The Best Flat Tire Day Ever

The morning started out great. I had the girls dressed and buckled in car seats 30 minutes earlier than most mornings. I hop in the driver seat and notice my dashboard sloping so hard you could ski down it. I jump out and confirm my thoughts with my eyeballs: a flat tire.

Normally, my mind jumps right into work mode. What can I do to fix this? What is top priority right now? Get the girls to school? How? Fix the flat? How? But my mind wasn’t going there. I froze. Literally and figuratively. All I could focus on (while the 4 year old cried in the backseat) was the fact that my kids might not make it to school that day, and thus, my much anticipated day alone would be shattered. I called the husband, who is usually home at this time but had to work in the city, about an hour away. He (thankfully already in work mode) formed an action plan which helped me figure out my next steps. And really, what could’ve turned out to be a ruined day, turned into a fantastic one. And here’s why:

I’ve been reading a book called “The Mind Connection” by Joyce Meyer. She lays out how the thoughts you choose affect your mood, behavior, and decisions. I’ve been studying it like a textbook, complete with a neon highlighter handy, notebook adjacent, and notecards hanging from a keyring. Nerd-style. (I’ve yet to choose the right color pocket protector). While I’m on the Board of the School of Thought (yes, on the Board) that words are powerful, I am also beginning to see how equally powerful your thoughts are… and that you have control of them. Novel idea, right? I get to actually choose what I think? I’m not a product of my environment, or society, or education, or family, or personality? I get to choose? Despite my circumstances? What??!?!!!!

Anyways, back to the greatest day ever. 

So, my tire is flat:

1. Me and the girls get to see Grandma this morning as she comes to the rescue and we bring them to school. I’m so grateful and thankful to have family nearby and willing to help at a moments notice. They rock.
2. My car insurance provides free roadside assistance. Awesome!
3. This is the first flat I’ve had on this car since we bought it almost 4 years ago. How fortunate! The super kind guy who came to change my flat tire had an apprentice with him, thus, I got a full demonstration on how to change a flat on my car. I generally know how to change a flat (thanks Dad), but it’s different on every car. For instance, my car requires a tire key (it prevents theft) and I had no idea what or where it was. Also, the spare tire is located under the middle of the car, behind the front passenger seat. Who knew? I thought spare tires were always in the trunk, and I even moved the stroller to the middle of the car in attempt to speed things up. So wrong. I'm glad I now know these things I took for granted.
4. I get new tires for the winter. I’m so thankful I was home with the girls when the flat happened, rather than stranded on a highway in the middle of a snowy winter with two toddlers, worried about not getting to some important event or appointment. I am relieved to know that this winter will be easier and safer with new tires. I’m also incredibly thankful we have the money right now to handle this situation. 
5. I have the luxury of a flexible schedule today. I am crazy lucky and blessed. I get to hang out at the dealership for couple of hours while my car is worked on. It is warm, has comfy chairs and tables, has bathrooms, TVs, free wifi, and a cafe with yummy food (the bread pudding calls my name). Nice. 
6. I've found the perfect place to write. Yes, at a car dealership. While forced to sit and wait, I came up with an idea for the plot of a book I've wanted to write. Everything I may need is close-at-hand, with the added benefit of no responsibilities or things around to distract me. I don't even mind, (seriously, I sweetly smile) when they accidentally spray my car with some substance, and ask me to come back again another day for a full detail at their expense. 

I am not the luckiest girl in the world. You won’t see a picture of my face, complete with a duck lipped smile, plastered over a Time Magazine cover with the headline “Luckiest Girl in the World.” I have struggles, difficulties, and problems that I may or may not share with everyone. I get hit with the 1st world misfortunes, setbacks, hardships, and bad luck stick all the time. And sometimes it’s the 3rd world tragedy stick. But what makes me different than everyone else, what makes my life my own, is what I choose to do about those problems and what I choose to think about them. 

I’d be better suited for the cover (with a shy smile this time - no duck lips, thank you) of Time Magazine with this headline: “Girl Who THINKS She’s the Luckiest Girl in the World.” I choose to focus on my privileges, advantages, strengths, blessings, and sheer luck and use them in a way that benefits me and others. I choose to have a great day. I choose to turn a storm into something other than a storm. I (we) have the gift of choice over my (our) thoughts, thus, the gift of making the most of whatever comes my (our) way. That makes me feel - I choose to feel - rich, lucky, happy and grateful, no matter the circumstances. And I definitely intend to pay it back and pass it on. 

6 Things Moving Has Taught Me

Growing up, my family moved around quite a bit. My family wasn’t in the army… it was in it’s own sort of army, um, of the religious kind. My dad was a pastor of the Seventh-Day Adventist religion (which you may have only heard mentioned in the media quite a bit lately, thanks to the presidential candidate, Ben Carson). His job meant that we usually got moved around every 3 - 4 years. I was born in Michigan, then a few years later moved to Pennsylvania, then Massachusetts, and then Bermuda. 

After Bermuda, we moved back to the US to Pennsylvania, and we planted. My parents confessed they wanted something more permanent for me and my siblings as we became teenagers and desired more stability. After I got married later in life, my husband and I moved to Brooklyn, NY only to come back to Pennsylvania once we had kids. 

Moving around has taught me a few things:

1. You can call anywhere home.
2. You can find and make friends anywhere.
3. Moving causes you to grow as a person. It forces you out of your comfort zone and forces you to be flexible.
4. Your perspective, awareness, and empathy increases. 
5. You gain world experiences you can't get in school.
6. You learn real time adaptation and problem solving skills. 

I am grateful to have experienced growing up outside of the US for a time, and I’d like to be able to give my daughters that kind of experience, too. The husband and I have decided to make that possible for our family by living abroad in the summers during school breaks, as often as we can (and can afford). Next year, thanks to a speaking invite (um, and my dreams) we are going to be starting our “summers abroad” program in Bologna, Italy. The next places on our list to live so far are: Ireland, London, Sweden, and Japan. 

I’m excited about doing this with my kids, especially while they are little. I read recently about how living abroad leads to a longer life… sort of. There’s evidence that it alters your perception about the length of your life.

“David Eagleman, an assistant neuroscientist at Baylor College of Medicine, has been fascinated by the brain’s perception of time ever since he fell off a roof and experienced a slow-motion effect. He postulates that:
 “…the more detailed a memory, the longer the moment seems to last. The reason it feels like time is speeding up as we age is that the world becomes more familiar. The more familiar the world becomes, the less information your brains writes down, and the more quickly time seems to pass.”
This means that when you move abroad, the world will be entirely unfamiliar. This is especially true if you are going from any Western country to an Eastern country, or vice versa. The food, smells, language and even popular colors are entirely different. Your brain will be on overdrive recording every new vivid detail.
As you continue to have new experiences in your new country, your own perspective of your life will lengthen. Your new memories will add up to a longer perception of your own life than if you monotonously repeated the same daily routine in your home country.
According to Michael over at Vsauce, time seems to pass slower when you have new experiences. When you are recording new memories, you perceive time to be passing slower than repeating the same experiences.”- Robert Krulwich (on his article "Why Does Time Fly By As You Get Older")

Personally, I’m reading this as: “If I live abroad with my kids, I will perceive them as little kids longer than if we continued the same day to day routine with them at home.” And to be quite honest, I am just actively trying not to let them “grow up too fast, ” as the ol’ sentiment goes. This quote mirrors my thoughts exactly:

“Life constantly changes us, whether we like it or not. A … child will learn that new things are probably good and exciting, and that a challenge is not something that should be avoided. Changes for them are actually positive and desirable. Children living abroad often develop positive approaches to unpredicted changes in life.” - Advantages For Children Living Abroad 

I think it will just be crazy fun, we’ll learn tons of stuff, and become closer as a family. Wish us luck, and please feel free to send suggestions of places (and people) to visit, especially if it's where you call home!

Why I Choose the Exit Row

I would love to say that the reason I choose an airplane Exit Seat (over better seats or even First Class) is because I am a crazy, expert assassin ninja who is always in need of a quick escape. And that I’m so badass that at any moment, I might need to jump backwards out of the plane and Inspector Gadget my purse into a parachute. 

Every flight I that score the Exit Seat, I take my role seriously. I size up my exit row compatriots, make direct eye contact with them, then offer a teeny “we got this” nod of camaraderie. I give the steward/ess an enthusiastic YES! when asked if I am willing and able to help in the event of a crisis. Then, I read the operations manual, specially reserved for Exit Row Guests Only, and formulate a plan. The Exit Row couple across the aisle on my left seem able to coordinate their efforts of opening their door, handling the people on their side of the plane, and manning the bouncy castle slide. Me and my husband, and the random, averaged-sized dude next to us, will organize who on our side of the plane will slip down the slide and when, based on size and capability. I apologize in advance to the old ladies and babies who might get trampled. I just want everyone to deplane in a safe and secure manner on their way to watery, bouncy castle heaven.  

This ultimately leads me to a round of silly giggles, after the incredulous look my husband gives me when I dead seriously tell him the plan. He responds by pursing his lips and squinting his eyes at me, then putting on his sunglasses and falling directly asleep, no less than one minute later. 

I really don’t enjoy being trapped in a smallish space with a bunch of strangers for hours. Does anyone? It’s like serving Jury Duty time, while floating precariously thousands of miles above solid ground. 

When I was little, I got trapped all the time. I can count the number of times on one hand that I’ve gotten stuck in a bathroom, due to my kid self not being able to figure out the handle, or having enough weight to push a stuck door. And this was before cell phones, so much to my chagrin, I had to yell and bang as loud as I could and admit a rather embarrassing defeat: The bathroom door had bested me. 

I also used to get ensnared at church all the time, too. Wildly running through a lobby filled with two dozen men in suits meant that inevitably, my tangly, static prone, little kid hair would get wound around someone’s lapel buttons. It hurt. And it was dually awkward. No man wants a kid snared to his suit jacket. 

Now, despite being older and stronger (and wearing my hair in a ponytail), I still find myself getting trapped, but thankfully, in more inconspicuous ways. I find it happens most often during wedding season, and here’s why:

I see a nice, blue dress I like. I try to find the right size, based on the tag and my eyeball’s summation. Once in the dressing room, I optimistically slip the dress over my head. I tug it down, but the zipper barely goes up. I curse the makers and whatever kind of tricky, pseudo elastic fabric they made the dress with. I pinch and squeeze, hop and jump. I silently pray that no one can see my fancy footwork or hole-y, mismatched socks from under the dressing room door. Then, I take a deep breath, idiotically hoping that when I look up into the 3-way fun house mirror, the dress will look like it was made for me. 

Not surprisingly, I peek out of an arm hole into the mirror, and see what appears to be a halloween costume of a blue, Play-Doh snowman. I adjust the dress some more, look at my reflection again, and I see a human-sized, blue finger with a string tied around it. Exasperated, I take a final look and decide I should submit an entry to the People of Walmart site.

I can’t help but stifle a chuckle at the sheer silliness of the situation. I try to unzip and start to panic, as I can’t lift the stupid mound of acrylic, polyester, ferret-hair blend over my hips. I start making a mental list of people whom I could call to come to my rescue with a pair of scissors, a nonjudgemental smile, and the ability to reign in their amusement: The Pope, Bernie Sanders, a feminist, Sam (the American eagle in the Muppet Show), Professor Snape (Harry Potter), Data or Spock (from Star Trek), Batman, or Attila the Hun. 

Thankfully, there are smaller instances of being trapped that happen often, and don't require a "phone-a-friend" card:

• Getting your belt loop, purse handle, or sleeve stuck on a door knob. 
• Putting your hoodie on backwards. 
• Sitting in the front row of an important presentation meeting and having to leave.  
• Sitting in the middle of the row at the movies and having to use the bathroom. 
• An obligatory (company or family) holiday party. 
• Going through the grocery line and bagging your food only to realize you forgot your wallet.
• Being put on the spot. 
• Being stuck at the airport, on an elevator, subway, train, in traffic, etc. 

To me, all these instances of being trapped are manageable, as long as I know that there is a way out, or that there is at least an end game.

And that, my friends, is why I choose the Exit Row. 

Once Upon A Beautiful Life

Once upon a time, there was girl named Emily, who loved her life. It was beautiful. All around her, vivid fall colors burst like rainbow fire on the trees, the crisp Autumn breeze kissed her neck, while bees flirted with her cheeks. The birds overhead chirped mercilessly like feathered gossips, and flittered from branch to branch without a care in the world. 

As she continued to live the way she always live - the way she was taught - she began to become anxious about things she would normally be excited about. She worried about death from her planes crashing as she traveled to places she dreamed about living. She worried that not being perfect, or not having the right credentials, would cause the earth to shatter and the tides to change and cause tidal waves. She thought that not being or acting in a way she was supposed to, not looking the right way, or saying the right thing, would cause the moon to fall out of the sky, and the sun to drip molten blobs onto the citizens of Earth. 

She found herself avoiding feelings of uncomfortableness rather than acknowledging and dealing with them. She created caves she could dive into whenever she felt awkward. She constructed barriers like helmets and suits of armor that kept her from sharing too much. She made sacrifices - she took more than one for the team - that hurt her more than the people she was attempting to protect. Rather than being honest about how she felt, she kept her thoughts and feelings tucked away, only to have them emerge at inappropriate times and places. And that, often times, felt worse. 

She continued to find faults and weaknesses in others, rather than appreciating the things to love about them. She lost the ability to trust people around her, and care for herself when disappointed. She saw the same insecurities, the same pain, the same hurts, the same masks, the same defenses in others that she had, too. And, rather than forgive them and help… she decided she’d just deal with her junk on her own. She wanted to be an island. Quiet, desolate, and alone, depending solely on herself for love and belonging.

Emily wanted to escape these changes she was noticing and hide. She hoped that by running away to a private island, she would experience no feelings of being misunderstood, no worrying about what other people thought of her, no uncomfortableness, no anxiety. She thought she’d find peace. But that's rarely what she found. 

She'd run away by sometimes crawling into a good book and forgetting about what really bothered her, hoping it would go away like a tiny mouse finding food and hurrying back to its hiding spot. She'd run away by zoning out and watching tv or playing with her phone like a purposeless zombie. She wanted to filibuster her way through social gatherings in order to not actually talk about what concerned her the most. She wanted to run from her feelings by making light of them, and brushing them off, as if they were a piece of dandelion that happened to land on her shoulder. She wanted to pretend, and act like her feelings weren't important in comparison to others' needs and feelings. After all, that’s how she was taught; she knew no different. 

Except, that this all made her physically uncomfortable. 

Emily finally realized, after years of disbelief and doubt, that she had a choice. She started to understand the power of the words and beliefs floating around in her mind, that were masterfully planting themselves, and becoming facts. Some words  - these non-truths, beliefs and statements - were her own, some were not. Some were taught. “If I don’t act like ____, if I am not perfect, then I am not worthy of belonging.” Or, “If I show vulnerability or emotion, then I am weak and not worthy of love.”  Without her realizing it, beliefs like these had planted themselves, and they were growing and twisting themselves like suffocating vines around her mind. She was using them to paint this image of how she should be and what her life should look like.

So she decided to change it; to uproot these beliefs and plant new ones. “I am imperfect; I am a hot mess, but I am happy being uniquely me. I am most definitely worthy of belonging.” And also added: “Being honest, real, authentic, and vulnerable are traits of those who are strong, and while uncomfortable for a time (for some), they build more strength. I am strong, and I am worthy of love.” 

As Emily worked at the gardening of her mind, she struggled. She fought weeds that were difficult to uproot, and ached over the holes that seemed too deep to dig. Despite the hard work, she continued to maintain her garden, watering the saplings she planted, and marveled at the beauty that was and continues to be her life.