Learning to swim upstream

This is the part of my story I didn’t want to write. It’s the part the filmmaker sometimes leaves on the cutting floor, because the character does something to offend, like cracks her gum or runs over a cat with her car, and you think, “Can I finish this movie? Can I get past this and still like her? Can I root for her story long enough to see her through until the credits roll?”

And so, the small offense is edited out, because to like the movie, you have to like its protagonist, and if the texture of gum-cracking or cat-running-over doesn’t add enough to the story to compensate for its barrier to likeability, well then, chop-chop.

But I am not a movie character, and this is not a film, and I think every texture adds enough to the story because I find meaning in all of it. And so, I cannot edit out this small offense, this meaningful offense, because it is important:

Living slowly, saying no, surrendering expectations – all of it causes tension.

It is against the grain, and it shoots upward, like the prickle you feel when you rub your finger against the wrong side of the grass blade. It is offensive to nearly each and every fish swimming the other way, and often times, they will shout at you:

Slowing down is a privilege. It’s entitlement. It’s selfish. You are living in a bubble. You are justifying your laziness. Wake up, get out, get busy doing what you’re supposed to do like the rest of us. That is what my brain keeps trying to tell me. 

And those fish are right, and they are wrong, and it matters even though it shouldn’t.

Or perhaps, it doesn’t matter even though it should.

I chose not to attend an invite, purposely and intentionally. I needed the break, the time to just rest, relax and unwind. I graciously declined the invite and only later did I realize my friend didn't understand how busy life had gotten. She only saw I'd let her down. 

When the world is in order, when you’re swimming with the rest of the fish, relationships move from acquaintance to friend.
When the world is not in order, when you change direction and begin to swim upstream, relationships sometimes go the other way. Your waves create whiplash. Friend to acquaintance. Acceptance to tolerance. Vulnerability to veneer.

And I suppose that’s what this small offense is. It’s precisely that – an offensive move, an intentional decision to begin changing the way you live. And moving on the offense can often bring the defense.

I have been taught, on many occasions, that our lives are to be lived in service. In sacrifice, in selflessness. And somewhere down the line, I confused service with “Yes.” I confused sacrifice with, “I’ll be there. I’ll do it. Count on me, I’m your girl.”

It’s a wildly popular thing to be everyone’s girl. It’s a surefire way to win adoration, and respect, and accolades.

And yet. When the “Yes” stops, when the waters still, when you change directions? The fish will shout. The current becomes strong. And you are left with a forced smile and an awkward hallway encounter.

So I am, simply, really, telling the truth. I am trying to let my Yes be Yes and my No be No and am trying to own them both – the former without resentment, the latter without apology.

I am trying to tell the truth while offering kindness, trying to explain that I’m doing things differently now, and that I’m committed to something else, that I’m working toward peace and prioritizing rather than pursuit and perfection. And I’m getting it jumbled, I’m sure of that, and there are awkward silences while I’m trying to choose my words mindfully, but the truth is this: I am learning.

I am learning to accept the unpopular opinion, and I am building new muscles that make it a bit easier to swim upstream.

You want to know the coolest part, the best thing about swimming upstream? There are two ways to pass another fish in the hallway. We can run into each other, stop, and offer polite smiles and forced excuses.

Or we can simply keep swimming and offer a high five along the way. Fish to fish, fin to fin.

Can we slow down time?

What’s the one thing you hear everyone say all the time? Life goes by too quickly. It’s all happening so fast. Sound familiar? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and pondering, “Can we slow it down? Is that possible?”

Of course, we can’t change the hours or minutes in a day, but can we change the way they feel? My husband and I have been talking about how much I miss visiting with my dad. I don’t want to glamorize those days. They were hard. Harder than we care to admit or express. Anyone traveling the aging parent’s path understands the depth to which is takes a toll. There was so much beauty in being in the moment. Dad lived in each moment at the end, reliving the memories that forged the forever bond between father and daughter.

Podcasts. I should probably carve out more time for them because I love them so much. Do you listen to Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday? She sat down with Eckhart Tolle, and it was riveting. At the end, when she asks her guests a series of rapid-fire questions, she asked, “What are you most grateful for?”

Think about that for a moment. What are you most grateful for?

If you are like most people, including myself, you begin to list off your blessings. Loved ones, a warm home to live in, health, etc. And yes. I am abundantly grateful for all of that. But do you know what Eckhart Tolle’s answer was?

“I am grateful for . . . this very moment.” Powerful. Simple. Calming.

When I was in the throes of grieving for my dad and caring for mom, I really struggled with the anxiety. How do I be a good wife when I cry so much? How do I live with the guilt for all the time I am not with my mom? This list was long, so I took the advice of a friend and sat down with a counselor. I chose one who was also spiritual as most of my beliefs are rooted in my faith.

The biggest lesson he passed onto me was that multi-tasking is not a gift. It’s not what we are designed to do. It certainly isn’t doing God’s will. We are to be in the present moment. That’s it. If we are cooking dinner, we are doing just that. If I am weeding in my garden, that is all I should be doing. If I am working, attend to that only.

It really gave me pause and changed my entire perspective. I used to think I was pretty bad ass for getting a crazy number of things accomplished and proud of the fact that I was managing it all in my head. Wrong. Really wrong. And you know what else? That way of life made the days rush by even faster. Rushing here, rushing there. Doing this while thinking about that. That all flies in the face of being grateful for this very moment.

There is a plethora of advice books, self-help seminars, and podcasts out there. No shortage of people telling us we are doing it all wrong and that can seem so overwhelming, right? Like where do I begin? For me it was such a simple truth and one that I kept hearing. Be grateful for THIS moment. Attend to only THIS moment. It’s a practice, not a trait. Anyone can do it and it’s not complicated. It just takes intention.

So maybe we can slow it down. Maybe we can turn the rush and the race into more meaningful moments. If we change the way the minutes FEEL than the cumulative effect might be a calmer, richer way to spend our time. Try it today. I will do the same. If you are driving, just be driving. Don’t be planning or talking on your phone. If you are talking with a friend, be there fully. While it’s something I have tried to do over the last few months, I still must make the conscience decision to be grateful for THIS very moment.

Quiet Love

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about family, friendships, and how to love the people I care about in the best way possible. There are some people around me who are hurting desperately right now. Some are sick, while many others are navigating through the tough illness of someone they love. Others are actively or newly grieving, while some are just enduring a tough, unpredictable season of aging and it’s wearing them thin.

As I’ve thought about each of these people I love and how to best love them through these tough times, it’s made me reflect on the times in my life that I’ve been loved through some really, really hard situations. And the time in reflection led me to this… the times I have felt the most loved have always been the times when I was loved quietly by some very special people.

What do I mean by that? To me, being loved quietly meant the person who was there for me met me where I was, with no judgment, and did something beautiful for me that wasn’t big and wasn’t for show. You never saw a post about it on social media. You never heard about it from anyone else. And what they did likely wasn’t anything big or flashy, just a simple act of true love and friendship.

I’ve had some wonderful examples of this kind of love so many times in my life. Particularly over the last 8 years as I’ve developed some special friendships later in life.

I have a sweet friend that calls me at least once every week or so just to check in on me no matter how busy of a season she is in! She never lets much time go by without calling just to make sure I know I am loved and to cheer me on through whatever challenge I might be experiencing, or exciting thing is happening. Our friendship, founded in a shared work experiences few have had to experience has been so incredibly special to me.

This quiet love is also something my husband does incredibly well! He always shows up for the kids and me. He patiently wades through each season of grief with me that always comes in like a tidal wave with each passing birthday and anniversary of parents gone or the child who was born to Heaven. He is my best friend and biggest supporter no matter what and loves me despite all of my hundreds of imperfections. And he loves the kids and grandkids endlessly too. No matter how busy his week was he always has time to share with each of us. I waited my whole life for a special love like this and I will spend the rest of my life making sure he gets that same, wonderful, quiet love from me in return. 

Quiet love is a gift I hope you all experience in your life repeatedly. And may it be something we all strive to give to those in our lives, especially during those seasons where they might not have much to give back in return. It doesn’t have to be big or flashy, in fact quiet love is meant to be anything but.

Quiet love is the greatest gift we all can give. And the best part is, it doesn’t cost a thing.

Then Came The Morning!

I’ve grown up listening to the Easter story my entire life. Every Sunday morning we would rise before dawn, get on our new clothes and sit in church as the sun rose that beautiful morning and shine through the stained glass windows. I always knew as a child the double meaning of that morning and how it relates to our lives. 

In my older years I’ve begun to look at Easter morning as so much more in my life. I now know what that morning truly meant and how looking at it relates to my own life. Not as an overbearing believer but as human being that tries to live by example of kindness, acceptance and positivity. Do I struggle at times with a multitude of things? Of course I do but just as that bleak Friday happened thousands of years ago, I can still hold tight because…..

Then came the Morning! 

How dark the “night” must have been after Jesus had been crucified and buried.  Not only had they lost a son, a teacher and a dear friend, they had lost hope. They had to have wondered why they left everything to follow a man they were so confident was the Messiah. They had to have questioned why after He showed power over demons, illness, and even death, He went so quietly to His own. How could this have happened?

It’s very easy for us, from our vantage point, to skip over the bleak darkness of Friday, isn’t it? We know Sunday’s coming! We know the end of the story, for God in His great mercy towards us has given us His Word. Most of us have celebrated Christ’s Resurrection  our entire lives. But it was very different that first dark Friday.

That crucifixion Friday, there was grief. That day, there were questions—deep, probing questions about everything they had heard, seen and had been building their lives on for the last 3 ½ years. How could He be gone? The grief they must have felt, the fear and insecurity, the absolute uncertainty about their own futures takes my breath away..for they didn’t know yet that the morning would dawn so brightly!

Have you ever found yourself on a “Friday”? Has the day gotten so dark that you cannot even imagine seeing the light? Have you felt forgotten? Neglected? Tricked? Used? Have you been walking a path that you believed wholeheartedly God had laid out for you, only to have it end up looking very differently than you would have ever imagined?

Oh, those dark Fridays!

Just as the disciples couldn’t see through that dark weekend, our vision is very limited, too. But, dear friends, Fridays don’t last forever! God is busy on those dark Fridays working in ways that we could never guess! When the morning dawns, just as it did that Easter Sunday morning, we will be able to stand in awe of how God led us and sustained us all the way.

Fridays are difficult. No one would choose to walk through them, but there are some beautiful “Sunday mornings” that you can only get to by walking through the dark valleys on Friday.

Stop Measuring Yourself Against Your Ideals Of Perfection

Well, it happened.

I woke up early, I make a cup of tea, and did something I usually don't do. 

I lost myself in the Internet.

I lost myself.

There is a girl on the screen. She lives in a tiny apartment in NYC and has such ingenious wit and wisdom to share on living minimally, on simplifying, on living a soulful, sustainable life, with a fully supportive husband. I could relate to a degree, but as I read she had it all together. 

She makes elder-flower spritzers and homemade bread and knows how to gracefully decline house guests. She was beautiful inside and out. Her hair was perfect, her figure trim and healthy and her make up impeccably done. 

She is perfect. Her life is perfect.

I am no stranger to the comparison trap, not in the slightest. It’s a large portion of the reason I regulate my time in front of the screen. I’m prone to thinking everyone has it all figured out except for me, prone to thinking everyone has it all, period.

No one has it all.
I know this, I know this, I know this.
(Why do I not yet believe this?)

But on this quiet morning, as I sit braless with bedhead, it’s easy to see the girl with the elder-flower spritzer in NYC (actually, currently in France – need I say more?!) has it all.

Do you want to know what I did after reading her blog for 45 minutes?

I bought lemons at the grocery. I contemplated new kitchen curtains. I shamed myself for keeping so many tiny shampoo bottles from hotel trips, and then I fully convinced myself I could keep them, because someday another pandemic might hit and this time there might be a shampoo shortage. 

Do you want to know what I did not do?

I did not think.

I did not sit with my feelings of inadequacy long enough to realize they were not feelings of inadequacy at all. They were a recognition of someone else’s small successes, someone else’s adequacies, someone else’s triumphs. Look at her, killing it at this living stuff. She’s soaring! She’s happy!

And in my small mind, I twisted someone else’s happiness to mean there would be none left for me.

A simple scenario:

Girl on the screen has lemons. I like the girl on the screen; I like the way she lives. Do I need lemons to like the way I live, too?

A simple truth:
No.

You don’t either. You don’t need the lemons, the new curtains, the hotel shampoo bottles for the what ifs. But you needn’t shame yourself when you think you do.

It happens to the best of us.

Anyway, I emailed her, the elder-flower girl.

Hello!

This is wildly random, but I’m sending you an officially official fan letter to applaud you on the life you’re leading. I know that sounds strange, and I know applause is likely not what you’re after, but hey – we all need a blue ribbon moment every now and then, yes?

I know the life you lead is not without challenges, and I’m so impressed by your self-control, your wisdom, your grace. Thank you for sharing your life with the rest of us.

We’re learning from you, and growing with you, and that’s no small thing.

And just like that, with a hit of the Send button, my own visions of perceived inadequacy vanished and, in its place, a deep respect for another human arrived.

I read once that, of all the feelings we must listen to, jealousy is one of the most important. Jealousy reveals what it is we want. 

Sit with it.
Learn from it.
Write about it.
Thank it.
Hit Send.