taxi girls to school + everywhere else
on earthclean fridgegroom dogs
Here’s a limited picture of all that’s
going on in the coming month for me. If you look closely, there’s not a whole
lot of “me” in the mix. Because I anticipate these activities will wipe me out,
I’m guarding my time. I won’t be back to blog until October.
I’m grateful my husband and I got away
briefly over the weekend to celebrate twenty years of marriage. Here I am
getting ready to go out on the water—one of my favorite places to be.
Hope you have a great September.
Practice self-care and be kind.
Remember the bunk bed in my youngest
daughter’s room, the one that made it impossible for me to paint the entire
room so I ended up painting these stencil designs on her wall? I blogged about thisseveral months after we moved in. And my girl liked the stencils. Until
she sort of didn’t. She’s had a new color for her walls in mind for months. A
light shade of charcoal. The stencils had worn out their welcome.
Normally I might not be so
accommodating. I’d likely throw a typical mom-response at her, something like,
“Well, you’ll have to live with it for a while.” But here’s the thing. She did
live with it for a while. She was a trooper and agreed to have the bulky bunk
bed in her room even though she never wanted it. And I happen to love to paint.
So . . .
Charcoal gray it is. I painted
everything I could around the massive bunk bed, then when it was clear this
wasn’t a priority project for anyone else in the family, I got to work. I
dissembled the top portion of the bed. Taking it apart took hours. The bolts
and screws were seriously secure. I got to the last screw and I almost lost it.
It stripped out, making it a real task to remove the last awkward piece of
wood. Of course. On the last screw. Then I remembered the hammer I stored in
the bathroom cabinet after sealing the paint can lid tight. I channeled Chip
Gaines and went nuts on the remaining wooden slat. It was both therapeutic and
a little scary. It felt great. A real “Here’s Johnny” moment. But the slat
wouldn’t budge.
Until . . .
After a good ten minutes of whacking the
daylights out of the bed, I took a deep breath. I reconsidered the direction I
was wailing on the wood. I changed the position of my hammer, as a fresh idea
tickled the base of my skull. With a healthy whack, and a new game plan, I thought
about the vulnerable points in the wood. Then I launched my last attack. And
the last piece of wood gave way.
I’m free to paint the rest of the room
today. And all is right with the world. Nothing a little spontaneous demolition
and paint can’t fix.
*Went a little lighter w/ the color. It’s
called Portsmouth Landing. Will post pics when room is finished.
Tis the season for giving myself permission. Permission to
let go, to relax, to unplug, to rearrange and reorder my thoughts . . .
permission to surrender. When my heart is invested in something I have a
tendency to be freakishly disciplined. Though not a perfectionist, I can be
ruthlessly hard on myself. With my bent toward intense commitment, I’ve had to
teach myself there’ll be times, seasons even, when I need to pull back,
reassess, moments to catch a breather.
Here are just a few things I’ve intentionally chilled out
about in the past in order to maintain my sanity.
Leave the dishes for morning (when I have more energy anyway).
Dry shampoo is my friend.
Shop online.
Turn off the news.
Drastically cut down on social media time.
Step back from writing in order to plot & brainstorm.
Allow my kids to take occasional breaks from activities. Encourage
unplugged downtime.
Write out my priorities.
Dust? What’s dusting?
Skipping an occasional blog post.
I don’t go nuts with Christmas décor.
Wear my pajamas all day.
Wear the same outfit multiple days in a row.
I take at least one or two days each year to shut out the world and get
lost in Netflix shows/or movies.
I read between chores.
I’m inconsistent with sending Christmas cards. Some years I send them.
Some years I don’t.
Who are the Joneses anyway? The only comparing I want to do is with who
I was a year ago, ten years ago. My hope is to constantly strive toward becoming
a more loving and understanding individual. Checking boxes and keeping a
jealous eye on my neighbor or that certain online account won’t get me there.
There’s infinite freedom in letting go. In taking the chokehold off life,
inviting in the wonders of a life lived untethered to comparisons.
I’ve moved to two new states in the past few years. I’ve come to
respect the wonderful blessings that result when I give myself permission to go
easy. I’m endlessly going hard after the things I love. In this stretch of life
this mostly encompasses taking care of my family and working on my craft. It’s
a treat to take a step back from the pressures I’ve built in my mind of how all
is supposed to look. Images of a perfectly dressed holiday table with the dog
pleasantly seated beside. As opposed to a throw together hodgepodge of traditional
family dishes and random foods I know my kids will eat, as the dog is two
seconds from devouring a turkey leg.
When I go easy, I allow life to remind me of how simple and sweet it can
be.
With my girls playing club soccer in three different regions
of the country, I can say I’ve just about seen it all when it comes to refereeing.
The good. The bad. And the ugly. I’ve also become a keen observer of parent
reactions, and I’m beginning to see how they don’t vary much from state to
state.
I don’t know whether it’s because my girls are growing older
and this isn’t my first rodeo with club sports, but in recent years I’m
grasping the value of letting each team simply play their game—without parental
interference. And that includes shouting insults at the ref.
Why?
Because the way I see it, life is a bad ref. Bad refs (with the exception of those who refuse
to intervene when things get dangerous) can teach our kids. So what if a ref
misses a hand ball or calls a corner kick a goal kick? You’d be surprised how
my parents get up in arms about such calls.
I’ve leapt up from my chair before, furious at some of the
calls (or lack of calls) I’ve witnessed. The best is when parents (or a coach)
tick a ref off so badly that every calls he makes from that point on is skewed because
of the verbal lashing he had to publicly endure.
My thinking when the ref makes a misjudgment . . . such is
life. Play on. Play through it.
Play through.
I used to cringe every time my mom would tell me life was
unfair, but as an adult I get that she was doing me a favor by telling me this.
I didn’t grow up expecting special treatment or that I’d always be understood
in every situation. Plenty of situations occur when there isn’t an opportunity
to plead your case. Life makes all kinds of unfair calls. Death, disease, and ignorant
cruelty to name a few.
We can’t always bark back at life. It doesn’t work like
that. I’ve never seen a ref change his mind after a good yelling at. So much of
living a peaceful, fulfilled life is understanding—really understanding—how to navigate
through the things we cannot control. How to play through it. How to play our
game despite what’s playing out all around us. Developing that kind of personal
accountability is invaluable. We don’t go through life blaming others for our
successes and failures. We take responsibility.
Sure, some games are called horribly. Been there. Seen that.
I finally figured out that’s what gets some parents so enraged when they observe
a bad call. They’re having to sit back while Life smacks their kid around. I
say give the kid a chance to rise up. Watch as they show you how well they can
play through it. Teach them to play their game no matter how the game might be
called.
I went to rehab for the first time when I was in sixth
grade. It was family day and my parents drove me and my two other sisters to
support my sister who was trying to get sober. I’ll never forget a lot of
things from that tumultuous time period in my life, but one of the greatest
takeaways came in the form of a simplistic prayer. Maybe you’ve heard of it.
The opening lines of the Serenity Prayer have guided me through more occasions
than I could possibly count.
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things
I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the
difference.”
Thanks to our recent move, I’ve been enjoying the unusual
and special privilege of spending a lot of time with my girls this summer. I’m
making use of our time together. I’m teaching them the art of discernment. Age
appropriate, I’m helping them to weed through impulsive words, to look for
patterns, and to recognize inconsistencies and hypocrisy they identify in
themselves and in others. I’m not making a big show of it. We don’t sit down
and have family meetings about this. But I’m teaching it. Because now more than
ever these things matter.
“Eomer said, ‘How is a man to judge what to do in such times?’ As he has ever judged,’ said Aragorn. ‘Good and evil have not changed
since yesteryear, nor are they one thing among Elves and another among Men. It
is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own
house.” ― J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers
I’ve said a lot of things off the cuff through the
years. The older I get, the more I want to weigh my words, to consider the how
important something is—how valuable—before it leaves my tongue.
There is one thing I can’t stand being said to me. And
believe it or not, I hear it a lot.
I bet you’ve heard it, too.
“You look tired.”
Major pet peeve. Why? Because it doesn’t take a genius
or a clairvoyant to know I am tired.
Most of us are tired and it doesn’t always have to do with lack of sleep.
Sometimes it’s a sign we’ve sacrificed, we’ve cared deeply, and we’ve loved
until we feel wrung out.
I’m learning to take better care of myself. This seems
to be something I have to remind myself to work on. My natural inclination is
to pour it all out for my family, but then I find myself crippled with exhaustion,
depleted, and not all that useful to anyone.
When I see you and I catch you mid-yawn, or your
posture is stooped, or your eyes are unscored with dark shadows, I won’t speak
the obvious. Instead, I’ll elect to ask how things are going, how I might help,
or I may figure out a way to connect and empathize with you.
I won’t tell you that you look tired.
Because we’re both feeling it. Really, we all are. It
just shows up more on some of us.
Two rooms down, one to go. I’m in painting mode. When it
came time to paint my youngest daughter’s room, my husband and I took a step
back and let out a “Ruh-roh.” We bought the gallon of chipper blue paint before
we thought about how we’d move the massive bunk bed in her room. With each move
it has taken multiple men to haul that beast (and that’s before they put it
together). Our heads spun as we proposed a few ideas to our daughter. Paint
only one wall? Chevron stripes? It seemed every idea was quickly shot down.
Until . . . stencils.
I got excited, found one she loved, then went to work. When
it comes to painting I’ve never been an obsessive perfectionist, but I wouldn’t
consider myself sloppy either.
That’s why my heart sunk when I peeled off the first try.
Maybe it was the brush. Or I went to fast. Or I focused on
making the color too dark.
But this is what showed up . . .
I then brainstormed ways I’d solve my solution to the
original problem. Use the original paint and paint over my splotchy attempt?
Fill it in and create a polka-dot wall? My brain began to hurt.
Enter kid.
She liked it. She really liked it.
Still, stubborn as I am, I wanted to prove I could paint the
stencil on the wall the way it’s supposed to appear.
And this showed up . . .
And she liked both. Something about the variety spoke to
her. And you know what? I agree. I’m a fan of how it’s turning out.
Oftentimes in life what we believe to be mistakes end up being
the exact opposite. Splotchy solutions have merit. Perspective reigns,
creativity thrives, and open-mindedness is an excellent teacher.
We’ve begun the initial stages of settling in to our new
home. Painting. Arranging furniture. Recycling boxes. While I feel incredibly
peaceful in this house, the weight of the world feels heavy lately. I’m disgusted
and dispirited by irresponsible and heartbreaking politics, callous
impulsivity, and a real lack of empathy and understanding in our culture. Often
when I encounter this type of reaction I retreat. I shrink inside myself,
tempting to block out the world—to insulate as a form of protection.
However, in time I’ve learned there are better ways for me
to rise above moments of deep disappointment with the world we live in.
Eight Ways I Fight Dispiritedness
Initiate Meaningful
Conversation
Not everyone agrees with me. Some may think the world is
just fine as it is, some may even say it’s improving. Those are the folks I try
to initiate conversations with. I don’t go in with a Debbie Downer approach,
but I do believe the most successful road toward change is establishing a broad
understanding of the path we’re on, this includes the people we’re walking
beside. I have learned to have healthy, robust exchanges. We can disagree, that’s
fine. But I crave for people to think.
What gets me down more than anything is when people blindly back someone or a
decision without garnering understanding first.
Get Outside
I know my triggers and when the world presses in with great
intensity and I find myself unshakably sad, the outdoors calls. It’s
restorative for me. I’m exceedingly grateful we moved to a place with a calming
view and nearby outdoor playgrounds for me—the mountains, the beach, etc.
Seek to Understand
My husband often says, “But the world has always been a
mess.” True. But as someone living here
and now, I’m driven to understand what it is about our culture that’s pervasively destructive. What’s destroying us? I
step back and take time to figure out specifically what it is that’s angering
me so much, then I try really hard to dissect the situation, viewing it from unique
perspectives.
Speak Up
As I feel led, I’ll reach out to those in a position of
power, those who could incite change. I’ll become more vocal. I’ll root around
for my voice, then use it.
Write
It’s what I do. For over twenty years the best way for me to
sort through anything has been to get it down on paper. It’s freeing somehow.
Check in with My Kids
I have a major responsibility and I don’t take it lightly. I’m
raising a new generation of thinkers. Of voters. Of doers. Of changers. I
dialogue with my kids and share with them, as appropriate, the things that
rattle me about this current climate. I’m curious, does it rattle them? Will
she be the one to put an end to this or to create radical change?
I Laugh
It’s so basic, but it’s medicinal for me. Truly. It changes
how my brain works. My youngest showed me this video not long ago of a little
girl who’s renamed ice cream. I crack up every time I watch. I think it’s
healing me somehow—laughter and this video. Maybe it’s the innocence of it all.
Hold Strong to Hope
I don’t always feel my faith. I wrestle more than I care to
admit. But neither of those confessed truths alter the reality of hope. It
exists. It’s steadfast. And trustworthy whether I cling to it or not. We have a
God so billowing with love he won’t ever quit on us even as we destroy all he’s
given us.
It can get rough out there, people. I strongly encourage you
to figure out what will help you combat the dispiritedness. Because you’re
necessary here. We need you. Change awaits.
Life and its mysteries. The day after I wrote my last post, I
headed to our basement to continue the packing process. Look what I came across
under our deck…
A mama bird with three baby birds.
One of my daughters drew this for me for Mother’s Day.
My
girls were amused at how smitten I’ve been all week by this mama and her
babies. Then yesterday, on Mother’s Day, the babies took to the sky.
The nest is empty.
I find the timing of all of this—discovering the nest and the
babies flying off—quite symbolic considering my last post.
When we moved to our new home in Georgia a little over a
year ago, I had plans. I was determined to root and to do all I could to help
my girls to acclimate to the area. I foolishly believed we’d be in this house
for a long time, maybe forever. My determination to feel settled turned into a
mild obsession. I researched everything. I memorized streets, programs, and
other aspects of the community. In time, I’ve come to understand I’d been
mimicking the behavior of a mama bird. Wiring in my brain triggered me to make
this place home in every way possible.
While attempting to ingrain in our new surroundings to the
best of my abilities, I simultaneously found myself hesitating. And I never
understood what was behind that hesitation . . . until now.
One year later and we’re headed to a new home. California
here we come. I’m about to hit the restart button on all that acclimating and
adapting.
I liken my experience here in Georgia to a bird I grew
quickly fascinated by outside my office window last year. The mama bird
captivated me as she gathered grass and fronds, creating a messy nest atop a
column. I loved watching her work, and even captured a few photos. Mama bird
proved a nice distraction from writing on more than one occasion. In hindsight,
I’m glad I took the time to study this bird.
Because she’s me.
She fretted and swooped and tamped down twigs before they
could fall, but they fell anyway. The mama bird never did lay eggs in the nest
she spent hours to build. After I told my mom about the bird, she informed me
some birds create fake nests to distract predators from the real ones. I wouldn’t say
our current home is a fake nest, but I do see now how temporary this stop-over
in Georgia was. I’d laugh at my crazy attempts to root and nest, if it weren’t
so human—such a mom thing to do.
Building a safe place for my girls is my highest calling—teaching
them resiliency through change, strength through opposition, bravery through trying
times. The older I get, the more I’m beginning to grasp that a home doesn’t
exist inside brick or stucco walls.
Home is the security that comes from trusting that you’re
loved where you are—wherever that may be.
I saw this while walking around one of my favorite local
shopping centers.
It embodies so much of how I aim to live.
Know that I realize I’ve been somewhat quieter lately. It’s
funny in a way because as I’m getting ready to release a new novel this fall I’m
finding I have to gear up, I have to ready myself to reenter the noise.
It’s not like I haven’t been busy this summer. In the past
week alone I’ve given feedback on two novels for critique partners, as well as a
non-fiction health book my friend is publishing soon. I’ve signed kids up for
dance and soccer and am still in shock I’m preparing them for school in one
week (big change from going back the first week in September). I said goodbye after my mom visited, met up with
a family from Connecticut, attended a dynamic dinner party, gone on six mile
walks with my husband, painted more drywall (because I really can’t stay away),
and worked with the cover designer on my new novel. I wrote 5,000-words of one novel, while editing major sections of another. Oh, and I signed up for a
writer’s conference in November. So, yes, I’m keeping active. Behind the scenes
for now.
Much like an athlete, I’m feeling myself stretch and prepare
to get back out there. It’s been years since I’ve released a book. Even with
all of the preparation, it’s easy to forget how daunting it is.
So, when the world rattles or my confidence wavers, I try to
remember one thing.
I’mexactly where I’m
meant to be. And my life is full.
I’ve gone through seasons of life when I’ve remained
laser-focused. I’ve written a novel in a month and turned moving into a job,
filling journals with To-Do Lists. In time I’ve discovered I have tenacity of
steel.
However, I think it’s also important to share that I’ve wallowed
in seasons of distraction (excuse me as I just took the dog out). Whether it’s
getting hooked on Breaking Bad on
Netflix (a few years late . . . never been one to follow trends) or intimately
swept up in all of the details it takes to make a house a home, I’m most
vulnerable to get sidetracked when I stop asking myself what matters most.
When it comes to health and family I’ve made a commitment to
allot for distractions. Within reason. Someone begging me to inside-out (10
year old code for turn inside out) their socks for soccer doesn’t always
constitute an immediate response from me. I’m learning the art of filtering
legitimate right here, right now
needs from I kinda want it so would you
do it for me wants. If I didn’t do this I’m afraid an essential part of me
would slowly slip away.
The best way for me to filter—for me to decide if something
actually needs my focus is to always come back to that one question—what matters most?
Often cleaning will get pushed off a day. Some conversations
will be delayed. Tasks on my To-Do List will not get crossed off.
All of this is okay.
Because I’m intentionally pouring into what matters most.
Some days that’ll be inside outing socks. Some days it’ll be
crying during another episode of Breaking
Bad because the characters feel strangely familiar and the show provides a
great outlet for me to release decade-old hurt nesting inside. Some days it’ll
be to listen to my daughter’s latest struggles. And other days it’ll be to
write up a storm.
I’ve spent the past few days a little heartsick after
watching the 13 Reasons Why series on
Netflix. No, more than a little heartsick. See, the thing is I have been
wrestling with how much of a reaction to reveal, with how I want to respond and
I still don’t think I’m ready to. Not yet. Not fully. Maybe never fully.
I watched it because two of my favorite people on this
planet were interest in watching and knowing more. I knew what I was getting
into. I read the book. I’d heard and read enough about the series.
I watched and endured flashbacks of so many moments in my
childhood and teen years when I feared my sister would actually, this time, be
successful in her attempt to take her life. I watched well aware of my own stubborn
demons.
I watched and I came away feeling more things than I’m even
able to put into words at this time.
I will. Someday.
And I have. With and for two of my favorite people on this
planet. We’re talking about it.
And that, as with so many things for me in this life, is a
start.
“This
is motherhood for you,’ said my own mother. ‘Going through life with your heart
outside your body.”
―Jennifer Weiner
I remember the first time I saw my mom crying. She was
bawling, actually. I was in fifth grade. I
took my time walking down our long
lane and wondered if my mom had heard the news. When I met my mom in the
kitchen, I instantly registered her red-rimmed eyes. She clutched me to her
chest and held me in a tight hug. And then she sobbed. The Space Shuttle
Challenger had exploded. Word had traveled fast for the mid-80s. In school we’d
begun to cheer on the first teacher launching into space, then quickly shifted to
figuring out how to mourn the loss and the loss of the crew in such an abrupt transition
of time.
A great tragedy.
Growing up, a few other news stories brought my mom to
tears. But that’s the event that stands out to me. Because it seemed so far away. Like something that could never happen
to me or my loved ones.
I find myself reflecting on the first time I witnessed my
mom’s intense reaction to this news story because I’m a mom now. And too many
incidents have caused me to cry since I’ve become a mother. Too many tears.
I bring this up in the aftermath of Christina Grimmie’s
death this weekend, then yesterday, only a day later, a mass shooting at an
Orlando nightclub. Both significant losses occurred in the same city. My girls
and I were rooting for Christina when she sang on The Voice. She mesmerized me when she sang “All of the Stars” with
Ed Sheeran. She had so much more life to live—so many more songs to sing.
I feel a sweeping darkness.
One could argue it’s because we’re more informed now, news
being shoved in our face every second. I believe it’s more than that. And that conversations need to continue. Not
opinion-heavy lambasts. Dialogue with active listening, self-control, a will to
want to change this current state we’re in. Because I can hear the loud voices in
my head already. Gun control. Mental illness. Terrorists. Politics. Let’s be
honest, I’m not only hearing it in my head, it’s all over social media. People
have opinions and they feel entitled to share. Okay, all well and good (or not)
but I’m calling for productive
conversation that carries the potential to lead to change. Not just venting
because we’re all feelings this—this foreboding lack of control.
How do we prevail
against darkness? By exuding light. And we can only do that if we remain
civilized, respectful, open-minded and introspective.
My kids are growing up with these news stories. They aren’t
as unusual or as devastating as they once were. We cannot become numb to this—cannot accept a world where it’s alright
to destroy one another.
Columbine. 9/11. Sandy Hook. It’s gotten much closer to
home. Tragedy no longer feels far away or like something that could never
happen to me or my loved ones.
We are a big soccer family. You betcha, we’ve been watching
the Women’s World Cup over the past few weeks. We were even able to watch the
game against Columbia alongside my soccer hero of a sister. (She played at
UConn, met Pelé, and won All-American numerous
times during her athletic career.) It’s been so exciting to cheer on the
American women’s team.
But as most things do, it’s also triggered me to become
reflective. All three of my girls are active in sports, one in dance and two in
soccer. I’m constantly observing and absorbing as I parent my girls through
their games and performances. And I’m learning more about who I am and who I
want to be as a parent.
Creativity bleeds through all areas of life if we let it.
The willingness to do something differently—to stretch yourself—to engage in
something in a way that might at first seem unconventional or even strange.
There’s a ripe opportunity for all parents to take a creative approach to
parenting their children on the field and the dance floor…wherever they may
participate.
I’m grateful for a dear friend of mine. We call each other
often to hash out our weekends jam-packed with sports activities. We
psychoanalyze the parents, keep ourselves in check, and remind one another of
the very message that is so well communicated in the following TED Talk.
If you have children in sports I urge you to watch this.
The takeaway? Next time your kid tromps off a field, be it a
diamond or rectangle…remember these words…
“I love watching you play.”
This rings true to the core for me. Watching my girls grow,
work through difficulties on the field and dance floor, and fight to reach a
more resilient layer within themselves—this is a sheer joy for me.
Do you love watching your kids play sports? What else do you
think needs to change in youth sports today?
*Thanks to my friend Dawn for pointing me to this particular
TED Talk.
I’m passionate about encouraging my children to imagine
possibilities. Even Albert Einstein knew the value of using your imagination.
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all
we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and
all there ever will be to know and understand.”
That’s probably why I loved this picture I found on
Pinterest. {from the art mommie blog}
As parents we can find specific and creative ways to ignite
the imaginative sparks in our children. I love the idea of cutting out a
portion of an image from a magazine and letting my girls fill in the rest.
I just so happened to read the following quote from Flannery
O’Connor yesterday as well.
“A good story is literal in the same sense that a child’s
drawing is literal. When a child draws, he doesn’t intend to distort but to set
down exactly what he sees, and as his gaze is direct, he sees the lines that
create motion.”
I always find it a little crazy when life imitates my art.
An event will play out and I’ll think, Hey,
I wrote about that years ago.
Know what else is crazy in the coolest of ways? How I’ve
learned things in my career as a writer that have spilled valuable insights
over into the rest of my life.
Here are just a few…
Edit as I go
I used to be a yeller. Yep, catch me in the midst of a fight
fifteen years ago and I had no qualms about slinging shouts. Not anymore. I’ve
grown to see how ineffective yelling is. And as with writing and understanding
the importance of editing, I like how I’m able to change as I grow.
Help with letting go
I have three girls. They started out as babies. Sort of how
it works, doesn’t it? But they’re rapidly aging. And there’s nothing I can do
to slow down the process.
When I publish a book I feel like I hand the story baton to
my readers. Or as though I send the novel off like pushing a toy boat on a
windy day across rippling waters. I let go.
I’ve tapped into this same mindset at certain moments as a
parent. Thanks writing. I owe you for your help with this one.
Remaining open to
learning & change
In case you’ve been asleep for the past ten years, a lot has
changed in the publishing industry. Independent publishing no longer has the
reek of Limburger cheese. In fact, it’s widely respected when done
with great consideration, knowledge, and planning.
Newsflash: I’m not always going to be right as a parent.
Truth be told, I get it wrong about 78% of the time. You’re thinking why on
earth would I share this, aren’t you? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because I’m
passionate about learning, about paying attention, and about riding the waves
as a mom and member of society. I want to make a great impact with the little
time I have here. In order to do that, I must be receptive to what works. And
what doesn’t.
Managing expectations
I used to think every holiday had to materialize like a
Normal Rockwell painting. In other words I wanted the perfect life.
Somewhere along the way I realized that’s a farce. (My kids would laugh if I
read that word out loud. Oh, language.) Things get messy. Feelings get hurt.
Clothes live on my bedroom floor. Instead of promising myself every morning
I’ll clean the entire house, tackle 50 pages of my novel, and write Congress letters
about everything that’s troubling me, I get real.
As a writer I know how much time it takes to build an
audience—to find my peeps. I’ve learned how to apply this throughout the rest
of my life, mindful not to set myself up for disappointment unnecessarily.
Be brave & Take
risks
Sneaking two in one, eh? Why yes, yes I am. Takes a certain
kind of bravery to do that. Anyway, rejection is the Mr. Miyagi of publishing.
It keeps you humble, and challenges your degree of determination. After I
endure a humbling event related to my writing, I have a tendency to wax on,
then wax off. I jump back up with hands raised, ready to fight.
I can’t take credit for why I’m so stubbornly committed.
Part of my wiring perhaps.
Love when that wiring is connected to other areas of passion
in my life like my marriage, and parenting.
Spread the love
I used to think writing had to be a solitary act. Well, in a
way it is. But in so many beautiful ways it’s fanned out for me. I’m in touch
with hundreds of other writers who are devoted to encouraging one another. I
meet these writers at conferences and online and I can’t tell you how deep my
gratitude goes for them.
Contrasting what I thought my path would be as a writer hunkered
in, startled by sounds, and on the edge of agoraphobia to instead readily enjoying
the many blessings of connecting with fellow writers, reminds me to express
gratitude in every area of my life. I’m thankful for my friends who are vastly
different than me. I’m challenged to exude love even when it’s difficult
because so very much love has been given to me. There you have it. Six ways being a writer has seeped into
my non-writing life. Do you feel the overflow of your career spilling into who
you are outside of work?
School is back in session next week. My girls will get their
heads jammed full of all kinds of knowledge. However, there are some lessons I
hope I’m instilling in each of them on a day-to-day basis. I thought I’d share
seven with you today.
The Value in
Investing in Something Greater than Yourself
Whether it’s by signing up for a Love 146 walk, collecting
winter wear for the homeless, or making regular trips to Goodwill, I want my kids
to see me making sacrifices for
others.
Resiliency is
Character-Building
Life knocks us down. People knock us down. We do well enough
knocking ourselves down. The key is getting back up. It’s during the process of
shaking off the dust that we begin to understand what we’re made of.
Creativity during
Life’s Waits
I’m fairly certain 94.279387594375 % of life is spent waiting
for something. Case in point, here is a little play-by-play of my “wait” list.
Grow up. Get my period (yeah, what was I excited about on that one?), first
kiss, boyfriend (wait, isn’t that backwards?), graduate, college, first place,
job that suits me, marry, have babies, discover my calling (my life seems a tad
out of order), see the fruit of that discovery grow to its full potential
(still waiting). See where I’m coming from? And I didn’t even mention lines at
the grocery store or Marshalls.
I do something earthshattering while I’m waiting in line with
my girls. I ask them questions…we talk.
Kindness Trumps
Argumentativeness, Hubris, or Inaction
Trust me, there are times I feel like Venus Flytrapping some
people. When I witness road rage. Entitlement. Flat out ignorance or
selfishness. Yep, want to swallow those suckers whole only to spit them out in
a sewage plant. However, it’s a good practice, when tempted to practice
kindness. Not fakeness. Not flattery. But a moment of slipping out of my own
thoughts and attempting to enter theirs. Then doing something (albeit
oftentimes small) about it.
Discipline
I’ve written eleven novels in less than seven years. That
alone is enough to send the message I’m serious. That I’m invested. My girls
see what I give up in order to devote time to writing. Little spies…they see
everything.
Tenacity
Where passion lives, get tenacious. That’s the message I
hope computes. Also, don’t give up easily. Become resourceful. When the time
calls, speak up. Be a voice that’s not only heard, it’s heeded.
The Beauty of Empathy
I’m one of those people who has a horrible time remaining in
my chair if I see someone crying across the room. Could be a complete stranger
in tears. I have to fight not to leap toward them and smother them in a hug.
Backing off from this a tad, I hope I’m teaching my girls to take risks with
this one. To ask someone who’s crying if they’re okay. To stick up for a kid being
picked on during recess. To go out of their way to the point where it feels a
little uncomfortable in order to let someone else know they matter.
There are many other messages I’d love to know my kids are
receiving, that are becoming a part of how they perceive their role in this
world. But these are the biggies I wanted to share with you today.
Have you ever given
thought to what your kids are learning outside of school?
