Late AF

I’m late. 

I got stuck. 

I was supposed to be further along, especially in my career. I was supposed to know what I wanted to do. 

But I was stuck. It made me late. 

I feel like I missed out. I feel I haven’t met my worth yet. Maybe I’m one of those people who it’s supposed to happen later for, like other great writers. 

Maybe it isn’t my time yet. 

But I think I’m late. I think I haven’t met some expectations of what I’m supposed to amount to. 

I mean, sure…

I’m a mom. Have two amazing kids. On time, check.

I’m a wife. Have an amazing husband who loves and supports me. On time, check. 

I’m a little late to the friend game, too, though. I feel like I got held back. I didn’t develop good relationships early because I was still attached. I was stuck. Trapped. And I didn’t know it. How could I figure out who I was, what kind of friend I could be if I continued to take the easiest course? I wasn’t seen for so long. I was crushed. Stuck. Suffocating. And I didn’t know it. I thought I was someone else. I felt for someone else. Someone else’s feelings became mine. 

How could I ever be me, feel my own feelings, thoughts, and opinions, if mine were trapped under the weight of someone else’s? 

Maybe I didn’t want to feel them, so it was easier to stay stuck. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face them. But why did it take me so long? Why doesn’t it take other people so long? Why do I compare? 

I’m late to that true self game. I didn’t know how I felt about anything without some else telling how they felt. I could only feel through someone else’s feelings. It’s held me back from having a dream of my own. I had no ambition. I’m still working on it. 

I want to have it. I want to want something so bad that whatever gets thrown my way I push it off and keep going. 

I don’t want my fears and failures to make me later than I already am. I might not have more time. What if I have very little left? 

I’m late to the boundaries game. I let people walk all over my boundaries. Mostly because I didn’t even know what they were. I’m a boundaries baby. But I’m really proud of the work I’ve done to become a boundaries teenager the past few years. 

I’m proud of the work I’ve done in the past few years to catch up in the friend game. I’ve had some wrong turns, but I’m still discovering myself and what I’m okay and not okay with when it comes to friends. Boundaries are helping me discover where my no’s are, and where my yes’s are. I’m still figuring it out. I wish I was less late in this area. I wish it were easier now, but I’m enjoying the process, even the hard parts. I’m learning. Just… late. 

Whats up with this last part? The career part? Why do I keep holding myself back? I know what to do. Just do it. Right? But I’ve stopped. How do I get back in? How do I write again? How do I find my voice when it gets hard? When I get bored? When life pulls me away? When everything else seems like it needs my attention? How do I get the discipline? I just do it? I just choose? Why am I late to this? What makes it so hard, when I’m able to catch up on all the other stuff? Does maybe just the other stuff need to come first? Or is that just wishful excuses? :) 

I want to be worth more. I am worthy, and full of worth, for sure. But I want to be more. I want to be proud of more hard work. Work that other people can’t do. Something worth being known for. I want to be seen. I want my work to be praised and enjoyed and loved and cherished. 

I want to write something that keeps people up at night. I want to write something that pulls at their heart strings, that teaches them things about themselves and about others. That makes them laugh out loud and forget about the things in their lives that are hard. A small reprieve from the tough stuff. I want to pull people into a new world, one that they want to live their every day lives in. I want it to be bright and colorful. And dark sometimes. 

I want to write something that makes my family proud, especially my husband and girls. I want them to have have my work as a piece of me when I’m gone. I want to share a part of my mind with them. I want to share my love of different worlds and ideas and possibilities with the world. I want to teach people that isn’t only one solution to their problems. That they have choices. And opportunities and possibilities. 

And then I want my stories to be turned into a movie or TV show. I want to travel around the world and talk about writing and reading. I want to be asked about my book and how I did it. How I managed to get through the tough parts and keep going when I wanted to quit. I want to inspire other little girls to write beautiful stories, ugly stories, scary stories, and boring stories. I want to help people and I want to do it through my writing. 

I want to write characters that jump out of the page and sit with you in your living room. The kind of characters that make you feel like you’ve known them forever. You an predict what they’ll do next because even though they’ve grown, you still feel like you know them and have been with them through it till the end. You’ve grown with them. You know them like you know yourself and even see small pieces of them in yourself. 

I don’t want to be late. I want to be on time. I want to do everything right now, and not yesterday. I don’t want to constantly think about what happened or where I went wrong. I want my husband to brag about my accomplishments the way I brag about his. He supports me the same way I support him, but I don’t use it like I could. I want to take the adult path, and not the scared, insecure child path who starts things and doesn’t finish them. I want to finish! I want to have a freakin book that I can be proud of! I want to stare at it on my dresser at night, and cry every time I look at it like the i mom so hard girls. I want to sob when it comes in the mail. I want to lost my shit when I type THE END. I want to cry every time someone asks me about it, or tells me how proud they are of me, of how much they like or hate the book, the way I cry when I eat something as delightful as sushi. 

I want to not be late with my adult focus. I want to have the self control and discipline to accomplish the things that I’ve listed. I want kill it. I want to just freakin slay and get this thing done! I want to do the hard work and stick to it. I don’t want to be that author that wrote amazing work and then just sat on it instead of finishing it. 

I want to write a novel before it’s too late. 

I won’t be late. I will do it now. 

I will write everyday for an hour. I will change my mind, I will change the story. I will work on the plot. I will ask people questions. I will ask for input. I will email my favorite authors and ask for advice and tell them how much I love their work. I will reach out for support and continue to write like my life depends on it. I will finish my book this year. I will bang it the fuck out and then work with an editor on it. I will get my feelings hurt, I will think it’s perfect when it’s definitely fucking not. I will cry when it’s hard to read the constructive criticism. But I won’t quit. I’ll keep going. I’m going to finish this thing. 

I have no fucking plans, no upcoming trips, I’m just going to say no and get it done. 

I will be determined and unrelenting. 

I will ask my friends to hold me accountable. 

I will post reminders on my wall.

I will dig deep and remind myself every night WHAT I WANT. I have boundaries now and my boundaries mean that I have NEEDS AND WANTS and I deserve to work on the things that I WANT. Not what everyone else wants or expects. I owe it to myself to follow MY MOTHER FUCKING DREAM of writing a book. A KICK ASS STORY that reminds me of myself and makes  my kids proud. 

It will be hilarious. It will be full of mistakes. It will have a love story. Maybe just about how the girl learns to love herself. And others. And maybe it will be about boundaries. Or maybe she’ll learn that later when she gets older. I hate when they have kids. :) 

I will say no to whatever keeps me from writing. 

I will clean less. 

I will be okay that the house is a mess. 

I will work hard and do what I say I am going to because of my self boundaries. 

I will kill it. 

I will cry.

I will cry tears of joy at THE END.

I will then eat sushi. 

I refuse to be too late. 

One Hour

With an hour, I can do anything. Instead of writing, I could be exercising. Working on my body till it glistens with sweat and shines like the sea on a sunny day. My muscles will be swollen with work and blood and tears and frustration. My skin will be sticky, and hot, but cold to the touch. After many hours of this kind of work, I could look like a Greek God or a Roman Soldier. My arms and legs would be defined with shadows and hills that lead the eye up and down. I would feel proud of all the work, as long as I kept at it. 

With an hour, I can do anything. Instead of writing, I could clean my bedroom, top to bottom. My bed would be wrinkle-less, begging to be jumped on, splayed out on, or cozied up to read on. My drawers would be organized and every thing would have it’s place, so that not a minute would go by that I’d spend searching for a hair tie or favorite pair of socks. My closet would represent how I feel on the inside: uncluttered, taken care of, and full of thought. 

With an hour, I can do whatever I want. Instead of writing, I could be reading. I could sit in my favorite settee in the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea next to me and a book open on my Kindle App. I would be lost in a fantasy world, trudging through forests and fighting monsters with all the strength I had. I’d be discovering my magical powers and what royal throne I would eventually inherit. I’d only come up to breath when I needed to eat. 

With an hour, I can go wherever. Instead of writing, I could be shopping. I could be hunting and gathering, finding mini pancakes for my oldest’s favorite breakfast, or a birthday present for a friend’s party this weekend. I could search aisles for the perfect skirt to go with my favorite black sweater, figure out which large earrings match my most recent mood, or what purse goes better with the season than the one I am currently using. I could find the right poster board for school projects, or the right light bulbs for each lamp in the house. I could get new soap, toilet paper, dishwasher pods, sponges, and batteries to fill my home. 

With an hour, I can watch. Instead of writing, I could be catching up on movies or TV shows. I could lounge on the couch or my bed, staring for hours at beautiful places and people. I could soak up fast paced story lines, be surprised by twists, and shocked with dialogue. I could simply be entertained and enjoy time without needy thoughts. 

With an hour, I can listen. Instead of writing, I could tune out the world and put on my air pods. Music keeps my mood going, while podcasts make me feel less alone. But the books. Books would take me away from whatever task I was doing and pull me into a better one. I would hear the voice of a comedian who looked at the world with a sense of humor instead of complaints. I would hear the stories of people, learn out their life, and be in it with them. 

With an hour, I can be still. Instead of writing, I could lay out in the sun. I’d let the warmth of it’s ray wash over my skin, baking it an eventual brown. My eyelids would turn red while my nose turned pink. The breeze would cool the sweat dripping down my neck and back, feeling like a nudge of awareness from the earth. I’d swat at bugs, the real and imagined, and contemplate all the other things I should be doing instead of lying there, doing absolutely nothing, and loving it. 

With an hour, I can converse. Instead of writing, I could be talking. Sharing my activities, feelings, thoughts, suggestions, and advice with friends on Marco Polo. Catching up with family on the phone, sharing what shenanigans our kids have been into lately. Making important flu shot and dentist appointments. Making sure the car will be inspected and cleaned and aligned, and that they’ll give me a loaner, and that it will be covered. Making reservations at new dinner spots to try with friends. I could be resolving conflicts, lending an ear, or venting. 

With an hour, I can make. Instead of writing, I could be trying out a new recipe, hopefully one that gives me confidence in the kitchen, the kind of confidence that doesn’t leave and keeps me wanting to do more and not give up or acknowledge my lack of cooking talent or passion. I could be making a new scarf, or cute home decoration, or necklace for the girls, or card for a friend. 

With an hour, I can rearrange, instead of writing, I could rearrange my house so I enjoy being in it more. My living would be cozier with fuzzy blankets and furry pillows. My kitchen would be inviting with the lastest seasons’ decorations: flying bats, Santa cookie jars, or bright yellow pineapples. I could move the furniture by myself, and make the whole room feel like a different place. 

With an hour, I could move. Instead of writing, I could run errands. I could pick up my prescriptions, drop off my dry cleaning, and make it to the post office before it closed. I could grab new bathroom shades from home depot, a new coffee pot from Walmart, and pick up some cold medicine for the husband on the way. I could stop at the tire store and get my tires filled, grab some coffee and gas, and then hit up LA Fitness for a smoothies. I could stop at my old gym and the massage place and cancel my contracts, I could hit up the mall for bourbon chicken or lamb over rice, or a new bra. 

With an hour, I can get selfish. Instead of writing, I’d be pampered. My toes would sparkle like diamonds in the sky, and my heels would be buffed like glass. My nails would be a perfectly manicured mini coffins. My eyelash would jump away from eye and swoop up to my eyebrows like birds released from their cages. My skin would glow after a soothing facial, and my muscles would be soft and supple after a relaxing, oily massage. I would be buffed, scrubbed, rubbed, plucked, and glued, and then top it all off with a soak in the hot tub. 

With an hour, I can love. Instead of writing, I could focus on my husband. Touching him, listening to him, watching his lips move. Smelling his neck and his face, the scent his clothes create with him in them. Gliding my hand down his back, and squeezing his cheek. Holding his hand, and smiling at the way his fingers fit with mine. A long hug, that makes me feel warm, and loved, needed and wanted. Eye contact that makes me feel seen and cherished. Passion and love that makes me feel like a woman and everything.

With an hour, I can play. Instead of writing, I could play with my kids. Connect Four, Legos, Barbies, or Hatchimals. School. Store. Dress up, make movies, read books, or watch a movie together. I could see the glee in their faces as I spend time in their world, and make them seen and loved and heard and known. I could hug and squeeze and kiss them. Giggle, laugh, sing, dance. 

With an hour, I can cry. Instead of writing, I could let it out. The tears of tension would pour down my cheeks, as the weight of the world rested heavily on my chest and the bridge of my nose. Feelings of worthlessness, failures, resentment, anger, frustration, and hurt would slip past my lashes and lunge for my throat. They’d coat my skin and seal it with understand and release. My head would ache for hours, and my eyes would deceive my pain for the next 24. 

Adulting

I don’t feel like I’ve fully adulted yet. I don’t know I will ever feel like a proper Ah-dult. It’d be worse if there was a state issued license for it, complete with age regulation, like an ID for drinking or getting your driver's license. It’d be all:

In order to begin the approval process as a licensed and certified Adult, one must present signed, notarized, and sealed documentation on all of the following:

A) Owns property and at least one vehicle  

B) Has an accredited degree and job with security 

C) Has contributed to our nation’s population with outstanding, exemplary citizens 

D) Votes 

E) Owns a vehicle and has up-to-date registration and insurance, with no violations  

F) Has health insurance (including Dental and Vision)  

G) Pays taxes 

H) Volunteers and/or contributes (donates) to society 

I) Owns a shelf with a least a dozen accolades and awards 

J) Keep pets and plants alive  

K) Shops responsibly and environmentally friendly and organic 

L) Supports local and small businesses 

M) Is a member of a group or religion and regularly attends 

N) Exercises five days a week, eats a balanced diet, and sleeps a minimum of 8 hours a night

O) Visits the doctor once a year and the dentist twice a year  

P) Maintains a perfect credit score 

Q) Is a part of a long-term relationship with documentation to prove it (i.e. marriage, work-spouse, partner, etc.)  

R) Up-to-date with current local, national, and global events and politics (and pop culture) 

S) Has a current living will and rights documents 

T) Contributes to a 529, a 401k, and has a healthy retirement fund 

U) Stays out of the sun and uses copious amounts of sunscreen 

V) Refrains from smoking, drinking, and drugs 

W) Remembers all friends and family members’ birthdays and anniversaries and sends a card or gift

X) Vacations 1.5 times a year 

Y) Responds to RSVPs immediately 

Z) Works towards reasonable and attainable plans/goals for the future

Yeah… I could probably provide proof for a few of those, but I definitely couldn’t be certified as an Ah-dult. I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and even smirking a bit just looking at that short list. (Yes, it’s the short list of requirements. I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting). Truthfully, I probably couldn’t manage all of those requirements simultaneously. (More like occasionally/sparingly). I’d be awarded my Adulthood license on my deathbed. And even then, I’d be given it as a polite honorary award as a graceful way to ease my passing… as if society needed a way to justify my life as meaningful and worthwhile.

I’m okay not being a perfectly certified adult right now. I fully intend on taking my time getting there, the way I intend on letting my kids take their time being kids. I enjoy the occasional childlike enthusiasm over ice cream for dinner, or basking in the sun without sunscreen, or getting my drink on. I’m okay going to the doctor or dentist only if something hurts, if my plants die while away on vacation, wearing cleanish looking clothes, having a college savings fund for only one of my kids (competition is healthy, no?), not hosting perfectly Instagram-worthy dinner parties, and changing my sheets like at least once a month (it’s supposed to be weekly, ya crazy Ahdults).

I’m working on it, and totally okay with the fact that it’ll probably take a lifetime. :)

Wrong

I hate being wrong.
I hate wrongness.
And apparently I hate milk. (My husband told me I vehemently professed my hatred while under anesthesia a few months ago.)

I hate the idea that there is something wrong with me. But there are days that I think a little devil jerk is sitting on my shoulder, and every time I think something is wrong with me, he squeezes an annoying red buzzer that rings loudly in my ear.

Wrongness bugs me about my physical appearance.
Why aren’t I taller? What’s wrong with me that I’m neither short or tall?
Why aren’t I thinner? What’s wrong with me that I’m neither thin nor overweight?
Why don’t I look amazing in everything? Why can’t I wear high heels longer than two minutes? Why can’t I run long distances? Why does my skin react so poorly to heat? Or wool?

Wrongness harasses me about my personality.
Why don’t I like it when strangers talk to me? Why can’t I talk to strangers easily? What is wrong with me that makes it awkward for me to make friends quickly? Why don’t I actually want to? Why don’t I feel like I can open up to people right away? Why am I so quick to judge? Why don’t I enjoy being around people? What is wrong with me that I would almost always rather be alone?

Wrongness picks at my life choices.
Why can’t I be more consistent? Why does committing sometimes freak me out? Why don’t I like kids (yes, I like mine), or want to have anymore of my own? Why do I get bored so fast? Why don’t I go to church anymore? Should I? Why do I constantly desire change? Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have? Why can’t I be content with the everyday routines of life?

The thing is, I’m not wrong. I am perfectly and uniquely designed. I’m only wrong when I compare myself to someone or something else. I will never look like ____. I will never be or act like _____. My life will never resemble _____. I will never be able to fix my past to look like someone else’s. I could try. Actually, I have; it’s exhausting. And fruitless. (Seriously, some people don’t eat fruit. WTH.)

My husband just told me a useful life/work balance exercise he learned from a friend. Basically, you make a list of all the people that are important to you, and next to their name, write down what you’d like them to say at your funeral. And then make a plan on how to go about making that a truth. For instance, if you want your sister to tout your generosity during your eulogy, then you send her money or gifts every paycheck until your demise. Or visit her once a month and help her do or accomplish a task. Or maybe you donate to her favorite charity, or give her the shirt off your back. Whatever you think it’ll take.

Initially, I agreed that this was a cool way of accomplishing your goals and getting the most out of your life. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t my style. Perhaps it's a good way to take inventory and do an overall sort of life check-in. But something about the action plan smelled of manipulation to me. What if you do all that, and the only thing your sister thinks is that you were overbearing and annoying? What if it harmed her confidence and made her worry that you thought she couldn’t handle her own life? What if the best case scenario was that she thought you were helpful? Or nice. Or supportive? Would you consider that a success? I suppose you wouldn’t know; but perhaps you’d go to your deathbed feeling good and confident in your efforts. She can tell you all about your funeral in whatever afterlife you believe in. :)

It just seems like a lot of work to me with no absolute guarantee of payoff. Sure, you maybe become a better person in the process. It seems easier to me, to just be my best self, then people will love me for who I am, not for what I forced them or chose for them to believe/feel about me. It’s okay if that’s important to you. But for me, it’s okay if at my funeral, people are like, “I didn’t know her very well; she kept to herself. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy deep conversations and those she chose to spend time with. She listened. She also seemed to enjoy reading and having adventures immensely, loved her family, and loved life. She occasionally shared her passions publicly through singing and writing.

I feel like those are things that come naturally to me. And really, that’s what is important to me: staying true to myself, and who I am. Not blending in and not being someone else; someone I’m not. I have this one life to live, and I don’t want to spend it trying to live someone else’s life. I don’t care what ya say or do at my funeral. It can be as sorrowful or as giddy as you’d like, just let me go in my rainbow Milly gown and with a jar of almond butter and some honeycrisp apples. And my iPad Kindle app (somebody please keep my wifi/cellular account paid, okay?) I’ll be good.

I’ll be me. Which is what is right. I can love my differences. I can appreciate the things that make me unique. I can find joy in my decisions. Appreciate and dwell in the things that set me apart. I am right. I am me.

And apparently, I am a fairy. Shhh! Don’t tell anyone! (Also stated while under anesthesia.)

At This Moment

I picked up one of my favorite magazines, Bella Grace (Issue 7), and it had this writing prompt I wanted to give a shot. Feel free fill in your own list and share!

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One of the best ways to cheer yourself up is to take a trip down memory lane. Record all of the things you’re currently loving and enjoying, and the next time you feel down, refer back to this list.

Currently I’m:

Reading: I just finished quite a few books by Charlie N. Holmeburg (I really enjoyed The Paper Magician Trilogy and Follwed By Frost) and started a book called “La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language” by Diane Hales. We are planning a trip with the kids to Italy in a few months and this book is my way of preparing and getting excited.

Eating: Right now, my staples are: Power Grain waffles with almond butter and sugar free syrup for breakfast every morning (it’s so fast, easy, and yummy), and a protein shake for lunch (I swear replacing lunch foods with smoothies has healed my stomach issues). I have a honeycrisp apple every day... to keep the doctor away and all. Dinner is where I change it up, but it’s typically grilled salmon or chicken with veggies or in a salad. I get more wild on the weekends when we tend to eat out more. Did I mention I hate cooking?

Drinking: Green tea, Ginger tea… And I just started drinking coffee again! It’s taking some getting used to (all the shaking and jitteriness) but my stomach is finally tolerating it once again after a year hiatus. Hurray!

Listening To: A CD that my brilliantly talented choir conductor, Peter Hillard, made for each section of the choir (unedited) to learn their parts for our Spring Concert in May. It’s equal parts helpful, disturbing, and hilarious. My kids are starting to sing along to the Alto parts as if they’re the melody. I’ve been driving with the windows up more often.

Watching: I don’t watch much… I prefer to quietly read! But when I do, it’s usually a new release movie I can rent from iTunes or Amazon, or binge watch episodes of New Girl, The Mindy Project, or Brooklyn 99 while I clean.

Texting: Been trying to text my siblings and family more often. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, and I miss them.

Photographing: The simple, ordinary, beautiful and exciting stuff that is my daily life. I like my perusing my Instagram feed and smiling at how full and happy my life is. I’m a lucky gal. I’ve also been taking pictures of outfits before I head out on a trip. Makes packing way easier.

Loving: I just joined a Cardio Kickboxing gym, and I love it. It’s totally exhilarating to me when I put my everything into a workout, which is easy to do when punching and kicking the crap out of a giant weighted bag. My mind and body are challenged, and I walk out exhausted. I text my husband after every class to remind him how much I love it. Cuz he should know, ya know?

Smelling: Everything. I have a sensitive nose, and more often than not, I find myself wishing people wouldn’t wear perfume or cologne. To me, it’s as rude, inconsiderate, and physically harmful to others as smoking. Unlike other things you can wear that don't physically affect people around you… perfume and cologne are harmful to people like me who get headaches, sinus inflammation, and migraines from strong smells. So, friends, I’m sure if you shower a few times a week, your natural smell is just fine. Better even, than any chemical you choose to spray yourself with. Okay?
<Sigh> Rant over.

Celebrating: My mom’s breast cancer removal and lack of the bad cells. She doesn’t need radiation, and we’ll find out about chemo treatment soon, but I’m celebrating her and the fact that she’ll be enjoying life a lot longer! Woohoo!

Enjoying: My marriage. We just celebrated 8 years! My husband rocks. He’s my best friend. I love who he is and how he thinks, and I enjoy talking to him with all his thoughts and perspectives. I’m also enjoying watching my 4 year old learn to read, write, and count, and watching my 2 year old just grow up to be a big girl.

Trying: To accept my body. It’s hard. I’m a perfectionist. There’s so much awesomeness about it, yet so much I’m not happy with. It’s a constant struggle, but the more (and less!) I try the easier it’s getting. Being around strong women who don’t (seem) to have body issues is helpful. Subjecting myself to less media helps, too. Being grateful for the good parts over the bad. Replacing negative self-talk as soon as it comes up is helping, too!

Feeling: A bit run down, but recovering. I had a busy week last week, and then traveled, and have a busy week next week. I did too much and hurt my lower back (not as bad as I did around this time last year) but I’m taking it easy and slowly getting it back to normal.

Hoping: To see my sister soon. I miss her. And to be in better control and have more awareness of our finances. We’ve been on top of it lately and it feels good!

Considering: Moving. I just toured my dream home (sort of by accident - we were checking out the neighborhood and the realtor walked out and gave us a tour!) and seriously considering it. I’m trying not to fall too hard, especially since it’s the first place I’ve seen, other than looking online. We weren’t planning on moving this year, and the house probably won’t be on the market for that long! We’re trying to pick a good place to settle down and plant some roots, where the kids can go to awesome schools and grow up with neighborhood friends.

Pinning: Cute dresses and outfits (since I have a wedding and a bunch of traveling coming up this summer) and writing inspiration and prompts.

Writing: Blog posts, journaling, and sometimes working on a book or short stories.

“Never let a day pass without looking for the good, feeling the good within you, praising, appreciating, blessing, and being grateful. Make it your life commitment, and you will stand in utter awe of what happens in your life.” - Rhonda Byrne

“We are all pure perfection, desperately trying to be something we already are. Life is not a struggle, life is a song and we were all born to dance.” - Anita Krizzan 

“She had a little rebel in her. A little chaos and a little gentleness. She didn’t say much and sometimes she would doze off. She would drift away, dream with the stars, and that was OK. She had a little fight in her and every time she built enough courage, her voice would echo through the sky. She wasn’t complete, but she had enough. There was a science to her genius, her madness, her beauty, and there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish. She was unstoppable and everything she ever wanted she took, with nothing on but a smile.” - H.W. Drake 

Special Editions

At the airport recently, I grabbed a copy of Glamour magazine, the one with a beautiful, dark haired woman in a flowing red dress on the cover. I didn’t think anything of it, until the cashier said to me, “You know this magazine costs $12.99, right? It’s the Plus-Sized Special Edition.” And I stared at her, and even skeptically squinted my eyes while I considered what she said. Why does this magazine cost more just because there are bigger women on it? It’s not like they needed bigger sheets of paper or more ink to make it. Ridiculous.  

I shook my head incredulously and eventually forced a pleasant reply: "that's fine." (After all, it wasn’t the cashier’s fault.)  As I leafed though the glossy spreads on my 5 hour flight, I noticed all the women in the magazine were plus-sized, not just the cover model. All the ads (which seemed to be just a few companies over and over throughout the magazine, thanks to their new partnership with Lane Bryant), the fashion sections, and articles were geared toward women sizes 12 and up. And despite my not being size 12 or above, I still enjoyed the magazine. Not much was different except for the size of the women in it. I wasn’t staring at an abundance of graceful, tree-like models, who always look inexplicably happy (though perhaps hungry? I kid, I kid) and well-lit. It felt less like a peek at some crazy, unattainable life, and more like the reality I see and interact with everyday. I finished reading it feeling fine about myself, compared to the anxious, I-don’t-have-that, I-don’t-look-like-that feeling I get after I read one of it's other “normal” magazine editions. 

A few days later, I stood in the bathroom brushing my hair as my two and four year old daughters watched and commented. “You’re beautiful, Mommy,” the oldest said. The two year old parroted. I turned to them and instead of thanking them for their thoughts, I stopped and looked into their eyes. “I know! And since I’m beautiful, you are too, because you are my daughters. You are like me because I made you,” I strongly stated with a serious face (eyebrows raised and all) and continued, “and a little bit of Daddy, ‘cause he made you, too.” They listened wide-eyed, and then burst into giggles and ran out of the room. 

I wondered what it was going to be like for my daughters when they reach that self-aware age. Are they going to feel like they don’t belong or fit in because they don’t look like the women in magazines? Are they not going to be able to pick up the asian magazines or the white people magazines because they aren’t simply one or the other? I know I’m not alone with these type of thoughts; my concerns aren’t anything new to parenting. I’d love to live in - and have my kids grow up in - a society of acceptance. And if we can’t manage that in the midst of vast diversity, then I’d at least like them to be able to hold their own and have a strong sense of self-worth and self-acceptance. Perhaps that’s where the change begins. Perhaps that’s where it began for all the women and people who fought for rights and equality. 

I’m working on it - on acceptance of self and others - and hopefully passing it on to my kids and everyone else who deserves their own Special Editions. I’m glad our society is working on it, and that it’s slowly getting better. I just wish it cost less. :) 

Quarterly Quench

I’ve often questioned my inability to stick to things for any length of time. I’ve tried sticking to a meal plan, a budget, a new habit, a new activity, a job, or a new hair style, and they’ve all had the life span of a fruit fly.

Follow-through friendly people who make a plan and stick to it are revered. We attach attributes like "successful" and "worthy" to them and place them high on a pedestal. We look at these people and secretly wish that we, too, possessed the wherewithal to save money and invest wisely, lose all the weight and run marathons, or become an expert at a skill. We tout quotes like “Those who fail to plan, plan to fail” and plaster motivational posters like that dumb kitten falling from the tree branch one that says “Hang in There” on our walls. 

But what about when you "stick with it" and nothing happens? Are you less successful or less worthy? Where are the motivational slogans inspiring you to give up? Where are the articles, classes, and sage advice for what to do when you actually need to give the F up and try something else? 

Aside from bad habits, let's agree that there are just some things we shouldn’t stick with. Things that work for some, just don’t work for others. Not all kids learn the same way. Not everyone likes healthy food. Not everyone was meant for running, or for math equations, care-taking, building, or for painting. At what point are we choosing to feed our stubbornness and fear, rather than our adaptability and growth?

The past few months, I've been challenging myself with growth and acceptance, and tightly embracing my personality. In practicing self-forgiveness, I’ve let go of the negatives vibes I’ve forever directed at myself for my occasional lack of follow-through. I've struggled with commitment, especially if it's something I've lost interest in, and it's only gotten harder with having kids. I abhor the idea of saying I will do something and then not, so I've learned to forgive myself (especially when it's out of my control) and to carefully choose my commitments.  I’m done with wondering what’s wrong with me and embraced what’s right. I’ve replaced giving up with change. And I’ve delightfully discovered a pattern:

I have a 3 month attention span. My curiosity is so vicious, it hungrily drives me to search for the next thing to discover, explore, and devour. Generally around the 3 month mark, I find myself satisfied. I feel I’ve conquered the challenge, and thus, I find myself apathetic, indifferent, and honestly disinterested. The emblazoned flame of excitement has smoldered to a barely there flicker. My curiosity has waned, and is already searching for the next ignition switch: the next spark of new, clean, sparkly, scary, wild, thrilling, addicting, silly, or challenging. 

In spite of my constant curiosity, I've discovered there are 4 things that have always stuck around. I’m confident that I'll never give up on these, because I've realized I can just cleverly change them up when I get bored:

1. Exercise: Racquetball and Spinning have become the staples I do once a week that keep me excited about taking care of my body. When I get bored, I change it up… like a new class at the gym, weight lifting, swimming, skiing, playing a sport, walking outside, hiking, running, or yoga. Up next on my list to try: Cardio kickboxing, boxing, and mountain biking. 

2. Writing: I’ll work on writing a book for a while, then maybe some essays, or short story writing. Whatever strikes my fancy. Or perhaps, I’ll work on blog posts, or maybe it will be more reflective writing in a journal. 

3. Reading: I’ll go for a while reading only fantasy books, and then I’ll need a break and change it up by reading some basic fiction, chick lit, or a classic. Sometimes I’ll even stop for a week and binge watch TV to catch up all I’ve missed while I was happily lost in a fantasy world of magic. 

4. Music: My passion for music brightly burns. I quell it by listening to new stations on Spotify, singing along to oldies-but-goodies at the top of my lungs (alone in the car), joining choirs, leading worship or singing solos at church, going to concerts, practicing the harp, or working on my sight reading at the piano.  

I'm not a quitter. I'm a changer. I don't give up, I change it up. So, if you find yourself to be a fellow changer too, here are a few fantastic quotes you can tout to naysayers, or just plaster to your walls:

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore."  – Andre Gide 

“In a chronically leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks.” – Warren Buffett

“By changing nothing, nothing changes.” - Tony Robbins  

“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”– Andy Warhol 

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” – Lao Tzu

“To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.” – Winston Churchill

“You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” – Neil Gaiman 

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” – J.D. Salinger

Happy Quarter Quell!

(It's a reference to The Hunger Games trilogy, mom)