We are not prepared

Have you ever watched your dog lying in the grass in a warm patch of sun? Our dog Lucy loves to do this once the temps start warming up here and the snow has melted from the yard. She’ll spin at the back door to be let out and then promptly, and quite gracefully, saunter to the driest, warmest part of the lawn, plop her furry body down and then roll onto her back – wiggling side to side. She is then covered with grass, but looks so perfectly content. It’s the purest look of joy.

I aspire, most days, to embody that look. It’s the look of being carefree, present and fully satisfied. As humans, we spend so little time in a place that would afford ourselves this look and this feeling. Most of the time we’re planning ahead or looking back to remember or to regret. We rarely plop our bodies down in the now without a care in the world. Meanwhile, the joke’s on us because now is the only thing we are allowed to know. We let the now slip past us so ungratefully most days.

Which is why, we are so not ready! When our proverbial rug gets pulled out from under us, we have no clue how to deal in the now. The now is a terrifying place, but we’re trapped because the rug – which was supposed to travel with us wherever we went (it really tied the room together) – is straight up gone. It ghosted. It did an Irish goodbye. And, we’re angry at that rug because it was supposed to give us comfort – like one of those cushy, memory foam bath rugs that hug your feet. It left us to fend for our broken selves and you can’t even begin to imagine what a new rug could look like or if you’ll be rug-less for the rest of your life – completely groundless.

What you hadn’t realized was that you were already groundless – that whole damn time. The rug was just an illusion. You made up the rug to make yourself feel better because aren’t we always grasping for answers? You spent so much time thinking and dreaming ahead or looking to the past for guidance that you completely forgot the moment you were in…right now. The now was boring and fleeting. What was so great about now?

There are small moments in our timelines when we are fully present in the now. We know it when it happens, too. Maybe it was at a concert of your favorite band, or when you went dancing with a cute stranger at a bar. How about that time you scaled an apartment complex fence and went skinny dipping in the pool. Ahhh…those are the dog-lying-in-the-grass moments. But, what if you could enjoy the now even without this much excitement? What if you could be right on your spot and just notice how you feel?

Death is the now’s best friend. There’s nothing that slams you into now quite like knowing of someone who died. Lately, I’ve been really moved by stories of people – I do not know who suddenly died. Poof! Out-of-nowhere died. One was a famous christian author who got the flu and a UTI and then suddenly found herself placed in a coma and then dead 10 days later. Just like that.

Then there is the latest school shooting in Highlands Ranch south of Denver where a young 18 year-old male student fought an active shooter and lost his life. He effectively stopped more killing that day, but his life was gone in an instant. A few minutes before, he was in a classroom making jokes with his friends. The next he was lunging at someone with a gun. This makes no sense.

We all think – you, me, your neighbor – that we will know how to react when we lose someone we love. We won’t. We can’t rehearse and we can’t imagine. There’s no experience in our current framework that even comes close to the second your life will change forever.

And, that is why, you can only truly live, truly feel and truly care in the now. Stay in the now. Be present in your lives. We won’t be prepared for when the rug gets pulled, and that’s okay, and it’s also not okay. It just is. So, be that dog in the grass. Be that skinny dipper in the private pool. Be in the now as much as you can because you’ll never know what the not now will bring.

Gratitude

What do you suppose are the origins of the word “gratitude”? According to Miriam Webster: late Middle English: from Old French, or from medieval Latin gratitudo, from Latin gratus ‘pleasing, thankful’. However, I prefer my made up etymology: take the words “grateful” and “attitude” and munge them. Now you have gratitude – and attitude is right there in the name.

Practicing gratitude is, well, a practice. It’s hard work. I’ve observed, as it relates to American culture, that people default to complaining about most anything. My hair’s too frizzy, that guy is driving too slow, I hate this weather, people are just so…peopley! For the most part, we focus on what’s not going well, which is fairly ironic because a lot of us have ‘a lot’ – clean water, food on grocery store shelves, decent roads, peace (for the most part), women who can work almost any job (even though we still need to get paid the same as men). I know what you’re thinking – “tell that to the people in Flint, Michigan!” And you’re absolutely right, sort of. Institutional racism and classicism are no stranger to the U.S., however, I don’t file issues of Flint’s magnitude under “complaining”.  No, I file them under activism – a fight for one’s rightful humanity and dignity. Complaining is what we do when we are privileged and yet, we don’t appreciate it.

In the immortal words of one Willie Nelson, “when I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around.” Experiencing gratitude, and more importantly expressing gratitude, is one of the better characteristics of our humanness. We’re all capable of it, but some of us have layers of gunked up cynicism, heartache and fear that we may find it impossible to resurrect our natural abilities and instincts to let it shine in us or to others.

Since I was 15 years old, I’ve had a practice of praying the Act of Contrition before I fall asleep. The only reason I can remember why I started this tradition was because my mom once told me she said the prayer every night, and it just seemed like a nice thing to do. I was much more Catholic back then (I’m more spiritual, less denominational now). So, it stuck! But, it started to lose it’s force for me. It became more routine and less reflective. That’s when I began adding a new element to my nightly prayer. I would think of three things that I could be grateful for from that day. They didn’t need to be big things – although, they could be. They just needed to be small appreciations. For instance, I’ve been thankful that the toothpaste hadn’t run out yet (because I hate shopping for toiletries), or that the dinner I made was pretty tasty. I’ve been thankful for a nice pedicure and I’ve also been thankful for the soft breeze that blew summer air into our bedroom at night (mostly thankful that my husband let me keep the window open.) Stating these gratitudes – whether I stated them internally to myself, said them aloud to Mike or wrote them down began to change my mind. I started to feel lighter and my heart felt more spacious. When I could see the beauty in the small, seemingly effortless motions of my day, I could feel the smile in my eyes and on my mouth.

It’s not always easy being grateful. Some days you just have to say piss, shit, fuck and feel really bad about your behavior. Maybe those outbursts are like winter turning into spring. You couldn’t possibly appreciate the warmer weather without trekking through the ice and snow or scraping winter off your car windshield in negative 10 windchill. You have an outburst and then you tell yourself to “pull it together” – be warmer, be more open – like spring, it feels so much better.

Gratitude can be like that. It can be like a small, pea-green bud on a tree, a tulip bulb blossoming in your yard or a bunny family nestling in your bushes. It breaths new life into your body – mind and heart. It makes you stand up taller and sleep a little more soundly. It’s like cornflakes in a bowl of 2% milk. So simple, and yet so comforting.

Memories

I am married to the king of recall. Mike can remember minute details about everything…I mean everything. He’s also quick to remind me that this can be both a blessing and a curse. I personally enjoy his knack for remembering something I did, or we did, years ago. His memories paint an apt and endearing picture of our relationship and of our respective personalities. But, I know that remembering everything has its down-side. We all have memories we’d pay good money to forget. If you’ve seen the movie, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, you may have found yourself wishing there indeed was some sort of technology that could wipe your slate clean. How much easier it would be to remove the pain, the terror or the fear we’ve experienced. How many new lives could we lead with virtually no need for reflection?

Recently, I discovered the author Kelly Corrigan, and all I could think was, where have you been all my life? Her prose, her demeanor and her authenticity are captivating and inspiring. I am also supremely envious of her ability to remember her stories. For me, storytelling authors are more relatable and often more honest with their faults and life challenges. Authors like Brene Brown, Jen Hatmaker, Ally Fallon, Anne Lamont or Pema Chodran are irresistible to read because they give us permission to be flawed and to also laugh at ourselves once-in-a-while. The details in their stories reveal the truth of our humanness – wrinkles and all. I love that they remember the details.

Myself – I come from a long line of story-tellers. Afterall, I am part Irish, so somewhere in my DNA, I’ve been handed down the gift of gab. One of the gabbers in my family I loved hearing from the most was my grandfather Macdonald – a remarkable, very hard working and dedicated pediatrician from Pittsburgh. He traveled parts of the world, raised six children over two decades, was a talented illustrator and cartoonist and hung with the likes of Jonas Salk – the inventor of the polio vaccine. As a young teenager, I remember a couple of visits to see my grandparents in Hilton Head, SC, when my grandfather would sit in his rocking chair in the living room, right in front of a tape recorder placed on the floor behind him, and he would tell his stories. His story telling sessions would always be after a communal and delicious meal spent together as a family around the same dining table my dad grew up around. As was always the case, my grandfather attended dinner in his plaid pajamas, bathrobe and slippers. When he was done, he’d get up and walk about two feet to the rocking chair, where he’d camp out for about an hour reminiscing about his childhood, or his first years as a pediatrician. His stories were poignant and revealing with a dash of dry wit. A first cousin of mine later took those recordings, transcribed them and then at Christmas sent all of the Macdonald children and grandchildren a bound copy chronicling parts of my granddad’s life.

The completed product – threaded through grandad’s words on lots and lots of tape – was one of the best stories I had ever read. The gift of a story turns out to be one of the best gifts anyone could receive.

Now, two decades later, as I struggle to remember all the great stories of my youth and adulthood, I am making it my mission to share stories more frequently. It will be the ultimate brain challenge and I’m excited about what I might dig up in the very recesses of my thoughts. Storytelling breaks down the barriers between one human to the next. Telling your story or being a good listener to someone else’s is the bridge we build to be in community with others – even strangers or enemies.

 

 

Where does the time go?

I guess I could be upset at myself and feel shame or embarrassment for how long it’s been since I last wrote. But, that would be me placing an unnecessary burden on myself for no real reason. Instead, I can just pick up from here and start to figure out the many things I think about doing for this blog, its purpose, how that purpose connects to my future – how all of my thoughts on what I want to write are deeply connected to what I’d like to be doing in this one beautiful life we’ve been given.

Every day, I have ideas for what to write for this blog. And yet, every day since December 31, I’ve either found no time, a convenient excuse not to write or just been a plain lazy-butt. Honestly, I’m not all that bothered by it. I have gotten exponentially better at treating myself with kindness and grace when plans or ambitions don’t work out.  Work and life can get really busy and I’m just not going to be able to do ALL THE THINGS! So what if I haven’t written since December? Simply means I have to do better and try differently. There’s an endearing quality behind finding a solution to something you may perceive as a “failure”.

What does challenge or bother me – what I think about a lot is, “what am I doing?” What path will my career take that will more closely align with my gifts of patience, mentoring and caring for others. I recently told a group of women that I once believed I would be a doctor or a nurse practitioner, and that was going to be my great contribution to society and to my own goals for myself – and then that didn’t happen. Next, I told them that when the medical thing didn’t work out, I just knew with my whole being that motherhood would be my amazing contribution and journey to ultimate fulfillment in life – and then that didn’t happen. In that moment, these women all mirrored me with sad faces and awwws of regret, to which I genuinely was grateful for their empathy, but simultaneously realized I really wasn’t that sad anymore about either dream not working out as I planned. So, advantage me – I am growing in the right emotional direction…for now.

Which brings me to my current state of constantly thinking about “what’s next?” but miraculously feeling fairly content about where things are now. Mike recently landed a great job at CU (where I work) as a business analyst for the university’s Research & Innovation department. We get ready together in the mornings – something I was fairly unhappy about not getting to do for so many years – we carpool in together, we sometimes treat ourselves to a dinner or cocktail in Boulder after work and in general, we just see each other much more so than when he worked at the brewery. Essentially, we are getting more time to reconnect as a couple, and I love it.

And, in the meantime, I must remind myself to continue to examine my true hopes, my true talents and my true ambition for contributing something great to our community lest I coast along too long in complacency. I’m in a fairly comfortable spot at the moment and it feels like the timing is right for it – as I am not completely sure how to take what I know, what I am good at and what I want to do and jump into something new. So, there’s a lot of the journey still ahead and it’s okay that I am on cruise control…for now.

 

Sayonara 2018!

I don’t believe in New Year’s and I never cared much for NYE celebrations. Not that I haven’t had a good time on NYE. I just never put much thought into what I am going to do to celebrate (or not), and I definitely don’t buy into the pre-fixe bullshit at restaurants or event halls. More power to those of you who care, but this gal would just as well fall asleep reading a good book at 9 p.m.

But, if you are calculating time by the winter solstice and earth’s relationship to the sun, then there are some pretty ugly and amazing things that happened this last year. Often around New Year’s, I’ll see friends or relatives post on Facebook one of the following two statements – “this was the worst year ever! Good riddance,” or “what a great year – looking forward to big things in 2019!” It’s so very black and white. There’s no in-between for many of us, but in-between is where life is more likely to be happening.

I could totes reflect on this past year as a shit-bomb rash-of-a-hive, but that would be overlooking all the growth and life lessons I’ve learned that help me move ahead each and every day. I’m somewhere in between excitement to put 2018 behind me, and gratitude for all that I’ve overcome. Without the parts of last year that I want to say, “piss-off” to there would be no parts that I would want to hold on to forever. So, I’d love to use this post to share the things about 2018 that got me through. Some are universal apps or stuff that anyone could utilize and others are very personal – so, all-in-all, what works for me won’t necessarily work for anyone else, but if some of the following inspire you, I say go for it:

Headspace meditation app:

I actually started using this in 2017, but not very religiously. I thought meditation was a bit hoky, but I was desperate to find something – anything – that made me feel less anxious. I had nothing to lose. This app has provided me with more peace and space of mind than I ever thought possible. I started with just 10 min meditations and have grown to love the 15 and 20 min options. Now, my morning ritual typically entails exercise, breakfast, Headspace and then off to work. It’s all the warm fuzzies.

This amazing book

At a particularly lowest of the low moments last January (that involved a sleeping pill that was actually an anti-depressant my doctor failed to inform me about that then made me catatonic and caused me to think some horrible things), a close friend from Austin sent me the book by American Thibetan Buddhist Pema Chodron, “When Things Fall Apart.” Again, I thought these type of self-help books seemed hoky, but boy was I wrong. I’ve since read this book three times, and every time I get something new out of it. Sometimes I’ll just read a chapter during breakfast that will help me prepare for my day, or re-read a concept while taking a bath. Pema’s words have helped me understand how not to take life too seriously and stay more present.

Baths:

I have always been a fan of the bathtub – especially when it gets cold here in Colorado. I’ve been known to sit in a steaming hot bath for an hour or more reading, watching a show and listening to jazz.

Jazz:

All through last winter and spring, I needed to keep the noise down. Songs with words were sometimes too much. So, I stumbled upon some great jazz albums that soothed my weary head and heart. John Coltrane, in particular, really made me content. I started listening to Denver’s KUVO jazz station on my commute to work and still do. Even though I listen to all kinds of music now, I love my new appreciation for jazz and aim to grow my knowledge of the genre.

These plants:

 

And these are just a sampling of the ones that have survived through the fall into winter. Bringing the outdoors in is always a good idea for your mental and physical well being.

Going outside/nature:

This is the biggest one of them all! Nature is my healer. There were several months all last year where I couldn’t be inside. It felt suffocating and anxiety-inducing to be indoors. Meetings at work were some of the hardest moments for me. I thought I’d stop breathing or just throw-up. I had to escape for fresh air, trees and mountains – water streams, lakes and oceans were also super helpful. Even my therapist (trained in wilderness therapy) was accommodating on the coldest days to go for a walk and stare at the Canadian geese on the frozen pond. I still prefer being outside at restaurants, bars or hanging out anywhere really, but I don’t feel the impending sense of doom that I felt last year. I don’t see wanting to be outside so much a bad thing, and lately, I’ve found myself needing to be reminded of the restorative powers of the outdoors. Whenever I am feeling a little blue or in a funk, I just kick myself in the ass, put on a jacket and hat and get outside. It literally shaves years off my life.

Biking to work:

Like nature, biking to work not only got me outside but it got me moving hard. It’s a 10-mile commute one way, and heading west toward the Flatirons and Indian Peaks Wilderness of the Rockies means I stare at 7,000-14,000 foot peaks the whole way. Not bad, eh? I’ll even do this commute when it’s 22 degrees out – I almost enjoy the challenge.

View of the Flatirons on my bike commute

This isn’t an exhaustive list, but it highlights the most prominent tools that got me through 2018. I won’t say I expect 2019 to be better or worse. I have no idea. But, I will go into this next year understanding that it could be both. It could be surprising and it could be heartbreaking. Either way, it will be another year in the books and I’ve learned the best way to embrace another year is through gratitude.

Needing to go big at this big time of year

It’s 9:45 a.m. on a Sunday and I’ve just flipped on the gas fireplace and plugged in the Christmas lights in preparation for jotting down some big, revealing thoughts I’ve had over the last week. Regardless of the jotting down, I have the need to set this stage every morning between Thanksgiving and Christmas because this is a big time of year – a time to decorate, reflect and be merry?

The last two weeks have been a crazy up-and-down roller coaster of emotion, and it’s not lost on me that around this very same time last year, I went into a tailspin of anxiety surrounding our inability to have children. So, it struck me as ironic that on this anniversary of my journey into learning a helluva lot more about myself, I would be faced with a big life decision. This time, I thought, I’d close this chapter on my life and mark the anniversary with a symbolic next step toward doing what I love by accepting what seemed to be a dream job. I’ve even wondered if there is some mystic force surrounding me that brought this moment full circle? Or, is it just circumstance.

After interviewing for two months with a non-profit organization whose mission is to guide visually impaired and blind skiers down the runs of the largest ski resort in the U.S., I was presented with the opportunity to manage the day-to-day operations of the organization with the intent to eventually take over its strategic expansion. For twelve years, I’ve volunteered for organizations that are designed to help people with disabilities or health challenges get outside. Being outside in nature is its own very beneficial therapy to what ails us. Hiking, biking, swimming – you name it – is what gives meaning to my life – and I know when I work with disabled or sick individuals, they are brought out of their challenges to enjoy something they never thought possible. So, when I was offered the position the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I was thrilled. Not completely over the moon, but thrilled.

Why not completely over the moon, you wonder? The job had a hitch. Because it’s located two hours from our house during the ski season, I would need to figure out housing for any given number of days during the week. Some board members told me it would be sporadic, while others made it seem like it may be up to four days at-a-time. All of this didn’t seem insurmountable – because dream job. Although I didn’t relish the idea of being away from Mike for days-at-a-time, I thought, heck – maybe he could join me occasionally, and damn it, I’d get to do what I love and have a much different type of job helping people that got me outside more. It seemed mostly ideal. So, back and forth, back and forth I went with the board members on finalizing the offer (health insurance, ski pass, parking pass, what would my schedule look like, etc.) while also making it clear that my housing would be temporary, and that Mike and I were not planning to move at this point. After a fantastic conversation with the founder, who offered to support whatever the need may be for housing, Mike and I went and celebrated over dinner and wine and it seemed like finally, things in my life were going to go the way I had hoped. Mike was very supportive of me taking the job, even though it meant less money and put more pressure on him to find his nitch again in the IT world. It also felt great to envision moving ahead into the type of work I feel I was made to do.

But…but. The next day, the board said something that concerned both Mike and me – “figuring out housing this season can’t preclude a move.” You know when you get that rock gut feeling in your stomach that acts like a flashing signal warning you that this thing that you want so badly, may not be all it’s chalked up to be? A couple of things to know about me – I am a big dreamer and can see possibilities and solutions all around, but I am also a fair-minded pragmatist and I just knew from that one statement, I couldn’t honestly take the position. Some would have just gone for it and then figured out the rest later or ditched the organization when it came time to move. My body was telling me that I just couldn’t do that to them. Whether I am right or wrong about this in the eyes of most people, or in the eyes of whatever mystical orb guides our world (should there be one), I know within myself that I had to make the decision I did, and I feel very confident that that’s all that matters.

So, to get to the big revelation I had during this topsy-turvy week where I thought I’d go big and leave the comforts of my current career and tackle the career I’ve wanted. When I look back on this last year (year-and-a-half, really), it appears I’ve had to say “no” to so many things. First, and foremost, I’ve had to reluctantly say “no” to the family I dreamt of for 35 years. That “no” was a death knell. That part of my life has died and this whole past year has been about grieving that death. Second – and in order –  this very same time last year, I said “no” to a very lucrative and prestigious job at my current place of work (and let me be clear – I chose to say “no” to this job – however, it was still the act of closing a door in my mind.) A few months previous to saying “no” to this job, while in the very early stages of depression – so early, I didn’t even recognize it – I applied almost prophetically knowing I would get it. On paper, it was everything I did and could do. In my mind, I was at the top of my game in my career, and if we weren’t going to have kids, I might as well keep climbing upward. Nonetheless, the week leading up to the final interview, I panicked like I’ve never panicked before. I completely unraveled and I was beating myself up over it to boot. I was in such a state of despair that on the actual day of my final interview (all day with board members, executives and chairs of departments, followed by a fancy-pants dinner) I entered the building, went to speak with the assistant dean organizing the day’s events and told her I just couldn’t do it. It was by far the boldest, scariest thing I have ever done. I’ve mostly never set my mind to something and not followed through – especially if it meant disappointing anyone. But, my body the days leading up to that interview didn’t give me a choice. I thought I may not make it and that I might spontaneously combust and die if I actually kept pursuing the position. Mike was outside in the car waiting for me to drop this bomb on the interview committee, and when it was all over, he took me to our favorite place for breakfast and I ate like I was training to be a sumo wrestler. The burden of taking that job was gone and it left me feeling temporarily lighter and hopeful that something better was waiting for me in the coming year. But, little did I know then, that moment was just the beginning of something much darker and deeper.

Following that decision, and the subsequent Christmas holiday, I entered winter very uncertain and wobbly. My depression and anxiety were about to embark on peak levels I hadn’t known were possible and as I weathered the storms and sought out therapy I was still eager to do something big – something life-altering that would put me on a different path. My original plan was to marry my best friend (check), have a decent, well-paying job (check) and have kids (no check). That was the big life checklist and something very momentous was missing from it. So, I needed to fill that void. After already saying “no” to the big wig job, I spent much of last spring in the application process to the Wilderness Therapy Masters program at Naropa University. I got in and then had to say “no” again because of the costs. This past summer, some things I pursued, including one job opportunity in the outdoor industry and another in an adaptive outdoor non-profit said “no” to me. It seemed as if everything was saying “no” when I so badly needed it to say “yes”. Fast forward to the dream job I was offered almost to the day on the anniversary of me taking that bold, scary move to exit out of the big wig job interview process, I’ve had to say “no” to that too.

Last Monday, Mike and I were lying in bed at 3 a.m. I couldn’t sleep and he was also awake. I hadn’t given the dream job my decision  – mostly because finding housing near a resort town in the winter that wouldn’t cost the organization an arm and a leg was quickly becoming a big challenge – but I was still determined to make it work even though it seemed improbable. With sleepless, burning eyes and a scratchy throat, I told him that I was feeling very sad that it seemed like I was always saying “no” to things in life, and at a time when I feel this intense longing to say “yes”. Through his infinite wisdom (although, he’d get a good laugh out of the suggestion) he was able to reveal to me that I may be mirroring our inability to have children, because, as he so gently put it “you keep going after things that probably aren’t possible.” Why is that I thought? Of course, on one very obvious level, I want to fill the loss for one big life event with something that would make me feel like I still have big life events in me. I want to birth a new chapter and show the world, “hey, look at me! See, I am pretty cool, too!” But, what’s the deeper meaning to this last year’s journey? Or, more aptly put, what is the latest thing I am learning from the last week’s events that continue me on my new path of life – without children?

Here are my takeaways. First, maybe it was about time I started to learn how to say “no”. Most of my life has been “yes, yes, yes”, and, it’s felt good for the most part. When I wanted to move to New York after grad school, I said “yes” with abandon. A year-and-a-half later, after the disenchantment of living in the big city, I said “yes” to moving to Austin with a purity and clarity of eagerness I’d rarely known before. I’ve said “yes” to jobs I’ve later hated. I’ve said “yes” to friendships or boyfriends that later cut me to my core with hurt. Saying “yes” is an important part of growing and learning, but maybe saying “no” represents that growth. It’s such a foreign concept to me to go after something and then say “no” to it, and yet, maybe this is life’s way of showing me that I am learning and dialing in what’s really right for me – at this point – because I’m sure in twenty years I’ll look back at this moment and think to myself, “oh honey…you didn’t know shit.”

This is a big time of year with the holidays, and I’m absolutely in a much better place than this time last year. It’s not perfect, and nothing ever is or should be, but I genuinely feel lighter, more confident and I have a lot more tools for coping. I sit here looking at my lighted up Christmas tree by the fire and feel sad to have said “no” to the non-profit this week. I also feel a little scared about not knowing when it is that I’ll get to say “yes” to the type of work I’d rather be doing. But, I’m grateful that I am looking at this time with eyes wide open and looking for the meaning in my actions and my decisions. I’m grateful for my supportive husband who helps guide me through all of it. I know I will go big in life in some way – maybe not by having had children and not by taking a high-falutin’ executive job, or even having the chance to take what seemed like a dream job. Maybe just getting through this last year in one piece and learning so much about myself  is my way of saying “yes”.

How Katie got her groove back

Coming out of depression, which not everyone can do, can feel like bursting through a wall ala a Kool-aid commercial (“ohhh yea!”) I’m grateful that what I experienced all throughout the last year was “temporary”, although, there were several moments when it felt like I would never feel good again. That is a very common feeling, and there are many of us who have battled depression all our lives, who must rely on medication because the depression is so biologically and neurologically based. More on the pros and cons of medicinal support for depression/anxiety in a future post (I chose not to take anti-depressants to get me through, and that.was.hard.)

So, here I am, knocking down those brick walls and doing air fist pumps like it’s my job because I have started to get my groove back. Actually, I could feel the beginnings of feeling better back in early May. Perhaps it was the warming temperatures or the fact that I was about to take a month-long sabbatical from work (best decision I ever made for my career and my personal well-being!) Around this time, I also started having a burst of creative energy. I started this blog and I also began an Instagram account called She Sets the Sky to channel my love for the outdoors and passion to get everyone outside.

During my month-long sabbatical, I went riding and hiking all the time, and at least once a week with two amazing friends – Jen and Kathy. We’d follow our rides from Superior to Eldorado Canyon with the most delicious margaritas and snacks. It felt so liberating to do whatever my soul and creative heart begged of me without any rules because, at heart, I am a free spirit.

As spring turned into summer, and I was slowly starting to feel human again, I would listen to a lot of jazz. It felt so easy to listen to the mostly non-lyrical music that kept my brain at a low vibe. Eventually, I could listen to all kinds of music – fast, slow, energized. It was the more energized songs that reminded me how much I love to sing (in the shower, especially) and dance, and how for so long, I had stopped doing both those things. I am a child of New Orleans after all, and when I more recently rediscovered the thumping percussions of brass bands that I realized, hells yea – I’m back!

Feeling well again doesn’t mean feeling the same as I did before this last year. But, that is a beautiful gift. I am Katie +. I have a perspective that is new and illustrates how I’ve grown. I can never go back to being who I was before, and I wouldn’t want to. That Katie didn’t know how fear and resistance trapped her from experiencing life. And, oh, what a colorful, complex, funny, tiring, bright, loving life it can be.

So, if you see me driving along belting out the tunes, as I will on the daily, don’t feel embarrassed for me or shy away from giving me a glance. I’m not crazy or weird. I just have my groove back.

On finding the sweet spot

No, I haven’t found it, in case you’re wondering. But, I am learning and starting to embrace the notion that the “sweet spot” or sense of “happiness” or “stress-freeness” is not what I used to believe it could be.

Looking back at my upbringing, or even going deeper and reflecting on American cultural norms, we are set up to think that happiness is “good” and feeling stressed, angry, sad or depressed is “bad”. Unfortunately, I am finding, this sets us all up for disaster. Sure, feeling sad or angry brings out a lot of unpleasant emotions, but trying to avoid those emotions tends to aggravate them and do yourself a disservice – as if you are committing an act of aggression against your own well being.

Imagine your emotions are like teenagers. You see your teenager, let’s call her “pissed off Annie”, freaking out about the fact that she wasn’t invited to her supposed best-friend Lilly’s slumber party. You decide, as the amazing and supportive, yet sometimes misguided parent that you are, to tell her to “suck it up” and “get over it.” It’s not the end of the world. I mean, she’s only in high school for gosh-for-tootins’ sake! Next thing you know, Annie is climbing out her bedroom window at 12 midnight to go hang with that jerk of a boyfriend you can’t stand (and honestly, neither can she) just to show you up, leaving you worried, sleepless and angry that she was so disobedient. In a nutshell, taking on the directive, dismissive and tough-love approach got nobody nowhere and it’s almost as if you are back to square one on continuing a surfacy, confusing relationship with your teen.

Just imagine if you gave Annie a big hug that moment she told you she was upset about not being invited. What if you told her about that time in high school when you were rejected or felt out-of-the-loop? What if you also told her that she has every right to be angry, but she also has the right to be sad and cry? What if you made it safe for Annie to feel whatever she needed to feel in that moment instead of trying to make it all go away, or make it all better on the spot?

Emotions act in a lot of the same ways. When we tell our sadness to take a hike, it clamps down and turns into anxiety. When we deny ourselves anger or frustration because we’ve been told since we were young that it’s rude, unclassy (especially for young girls) or won’t get us anywhere, it festers to an explosion. Ignoring or invalidating our emotions doesn’t make them go away. Just as using old tricks that got us by previously to “get over” something no longer work eventually.

Everything in our lives evolves, moves and changes, even when – and especially when – we don’t want it to. We can’t stop this momentum, but we can learn to embrace it and understand that happiness or sadness are not mutually exclusive emotions that we need to accept or reject respectively.

Just imagine for a second. That’s right, go ahead and close your eyes (well, maybe after you finish reading this.) Imagine what it would feel like if you stopped acting aggressively toward yourself and you simply allowed to feel whatever you were feeling. It’s scary to even begin, right? But, go on and give it five, 10, 15 minutes or more. I think you’ll find that everything settles down a little. The tense feeling in your body quiets some. You begin to breathe again. The feeling of anxiety softens, the tears may roll down your cheeks – but it feels like such a relief, you’ve forgotten about the anger. This is what it feels like to be kind to yourself.

What we tell ourselves matters and how we treat ourselves matters. This is our one and only life, or as my grandma Ronan used to say, “this ain’t dress rehearsal!” So, do yourself an act of kindness today and stop whatever it is you’re so busy doing and let yourself feel whatever it is that needs feeling.

Summer’s winding down

Does anyone else get anxious as summer comes to a close? This may only apply to people living in places with seasons, as I certainly didn’t experience this in Texas. Summer’s end there was a welcome reprieve from eye-ball scorching, sweat dripping down your crack heat. It also didn’t arrive until late October when the temps might drop down to 65 degrees and you could put on your trendy puffy vest and beanie.

Now that we’ve lived in Colorado for four years, and we are about to experience our fifth fall here, summer is much more precious to me. Summer in Colorado is downright magical. Sure, there were a few weeks in June/July where the temps were in the mid 90s, and when you live a mile closer to the sun, that can feel like someone’s touched a frying pan to your face. But, overall, summer here is dry, breezy and al fresco the whole season through. The only problem is that the season only lasts four months. Sniff.

So, when the end of August rolls around, I start to get a little anxious about the fact that one month from now, we’ll be the farthest away the whole calendar year from these delightful summer days. Thankfully, fall in the Rockies may be the second best season after summer, so it softens the blow.

Living in Austin for 11 years, toward the end, I craved the seasons…so…hard. Now that I’ve had them for a while, I fully recall and acknowledge how they come with a change in mood. It just more recently struck me how varied my moods can be from season-to-season, which means the logical next step – like most healthy approaches to life stuff – acceptance.

Changing moods with the seasons, and like the seasons, are part of the natural order of things. I’m sure when I lived in warmer climates, I felt these changes as the months floated into one another. However, they must have been more subtle – just like the weather changes were more subtle. In Colorado, we’ll be looking at possible snow starting in October, and that my friends is sans-subtlety.

This year may prove to be particularly challenging because I am reminded that the fall of 2017 was the beginning of my many months-long struggles with depression and anxiety over childlessness. Coming up on that anniversary does not give me the warm fuzzies, and yet, it’s also very rewarding to look back at that Katie from last year – the one who couldn’t see any light at the end of a very dark tunnel; the one who lost all interest in the things she normally loved; the one who feared everything – have so much energy, excitement and genuine joy back in her life. It’s also rewarding to know that my transformation was the result of some very hard self-work, including starting and  dedicating myself to a near-daily meditation practice, surrounding myself with loving friends and family, sparking my creative mind again, pursuing interests that lay dormant for too many years and one bad-ass, amazing husband who saw me through my worst days and allowed me to soak his shoulders with my face water.

No doubt, I’ll be writing more about the transition into fall and winter – especially as the days get shorter and darker around here. But, for now, I’m doing my best to live in the present moment and not focus too much on the impending “farthest day from the warm days” day. Buying a new puffy hoody to add to my collection may help ease the transition. Just sayin’.

 

What will I become?

What will I be when I grow up sounds like a great question for an eight-year-old or 18-year-old – perhaps not a 41-year-old going on 42 in a month. But, here I am all the same. And, not so much because I’ve figured out the career. Has anyone truly? Especially as we humans live longer, I have observed almost everyone I know face a career crisis multiple times in their – eh-hem, “career”. I’ve known for far too long that my calling is to help others far needier than myself. (That understanding will slowly, but surely be realized and is a great topic for another day.) My brothers and I always laugh that we wish our parents had encouraged us to be hedge fund managers instead of encouraging us to follow our bliss. But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Or, would I? Not to be a hedge fund manager – not in the least. More to be a mother. That “career”, vocation or role was never mine to have. But, I wanted it more than bacon bloody mary for a Sunday morning hangover. I’m not a mother by choice, but by circumstance, nature or bad luck. My husband and I will never understand why that blessing was never bestowed on us. The specialists tell us we are in perfect health and we are just “one of those unexplainable” infertile couples. How much easier it would be to know that I had blocked ovaries or Mike had bad swimmers. But, we don’t have that clarity (all things being relative, as I know it’s not a joy to hear you have health issues either). We just know we don’t have children.

I’ve spent the last seven months struggling with depression, anxiety and grief over our new reality. So many dreams of a different life wiped away forever. A life I seriously could never have imagined without children. All of my plans had kids in the mix. Diapers, little league games, Christmas mornings with wide eyes and cookie crumbs on a plate. I just assumed it was something that would happen to someone who was a good person and wanted it so badly. Instead, I’m dealing with a triple threat that has sidelined me, enraged me, surprised me and taught me a helluva lot about myself, my relationships and my next steps. Stepping away from my Plan A has left me paralyzed by fear of…everything. And, only recently, have I had brief moments where I can feel a deep contentment and happiness I never knew would be possible again. I’ve likened the most recent experiences I’m having as like a snake shedding its skin or a caterpillar – turned butterfly – trying to escape its chrysalis. I can almost feel my shoulders writhing back and forth yearning to transform into the new person I am becoming.

So, what will I become after I leave my skin and shed my cocoon? Instinct tells me it will be something even more amazing than before and my unconditional kindness and love for my self will grow even wider and stronger. That is my hope for this day and for the day after this.