Going the Way of Climbing Bougainvillea

I’m worn thin. Bone dry. Hollowed out. Aching for our world. And I’m a mother of teenagers.

Every day I’m challenged to shift my way of thinking, to wind my thoughts around all that takes me toward the light. All that heals. Replenishes. And stretches me toward the hopeful.

Because moment by moment, I brush up against the broken and the brittle. We’re all so frayed and broken. Wilted. Withered. More than ever it seems the perverse is omnipresent. In my face. In your face. Glaring.

I take a deep breath, then another, and climb for the nourishing truth, sturdy-petals of promise, rising higher.

Like the bougainvillea, I need to train my focus and my thoughts, or else they’ll end up a drooping blob dusting the dirt. Second by second, I remind myself to attach to things worthy of my time.

Most days I want to hide my petals. I want to collapse to the ground in exhaustion, or raging protest, disenchanted and discouraged. I’d be lying if I said the way up were the easy path. But light is light. The sun draws me heavenward with its invisible strands of goodness. I go because there is no better alternative. On my way up I entwine with other flowers on the vine. Comforted in these times of chaos that we are—all of us—more alike than we are different.

I refuse to relinquish hope. I grow and push toward the light for this very reason. Because even in my brokenness and during my most inadequate seasons, I am not alone in this. The hard ascension. The light can be trusted above all else.

*Happy Birthday to my sister, Holly!

Books Are Better Shared

I felt absolutely spoiled attending a Books Are Better Shared event this past weekend. Not only did I glean from renowned authors, I also met a kindred spirit at the book event.

During his opening speech, James Mustich, author of 1,000 Books to Read Before You Die, shared that “a good book is the opposite of a selfie” in that books help us to better understand the world around us.

Casey Gerald and Lisa Brennan-Jobs discussed memoir writing on a morning “personal perspective” panel. Gerald explained his approach while detailing his friend’s story in his book. He felt it was imperative to consider capturing his story as a sacred text, to “use a scalpel, not a sledgehammer.” Brennan-Jobs said that she “needed fixed bones to hang her lyricism on.” It was thrilling to hear other authors explain why they do what they do. And how they go about it. I chatted with Brennan-Jobs at lunch about the complexity of writing memoir, in which she revealed how she didn’t really want to write a memoir, she was doing everything to avoid it.

The afternoon “social perspective” panel featured more acclaimed authors. Stephen Markley said that while writing his novel, Ohio, from four unique perspectives, he “wanted to imbue into each character all the humanity people give to you.” James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, and his latest, Katerina, stated that he wanted to write a book people could lose themselves in. I could relate one hundred percent when he told the audience he aimed to write books he wished other people would write, books that make him feel. Shobha Rao, author of Girls Burn Brighter, touched upon something that also resonated with me. She said, “As I’m writing, the only responsibility I feel is to myself. Once the book is public, Rao explained how there’s a shift and at that point the book now enters a public conversation.

I told a woman I saw in the hall (it was the restroom, actually) that my brain felt happy.

I go at this writing thing for hours every day. It’s a solitary task. To be around such esteemed and well-spoken authors who are also committed to going hard at the craft was a thrill to say the least. The combination of smartly prepared panel discussions, potential for author interactions, the appreciation and celebration of book clubs and book club reads, and finally meeting a new book friend made this event a complete win.

I’m going again next year and I even signed up to volunteer. Because talking books and being around people who enjoy discussing books has a way of invigorating me like little else can.

*Be back Oct. 29th

SOS

I’m deeply entrenched in editing one book, while writing another. These past few days I’ve found it difficult to put my thoughts to words.

I’ve decided to post a song that stirs up a lot of emotions I’ve been working through.

Look out for one another.

Talking to a Survivor of Sexual Assault

If someone trusts you enough to bravely confide in you about a sexual assault, your reaction matters.

I’ve been sickened in recent days, witnessing the great divide in our country, as well as some incredibly callous responses to women who’ve chosen to come forward about crimes done to them.

We can learn from these days. How we treat people always has and always will matter. This is not a political post. This is a post reminding people to tap into the dignity of what it means to be human—thoughtful beings on this earth.

I’ve gleaned the following from articles and from trying to live as empathetic and nonjudgmental life as possible.

Suggestions for When Someone Chooses to Share Their Abuse with You

• Listen. In our share-all-opinions culture it may feel tempting to spout off the first thing that comes to mind. A story about your niece being attacked. Your opinion of the current President. Even linking their story to recent news stories. Don’t. Sit quietly and listen.
• Don’t Question. Do not question whether they are telling the truth. And please, don’t ask “blaming” questions, i.e. what were you wearing, why were you out so late…? You are not the police. You are a safe person they chose to tell.
• Acknowledge. That you see them. Look them in the eye (as comfortable for them). Assure them that you hear them.
• Refrain from Judging. Validate their experience. Mentally put yourself in their shoes, but know you will never fully understand what it is to be them, to have gone through what they did.
• Don’t Try to Fix Things. You cannot fix it. You will want to. You’ll be tempted to find ways to make it better for them, searching for words that will help. Kind and loving words may help, but you cannot fix the past.
• Don’t Avoid Them. They chose you and this moment. Please don’t brush them off, avoid the topic, make light of what they’ve shared, or send them to someone else. You’re it. I can’t state this enough: how you react matters to them.
• Support. Offer to report the offense together. Make it clear that you will remain a steady support.
• Keep Confidences. But if they’re not ready to share the offense with anyone else, keep what they’ve shared safe. Do not gossip about what they’ve told you. This is their truth and they’ve trusted you with it. Prove to them that you’re trustworthy.
• Share a Glimpse of Hope. During a low time in my life I heard the acronym for H.O.P.E. Hang. On. Pain. Ends. In as loving a way as possible, extend a seed of hope. Pain feels excruciating and hovers near unbearable at times. They will get through this. They will work through healing.

If I’m being fully transparent, I wanted to spend the past few days lighting a holy fire into some of the heartless things I encountered on social media. Insensitivity. Light it up. Chauvinist ideology. Light it up. Divisiveness. Light it up. Misguided ignorance. Fan the flames.

But I decided to spend my time privately reaching out to, thinking about, praying for, and investing in those I thought might be re-traumatized by recent events in the news. I let my healing friends know how much I love them.

We have a lot of choices to make about how we spend our short time here on earth. I devoted my time in recent days to speaking love into the lives of some of the bravest women I know.

Which Kind of Flower?

The other day I had fun contemplating which type of flower I’d choose to be . . .

A flower in all its burgeoning glory, blossoming with vibrant petals.

                       (from our yard in CT) 

 (from our yard in CA)

Or

A flower or its petals pressed between the pages of a favorite book, enduring with significance.

I decided on the one closest to the words.

How about you? Which type of flower would you choose to be?

Drawn to This

I'm excited to begin edits on one book as I continue to write the first draft of another. Needless to say, I have my hands full. So does this guy. Check out this video my mom sent me recently. I have such a rich appreciation for people who see potential where it's often easily missed.

Enjoy!

Life is a Bad Ref

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.”

Play through.