Jumping at shadows

In mid-July, my 17-year-old son invited me to start running with him. Trying our best to beat the heat, we were heading out just a little after sunrise every morning. But with the start of school, we have had to push our morning runs up, and now we are running while it is still dark out. Max has continued to brave the unlit, uneven, partially unpaved two mile trail that runs around the neighborhood, with the confidence of a young man in peak physical condition who has never suffered a serious sports injury. I, however, am a middle-aged woman, not in peak physical condition, who is just eight years out from destroying my ACL and meniscus and enduring the surgery and recovery that went along with that, so I choose to stay on the lighted sidewalks of the inner loop. There is some light, yes, but it's not like the areas where I am running are bright enough for me to see everything around me. And sometimes the light seems best only at conjuring extra dark shadows, which move around as if possessed. 

One day in the last week, I literally jumped off the sidewalk into the street (not to mention almost out of my skin), not once, but twice during a single run, startling at some wavy shadows dancing around on the sidewalk in front of me. And, then, of course, upon closer inspection, I felt silly for being so scared of NOTHING. Thankfully, there aren't many neighbors up and about at that hour in our neighborhood, so my embarrassment did not have any witnesses. 

But I got to thinking about this tendency to jump at shadows, and it made me consider that this concept is very similar to the way anxiety works. Frequently, with an anxious brain, there is only a perceived threat rather than an actual one. But it FEELS real. Real enough to make you jump out of harm's way. Or freeze up. Or fight imagined monsters. Or spiral into more and more worst case scenarios. I used to really hate this about my brain--making a big deal out of things that turned out to be nothing and feeling like I couldn't stop it or control it. 

I still wish I didn't have such an overactive amygdala (the "fight or flight" center of the brain, specializing in fear and anxiety), but I have learned to appreciate this part of my brain. It desperately wants to protect me. Instead of fighting against the anxiety now, I'm learning to embrace it, to say, "This feels scary, but I can get through it and it might actually be okay." This part of my brain is trying to help me, not hurt me. It is a friend, not an enemy. But even well-meaning friends sometimes need to be questioned when they are offering advice. Thankfully, I'm learning to examine my thoughts and question their validity and their helpfulness. Yes, I jumped when the shadows startled me, but I didn't stop running. I didn't refuse to go again the next day. And if there had actually been a snake on the sidewalk, I would have been so grateful for the instinct to jump. Anxiety is no small thing, and for some people it is truly debilitating, but sometimes there are ways to manage it so that you don't have to be ruled by the shadows. You may still see the shadows and they may still feel uncomfortable because of their shiftiness, but you are allowed to take a breath and ask a question and reexamine the situation once you have more information. I'm thankful I have a friend in my mind that wants to keep me safe. But I'm also thankful that I can sometimes tell her I appreciate her concern but I'm good. 

Repairing the cracks

After our road trip to Colorado last month, I noticed a tiny--probably smaller than the tip of my pinky fingernail--chip in my windshield. Having learned from experience, we immediately bought a windshield repair kit and patched up the crack to keep it from spreading. That gives me a certain degree of confidence that I will not have to replace the entire windshield for this one tiny ding. It is not really in my line of sight but my eye is drawn to it every time I get in my car, and I have been pondering that little pock mark quite a lot lately. 

The car I was driving prior to this one also had a small crack in the windshield. I didn't bother to repair it, since it wasn't in my line of sight and it didn't seem like too big a deal. But, over time, with cold winters and hot summers, the little crack started to spread. I still didn't bother to do anything about it, because it still wasn't in my line of sight and fixing it seemed like a waste of money. It seemed like a problem not worth investing in. But eventually, the crack made it's way across the entire windshield, and there came a day when it actually seemed like it could possibly be a little unsafe. Like if just the wrong kind of pressure was applied, the whole windshield would come crashing in. My now-husband, who I was just dating at the time, became concerned. And one day while I was at work, just before taking off on a long road trip with my kids, he hired a company to replace the entire windshield. It was a kind gift, and I was truly touched by the gesture and may have fallen a little in love with him as a result. Ignoring the problem wasn't making it go away, and I was thankful someone who cared about me stepped in to help when I clearly wasn't taking care of the problem on my own.

So why am I thinking about cracks in windshields, you ask? Well, it's because I can see the cracks in my life, and I have learned from experience that it is better to repair them while they are small than to wait until they spread to a point of destruction. Not all of them are impeding my ability to go about my days. But they are there and they are real. There are broken pieces doing their best to act with wholeness, integrity, kindness, goodness, and love. But they are still broken pieces with sharp edges and a propensity to spread to others and create potentially unsafe spaces if the work isn't done in a timely fashion. They are easy to ignore. Until they aren't. Small issues not dealt with become big issues that demand attention, sometimes in very unlovely ways. Cars are meant to be driven, and in driving them, dings will happen. In the same way, lives are meant to be lived and there will inevitably be some collateral damage. However, if you can find the tiny cracks--the toxic attitudes, the unhealthy mindsets, the learned destructive patterns, the emotional immaturity, etc.--and work to repair them before they become problematic, you might just be able to save the whole windshield. You may still be able to see the crack, just like I see the little ding every time I get in my car. But it is only a reminder of the hazards of the road and a messenger bringing a sense of gratitude that allows me to proceed with confidence, knowing it will not destroy me or harm the people I care about because it has already been dealt with. 

Big emotions during family game night

I am embarrassed to say that last night during family game night I became unreasonably annoyed at how the games were going for me, and I decided I needed to take myself out of the last game (and out of the room) in order to preserve my peace and in order not to be tempted to say or do things that would be hurtful to my family. I think this was the right move, even though I felt pretty horrible because that is not the person I want to be...and not the person I usually am. I don't want to be a quitter. I don't want to give that kind of example to my kids of how to handle uncomfortable/unpleasant situations. I don't want to sacrifice my peace FOR A GAME. It felt like a truly ugly version of me that I wish didn't exist. I am pursuing peace like its my full time job, but, alas, I am a human, and no matter how much work I've done on myself, there are still triggers that can make the process feel like one step forward, two steps back. 

After beating myself up for a while, I decided to dig deeper and see what was actually going on. It didn't seem fathomable that I would be that upset over games of chance that I have played without incident thousands of times. And that's when I began to realize that there are some things going in my life that truly do have a significant emotional impact that I have been feeling like I need to push aside, that I need to become (or give the impression of becoming) indifferent about since there doesn't seem to be a clear resolution for them. I feel like my expression of those emotions needs to be stifled for a variety of reasons. Earlier in the evening, my sweet husband had asked me if I was doing okay with regard to something that he knew was having a big emotional impact on me, and I even said to him, "I'm just trying to ignore that."

But here's the deal about things that have a big emotional impact: they don't go away just because we don't want to face them. The emotions will find their outlet. Maybe while you sit in traffic. Maybe in the slow checkout line at the grocery store. Or maybe on family game night. And then the outsized reaction will seem ridiculous (but maybe safer to express). But those reactions are begging us to take a closer look and see what's really going on. For me, the breaking point was playing games where I was doing everything right and trying to move forward only to have the game itself and the other players block my progress. And that happens in life as well. I have often felt like I'm doing all the "right" things and still not being able to make the progress I want to make, still not being able to "win." And the way the games made me feel tapped in to how life makes me feel sometimes. It can feel so unfair and demotivating. It can feel like there are too many things I can't control, even though I am truly doing the best I can. It can feel like there is no way to win. 

My big emotions weren't really tied to the games at all. They were related to other things going on in my life and they came out in the games because I haven't been giving them proper expression elsewhere. Instead of trying to see them and understand them and heal them, I've just been trying to ignore them, trying to wish them away, and trying to convince myself that I'm okay when I really am not. Anger is a guide. It shows us what really matters to us. Our work is to figure out what the anger is telling us and to find the proper way to approach the other big emotions it is escorting. I'm thankful my family had grace for me last night. And I'm thankful family game night has given me a new level of motivation to sit with and try to resolve the underlying issues. 

If you are also experiencing seemingly unreasonable instances of anger and frustration in the "small" areas of your life,  I encourage you to ask yourself what is really behind it and then do the work to address the underlying issue, even if it is something you would rather ignore. The emotions won't be silenced. They will just find different outlets for expression.

Year of the Snake

Apparently, the Chinese--or Lunar--New Year begins tomorrow. I say "apparently" because I am not really a close follower of this holiday and typically only really think of it if I eat at a Chinese restaurant around the time it is set to kick off. This year is no exception. While dining at a Chinese restaurant recently, my dining companions and I decided to search out which animal is to be the star of this Chinese New Year. It is the Year of the Snake. Further research showed that, in fact, the year I was born falls into the group of birth years considered snake years. This got my attention, and I continued my research. 

I'll admit, I have pretty much always had a mostly negative view of snakes. My grandmother was deathly afraid of all snakes and may have inadvertently passed some of her fear along to me. I only truly fear the venomous ones, but the trouble is, it is often hard to tell a venomous one from a non-venomous one until you are already too close, so I tend to err on the side of caution and avoid close proximity to all snakes if possible. Snakes, to me,  have always felt a little dangerous, creepy, evil, sneaky, and not at all cuddly or friendly. I have frequently referred to myself in a self-deprecating way as a "snake" because of my extremely dry skin and my apparent inability to produce my own heat. These aren't my favorite traits and the comparison has done nothing to give me a more favorable view of snakes. So, when learning about this Lunar New Year,  my first instinct was to be disappointed that I fall into the "snake" category.

But my curiosity about why a seemingly unpleasant animal would be included in the Chinese Zodiac as one of the top twelve most important creatures got the best of me. What I learned is that in Chinese Zodiac, the Snake is linked to metamorphosis, wisdom, and intuition. And the Snake Year is characterized by introspection, mystery, and intelligence. The positive qualities associated with the snake include resilience, creativity, and adaptability. This means snakes are uniquely equipped to overcome various obstacles and challenges. Snakes typically shed their skin 2-4 times per year, a process that accommodates growth and the removal of parasites and damage. The new skin that replaces the old is often more vibrant in color. And with all that knowledge, my perspective changed considerably. 

In this new year, I already know I will be shedding old skins and growing into new ones. And I will continue my quest to eliminate damage and parasites from my life. There will be challenges and obstacles that will require resilience, creativity, adaptability, introspection, wisdom, and intuition. Many parts of the changes ahead of me remain a mystery. But when it's all said and done, I know for sure a more vibrant me will exist, and I'm excited about that. I am a snake. This is my year. 

The Burden of Gratitude

Working in the drive-thru the day after Christmas led to lots of conversations with people about how their Christmas was. Generally, there was a string of "goods" and "greats" and the question being reciprocated back to me. But when I asked one lady if she had a nice Christmas, she replied candidly that she doesn't really like this time of year. I was sympathetic to this sentiment because I know the holidays can feel difficult for people for all sorts of reasons. I didn't ask her to explain, but she chose to elaborate and her reason kind of surprised me. She said she just really hates having to feel grateful for gifts she didn't really want. She seemed truly burdened and I felt bad for her. She couldn't come up with anything pleasant about the holiday and couldn't even manage to be grateful for the heart of the giver, even if they missed the mark on giving the perfect gift. She could only focus on the burden of gratitude. 

As with most drive-thru conversations, it was brief and almost certainly didn't leave me with a full picture of what her life is like. But I couldn't stop thinking about the "burden of gratitude" and how that shows up in my life sometimes as well. Gratitude has gotten me through the very darkest moments of my life, and I believe absolutely in its power. It makes even the bare minimum enough. It can create a portal for joy even in a dismal situation. As Cicero said, "Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues but the parent of all others." 

But as much as I believe these things to be true, I admit there have also been many times when I felt the burden to be grateful for the gifts Life has given me--things I didn't want or ask for, things that didn't seem to be a good fit, things that ran counter to my expectations or desires. It reminds me of one Christmas when I was in middle school and my mom gave me a cassette tape (Yes, I'm THAT old) of an artist I had never heard of. All I really knew was that it wasn't one of the cool singers that all my friends were listening to, and in all my angsty teenage glory, I couldn't even find a way to force gratitude. I threw the tape aside and declared it a dumb gift. And my mother, in her justifiable shock and disgust at my poor attitude, demanded I turn the tape back over to her. A few hours later, remorse kicked in. I felt terrible about the way I had treated my mom and understood I had very clearly disrespected her by disrespecting her gift. I still didn't really want the tape, but I did want to repair the rift I had created in my relationship with my mom. I understood that she had given me a gift she thought was good and that I could be grateful that she even bothered to get me a gift at all. I went to her and apologized, and she returned the tape to me. A few days later, I decided to pop it in my cassette player, just to see what it was. One of the songs turned out to be one I absolutely loved and played over and over throughout the next few years. I even have that song on my playlist now because I still enjoy it and because it reminds me of that time in my life. 

In that instance and many others since, I have felt the temptation to complain about gifts I have received and to justify my bad attitude. But Life often gives beautiful gifts messily wrapped. It gives things we don't think we want and that don't appear to be good on the surface. And it's easy to hate having to feel grateful for them, even when we know that gratitude itself is the secret to making an unwanted gift actually much beloved. 

As the new year approaches, I am examining how things have gone this year and how I want things to change as I step into the next chapter. I can see times this year when I wasn't grateful and times when even the idea of gratitude felt like a burden. I can also see times when I was grateful for every little thing. I know the latter are the times I felt better--happier, healthier, and more peaceful. One of my words for 2025 is contentment, and I believe that only comes from a grateful heart. My wish for all of us is that gratitude wouldn't be a burden but that it would be the activator that makes all Life's gifts absolutely perfect. 

"You look so happy"

I'm holding his bag and my breath. My baby is leaving again and, even though I know I will survive, the heartbreak feels like too much. I held it together until I released him to the gate agent so she could get him settled in his seat before the other passengers boarded. That's when the first tears started to fall. Since he is an "unaccompanied minor," the airline requires that I stay at the gate until the aircraft is airborne. So I sat there silently crying and reminding myself to breathe while all the other passengers boarded and while the gate agents waited for stragglers and then gate checked all the bags that simply wouldn't fit. For a moment, I thought I had pulled myself together. But then one of the agents--probably trying to alleviate her discomfort at my obvious distress--asked how long he's going to be in Egypt, and I lost it again. The truth is, I don't know. There is no day marked on my calendar for his return.

Eventually, it is just me in the gate area, alone with my heartache, still reminding myself to take the next breath. I am not ashamed of my tears, for it is the only way to express the deep love and pain I feel in this moment. I am so thankful for the time I had with him this summer, but my heart aches with every moment of his absence. And, as I told him before he left, I am okay, but that doesn't mean this isn't hard. Love is joy and pain, and there is no separating the two.

After what seems an eternity, the gate agent nods a slightly embarrassed nod in my direction and gives me a wan smile, the sign that I am dismissed. I make my way to the parking garage but cannot remember where I parked. So, I wander around like a crazy woman, crying harder and literally gasping for breath, with my hand on my heart, saying out loud, "It is okay. You are okay."

Just as I reached my car, I got a text from my oldest son letting me know he was thinking about me, and I began to feel less alone with the burden I had been carrying all morning. That brought a fresh wave of tears, though a different brand, that anchored me to the parking spot for many more long minutes. And when I was finally ready to head home, I circled the terminal twice because I missed the exit due to tears and brain fog.

And that brings me to the picture at the top of this post. It is me, sitting in my driveway, at 8:15 on a Monday morning, the day after my birthday, with red eyes, a puffy face, and a snotty nose. I have been awake since 3:30, and I have been crying a steady stream of silent tears for an hour. I am taking deep, lung filling breaths and am trying to calm myself and put my day back on track, because "crying in my driveway," is not even close to the only thing on my agenda for the day. It is a regular day that still requires me to show up, despite my heartache. Then, as I'm sitting there, I receive a message from a friend reacting to an Instagram post I made yesterday highlighting my lovely week and birthday celebrations, which reads, "You look so happy."

I immediately pulled out my phone and snapped the above selfie because I knew in that instant that I would share this story. My life is beautiful and wonderful in so many ways, and I am beyond grateful for all life has given me. I share weekly highlight posts on Instagram and Facebook as a digital scrapbook for myself and as an efficient way of sharing a glimpse of our family life with friends and family all over the world. Without a doubt, it's mostly pictures of good times. I don't typically take pictures of myself crying in my shower or my closet or my driveway, though there are plenty of those moments as well.

I am wonderfully happy. I am also indescribably heartbroken. These two facts are both true simultaneously. And one of the tricky parts of life for me is honoring both of those equally valid states of being. 

One thing I know for sure is I absolutely don't want anyone sitting in their driveway crying and looking at my social media pages thinking my life is all sunshine and roses and that they are the only ones who are feeling the weight of this very difficult life. I work hard to create and share the happy moments of my life, but those are far from the only moments. We are all struggling in our own ways, but so often we feel all alone with it because we don't see others struggling and "everyone looks so happy." My life is not harder than yours, but the next time you are crying in your driveway, feeling that you are the only one, please pull up this picture of me and know without a doubt that you are not alone.

You win when you try

We live in a world that is very results driven. There is constant pressure to perform...and to outperform others. And though I do believe some healthy competition is appropriate and even necessary, I think sometimes we lose sight of how important it is just to show up with our best effort, no matter what that looks like. Whether the results produced match up with or exceed someone else's or not, the real success is in the trying. 

I have been especially mindful of this recently as I have been privileged on occasion this summer to be included in the morning workout club my boys have formed. They have been setting alarms and getting up early and spending 45 minutes to an hour working out, pushing themselves to be active, get stronger, and develop habits of discipline and endurance. I am very proud of their efforts, as this is not only a generally difficult thing to do but, from what I have observed through many years of paying attention to human behavior, a particularly difficult thing for teenage boys on summer vacation. 

The first day I joined them was push-up day, and I can tell you I did not fair very well. I struggled to do the exercises that my 16-year-old, who is an athletic specimen, did easily and with more stamina than I have probably ever possessed. And I paid for it big time with sore muscles for many days after. Another day, we went for a run. This activity was easier for me, but my body was still out of practice (and still sore from the push-ups) and the struggle was real. I vowed to stay in step with my 13-year-old, who, like me, also struggled to keep up with his brother, and we were grateful for and encouraged by one another's company. As we made our way around the neighborhood loop, he revealed a slight frustration at not being able to keep up with his older brother or perform at the same level. I assured him it was an unfair comparison. His brother is 6'7" and is one of the most naturally athletic people I have ever encountered. Meanwhile, he is 5'4" and has an entirely different body structure. To make him feel better, I reminded him that I was not anywhere close to being able to perform at the level of his brother either. I went on to explain that the real success was simply in the trying. The fact that we got up early and even attempted to run the neighborhood loop meant we were better off than we had been on the days we had slept in and didn't bother. We all did hard things that day. And we all did them to the level that we were able to. Trying was the real victory. That's not to say we won't improve--hopefully we will all improve as we continue to put in the effort. But our most significant improvements can only really be measured against ourselves. 

I will probably never be able to out-stride a 6'7" athlete, but I might be able to run a little further next time without panting. Or maybe I won't be able to run any better but I'll be able to hop out of bed a little easier.  Those are both wins. The trying is what is important. My trying and your trying may not look the same, and our efforts may not produce the same results. What's hard for me may be easy for you and vice versa. But each of our trying is valuable and is where our victory lies--whether we're talking about physical feats or mental ones. And if we focus all our attention on our own trying instead of casting jealous glances at others, our own improvement will be much more noticeable, and we will be able to celebrate it with more enthusiasm. Even my own capabilities may change from day to day. But I bring what I can and can still feel triumphant in the trying. Think of it like rugby, where a "try" is a score. You win when you try, so, whatever you are facing today, give it your best and be proud of the effort you put in. Celebrate the trying not just the results as compared to someone else.