of yourself where you felt the most beautiful. Then nominate all the gorgeous Goddesses that you think are beautiful to do the same, build each other up instead of tearing each other down!! 💙💜❤💚
Let's see all the beauty! Tap and hold the status to copy."
Normally, I kind of ignore these things, but her gorgeous photos inspired me to think a bit about those times I felt the most beautiful. Scanning my FB photos was a sweet trip down memory lane, as I realized the times I FELT the most beautiful, were not necessarily the times I was the most photogenic.
Here we (me, my BFF, her spawn) were sitting in the car,
eating icecream and generally horsing around. Such lightness!
CM Chicago! Happy-hearted group of people. On a trolley! Dancing!
Not at all a pretty picture, but it was the first time I dead-lifted over 200 lbs.
I felt triumphant.
This photo was part of a set of professional shots taken after I had lost 150 lbs.
Like most single women, I hadn't had professional photos taken since high school.
My friend who was the photographer was so fun, and took amazing photos.
I felt like a star!
and as I looked over the thousands of photos of smiling faces, I realized that it would take me all freakin day to tag every one of my beautiful friends and ask them to share their photos. So, if you read this, consider yourself tagged!
Monday, July 11, 2016
Hazy
I feel like I looked away and two years flew by. Wasn't I just in Barcelona with my friend, Alicia?
I lived in a cute house next to a forest known for mountain lions and homeless people. The house had a dog door and a dishwasher. The forest had pine needles and sky. I went for walks with Lori and drinks with Sandra. I lifted heavy weights and carried the world, they said.
Was it a dream that I slipped away?
Did I step through some sort of portal?
I look forward and I am working in a small office in a large building in a mid-sized Hoosier city known for not much outside of the local university having a great football team. It is humid here and the houses are tiny and quite old, which adds character, they say.
My friend, Hope, died. That memory is oddly sharp in the midst of this haze. I do not forget that.
I remember every moment of that phone call -how my head was tilted against the headboard, how the phone felt smooth and hot, how the sheets wrapped around my toes felt rough and cold, how Adrianne's voice seemed tinny and far away and so so tired, how the midnight snow made the world all blue and strange. How I should have been there when it happened. I do not forget that.
When the sun shines here, the whole world is impossibly green. When the moon glows here, tiny lights skirt above the grass and blink away. Lightning bugs, they say.
Fairy lights dancing in the haze.
I lived in a cute house next to a forest known for mountain lions and homeless people. The house had a dog door and a dishwasher. The forest had pine needles and sky. I went for walks with Lori and drinks with Sandra. I lifted heavy weights and carried the world, they said.
Was it a dream that I slipped away?
Did I step through some sort of portal?
I look forward and I am working in a small office in a large building in a mid-sized Hoosier city known for not much outside of the local university having a great football team. It is humid here and the houses are tiny and quite old, which adds character, they say.
My friend, Hope, died. That memory is oddly sharp in the midst of this haze. I do not forget that.
I remember every moment of that phone call -how my head was tilted against the headboard, how the phone felt smooth and hot, how the sheets wrapped around my toes felt rough and cold, how Adrianne's voice seemed tinny and far away and so so tired, how the midnight snow made the world all blue and strange. How I should have been there when it happened. I do not forget that.
When the sun shines here, the whole world is impossibly green. When the moon glows here, tiny lights skirt above the grass and blink away. Lightning bugs, they say.
Fairy lights dancing in the haze.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
I am a Fortunate One
A quote really home today.
"It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That is not failure. That is life."
Jean-Luc Picard
As I sit here, 46 years old, drowning in a waterfall of student debt, pondering my life choices, this goes through me like a cold wind.
I have been racking my brain trying to figure out exactly where I screwed up, and each decision when it was made still seems eminently sensible. I made a series of well-thought-out decisions.
Yet, there it is. And here I am.
I read an article about how the middle-aged make up the bulk of suicides, and how the death rate for middle aged women is skyrocketing. I can totally see this.
There are a lot of people like me. Back when I graduated from law school, there were no income sensitive plans for loan repayment, there was no loan forgiveness. If you could not make that $1,200/mo payment, there was no provision for "pay what you can" -you simply went into default, and then with penalties and interest, that $100K spirals into $350K in a heartbeat, and any funds previously paid disappear into the air. $350K that will never, ever go away, that grows larger every day, and will influence every single decision in your life forever.
I am a fortunate one. Thanks to Obama, and not one single Republican for whom I ever voted, there are loan forgiveness programs. By the time I am 60, my student debt will be gone, after essentially repaying what I borrowed two times over. What is "forgiven" is the usury of the system -the penalties and interest poured on like gasoline to flame. Yet, I am the one panting for that forgiveness, like some tortured character from Game of Thrones.
I am a fortunate one. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. To keep that light flickering, however faintly, I have to continue to work in non-profit until the end of the 10-yr term. So, even if I wanted to become a full-time writer, that is not an option -nor is practicing law, staying home to raise kids, nor any of the other millions of opportunities purportedly available to me.
I am a fortunate one. When I am 60, I MAY be able to buy a house. I've never owned a new car, so I doubt I will start then. Mostly I hope my 2007 Ford Taurus with 200,000 miles makes it through one more winter. If I think too hard about what my education has cost me in terms of financial stability, I can barely breathe.
I am a fortunate one. I am healthy. I have a job I enjoy with a decent salary that provides both paid vacation time and sick leave (generously.) I live in a modest rented house in a low-cost Midwestern city. I do not have to worry about putting children through school. Because I can budget like nobody's business, I am able to save a bit for emergencies, for a retirement that will likely never come. Unless you know, you would never know.
I am a fortunate one. And there are thousands of people out there just like me, in their 40s, caught up in the hurricane of our economy over the last 20 years, making sensible decisions that end up smashing their dreams into shards, hoping that somehow their hidden struggle will lead to some semblance of freedom. That someday they will be able to breathe again.
I am a fortunate one. But I understand why some people opt out, and how some are ground into dust.
"It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That is not failure. That is life."
Jean-Luc Picard
As I sit here, 46 years old, drowning in a waterfall of student debt, pondering my life choices, this goes through me like a cold wind.
I have been racking my brain trying to figure out exactly where I screwed up, and each decision when it was made still seems eminently sensible. I made a series of well-thought-out decisions.
Yet, there it is. And here I am.
I read an article about how the middle-aged make up the bulk of suicides, and how the death rate for middle aged women is skyrocketing. I can totally see this.
There are a lot of people like me. Back when I graduated from law school, there were no income sensitive plans for loan repayment, there was no loan forgiveness. If you could not make that $1,200/mo payment, there was no provision for "pay what you can" -you simply went into default, and then with penalties and interest, that $100K spirals into $350K in a heartbeat, and any funds previously paid disappear into the air. $350K that will never, ever go away, that grows larger every day, and will influence every single decision in your life forever.
I am a fortunate one. Thanks to Obama, and not one single Republican for whom I ever voted, there are loan forgiveness programs. By the time I am 60, my student debt will be gone, after essentially repaying what I borrowed two times over. What is "forgiven" is the usury of the system -the penalties and interest poured on like gasoline to flame. Yet, I am the one panting for that forgiveness, like some tortured character from Game of Thrones.
I am a fortunate one. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. To keep that light flickering, however faintly, I have to continue to work in non-profit until the end of the 10-yr term. So, even if I wanted to become a full-time writer, that is not an option -nor is practicing law, staying home to raise kids, nor any of the other millions of opportunities purportedly available to me.
I am a fortunate one. When I am 60, I MAY be able to buy a house. I've never owned a new car, so I doubt I will start then. Mostly I hope my 2007 Ford Taurus with 200,000 miles makes it through one more winter. If I think too hard about what my education has cost me in terms of financial stability, I can barely breathe.
I am a fortunate one. I am healthy. I have a job I enjoy with a decent salary that provides both paid vacation time and sick leave (generously.) I live in a modest rented house in a low-cost Midwestern city. I do not have to worry about putting children through school. Because I can budget like nobody's business, I am able to save a bit for emergencies, for a retirement that will likely never come. Unless you know, you would never know.
I am a fortunate one. And there are thousands of people out there just like me, in their 40s, caught up in the hurricane of our economy over the last 20 years, making sensible decisions that end up smashing their dreams into shards, hoping that somehow their hidden struggle will lead to some semblance of freedom. That someday they will be able to breathe again.
I am a fortunate one. But I understand why some people opt out, and how some are ground into dust.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)