Is that new?

Let me put two scenarios in front of you…

You get in your car to drive to work.  A blink of an eye later, you arrive at work.   Autopilot got you there safely.  You didn’t crash, you made all the correct turns.  But you don’t remember any of the journey.

One day, you’re in your OWN NEIGHBORHOOD, and you see the most unusual, beautiful tree for the first time.  You know it can’t be new.  It’s a big ass grown tree!!  You just haven’t seen it.  Ever.  In the 10 years you’ve lived there. 

Sound familiar?  I've been asking myself how long have I have been  traveling through life semi-blind?  On and off, I think it’s been my whole life.    

In the warmer months, my family goes to the Barrese cottage.  We love to take a boat ride around Fourth Lake.  It’s nearly a family joke now…someone will inevitably see a house that they’ve never seen before.  “That must be new!  I don’t remember that!”  No.  No, it’s not.  It’s a house that was built 50 years ago.  Why haven’t we seen it?  How could this be the first time we noticed it?

I’ve decided this is no way to go through every day… somehow missing the whole drive to work, accidentally seeing something interesting, skimming a page without comprehending, or noticing someone right next to you has a beautiful soul after years of knowing them.

Sometimes my brain is paying attention even when I’m not actively trying.  Like when I’m on I-90, and always ALWAYS see the house on the south side of the highway, where Fyler Road crosses, you know, the one with the school bus that’s been parked by the barn for years?  

I don’t look for it, I swear.  Why do I see it?  Because one day, I WAS paying attention.  I saw that school bus, and I thought about it.  Why was it there?  How long had it been parked?  Did someone have plans to go on a band tour?  Were they going to turn it into a camper?  Did they lose their job as a bus driver and stole the bus, driving across the state and stashing it at their brother’s house?  Does anyone see that bus besides me?

All it took was for me to have my eyes open, and to ask a question about what I saw.  From that time forward, I could always find it. 

In this new year, I’m going to try to be more present to the things and people around me.  I’ll look for the beauty in the everyday, the power in the mundane.  I’ll try to appreciate the small ways people show care for me. 

Is it time to open your eyes?  Find all the things that seem new, but have been there all along.  

Giving Rocks

She sat there, my little niece, carefully selecting the perfect gift for each member of this impromptu beach party.  Examining every rock she found, Lily immediately knew which of the people surrounding her needed THAT rock.



She picked them and gave them out.

The sparkly rock goes to mom.
The flat rock is handed to cousin Jackson.
The rough one to Aunt Anne.

Lily didn't expect anything in return.  She didn't even get mad when Jackson skipped his across the cool water of Lake Michigan.


I've been thinking about how to apply the lesson an almost 2 year old can teach.  It's easy...

When you find the thing that someone might need, and if you can give it, hand it over.

Does that mean giving a little of your time to a project you believe in?

A kind note or phone call to a friend?  

Whatever IT is, you don't need to keep a jar of it for yourself...Giving Rocks.  

Stop, thief!

Stop, thief!

My grandmother had a copy of the Desiderata up in her sunny, yellow kitchen.   At different times in my life, I’ve invoked passages from it.  Right now, I’m stuck on this one… 

                   

I’m not so much feeling the vain and bitter feels.  I don’t have a lot to be vain about these days, and bitter isn’t really my thing.  But sadness and longing are apparently my things. 

Okay, okay.  So, stop comparing yourself to others.  Got it. 

But.  What if the “others” is actually you?  Or some older / future version of you?  

Am I as physically as strong, as capable as I was a few years ago?  Nope.  I am not.  
Am I as driven in my job, do I love what I’m doing?  Hardly. 

Have I made progress financially, did I pay off those expenses I incurred 18 month ago?  Haha!

I see others doing the same…my friends who are injured, and looking at last year’s run numbers.  People whose lives have shifted, and they look back and think things were better then.  Someone who took a risk and maybe failed on this first go ‘round of a new enterprise, and things are harder than they used to be.

Staying in the now, the right now, and focusing on what is good (or at least okay-enough) is where joy comes from.  It doesn’t mean stop striving to be something better.  But the better may come in a totally different category.  For me, re-building relationships is something I’ve been striving for, and that has come with a trade-off in the fitness category.    For others, fixing an old injury, making their home better, working on a career change has been the better thing, and the effort it has taken for those things makes other progress hard.

 I’m working on trying NOT to compare myself to others.  But also not comparing myself to some other version of me.  It’s fucking hard.   But pieces of my life are pretty awesome.  And worth the extra pounds I'm carrying, the extra minutes I take on a run, sticking with a job I'm not sure of in exchange for  some stability.   

Comparison is the thief of joy.  FDR said that.  So.  Stop, Thief!! 

Bushwhack

Bushwhack

Oh…the places one could go with that word.  Euphemism for some bedroom behavior?  George W. bashing?  Or, in Monday’s case, literally whacking though the bushes because you're no longer on the trail. 

My son Jackson saw my scratched up legs on Monday night, and questioned me about why they looked like I had lost a fight with a very small velociraptor.  I told him where my friends and I had been, and he offered up the word ‘trail-blazing’.  I think that is a BIT optimistic, implying that someone else should follow in our footsteps.  Nope.  Not quite recommended.  I led a journey across a bee-filled field and into the shady woods, and I didn’t exactly know where I was going. 

Every once in a while (or, sometimes, twice in one week) you make some bad choices that you feel pretty confident about.  A route you once did, in the winter, with a guide, in the dark-ish becomes a GREAT anchor point for a 20 mile run.  Never mind that it’s actually a dumb idea.  As long as you make the decision with confidence, you can also convince others to follow along.  I managed to get Athena and Danielle on this adventure.  We explored some new trails, some un-trails, and got a little beat up. 

But sometimes, it all works out okay!  You get to see chickens, dead snakes, a beautiful gorge, deer bones, a snapping turtle and you sit on a couch made of rocks.  You don’t get stung by a bee.  Sometimes you race a rooster!  Not every dumb idea works out okay.  But some do.  It’s okay to make mistakes.  It’s better if you have supportive friends to help you make your way back to the path.  But the bushwhacking part is part of the journey, too!  Always sticking to established trails may be safe and get you to where you’re supposed to be.  But it doesn’t always get you to where you NEED to be.  

The Real Work, by Wendell Berry

 It may be that when we no longer know what to do

we have come our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go

we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

Hot air balloon

I had a dream over the weekend.  I had been selected (SELECTED!!) to pilot a hot air balloon on a mission.  What the mission was, in the manner of dreams, was not clear to me.  What I did know, in my heart, that this was a super important matter – perhaps even of national security.  I had been practicing, working, and I thought I was READY.  READY!!

Do, or do not.  There is no try. 

Then came the box.  An impossibly small box to hold my super important balloon.  But nonetheless, it had been delivered.  I unwrapped it.  This hot air balloon was a do-it-yourself kit.  With instructions written in that poorly translated Chinese to English patois that is unique to things manufactured overseas.  What the HELL!  Why did this amazingly critical mission equipment come like this?!

To boot, this balloon was nothing like the ones I had been working with.  It only had FIVE electrical connections.  FIVE!!  NOT six!!  How does anyone make a balloon fly with only five connectors?  (Again, in the manner peculiar to dreams, it was totally sensical that the balloon was electrically powered.  Never Mind there was no basket for me to sit in.)

My sleeping self was giving voice to my inner questions….was this dream was about piloting a balloon?  (PS I REALLY want to go on a hot air balloon ride.)  Was it about taking care of my marriage, renewing my commitment to my job, being a good mom, running across the Grand Canyon… No matter.  Am I doing a good enough job?  Working hard enough on the right things? Am I ready?  Who the fuck knows.  You can only do what you are able. 

I hope I can make the damn balloon fly with only 5 connections.  It’s really important, and I really want to fly.  Tired of bumping around on the ground.

Oh, whoa is me

Nope, not a typo.



You ever get stuck in that 'poor me' attitude?  You know, where everything is just so wrong...you're tired, you're injured, you're "broke", you have poison ivy on your ass?  (or is that last one just my cross to bear?)  You're busy, you haven't seen your _______ (husband, friends, favorite neighborhood bunny) in soooo long you're sure they've forgotten you?  You're feeling fat, ineffective, blah blah blah blah....

And then.  Then.  You take a fucking breath and see how ridiculous you are being?

For real.  Like, honestly, the universe is not out to get you, for one thing.  The universe is far too busy with more important things than making you miserable.  That's pure hubris.

And another thing...your problems...put them into perspective with things that really are a big deal.  Some terrible things have been happening  We are in the middle of awful chaos and unknown things.  An itchy ass?  You had the freedom to be out in the woods, hiking around.  You're tired?  You just got to visit your family scattered all over the midwest and northeast.

What time is it?  Time to get over youself.

A pity party?  Nobody has time to attend, Beth.

Whoa.  Stop.

Take a breath.  And get over it.  Moving on.

It's not a crisis (anymore)

Recently, someone told me I was going through a mid-life crisis.  

You see, I just got a motorcycle. Of course.  

A sure sign of a crisis. They were spot on, just a little late.

Meet Sylvia 

It's not a crisis anymore.  

crisis:  (noun)\ˈkrī-ˌsēz\
1: an emotionally significant event or radical change of status in a person's life <a midlife crisis>
2: the decisive moment (as in a literary plot)
3:  an unstable or crucial time or state of affairs in which a decisive change is impending

Hmm.  Yep.  Sounds about right.  

That was then... when I wasn't sure what the f#$% I was doing, but I did it anyway.  When I screwed up and found out who was there to support me and call me out.  An unstable state of affairs.

Now?  Not a crisis.  Hard work.  A re-evaluation of what's important and how to do it.  Choosing to practice every day gratitude, humility, patience, joy.  Loving.

The motorcycle isn't the crisis.  It's just part of a reinvention.  

I don't have to stay the same, and my life story can't be defined by one chapter.