It’s a been a while since I have written a blog but as the summer draws to end, and the kids get ready to start school this Monday, I have finally felt my muse return. Part of the reason I could not write was that these last four months began on a not-so-good note. On my calendar for the month of April, written in all capital letters are the words “FUCK YOU APRIL.” Photo included for your reference. Obviously not the best month of my life for several different reasons. After a very tumultuous April, however, throughout the rest of summer, I took some intentional steps to grow as a person. One of the biggest changes I made was that I quit working a couple of part-time jobs at which I moonlighted on a regular basis. I realized these part-time jobs had become detrimental to both my relationships with others and myself. I wasn’t working them because I needed the money necessarily. Rather, I had worked at them because I had an unhealthy relationship with money and, honestly, I didn’t know what to do with my free time. After quitting two part-time jobs, as you can imagine, I had a lot more time to fill. This may sound great to some of you, however, I have to admit that free time has always been a bit scary to me. Ever since I was a teenager, I was busy with something – band, sports, college, law school, the military etc. This was the first time in my life I wasn’t in school, sports, or the military. I was finally staring free time straight in the face and I realized that I had not ever really learned how to handle free time. As a result, I have always kept my life fairly busy, perhaps, well most likely, to an unhealthy level.
Initially, when I was discussing quitting these jobs with my life coach, I expressed some reluctance and resistance. I remember my life coach saying to me, “Well, then, have fun working the rest of your life.” That may sound harsh, but sometimes I need a bit of harshness to see a situation for what it is and break down my barriers to making change. He was right – if working was my only way of filling free time, I would end up working the rest of my life and not out of financial necessity. So, I set out on the task of learning what do with free time. I rediscovered my love of weightlifting by joining a new gym, called Elite Edge (shout out to Justin and Eric at the Waukee Elite Edge), which has changed my physical fitness dramatically, and I am stronger than I was in my 20s. I took a nearly two-week road trip with my kids, my dad and sister, Anne, to visit all the National Parks in Utah (photos included below). I finally learned how to open my swimming pool all by myself. I organized my garage and my shed (still a work in progress). I could take my time cleaning and doing laundry instead of throwing a load in at midnight or later and half-ass cleaning on Sunday. I completed four 1,000-piece puzzles of previous National Parks I had visited with my kids (I’ll spare you the pictures on this one, okay maybe just one lol). I went to Chicago for my annual girls’ weekend of Cubs games and didn’t feel stressed or rushed for the first time in 13 years (photo below). I read a book for the first time in two years called “The Pearl that Broke its Shell.” I started journaling with the help of some structured journals I purchased from Case Kenny. I started cooking more for my kids and eating better because I had the time to plan and prepare. I invited my family over for a few grill outs and got a little better at grilling, although I have to admit my family still ate some burnt ass hot dogs, brats and burgers. I finally found a weekend for my best friend, Trisha, to come visit (photo below) and I am making time at the end of August to go visit my other best friend, Krissi. These are all things I never had time for before. The problem is that while my part-time jobs kept me busy, they also kept me from actually living my life at the same time. But this blog isn’t really supposed to be about all of these things. This blog is actually supposed to be about my cats, well, one in particular, whom I have grown to appreciate on an entirely different level now that I am home much more often. Trust me, I am going to tie all this rambling together if you bear with me long enough.
As many of you know, I had never been a pet person before. Too busy, too stressed, gone too much and didn’t need the hassle. As I have written about before, however, my kids really wanted pets and somehow I have ended up with two hamsters, five fish, and three cats. Just ignore that three cats part – that’s a story for another day perhaps- because this blog is only about one of the cats named January. January has never actually been called January. Her nickname quickly became “Crabby Cat” or “Crabby” for short because when we took her home from the Animal Rescue League she was very defensive and scared. Crabby is the cat on top of the couch in the photo below. When we first met Crabby, she would hiss and scratch if a human even looked in her direction. The ARL told us she might never come around but we had to take her because she was a bonded buddy with her sister cat, Cherish, and that was the cat my kids wanted. I had to sign a behavior waiver to adopt Crabby because she was so difficult and defensive. My kids, however, refused to believe that Crabby was hopeless. In particular, my son, Trevor, worked with Crabby every day until eventually she began to let him pet her and even pick her up. Now Crabby sleeps by Trevor and is forlorn when he is not around. Lately, Crabby has even begun to let me pet her and will purr loudly while I am petting her. We don’t know why Crabby was the way she was. But if we let how she was on the first day we met her or believed what the ARL was saying about her dictate our decision, we never would have brought that cat home. But my children, God bless them, had hope that Crabby could be something different and, so, we gave her a chance. Giving Crabby a chance, however, took time, patience,and a little bit of grace-elements I admittedly would not have extended to Crabby had it not been for my kids.
As I was petting Crabby this morning, I started to think of how many people (and cats) we pre-judge based on a singular point in time. I was reminded of a blog I recently read by Case Kenny, the same guy whose journals I use. He wrote about how humans can be misunderstood because we meet them midway through the novel of their life. When we meet someone, we come in at Chapter 43 or 51 or whatever, but we don’t know entirely know or understand what happened in the Chapters before that. We don’t know their history or how it has affected them, but we sure make a lot of judgments about who they are or who they might be and even who we think they should be without even bothering to see the whole picture or to look beyond the page upon which we meet them. Case writes, as an example, “You’re dating someone and they start saying like you are too direct or too eager. Only you know WHY you’re that way. Only you know what happened on chapter 24. Only you know why you’ve grown to speak up for yourself and what you want. They don’t.” The corollary to what Case writes is that by not bothering to understand or look beyond page 542 or 357 or wherever we jump into a person’s story, we presume that we can write the ending of that person’s story for them based on the random page or single chapter upon which we hopped into that person’s life and, sometimes, especially in dating and relationships, as a result, we write that person off.
We say things like a person is too X or too Y or has too much baggage or whatever we want to name it without really bothering to understand where the X or Y or so-called “baggage” is coming from. I have actually begun to hate the term “baggage” because it is a mental shortcut that allows us to write another human being off without trying to understand the context. Maybe what we so flippantly call baggage is not really baggage at all. Perhaps it is more powerful than something we can write off as mere “baggage.” More often than not, what we see as someone’s baggage or a certain character flaw is the result of surviving in a broken world and it’s actually something to be admired instead of written off immediately. Or maybe, it’s the result of being hurt time and time again but the person is still trying to put themselves out there despite their past wounds. I wouldn’t call that baggage, I’d call it courage. Perhaps the person went through some rough shit on page 478 and has a tough exterior or is hard to get to know or is careful about who gets let into their life but if a person could just wait until page 503, they would find that beneath the surface is a caring and loving individual. Everyone-whether you are 21, 43 or 51-has some kind of history which has impacted them and affected that person’s behavior. We have all been hurt, some more than others, and we have all experienced disappointment and pain. As a result, every single one of us has quirks, coping mechanisms and character flaws. We all have circumstances we are dealing with that are not ideal on some level, again some to a greater extent than others. However, these things are more complex and interrelated than the term “baggage” suggests. I don’t think it’s fair to call the set of circumstances someone has survived or is attempting to survive as “baggage” and write the ending of someone’s story without knowing the context of where they have come from. The term baggage is just an easy way of dismissing the complexities of a person without understanding or caring about the context. It allows us to extrapolate an ending based on a random page.
Crabby is good example of this even though she is a cat. We came in at Chapter 10 (she was 10 months old) and missed the first 9 chapters of Crabby’s life. We don’t know Crabby’s history or why she was so much more defensive than her sister, Cherish. Based on what we saw in Chapter 10, Crabby had too much “baggage” and everyone but my kids wrote the end of Crabby’s story for her. She would never come around, she would never like people, she would always be, well, Crabby. And yet that is not how Crabby’s story ended. How incredibly powerful is that? I am not saying that everyone’s actions are justified or explainable. I am not saying people should not be held responsible for their actions or that their history excuses bad behavior. However, what I do know is that sometimes a little context can go a long way in explaining how someone is or acts or their so-called baggage and that if we took a bit more time understanding the context, we might, sometimes, and maybe more often than not, find a diamond in the rough, like Crabby. Sometimes, too, context can help us forgive when we have been hurt. Hurt people, hurt people. Again, it doesn’t excuse but context can take some of the charge out of the sting of being hurt by someone else, and ultimately, lead to forgiveness. I was able to forgive and forget some things that happened in April because I understood the context of what had happened and, therefore, was able to move past it. Had I not understood the context, however, I could have easily carried around a grudge for much longer. I didn’t need someone to give me closure- I gave it to myself through contextual understanding.
Here’s where I am going to try to tie all this together. I think sometimes the Universe hands you lessons when you are ready to receive them. Today, I needed to be reminded to not write the endings of people’s stories. I needed to be reminded that people (and cats) are deserving of time, patience, and grace no matter what page they are on in their story. I don’t know the ending of a person’s story nor can I even begin to predict the ending based on a random page or single chapter. Yet, for me personally, I often give others a lot more grace than I give myself. So, at the same time, I also must be careful about not writing the end of my own story. Just because I was a workaholic in Chapters 12-42 doesn’t mean I will be a workaholic by the end of Chapter 43. In the pages of April of 2021, I wrote off my entire summer as being a piece of shit and spun into a depression as a result. But what actually happened? I feel stronger, more stable,greater connection and overall much happier than I did at the beginning of summer. It’s so important to remember that a single page, or even a single chapter doesn’t predict or define the rest of anyone’s life, my own included. Instead, I need to remember the lesson of Crabby – a cat whose story was incorrectly written for her by everyone except my kids. As a result, I am going to try to make a conscious effort to extend more time, patience and grace to both others’ lives and my own. Most importantly, I need to remember that I do not get to write or even predict the ending of my story or someone else’s. A little hope that our ending is not yet written can go a long fucking way with not just other people (and cats) but also with ourselves. 
