Some people lie a lot. It's weird. I haven't been much of a liar, although I've definitely had some sneaky lying stints in my lifetime, for sure. My personality defects revolve more around you know, like, being self-absorbed, neurotic, and obsessive. Lying has never been something that I struggle with or need to overcome. Which I guess, if I'm truthful, I'm quite pleased about.
I'm actually truthful to a fault. Like, I say TOO much truth. For instance, I am a wee bit drunk right now because I opened up a bottle of wine on Monday night and I really couldn't keep it much past tonight or it would taste bad, and because I'm rather frugal (okay! I'm cheap! whatever!) I decided to drink the rest of it tonight after work. And I needed something to snack on, because wine needs snackifying accompaniment, so I ate a bunch of crackers smothered with cream cheese and pickled jalapeno peppers, and now I'm paranoid that I'll get the stomach flu because it's going around you know, and who wants to throw THAT shit up? Not me.
Anyway.
So I'm not a liar. And I feel smug about it.
There was this one time that I spilled coffee all over my cell phone. I always drink my coffee with copious amounts of cream, and so whenever I spill it (which is often), the ramifications of such spills are costly (old milk stinks like ass). But yet I still thought that when my cell phone stopped working and I brought it into Telus, that for some reason they wouldn't know that I spilled coffee all over it.
NOT TRUE.
Because when I marched up to the counter and indignantly demanded that my cell phone be fixed, I was shocked and horrified that the guy opened up my phone and found milk and coffee sludge crusted onto the battery pack.
It was embarrassing.
I had to admit that yes, I remember spilling coffee all over it and that yes, I am aware that I am responsible for the cost of fixing my phone. We initially hide behind our lies to save face but in the end, we always look like assholes because the truth always comes out. It just does.
As sure as the earth is round, truth always comes out.
It's frightening to accept, but it's also quite freeing, because we don't have to pretend anything anymore. We can just let go, and be. One of my favourite sayings is one that my dad always says and it goes like this: "We are only as sick as our secrets."
Anyway, as much as I'd love to pretend that I'm lounging in a hot tub holding a martini and listening to Kenny G on my surround sound, I must admit that I'm sitting in bed with cracker crumbs all over my shirt, and the only sounds I hear are the tapping of the keys on my keyboard and my morbidly obese cat snoring beside me on the floor (because he's too fat to jump up on the bed).
Truth hurts, but it's freeing. Open it up, clean house, and move on.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Change the Lighting
Christmas is such an emotionally-charged season. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems as if no one ever really coasts through the holidays without some sort of an emotional overload. It's never just "fa-la-la-la-la." It's more like, "somebody-hold-my-head-under-the-eggnog-until-I-drown."
Why?
I have a theory. Christmas is a time where togetherness happens, but for most people, there are pieces of life missing from the picture. Whether it's through a death of a loved one, a divorce, or even just stress within familial relationships, the togetherness of Christmas tends to highlight the gaps in our lives the way florescent lighting in changing rooms highlights our wobbly bits. And it's not pretty.
What do we do about it? Stand in the water-filled tree stand and chew on the electrical cord? Not a bad idea. But because my birthday is right after Christmas and I want to live long enough to get my free birthday drink from Starbucks, I'd opt for a different solution. What works for me is to focus on the puzzle pieces that are in my picture rather than the ones that are missing. By treasuring them, focusing on the colours and shapes and wonders of them all, I may even lose sight of the gaps and maybe, just maybe, I'll find that they all fit into each other to make an even more beautiful picture. That's the kind of gift I have at the top of my wish list this year. Cash is good, too. And new boobs, please. Thanks.
Why?
I have a theory. Christmas is a time where togetherness happens, but for most people, there are pieces of life missing from the picture. Whether it's through a death of a loved one, a divorce, or even just stress within familial relationships, the togetherness of Christmas tends to highlight the gaps in our lives the way florescent lighting in changing rooms highlights our wobbly bits. And it's not pretty.
What do we do about it? Stand in the water-filled tree stand and chew on the electrical cord? Not a bad idea. But because my birthday is right after Christmas and I want to live long enough to get my free birthday drink from Starbucks, I'd opt for a different solution. What works for me is to focus on the puzzle pieces that are in my picture rather than the ones that are missing. By treasuring them, focusing on the colours and shapes and wonders of them all, I may even lose sight of the gaps and maybe, just maybe, I'll find that they all fit into each other to make an even more beautiful picture. That's the kind of gift I have at the top of my wish list this year. Cash is good, too. And new boobs, please. Thanks.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Church on a Post-It Note
We went to church again today and rather than journaling about it in a Word document, I'm going to bless you all with my brain smudge.
I'm not exactly sure what I believe, or what category of Christianity, let alone religion, that I fit into. I have attempted to sum up my faith many times in eight million words or less but alas, it just cannot be done, and maybe that's just it! That I don't have a fucking clue. And maybe that's not only okay, but maybe that's what faith is all about.
I do know a few things for sure and they go like this:
a) I believe that there's something bigger out there. I don't give a dirty dink if it's a she or a he or a purple polka-dotted camel, and I quite honestly don't think it matters. And even if it did matter, us mere humans wouldn't even be able to comprehend it anyway, so what's the point.
b) Whatever "it" is, is way better than I am. And for the sake of ease, and because I am secure enough in who I am to not feel threatened by organized religion, I will call "it" God. And usually with a capital "G" because if I truly believe it's better than me, than the least I can do it capitalize its name, for crying out loud.
c) And God has a whole lot to do with the concept of love: sacrificial love, brotherly love, erotic love, passionate love, unconditional love, creative love, mother and father love. I'll get into it another time but the thing that I have experienced the most about love is that as a human, our selfishness holds our love on a leash. It can only stretch out so far, no matter what we do. But then something mysterious happens where a bridge is built between the end of our leash and the end of the leash that our loved one is holding onto, and the love between us is now fluid. It fills the gap. It reaches to places untouched by humanity. We forgive when we couldn't possibly forgive on our own. We love when we don't have any left.
Our pastor talked a bit about why we were all there at church today, and he said that the bottom line is that we are there to remember that God is big and we are small. Not that we're not important, because we are! And we are loved. But that even though we sometimes can't see the forest through the trees, God has the big picture all figured out. Like when as parents we take our kids for their immunizations, our kids scream and kick the crap out of our shins because they don't understand why they're getting stabbed with needles, but because we are the adults, we know that it's keeping them alive.
And crap, I need to take my kids for their flu shots.
I'm not exactly sure what I believe, or what category of Christianity, let alone religion, that I fit into. I have attempted to sum up my faith many times in eight million words or less but alas, it just cannot be done, and maybe that's just it! That I don't have a fucking clue. And maybe that's not only okay, but maybe that's what faith is all about.
I do know a few things for sure and they go like this:
a) I believe that there's something bigger out there. I don't give a dirty dink if it's a she or a he or a purple polka-dotted camel, and I quite honestly don't think it matters. And even if it did matter, us mere humans wouldn't even be able to comprehend it anyway, so what's the point.
b) Whatever "it" is, is way better than I am. And for the sake of ease, and because I am secure enough in who I am to not feel threatened by organized religion, I will call "it" God. And usually with a capital "G" because if I truly believe it's better than me, than the least I can do it capitalize its name, for crying out loud.
c) And God has a whole lot to do with the concept of love: sacrificial love, brotherly love, erotic love, passionate love, unconditional love, creative love, mother and father love. I'll get into it another time but the thing that I have experienced the most about love is that as a human, our selfishness holds our love on a leash. It can only stretch out so far, no matter what we do. But then something mysterious happens where a bridge is built between the end of our leash and the end of the leash that our loved one is holding onto, and the love between us is now fluid. It fills the gap. It reaches to places untouched by humanity. We forgive when we couldn't possibly forgive on our own. We love when we don't have any left.
Our pastor talked a bit about why we were all there at church today, and he said that the bottom line is that we are there to remember that God is big and we are small. Not that we're not important, because we are! And we are loved. But that even though we sometimes can't see the forest through the trees, God has the big picture all figured out. Like when as parents we take our kids for their immunizations, our kids scream and kick the crap out of our shins because they don't understand why they're getting stabbed with needles, but because we are the adults, we know that it's keeping them alive.
And crap, I need to take my kids for their flu shots.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Fits Like Love
I just put Katie to bed and when I kissed her goodnight I had a flashback of when she was a baby. She was always pretty tiny but she still had these typical chubby baby cheeks that were so utterly kissable. Her cheeks, taut from the effect of wintery weather against unsullied infant skin, felt perfect under my lips. I'd press my kisses into her making that "mmmmm" sound and then, unable to pull away completely, I'd dip my face down and press my forehead and nose into her temple, smooth her hair away from her face with my lips and whisper, "I love you, Katie" softly in her ear.
I did that again tonight and she wrapped her arms around my neck and held on for dear life. I'd let her squeeze my life right into her own if I could, and she knows it. I hope.
I walked over to Freddy's room and as usual, I climbed into bed with him and cupped my body around his, my right arm above his head and I smoothed his hair with my hand while he talked to me about his day, how a girl in his class (who he does NOT like at all) gives him a cream puff every day. And how his dad is getting them a snake. And how he plays kick ball and zombie tag at recess. I held him, and I told him too that I love him, and my love for him is so big, so huge, that I can hardly carry it all. Then Steps jumped up on his bed and stuck his furry bum in our faces and that was the end of that.
But my baby Jake? He's the one who first taught me how to love, as he's my oldest. He walked up to his room and mumbled "goodnight" to me on his way up. I told him I love him, as usual, and I know that if I were to reach out and give him a squeeze or ruffle his hair that I'd get swatted at and he'd give me the stinkeye. I still snuggle him, but I let him go tonight. I have to space out the snuggles with him a bit or I really freak him out.
I'm not exactly sure where all this love fits inside of my cold little heart, but God seems to find a way to make room.
I did that again tonight and she wrapped her arms around my neck and held on for dear life. I'd let her squeeze my life right into her own if I could, and she knows it. I hope.
I walked over to Freddy's room and as usual, I climbed into bed with him and cupped my body around his, my right arm above his head and I smoothed his hair with my hand while he talked to me about his day, how a girl in his class (who he does NOT like at all) gives him a cream puff every day. And how his dad is getting them a snake. And how he plays kick ball and zombie tag at recess. I held him, and I told him too that I love him, and my love for him is so big, so huge, that I can hardly carry it all. Then Steps jumped up on his bed and stuck his furry bum in our faces and that was the end of that.
But my baby Jake? He's the one who first taught me how to love, as he's my oldest. He walked up to his room and mumbled "goodnight" to me on his way up. I told him I love him, as usual, and I know that if I were to reach out and give him a squeeze or ruffle his hair that I'd get swatted at and he'd give me the stinkeye. I still snuggle him, but I let him go tonight. I have to space out the snuggles with him a bit or I really freak him out.
I'm not exactly sure where all this love fits inside of my cold little heart, but God seems to find a way to make room.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Entitlement
I chatted with a good friend of mine today about women and how some of us seem to have taken on a new way of thinking in regards to staying at home with young children. There's this idea that we are entitled to be spoiled rotten with our expensive yoga clothes and lattes, toiling away the day at the gym doing a downward dog while some 14 year-old girl with braces and zits looks after our babies, and then when we finally come home to our 4000 sq foot houses, freshly cleaned by someone else, we plunk down into our brand new plush leopard print chaise lounge, feigning exhaustion so as to get out of making dinner for our husbands who have been busting their asses all day out in the real world. Phew! I'm tired just typing that out! Someone please pass me a triple grande four pump sugar-free vanilla nonfat extra hot no foam latte in a platinum-lined cup. And I could really use some fresh highlights.
Please don't think that I don't get what it's like to have young kids. I barely remember those days for the sleep deprivation except, as in most traumatic memories, I will from time to time have vivid flashbacks of pukefests in the minivan or a kid doing the gingerbread man in my arms while screaming in the middle of a public place and then headbutting me in the face just to punctuate the moment. There's nothing I'd rather do in that situation than head to the gym and hand them over to someone else while I lick a yoga mat for an hour and a half.
There's nothing wrong with that, either. I'm not saying we can't have breaks, that we can't sip stupid lattes or go to the gym or get highlights. It's a matter of the heart though, and a lot of women seem to think that they're entitled to this stuff as a way of life rather than a nice treat. And then what happens is a big pile of resentment starts to form, where the dude comes home from a long day at work and the only person he has to connect with is busy in the bathroom staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She can't see past herself to see the hunger in his eyes.
There's so much more to this subject and I know I'm not doing it justice, so I apologize for stirring it up and then jumping ship. But I think it's worth thinking about even if we don't like what we see.
Please don't think that I don't get what it's like to have young kids. I barely remember those days for the sleep deprivation except, as in most traumatic memories, I will from time to time have vivid flashbacks of pukefests in the minivan or a kid doing the gingerbread man in my arms while screaming in the middle of a public place and then headbutting me in the face just to punctuate the moment. There's nothing I'd rather do in that situation than head to the gym and hand them over to someone else while I lick a yoga mat for an hour and a half.
There's nothing wrong with that, either. I'm not saying we can't have breaks, that we can't sip stupid lattes or go to the gym or get highlights. It's a matter of the heart though, and a lot of women seem to think that they're entitled to this stuff as a way of life rather than a nice treat. And then what happens is a big pile of resentment starts to form, where the dude comes home from a long day at work and the only person he has to connect with is busy in the bathroom staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She can't see past herself to see the hunger in his eyes.
There's so much more to this subject and I know I'm not doing it justice, so I apologize for stirring it up and then jumping ship. But I think it's worth thinking about even if we don't like what we see.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Day Thirty
This is my last day of my thirty days of writing! It was such a great experience for me as it was really helpful for me to purge my brain fog rather than just keep it swimming in there for eternity. I would like to keep writing.
I went for this most amazing run yesterday with Lora. It was a 12-miler, starting and finishing from Andrew's house. He wasn't at all thrilled about the ripeness of our post run smells when we stumbled back through his front door so we made sure to shower soon after and then the three of us headed to Red Robin's for some lunch.
So, Andrew's the kind of person who is quick with the spoken word. The speed of his wit can take me aback sometimes. We were walking along White Rock beach in the summertime and there was this cute little family playing together on the grass. I guess their son's name was "Marco" as at one point the dad exclaimed to him in a bit of a shout, "MARCO!" and before the sound of his name even had time to hit my nervous system, Andrew replied with a "POLO!" He has a gift.
Andrew, Lora and I sat and ate our lunch and talked about a guy Lora knows who is taking steroids. I had written a paper on steroid use when I was in university so I was listing off the side effects, one of which can be impotence. So we discussed the irony of it all, how a guy can be so obsessed with looking hunky on the outside but then once he gets the girl, he can't do anything with her. It's a paradox of a hard body and limp junkitalia.
Lora said, "he told me that one day he's going to be the most amazing man to ever walk into a room" to which Andrew wisely replied, "that's his sex--his orgasm is walking into a room and having everyone look at him." Lora and I both looked at each other in shock, realizing just how true that is! That some people can be so insecure in who they are that they so desperately need everyone else to accept them at first sight but then that's as far as they can go. They're unable to connect at a deeper level. They get off before they are even touched.
I went for this most amazing run yesterday with Lora. It was a 12-miler, starting and finishing from Andrew's house. He wasn't at all thrilled about the ripeness of our post run smells when we stumbled back through his front door so we made sure to shower soon after and then the three of us headed to Red Robin's for some lunch.
So, Andrew's the kind of person who is quick with the spoken word. The speed of his wit can take me aback sometimes. We were walking along White Rock beach in the summertime and there was this cute little family playing together on the grass. I guess their son's name was "Marco" as at one point the dad exclaimed to him in a bit of a shout, "MARCO!" and before the sound of his name even had time to hit my nervous system, Andrew replied with a "POLO!" He has a gift.
Andrew, Lora and I sat and ate our lunch and talked about a guy Lora knows who is taking steroids. I had written a paper on steroid use when I was in university so I was listing off the side effects, one of which can be impotence. So we discussed the irony of it all, how a guy can be so obsessed with looking hunky on the outside but then once he gets the girl, he can't do anything with her. It's a paradox of a hard body and limp junkitalia.
Lora said, "he told me that one day he's going to be the most amazing man to ever walk into a room" to which Andrew wisely replied, "that's his sex--his orgasm is walking into a room and having everyone look at him." Lora and I both looked at each other in shock, realizing just how true that is! That some people can be so insecure in who they are that they so desperately need everyone else to accept them at first sight but then that's as far as they can go. They're unable to connect at a deeper level. They get off before they are even touched.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Day Twenty-Nine
Humans by nature are control freaks. We can jump out of airplanes, eat fried chicken from KFC and touch the door handles at WalMart but as soon as we get stuck in traffic we totally lose our minds. We'd rather stand in a lit room filled with snakes than stand in a dark room filled with god-knows-what. As long as we know what the fuck is going on, we will be okay.
Why?
It's the fear of the unknown, and that fear is persuasive.
How do we deal with the unknown so that we don't totally fall apart whenever life gets convoluted? I'm not sure. When you figure it out, will you let me know?
I think if I'm honest with myself, when I lose control over one aspect of my life, I over-control everything else to make up for it. Like, I run 100 miles a week because running has cause and effect. I run, I get tired, I eat, I sleep, I wake up and run some more. I also make lists of things to do like take my van for an oil change and buy cat food from Costco so that I can go do it, and then cross it off the list. Seeing it there written down "to do" and then physically putting a big black line through it is so satisfying. I also love to sit on my bathroom counter and tweeze out all my white hairs.
So maybe I don't know if Freddy will need a blood transfusion or what city I will be living in, but I'll know for damn sure that I won't need an engine flush for another 10,000 km and that my cat won't starve.
We are all control freaks in our own way, too. Some people are outwardly obvious with their controlling nature, while some people white-knuckle their lives in the more hidden parts. What do you guys do to maintain a sense of control? Eat? Pluck hairs? Exercise? Wash your car 800 times? Scrub the kitchen floor until you've taken off the finishing coat?
Let me know! I need some fresh ideas.
Why?
It's the fear of the unknown, and that fear is persuasive.
How do we deal with the unknown so that we don't totally fall apart whenever life gets convoluted? I'm not sure. When you figure it out, will you let me know?
I think if I'm honest with myself, when I lose control over one aspect of my life, I over-control everything else to make up for it. Like, I run 100 miles a week because running has cause and effect. I run, I get tired, I eat, I sleep, I wake up and run some more. I also make lists of things to do like take my van for an oil change and buy cat food from Costco so that I can go do it, and then cross it off the list. Seeing it there written down "to do" and then physically putting a big black line through it is so satisfying. I also love to sit on my bathroom counter and tweeze out all my white hairs.
So maybe I don't know if Freddy will need a blood transfusion or what city I will be living in, but I'll know for damn sure that I won't need an engine flush for another 10,000 km and that my cat won't starve.
We are all control freaks in our own way, too. Some people are outwardly obvious with their controlling nature, while some people white-knuckle their lives in the more hidden parts. What do you guys do to maintain a sense of control? Eat? Pluck hairs? Exercise? Wash your car 800 times? Scrub the kitchen floor until you've taken off the finishing coat?
Let me know! I need some fresh ideas.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Day Twenty-Eight
Last night's visit with friends went well. It never ceases to amaze me how we all have a story to tell. The more people I meet, the more I realize that nobody has a boring life story, you know?
I remember growing up in the church (you church peeps will totally relate to this, I KNOW it) and from time to time people would give their "testimony." Now, the term testimony is a Christianese word for "life story." Christianese is a fancy language spoken by Christians including but not limited to the terms "blessings" and "born again." The Urban Dictionary describes Christianese as a manner of speaking within the American Christian subculture in which the speaker cloaks the words being said under the mask of 'love' but in reality, is saying it for the sole purpose of hurting you.
Christianese: "I really feel that God is telling me to say this to you..."
Translation: "I am going to hurt you now... in Jesus' name, Amen."
Anyway, okay so when Christians would give their testimonies, more often than not they would go like this: "I grew up in a Christian home but then I backslid (Christianese for "I smoked a cigarette and littered my McDonalds napkin") in my teen years but then I gave it all up for the glory of God (Christianese for "as long as God doesn't ask me to stop masturbating, I won't smoke or litter ever again.")
I have to add here though that I HAVE heard many people give amazing stories of their lives, in church and not, that have rocked my world in every way possible. It's truly incredible how many people have horror stories, and how their faith has helped them not only live through it all, but live well. I love hearing those stories because they inspire me and they inspire me because they are real. Tangible. Applicable. An imbecile can shit the bed, but it's what we do with our mess after that makes all the difference. It takes guts to get back up, clean up the mess and move forward. When people share their stories with me about how they messed up, how the pain felt, and how they are moving forward, I get humbled that they'd trust me with their vulnerability. I feel honored, I do.
That's what life is about, right? Vulnerability, trust, making mistakes and cleaning the mess up together. Arm in arm, linked together connected by the bridges of our imperfect humanness and the tight ropes of faith. Sharing our hearts, our testimonies, our stories.
In Jesus' name, Amen.
I remember growing up in the church (you church peeps will totally relate to this, I KNOW it) and from time to time people would give their "testimony." Now, the term testimony is a Christianese word for "life story." Christianese is a fancy language spoken by Christians including but not limited to the terms "blessings" and "born again." The Urban Dictionary describes Christianese as a manner of speaking within the American Christian subculture in which the speaker cloaks the words being said under the mask of 'love' but in reality, is saying it for the sole purpose of hurting you.
Christianese: "I really feel that God is telling me to say this to you..."
Translation: "I am going to hurt you now... in Jesus' name, Amen."
Anyway, okay so when Christians would give their testimonies, more often than not they would go like this: "I grew up in a Christian home but then I backslid (Christianese for "I smoked a cigarette and littered my McDonalds napkin") in my teen years but then I gave it all up for the glory of God (Christianese for "as long as God doesn't ask me to stop masturbating, I won't smoke or litter ever again.")
I have to add here though that I HAVE heard many people give amazing stories of their lives, in church and not, that have rocked my world in every way possible. It's truly incredible how many people have horror stories, and how their faith has helped them not only live through it all, but live well. I love hearing those stories because they inspire me and they inspire me because they are real. Tangible. Applicable. An imbecile can shit the bed, but it's what we do with our mess after that makes all the difference. It takes guts to get back up, clean up the mess and move forward. When people share their stories with me about how they messed up, how the pain felt, and how they are moving forward, I get humbled that they'd trust me with their vulnerability. I feel honored, I do.
That's what life is about, right? Vulnerability, trust, making mistakes and cleaning the mess up together. Arm in arm, linked together connected by the bridges of our imperfect humanness and the tight ropes of faith. Sharing our hearts, our testimonies, our stories.
In Jesus' name, Amen.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Day Twenty-Seven
Yesterday's post blew. I made it sound like I'm like, super popular and everyone is waiting with baited breath for my Friday night dinner plan commitments. Totally not the case at all. I'm such a dork.
Sometimes my posts kinda kick ass, but quite often they don't.
I ate toast and pancakes and eggs for breakfast, grazed throughout the afternoon on 754293003 chocolates from the bottom drawer at work, and spent the day wiping blue ultrasound gel off of hairy backs and bra straps. Now I'm heading out the door to meet some old friends for drinks in Fort Langley, so it can only go up from here.
Sometimes my posts kinda kick ass, but quite often they don't.
I ate toast and pancakes and eggs for breakfast, grazed throughout the afternoon on 754293003 chocolates from the bottom drawer at work, and spent the day wiping blue ultrasound gel off of hairy backs and bra straps. Now I'm heading out the door to meet some old friends for drinks in Fort Langley, so it can only go up from here.
Day Twenty-Six
I think I have caught up to the right number of days, no? Yes? Who cares.
I have this problem that when someone asks me if I'd like to do something with them, I say yes right away, and then end up canceling later and totally pissing them off. But you see to me, it sounds like so much fun! So of COURSE I want to! When I say yes, I'm saying "that sounds awesome!" but what the other person hears is "yes that is exactly what I would like to do and I am putting it in my day planner right now with permanent ink."
I guess I didn't really realize how much I was affecting people when I'd turn them down at the last minute. They'd text or phone me or whatever to confirm that we were doing such-and-such and I'd be like, oh. NO. Oops. And you know what I found out? That my friends and family started to make backup plans because they knew I would probably bail. When Tracey told me that, my heart sunk.
But my turning point was in early 2010. I was running a long training run with Lora one Saturday morning. She was training for Boston and she had invited me to go with her for practically free! So we were discussing the trip during that run and she nervously brought up a conversation she had had with our friend Alain. He warned her that just because Suzy told her that she's going to Boston with her doesn't mean she really is actually going, and that I'm notorious for bailing at the last second.
Lora wasn't telling me that to make me feel bad, she really was simply concerned that she'd have to go to Boston by herself.
I was horrified. It was like when I gained a bunch of weight when I was pregnant with Freddy and then all of a sudden one day caught a glimpse of myself in a mirrored window. I was like, whoa, something needs to change.
So I stopped saying, "that sounds awesome!" and started saying, "I'd love to do that, but I need to check my calendar first. Can I get back to you?" And what essentially ended up happening was all of a sudden had no life because I was too afraid to commit to anything for fear of bailing at the last second. Kinda sucked. But as time went by I figured it out, and people started trusting me and the plans I was making with them. But boyyyy, was that a humbling experience.
I have this problem that when someone asks me if I'd like to do something with them, I say yes right away, and then end up canceling later and totally pissing them off. But you see to me, it sounds like so much fun! So of COURSE I want to! When I say yes, I'm saying "that sounds awesome!" but what the other person hears is "yes that is exactly what I would like to do and I am putting it in my day planner right now with permanent ink."
I guess I didn't really realize how much I was affecting people when I'd turn them down at the last minute. They'd text or phone me or whatever to confirm that we were doing such-and-such and I'd be like, oh. NO. Oops. And you know what I found out? That my friends and family started to make backup plans because they knew I would probably bail. When Tracey told me that, my heart sunk.
But my turning point was in early 2010. I was running a long training run with Lora one Saturday morning. She was training for Boston and she had invited me to go with her for practically free! So we were discussing the trip during that run and she nervously brought up a conversation she had had with our friend Alain. He warned her that just because Suzy told her that she's going to Boston with her doesn't mean she really is actually going, and that I'm notorious for bailing at the last second.
Lora wasn't telling me that to make me feel bad, she really was simply concerned that she'd have to go to Boston by herself.
I was horrified. It was like when I gained a bunch of weight when I was pregnant with Freddy and then all of a sudden one day caught a glimpse of myself in a mirrored window. I was like, whoa, something needs to change.
So I stopped saying, "that sounds awesome!" and started saying, "I'd love to do that, but I need to check my calendar first. Can I get back to you?" And what essentially ended up happening was all of a sudden had no life because I was too afraid to commit to anything for fear of bailing at the last second. Kinda sucked. But as time went by I figured it out, and people started trusting me and the plans I was making with them. But boyyyy, was that a humbling experience.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Day Twenty-Five
I thrive in chaos. I had breakfast with my dad this morning and he described me as having too much on my plate, some by choice and some by chance, but too much nonetheless. It's like I need a challenge of some sort just to keep life exciting.
If I know I'm going to be 20 minutes early for something then I will almost always attempt to squeeze in a little extra errand of some sort on my way there which almost always makes me late. It's a bit like a game to me to see how much I can fit into one day.
My kids are with their dad in California until Monday night so I have been cramming in as much "Suzy time" as possible. I'm having overdue dinners and coffee dates with my friends and family and just spending some quality alone time with myself, writing on my laptop or reading books. It's been blissful, but it also feels so foreign.
Two weeks ago I was strung out from too little sleep and too much work. I was getting up at 3:30 am to work a Starbucks shift until 1pm and then working at the physio job from 2 until 6. Then I'd get the kids and schlep them to soccer practices, guitar lessons, and church groups while making dinner and doing laundry. I was exhausted. I phoned my mom from the side of the road bawling my eyes out about how I was so overwhelmed.
And then there's now, where I'm home from a relaxing trip to Arizona, with so much time to myself that I can barely stand it. I met Lora for a run out in Chilliwack but I was 15 minutes early to her house so I sat in my van and texted Andrew: "I'm bored." I don't think I've been bored since grade eleven when I solved the boredom problem by throwing Jeremy Eccles' binders and pencils out the second story window.
Instead of fighting the silence, I opened myself up to the stillness and let go. I chose to be comfortable in my own body, being "okay" with everything in the world at that precise moment. There was nothing to do but wait, and I didn't want to lose those 15 minutes to the torturous game of "if only." I imagined my body storing up a peace reserve for the upcoming days of juggling school, work, sports, and Christmas shopping. And since I was in the mindset of storing up things in my body, I decided it would be an appropriate time to consume some cranberry bliss bar and a Starbucks coffee. It was just the right thing to do.
If I know I'm going to be 20 minutes early for something then I will almost always attempt to squeeze in a little extra errand of some sort on my way there which almost always makes me late. It's a bit like a game to me to see how much I can fit into one day.
My kids are with their dad in California until Monday night so I have been cramming in as much "Suzy time" as possible. I'm having overdue dinners and coffee dates with my friends and family and just spending some quality alone time with myself, writing on my laptop or reading books. It's been blissful, but it also feels so foreign.
Two weeks ago I was strung out from too little sleep and too much work. I was getting up at 3:30 am to work a Starbucks shift until 1pm and then working at the physio job from 2 until 6. Then I'd get the kids and schlep them to soccer practices, guitar lessons, and church groups while making dinner and doing laundry. I was exhausted. I phoned my mom from the side of the road bawling my eyes out about how I was so overwhelmed.
And then there's now, where I'm home from a relaxing trip to Arizona, with so much time to myself that I can barely stand it. I met Lora for a run out in Chilliwack but I was 15 minutes early to her house so I sat in my van and texted Andrew: "I'm bored." I don't think I've been bored since grade eleven when I solved the boredom problem by throwing Jeremy Eccles' binders and pencils out the second story window.
Instead of fighting the silence, I opened myself up to the stillness and let go. I chose to be comfortable in my own body, being "okay" with everything in the world at that precise moment. There was nothing to do but wait, and I didn't want to lose those 15 minutes to the torturous game of "if only." I imagined my body storing up a peace reserve for the upcoming days of juggling school, work, sports, and Christmas shopping. And since I was in the mindset of storing up things in my body, I decided it would be an appropriate time to consume some cranberry bliss bar and a Starbucks coffee. It was just the right thing to do.
Day Twenty-Four
"Runner's World" magazine came out with an Olympics special right before London, and I, fascinated by the seemingly unlimited physical capabilities of the human body, soaked up every article, words and images from start to finish. The editor wrote a note about the difference between a gold medal Olympic athlete and an Olympic athlete who doesn't medal. The one commonality between gold medal Olympians is that they all have a strong sense of self whether or not they take home the gold; their worthiness does not depend on the medal.
Over the years I have had talks with my girlfriends about how as women, we need to be okay with who we are whether or not we have a boyfriend or husband. There's too much weight put on Tom Cruise's line in Jerry Maguire: "you complete me." I wonder if relationships should really be viewed in such a way?
Eric Fromm in his classic book, "The Art of Loving" makes a comparison between two different kinds of love:
"Infantile love follows the principle: 'I love because I am loved.' Mature love follows the principle: 'I am loved because I love.' Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.' Mature love says: 'I need you because I love you.'"
I find a striking correlation between what Fromm wrote so many years ago in regards to love and life partners and what the editor from Runner's World recently wrote in regards to Olympians and their gold medals. It seems that we first need to have a mature and strong sense of self before we can attract the golden people. I wouldn't want a runner-up if I knew that the best was out there standing on a podium waiting for me.
Over the years I have had talks with my girlfriends about how as women, we need to be okay with who we are whether or not we have a boyfriend or husband. There's too much weight put on Tom Cruise's line in Jerry Maguire: "you complete me." I wonder if relationships should really be viewed in such a way?
Eric Fromm in his classic book, "The Art of Loving" makes a comparison between two different kinds of love:
"Infantile love follows the principle: 'I love because I am loved.' Mature love follows the principle: 'I am loved because I love.' Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.' Mature love says: 'I need you because I love you.'"
I find a striking correlation between what Fromm wrote so many years ago in regards to love and life partners and what the editor from Runner's World recently wrote in regards to Olympians and their gold medals. It seems that we first need to have a mature and strong sense of self before we can attract the golden people. I wouldn't want a runner-up if I knew that the best was out there standing on a podium waiting for me.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Day Twenty-Three
A good friend of mine is going through a hard time right now and she just texted me this morning, "Suzy, I cried myself to sleep last night and now I look like shit. I have to go to work when I should just stay in bed."
I told her to just let herself look how she feels. That this is life, and this is humanity, and that it's okay to feel how we feel.
There's a well-known drug-addiction counselor in the lower mainland here and he is known for his words of wisdom, one of which is this: that it's important to embrace pain because it teaches us something. That pain is in fact more important than peace and joy. It facilitates movement, and when we move, time passes and heals.
A couple of years ago I read Sue Monk Kidd's book, "The Dance of the Dissident Daughter" in which she describes pain and how we might best deal with it:
"He suggests we approach the pain the way a mother tenderly picks up a crying baby...once we can get the baby quiet, we can begin to look deeply at the feeling. We begin to understand the attitudes, patterns and beliefs that cause it. We start to see what keeps us stuck in our wounds and what we can do to transform them."
Pain feels awful, emotional pain far more so than physical. If we detach ourselves from it and pretend it's not really there, then it will fester and grow and contaminate our lives and loves. But if we pay attention to the pain, let it speak to us and teach us, as painful as it is, we will be able to walk away from that toxic sludge with that much less green goop stuck to our hearts.
I told her to just let herself look how she feels. That this is life, and this is humanity, and that it's okay to feel how we feel.
There's a well-known drug-addiction counselor in the lower mainland here and he is known for his words of wisdom, one of which is this: that it's important to embrace pain because it teaches us something. That pain is in fact more important than peace and joy. It facilitates movement, and when we move, time passes and heals.
A couple of years ago I read Sue Monk Kidd's book, "The Dance of the Dissident Daughter" in which she describes pain and how we might best deal with it:
"He suggests we approach the pain the way a mother tenderly picks up a crying baby...once we can get the baby quiet, we can begin to look deeply at the feeling. We begin to understand the attitudes, patterns and beliefs that cause it. We start to see what keeps us stuck in our wounds and what we can do to transform them."
Pain feels awful, emotional pain far more so than physical. If we detach ourselves from it and pretend it's not really there, then it will fester and grow and contaminate our lives and loves. But if we pay attention to the pain, let it speak to us and teach us, as painful as it is, we will be able to walk away from that toxic sludge with that much less green goop stuck to our hearts.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Day Twenty-Two
When we were driving through Sedona, Arizona, we were surrounded by the most beautiful pieces of red rock supernatural architecture. We talked about how we can't even take photos of it because the awe and wonder of it all can only really be experienced in person: between the I and it, soaking through all of the senses, pouring into places untouched by anything ever found in a photograph.
Admittedly, I was nervous about going ATVing. I have never driven a motorcycle, only ridden on the back of them. I knew I wanted to drive my own ATV though, not just ride on the back of Andrew's, so I stuck my chin out and surged forward.
When I first hopped onto my own little red ATV and started driving, I held the throttle down with tentative fingers. But it only took me a few minutes before I started to relax a bit and get into it. I got into a groove where I'd watch the earth move just ahead of my vehicle, and I'd sway and bend and lean with each bump and turn and before long, my eyes took on that half-closed catatonic state where even though I was flying and being tossed around a bit, I was soothed by the hypnotic rhythm of earth meeting movement. Ground meeting life. Stability meeting dynamite, merging at a place too sacred to capture, like trying to radar the speed of sound.
I remember being in that state and knowing that I needed to force myself to look up at the views, at my surroundings, because before too long I'd be back at the truck and the ride would be over. I remember making a conscious effort to soak up moments like those when my kids were babies. I knew from what people told me that their baby years would fly by and so I would stare at them and even say out loud to myself, "remember this moment, Suzy... capture it like a photo but with all of your senses." That's what I did while ATVing too. I need to do that more with life.
I do that with Andrew. I look at him and try to memorize the curve of his earlobe, the way that his cheekbone feels under my lips when I grab his face and kiss him hard. The way he looks down and then up at me with those sparkly eyes, how I can see the little boy in him, the boy that his mom memorized once too.
I want to look up more, and soak up the view. Our lives are full of those moments if we want to see them. We just have to look up.
Admittedly, I was nervous about going ATVing. I have never driven a motorcycle, only ridden on the back of them. I knew I wanted to drive my own ATV though, not just ride on the back of Andrew's, so I stuck my chin out and surged forward.
When I first hopped onto my own little red ATV and started driving, I held the throttle down with tentative fingers. But it only took me a few minutes before I started to relax a bit and get into it. I got into a groove where I'd watch the earth move just ahead of my vehicle, and I'd sway and bend and lean with each bump and turn and before long, my eyes took on that half-closed catatonic state where even though I was flying and being tossed around a bit, I was soothed by the hypnotic rhythm of earth meeting movement. Ground meeting life. Stability meeting dynamite, merging at a place too sacred to capture, like trying to radar the speed of sound.
I remember being in that state and knowing that I needed to force myself to look up at the views, at my surroundings, because before too long I'd be back at the truck and the ride would be over. I remember making a conscious effort to soak up moments like those when my kids were babies. I knew from what people told me that their baby years would fly by and so I would stare at them and even say out loud to myself, "remember this moment, Suzy... capture it like a photo but with all of your senses." That's what I did while ATVing too. I need to do that more with life.
I do that with Andrew. I look at him and try to memorize the curve of his earlobe, the way that his cheekbone feels under my lips when I grab his face and kiss him hard. The way he looks down and then up at me with those sparkly eyes, how I can see the little boy in him, the boy that his mom memorized once too.
I want to look up more, and soak up the view. Our lives are full of those moments if we want to see them. We just have to look up.
Day Twenty-One
Okay, so maybe I skipped a couple of days, but who's counting, anyway?
I ran into someone I know this morning on my five miler before work. Her name is Carrie Light and she's a local fitness trainer who (extremely) successfully runs her own business. I remember I first met her in the summer of 2010 when I moved back out to Langley with my kiddos. I was running along Telegraph Trail and I was gaining speed on this blonde lady up ahead of me and when I finally caught up to her I felt compelled to turn my music off and chat with her a bit.
She was so warm to me straight away, exclaiming how much she looks up to me and my running, telling me that she and her partner have been watching me run for years! She said that they compare my speed and fitness levels, noticing that I have been steadily improving over the last few months (this was back then). It was nice to be encouraged, but I felt like there was something more going on, you know? There's just something about Carrie that makes it so easy to just open up and feel at ease.
She asked me where I worked and I told her that I was having a hard time finding a job. I told her about my degree, she gave me some ideas and told me to email her. But we also talked about life, and what I was going through at that time (I was in the earlier stages of separating from my ex-husband) and she opened up with me as well and shared some stuff that she had gone through, and what had helped her cope.
Honestly? This never happens. I know you guys probably see people running along the road all the time and think we just all hang out in groups and talk about sweat marks and blisters, but most of us are runners for a reason (if we liked people that much we'd play on a team of some sort, seriously!!). So unless we make a pointed effort to meet people for a run, it's a pretty sure bet that we're slogging it out there on our own. So to have this 20 minutes of heart-to-heart in the middle of a 20-miler was unheard of for me. It's like we were brought together at the exact right time for a purpose.
I saw her at the Running Room a couple of times when I worked there and again a few times at Starbucks and we'd always exchange looks, like "hey... it'll be okay, hang in there." She'd always give me a hug or when I was behind the counter she'd give me a high five. She's just amazing like that. Some people are always full, you know? Full and overflowing. I want to be like that. She inspires me, and it's so fitting that her last name is Light.
I saw her this morning and told her about my new job at the physiotherapist's office and sure enough I got tackled with a bear hug. I tried to warn her about my contagious head cold, sweaty hair and probable snot smears on my jacket but she didn't seem to care. She just wanted to give, no matter what my condition. I like that. A lot.
May I be a Light too.
I ran into someone I know this morning on my five miler before work. Her name is Carrie Light and she's a local fitness trainer who (extremely) successfully runs her own business. I remember I first met her in the summer of 2010 when I moved back out to Langley with my kiddos. I was running along Telegraph Trail and I was gaining speed on this blonde lady up ahead of me and when I finally caught up to her I felt compelled to turn my music off and chat with her a bit.
She was so warm to me straight away, exclaiming how much she looks up to me and my running, telling me that she and her partner have been watching me run for years! She said that they compare my speed and fitness levels, noticing that I have been steadily improving over the last few months (this was back then). It was nice to be encouraged, but I felt like there was something more going on, you know? There's just something about Carrie that makes it so easy to just open up and feel at ease.
She asked me where I worked and I told her that I was having a hard time finding a job. I told her about my degree, she gave me some ideas and told me to email her. But we also talked about life, and what I was going through at that time (I was in the earlier stages of separating from my ex-husband) and she opened up with me as well and shared some stuff that she had gone through, and what had helped her cope.
Honestly? This never happens. I know you guys probably see people running along the road all the time and think we just all hang out in groups and talk about sweat marks and blisters, but most of us are runners for a reason (if we liked people that much we'd play on a team of some sort, seriously!!). So unless we make a pointed effort to meet people for a run, it's a pretty sure bet that we're slogging it out there on our own. So to have this 20 minutes of heart-to-heart in the middle of a 20-miler was unheard of for me. It's like we were brought together at the exact right time for a purpose.
I saw her at the Running Room a couple of times when I worked there and again a few times at Starbucks and we'd always exchange looks, like "hey... it'll be okay, hang in there." She'd always give me a hug or when I was behind the counter she'd give me a high five. She's just amazing like that. Some people are always full, you know? Full and overflowing. I want to be like that. She inspires me, and it's so fitting that her last name is Light.
I saw her this morning and told her about my new job at the physiotherapist's office and sure enough I got tackled with a bear hug. I tried to warn her about my contagious head cold, sweaty hair and probable snot smears on my jacket but she didn't seem to care. She just wanted to give, no matter what my condition. I like that. A lot.
May I be a Light too.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Day Twenty
I didn't bring a charger for my laptop so I can't really write much in here each night. We drove to Sedona, up in northern Arizona, and went ATV-ing. What fun! The red rocks were so unreal! I can't believe that they aren't sculpted by humans. They were breathtaking.
I steered off course and had to get "rescued" by the tour guide, but then I was a champ after that.
I might have to wait until I get back home on Monday night to write some more, but then I'll write a couple of posts in one day to make up for it.
I steered off course and had to get "rescued" by the tour guide, but then I was a champ after that.
I might have to wait until I get back home on Monday night to write some more, but then I'll write a couple of posts in one day to make up for it.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Day Nineteen
We went to this cool place today called Tombstone (from the movie, Tombstone). It was awesome! We watched a gun fight and then we shot guns at targets and I hit the heart and jugular.
On our way out we stopped at a gas station for snacks, and then I got carried away by a T-Rex.
Having lots of fun. Going dune-buggying tomorrow! I know I'm supposed to be writing stuff, and I will, but today was just a fun day with not one bit of analytical self-reflection whatsoever. Amen.
On our way out we stopped at a gas station for snacks, and then I got carried away by a T-Rex.
Having lots of fun. Going dune-buggying tomorrow! I know I'm supposed to be writing stuff, and I will, but today was just a fun day with not one bit of analytical self-reflection whatsoever. Amen.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Day Eighteen
What goes around, comes around. It's just how the world turns, right?
Andrew and I are in Arizona for some muchly-needed sleep and sun. I have family here, so we got to meet up with them at this cool restaurant last night for some dinner. The food was great, and we could throw our peanut shells all over the floor, which was awesome. Being responsible and clean and organized is great for our kids, but Andrew and I were really overdue for some messy self-gratifying chaos so we were quite pleased that we were able to deliciously throw our food all over the floor.
Except he took it quite literally and in a pathetic attempt to get rid of his gum (he was meeting my extended family for the first time and wanted to make a nice impression on them that didn't leave them with images of him chewing and snapping his gum) he stealthfully stole it out of his mouth, rolled it between his fingers and "let go" of it under the table. Rotten man, right? Yes.
So when it was time for us to leave, he slid out from the booth only to realize the gum had made its way onto the base of his seat and got stuck on his jeans, stringing between his leg and the bench as he got out. I had no idea what was happening but in retrospect, as he told me later, I remember him acting quite weird when we were leaving, grabbing at his legs and looking uncomfortable.
He reminds me so much of my dad sometimes.
Anyway, so we laughed about it and he told me that it serves him right for throwing his gum on the ground. Quite self-righteously, I agreed. I stuffed my gum inside of a peanut shell before I threw it on the ground, so my payback should be a bit delayed. I'll be sure to keep you posted.
Andrew and I are in Arizona for some muchly-needed sleep and sun. I have family here, so we got to meet up with them at this cool restaurant last night for some dinner. The food was great, and we could throw our peanut shells all over the floor, which was awesome. Being responsible and clean and organized is great for our kids, but Andrew and I were really overdue for some messy self-gratifying chaos so we were quite pleased that we were able to deliciously throw our food all over the floor.
Except he took it quite literally and in a pathetic attempt to get rid of his gum (he was meeting my extended family for the first time and wanted to make a nice impression on them that didn't leave them with images of him chewing and snapping his gum) he stealthfully stole it out of his mouth, rolled it between his fingers and "let go" of it under the table. Rotten man, right? Yes.
So when it was time for us to leave, he slid out from the booth only to realize the gum had made its way onto the base of his seat and got stuck on his jeans, stringing between his leg and the bench as he got out. I had no idea what was happening but in retrospect, as he told me later, I remember him acting quite weird when we were leaving, grabbing at his legs and looking uncomfortable.
He reminds me so much of my dad sometimes.
Anyway, so we laughed about it and he told me that it serves him right for throwing his gum on the ground. Quite self-righteously, I agreed. I stuffed my gum inside of a peanut shell before I threw it on the ground, so my payback should be a bit delayed. I'll be sure to keep you posted.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Day Seventeen
Melody and I became fast friends when (as Jake's grade three teacher at a Christian private school) she took the class to a Dawali festival at the public school down the road. She got a lot of flack from a few parents who didn't appreciate her liberal openness to other religions and I respected her for the way she graciously handled the angry emails.
We were bored one night and looking for something to do, so we snooped around and found a local hockey game to go to where our university was playing the Vancouver Canucks Alumni team. My favourite player of all time, Dave Babych was going to be there, so I conducted a plan.
I brought two plain white tee shirts over to her place and we drew Dave's profile with the words "Babych is Bitchin'" written across the front of each shirt. I knitted big brown mustaches and we stuck them on our faces with huge pieces of masking tape. Then we walked into the arena and attracted all sorts of raucous. Melody got her picture in the local paper and she was so worried about getting in trouble from the principal at the school for having the word "bitchin'" across her shirt. I couldn't stop laughing.
After we left the arena, we bought lime green vodka flavoured drinks at a liquor store and drank them in the parking lot of a pub, and then went in and looked alarmingly weird in our outfits and mustaches. At one point we walked into the bathroom and this girl, stumbling toward us in a drunken stupor says to me, "Hey, baby bitch!" And that's been my nickname ever since.
The kitchen closed at the pub and I, needing food desperately in a pathetic attempt to soak up the vodka sugar, convinced Melody to walk over to Boston Pizza for some midnight snacks. We sat in a booth and before the menu could even make it to our table, I booked it for the bathroom and puked fluorescent green like Shrek at a bachelor party.
It's just one of my many stories. That is all.
We were bored one night and looking for something to do, so we snooped around and found a local hockey game to go to where our university was playing the Vancouver Canucks Alumni team. My favourite player of all time, Dave Babych was going to be there, so I conducted a plan.
I brought two plain white tee shirts over to her place and we drew Dave's profile with the words "Babych is Bitchin'" written across the front of each shirt. I knitted big brown mustaches and we stuck them on our faces with huge pieces of masking tape. Then we walked into the arena and attracted all sorts of raucous. Melody got her picture in the local paper and she was so worried about getting in trouble from the principal at the school for having the word "bitchin'" across her shirt. I couldn't stop laughing.
After we left the arena, we bought lime green vodka flavoured drinks at a liquor store and drank them in the parking lot of a pub, and then went in and looked alarmingly weird in our outfits and mustaches. At one point we walked into the bathroom and this girl, stumbling toward us in a drunken stupor says to me, "Hey, baby bitch!" And that's been my nickname ever since.
The kitchen closed at the pub and I, needing food desperately in a pathetic attempt to soak up the vodka sugar, convinced Melody to walk over to Boston Pizza for some midnight snacks. We sat in a booth and before the menu could even make it to our table, I booked it for the bathroom and puked fluorescent green like Shrek at a bachelor party.
It's just one of my many stories. That is all.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Day Sixteen
If you ever want to lose faith, hope and love in a giant motherfucking hurry, get divorced.
I grew up within the bubble of Christianity; I went to church, Sunday School, Christian private school and Christian University. Let's just say I learned a lot about Christ.
Even when I didn't believe in the things I was learning, I still dug deep, chewing the material like an overdone steak. I wanted to squeeze as much as I could out of what I was learning so that I knew for sure what I believed to be true and what I did not. I wanted to make it my own, which is important. I'm glad I did.
Grace is one of the foundations of Christianity (my favourite topic of all time; I could talk about grace for HOURS). Faith, hope and love are the mothers of grace in that it takes faith, hope and love to first unclench our fists in order to receive and give grace. And we need grace because grace is movement. It's action. I can't just say, "I grace you" and stand there like a donkey. I can say "I love you, I have faith in you, I have hope in you" until I'm blue in the face but I won't show it without grace. Hee-haw.
See? This post isn't even supposed to be about grace but I can't stop!
I want to talk about faith and hope. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce how much their hope and faith in anything has changed and they will tell you that they either have very little left, or none at all. Standing at the alter, the couple is pregnant with hope for the future. They have dreams and ideas of what life will be like together and while they're exchanging their vows they're teetering on the edge of this free-fall not caring how risky it is as long as their bodies are intertwined on the way down.
Divorce causes the death of this hope and nothing is more disabling than hopelessness.
Faith (in God, or in relationships, or in the capacity to love and trust again) is like the very first baby step toward rebuilding hope. It's a choice, whether or not we're going to stay stuck or move forward. I used to silently mock the ignorance of faith but after trying it out myself I now view it with respect. I used to think that only children and needy pathetic adults depend on faith (and maybe some do just to fill in the gaps of their own ignorance, allowing them to be lazy in their spirituality) but now I realize that it takes massive amounts of both courage and humility to have faith to move forward, to take that first step.
And that's where trust is formed, is rebuilt, by that very first baby step of faith. Without that first step, trust is empty, the future is hopeless. And only by the grace that we give and receive are we able to even imagine taking that first step of faith. Knowing that we aren't perfect and understanding that it's okay to be just as we are in that very moment, are we then able to unclench our fists and let go.
And as we free-fall, we learn that we don't hit every branch on the way down, that sometimes we can actually fly. And we wouldn't have been able to feel the invigorating feeling of flight if we hadn't made that conscious decision to let go in the first place. Have faith, have hope, and love...and I promise you that by grace you will get un-stuck, and you'll give this life something to remember.
Move it.
I grew up within the bubble of Christianity; I went to church, Sunday School, Christian private school and Christian University. Let's just say I learned a lot about Christ.
Even when I didn't believe in the things I was learning, I still dug deep, chewing the material like an overdone steak. I wanted to squeeze as much as I could out of what I was learning so that I knew for sure what I believed to be true and what I did not. I wanted to make it my own, which is important. I'm glad I did.
Grace is one of the foundations of Christianity (my favourite topic of all time; I could talk about grace for HOURS). Faith, hope and love are the mothers of grace in that it takes faith, hope and love to first unclench our fists in order to receive and give grace. And we need grace because grace is movement. It's action. I can't just say, "I grace you" and stand there like a donkey. I can say "I love you, I have faith in you, I have hope in you" until I'm blue in the face but I won't show it without grace. Hee-haw.
See? This post isn't even supposed to be about grace but I can't stop!
I want to talk about faith and hope. Ask anyone who has been through a divorce how much their hope and faith in anything has changed and they will tell you that they either have very little left, or none at all. Standing at the alter, the couple is pregnant with hope for the future. They have dreams and ideas of what life will be like together and while they're exchanging their vows they're teetering on the edge of this free-fall not caring how risky it is as long as their bodies are intertwined on the way down.
Divorce causes the death of this hope and nothing is more disabling than hopelessness.
Faith (in God, or in relationships, or in the capacity to love and trust again) is like the very first baby step toward rebuilding hope. It's a choice, whether or not we're going to stay stuck or move forward. I used to silently mock the ignorance of faith but after trying it out myself I now view it with respect. I used to think that only children and needy pathetic adults depend on faith (and maybe some do just to fill in the gaps of their own ignorance, allowing them to be lazy in their spirituality) but now I realize that it takes massive amounts of both courage and humility to have faith to move forward, to take that first step.
And that's where trust is formed, is rebuilt, by that very first baby step of faith. Without that first step, trust is empty, the future is hopeless. And only by the grace that we give and receive are we able to even imagine taking that first step of faith. Knowing that we aren't perfect and understanding that it's okay to be just as we are in that very moment, are we then able to unclench our fists and let go.
And as we free-fall, we learn that we don't hit every branch on the way down, that sometimes we can actually fly. And we wouldn't have been able to feel the invigorating feeling of flight if we hadn't made that conscious decision to let go in the first place. Have faith, have hope, and love...and I promise you that by grace you will get un-stuck, and you'll give this life something to remember.
Move it.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Day Fifteen
I want to pass along something I learned in church on Sunday. I take my kids to church because I think it's important for us to use our spiritual "muscles" just as we use our intellectual ones at school and as we use our physical ones while we run and play. I believe we are multi-layered human beings composed of mind, body and spirit and I don't want to get all unbalanced with like, huge quads and a scrawny soul, you know?
I don't agree with everything that they preach in the Christian church I attend, but I feel welcomed and safe there, and it works. They know what I believe and how I feel and nobody has ever tried to jam anything down my throat, and growing up in surroundings where I was inundated with Christianity, unforced faith is something that I certainly appreciate.
The guy who spoke talked about what we take in from our environment, that whatever we predominantly focus on will have an affect on us. It was sort of a reality check in regards to priorities, making me think about what I need to have at the top of the list and what I do not. Whatever we feed, will grow. If my kids truly are higher of a priority than running, then I better be damn sure that my leg muscles aren't stronger than the strength of the bond between me and my children.
I don't watch TV and I'm not on Facebook but he used those as examples of what time-suckers might be like, soaking up our energy so that we are depleted for the things and people that are truly meaningful. Facebook and TV aren't "bad", but they can be toxic if ingested beyond our capacity.
My dad has a million sayings and one of them is: "I am addicted to anything that there is more than one of." And he laughs. He laughs because a) it's true and b) because he's strong enough to admit it.
Church guy used the illustration of peanut butter, where he said that even though it may be overdone once in a while, peanut butter itself isn't "bad" if ingested, and while it may be okay for some people to eat, it can be lethal for others. And so it's a personal thing, a relational exchange between humans and God (if they choose), that they come to understand that most things are healthy in moderation, but at the end of it all, it's still a personal thing.
I loved the peanut butter illustration. Recovering alcoholics can't have a glass of wine with dinner just as people who have anaphylactic reactions to nuts can't have a tablespoon of peanut butter on their toast.
What did I get out of all this? That I need to sit down and play with my kids more. That I need to invest in the relationships of the people who are closest to me. That I need to feed the things in my life that make my time on this earth more meaningful, not more empty. And that I am hungry for peanut butter toast.
I don't agree with everything that they preach in the Christian church I attend, but I feel welcomed and safe there, and it works. They know what I believe and how I feel and nobody has ever tried to jam anything down my throat, and growing up in surroundings where I was inundated with Christianity, unforced faith is something that I certainly appreciate.
The guy who spoke talked about what we take in from our environment, that whatever we predominantly focus on will have an affect on us. It was sort of a reality check in regards to priorities, making me think about what I need to have at the top of the list and what I do not. Whatever we feed, will grow. If my kids truly are higher of a priority than running, then I better be damn sure that my leg muscles aren't stronger than the strength of the bond between me and my children.
I don't watch TV and I'm not on Facebook but he used those as examples of what time-suckers might be like, soaking up our energy so that we are depleted for the things and people that are truly meaningful. Facebook and TV aren't "bad", but they can be toxic if ingested beyond our capacity.
My dad has a million sayings and one of them is: "I am addicted to anything that there is more than one of." And he laughs. He laughs because a) it's true and b) because he's strong enough to admit it.
Church guy used the illustration of peanut butter, where he said that even though it may be overdone once in a while, peanut butter itself isn't "bad" if ingested, and while it may be okay for some people to eat, it can be lethal for others. And so it's a personal thing, a relational exchange between humans and God (if they choose), that they come to understand that most things are healthy in moderation, but at the end of it all, it's still a personal thing.
I loved the peanut butter illustration. Recovering alcoholics can't have a glass of wine with dinner just as people who have anaphylactic reactions to nuts can't have a tablespoon of peanut butter on their toast.
What did I get out of all this? That I need to sit down and play with my kids more. That I need to invest in the relationships of the people who are closest to me. That I need to feed the things in my life that make my time on this earth more meaningful, not more empty. And that I am hungry for peanut butter toast.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Day Fourteen
I'll never forget that moment.
I really didn't know what to do with my huge new African boobs. I obviously figured it out as Jake got the hugest chubby cheeks ever. I couldn't go anywhere with him without someone commenting on the size of his baby face. He's 12 now, and would probably "Black Ops" me upside the head if he knew I was writing about him like this. Oops.
I fell in love with Jake. My sister Tracey was over and we were sitting on the family room floor watching Jake in his exersaucer. I was staring at him with doe eyes and she said to me, "you're in love, aren't you? The way you're looking at him..." And I was like, "ya... I'm in love."
I was the youngest child by 8 years and so in a lot of ways I was a combination of youngest and only child: the recipe for the most self-absorbed human on the planet. But when I had Jake, everything changed; I lived and breathed for him. And then when Freddy and Katie were born I was continually flabbergasted at how I'd be able to love them as much as I loved Jake, and yet I could, of course. The capacity of parent-love is never-ending and quite God-like in its characteristics. Mind-blowing love.
I didn't even know I liked kids until I had them. I think I maybe held one baby before I held Jake?...something like that. But once he was in my belly, all I could think about was every breath that I took in would be for him, not me.
When Carmen sent me that baby photo of him yesterday, I lost it and I told her so. I cried those gut-wrenching sobs, the ones that scare me a bit. The really loud, noisy, "I might throw up because it's an exorcism cry" sob. I grieved my old life, the one that had soft edges, rounded corners.
I'd hold my babies on my squishy lap and read them books. I'd kneel down with them and play Thomas the Train with them for hours on end until I found out that the blue paint on the wooded trains were toxic, at which point I self-loathed for letting Freddy suck on them to self-soothe his incoming molars.
I didn't have to worry about divorce papers. I didn't have to wonder when I'd get my 15 minute coffee break, or how I'd cope through a lonely night. I had different worries, sure, and maybe even bigger ones, but they were different. They were coated in baby powder and breast milk, and my day was dictated by whether or not one of them fell asleep in the car and ruined nap time.
I grieve my old life, I do. My mom will attest to the fact that I was born to be a mommy. She could see it when I held my babies, when I danced and moved and lived among them. I embrace the changes in my life, yes... but it's important that I go through the process of moving forward. They're still and always will be my babies, and if anything my love for them has intensified and grown into new uncharted territory that I didn't even know existed in my cold little heart.
But there's something about those innocent baby cheeks, depending on my arms, my chest, my love. I'll never let go, but I will move forward, allowing the sprinkle of baby powder to soften up the edges of my heart.
Day Thirteen
Isabelle and I were inseparable in high school. She taught me about Kurt Cobain and snowboarding and how to dye my hair (hers was always a gorgeous blonde while mine would turn out to be some rusty clown color). I taught Isabelle how to disrespect authority with a badass attitude and how to write notes and pass them in class without teachorial detection.
We had nicknames for each other (I'm not telling!). We never had a crush on the same guy, and so we worked our "love" lives in sync without a fight. She was my yin to my yang. We could glance at each other and within that split second be able to know exactly what's going on.
I got married shortly after high school and had my first baby while Isabelle did her own thing, got a nursing degree, and moved away. We grew apart for reasons that are both understandable and shameful. I sucked as a friend back then, and I know I let her down several times when she needed me most. I carried that with me for years, and then when we finally connected on Facebook (just a few months ago) I poured my heart out to her and asked for forgiveness. She did, because she's Isabelle. Beautiful, graceful, lovely.
We hadn't seen each other yet and when I heard that her dad recently passed away, I tried to get the day off work to go to his memorial service but it was my last day at Starbucks and the first day of the Christmas roll-out, and so it wasn't going to happen. But when I was hanging out the drive-through window, Isabelle and her husband and her kids pulled through, without ANY idea that I even worked there.
I burst into tears, so badly wanting to run out and tackle her with a 14 year-long hug but I couldn't leave my spot. I wanted to turn myself inside out with frustration!
But it was there, that glance. I did the classic double-take move and when I recognized her I shrieked her name. Our eyes met and it was like all of those fourteen years poured into each other all at once and filled us up. She knew me and I knew her in that moment, as if nothing had ever changed, as if time had never passed.
Some people come into your life for a season, and then they slink into the shadows without a trace. Isabelle has always stayed with me, because a part of her helped form who I am right now. Badass best friends bonded by the earth-shaking travesties of high school, forming our deep interconnected roots of the strong women we are today.
We had nicknames for each other (I'm not telling!). We never had a crush on the same guy, and so we worked our "love" lives in sync without a fight. She was my yin to my yang. We could glance at each other and within that split second be able to know exactly what's going on.
I got married shortly after high school and had my first baby while Isabelle did her own thing, got a nursing degree, and moved away. We grew apart for reasons that are both understandable and shameful. I sucked as a friend back then, and I know I let her down several times when she needed me most. I carried that with me for years, and then when we finally connected on Facebook (just a few months ago) I poured my heart out to her and asked for forgiveness. She did, because she's Isabelle. Beautiful, graceful, lovely.
We hadn't seen each other yet and when I heard that her dad recently passed away, I tried to get the day off work to go to his memorial service but it was my last day at Starbucks and the first day of the Christmas roll-out, and so it wasn't going to happen. But when I was hanging out the drive-through window, Isabelle and her husband and her kids pulled through, without ANY idea that I even worked there.
I burst into tears, so badly wanting to run out and tackle her with a 14 year-long hug but I couldn't leave my spot. I wanted to turn myself inside out with frustration!
But it was there, that glance. I did the classic double-take move and when I recognized her I shrieked her name. Our eyes met and it was like all of those fourteen years poured into each other all at once and filled us up. She knew me and I knew her in that moment, as if nothing had ever changed, as if time had never passed.
Some people come into your life for a season, and then they slink into the shadows without a trace. Isabelle has always stayed with me, because a part of her helped form who I am right now. Badass best friends bonded by the earth-shaking travesties of high school, forming our deep interconnected roots of the strong women we are today.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Day Twelve
Guess what! Justin quit today. Well, Mike, I guess his name is. It was my last day at Starbucks and I started at 5am. It was the first day of Christmas drinks with the eggnog lattes and peppermint hot chocolates and so it was busy! I was sweating and panting, and I wasn't even running.
Just, coffee.
Anyway, so Justin (Mike, whatever) put his headset down on the counter and just walked... away. I guess that's the way it goes sometimes when you're cooked. It's like bing!...the buzzer goes and that's it. I can't even keep count of how many times I have felt like throwing my headset on the counter and walking away. It's not me, though. I'm not wired that way, and I'm proud of my tenacity. I gut it out, one step at a time and only when I've got no arms and legs do I call it a day. And even then, it's only a flesh wound.
Just, coffee.
Anyway, so Justin (Mike, whatever) put his headset down on the counter and just walked... away. I guess that's the way it goes sometimes when you're cooked. It's like bing!...the buzzer goes and that's it. I can't even keep count of how many times I have felt like throwing my headset on the counter and walking away. It's not me, though. I'm not wired that way, and I'm proud of my tenacity. I gut it out, one step at a time and only when I've got no arms and legs do I call it a day. And even then, it's only a flesh wound.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Day Eleven
I'm at work on a break and I have 7 minutes to write this post.
Names are important. At my new job, one of the physiotherapists calls me "Jamie." The harder she tries to focus on calling me "Suzy" the more she calls me "Jamie." It's cute, actually. We laugh and laugh about it every time she does it.
There's a new guy at Starbucks today who I hadn't met yet. I introduced myself to him and he told me his name is Mike! I gave him my order and upon walking away to get my drink I called out, "nice to meet you, Justin!" No idea where I got the name Justin from. Sometimes I wonder what's lurking around the the dark recesses of my brain. I seem to randomly pull things out of there like when I accidentally snag seaweed during fishing.
Our names are one of the first things that people take in when they meet us. There's eye contact, a handshake, and an introduction to names. They have meaning and significance. They pave the way for the next level of interaction. You get the name wrong, and all of a sudden it's a traffic jam and you've got smoke under the hood.
Anyway, back to work. I've got a pumpkin scone with "Jamie" written all over it.
Names are important. At my new job, one of the physiotherapists calls me "Jamie." The harder she tries to focus on calling me "Suzy" the more she calls me "Jamie." It's cute, actually. We laugh and laugh about it every time she does it.
There's a new guy at Starbucks today who I hadn't met yet. I introduced myself to him and he told me his name is Mike! I gave him my order and upon walking away to get my drink I called out, "nice to meet you, Justin!" No idea where I got the name Justin from. Sometimes I wonder what's lurking around the the dark recesses of my brain. I seem to randomly pull things out of there like when I accidentally snag seaweed during fishing.
Our names are one of the first things that people take in when they meet us. There's eye contact, a handshake, and an introduction to names. They have meaning and significance. They pave the way for the next level of interaction. You get the name wrong, and all of a sudden it's a traffic jam and you've got smoke under the hood.
Anyway, back to work. I've got a pumpkin scone with "Jamie" written all over it.
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