Upside-down

 

Minutes before the above photo was captured on the beach in St. John, I was trying to coax my kids into sitting nicely on a piece of driftwood so that our photographer could capture the perfect picture of them together. I felt the need to stand behind our photographer and try to choreograph the kids’ positions. When they did not respond to my gentle coaxing, I bribed them with the promise of lollipops after the photo shoot. They still did not listen. It was towards the end of our session, and I knew we had already gotten some great photos, so I pretty much threw my hands up. Larry and I told our photographer we were all set, turned our backs and began to pack up our stuff. The kids went back to playing with each other on the wide, open beach. I remember having that anxious feeling of needing to hurry the packing before one of them started pushing the other down in the waves.

However, when we turned around, our kids were nicely laying in the sand with our photographer taking this awesome upside-down photo. No coaxing or bribing, no talk of lollipops, just fun and ease.

I laughed to myself. Of course. Of course they would be fine once I turned my back. Of course they would listen to someone else without me needing to try and micromanage a photo shoot. Of course a great photo would be captured when I declared the photo shoot to be “over.” Of course. Because life is like that. We try so hard sometimes. As mothers, as parents, as grownups. We coax, we bribe, we push, we force. And then sometimes we just throw our hands up, walk away, maybe even drop a few balls, and stuff just falls into place. 

Broken

Hello, Strangers – It has been some time since you have heard from me. I personally have been on a bit of a roller coaster. I don’t feel like writing about that right now though. Being on a roller coaster, at least at first, might be sort of fun. But after a while it really becomes exhausting. I’m glad I have disembarked from the wild ride but I am still dizzy and feel a little sick after all of the twists and turns. Anyway, I am not yet ready to write about it and don’t know that I ever will. I suppose it is because I think I will look stupid, naïve or perhaps even worse. It’s also because I haven’t been able to glean any sort of lesson or wisdom from the experience yet. Anyway, so the first two months of 2022 have been a little hellish on me. My good friend Martin, however, in a way only he can do told me recently, “Well, good woman, Hell on Earth can’t last forever.” Simple and profound. That’s Martin. Thanks, my good man, for the reminder and for always being there. The point in me telling you all that is that I just don’t have it in me to be super profound right now. Instead, I am going to write about divorce.  

There are two phrases that bother me when we speak about divorce.  The first is referring to divorce as the "easier path" compared to staying married.  The reality is that getting divorced is hard. It takes an enormous pair of balls to get divorced. There are societal, familial, religious and other pressures at play in any decision to get divorced. Maybe some people make the decision lightly but I would opine that most people who have gotten divorced have pondered it for some length of time. Most of the time that battle is fought from within so you may not even be aware someone has been wrestling with the decision for months, maybe even years. I also think a lot of people who get divorced have tried to talk themselves out of it. Why? Divorce means change on apocalyptic levels. Divorce redistributes the wealth of two people, sometimes not so evenly. Divorce means you won’t see your children every day. Divorce often means one or both people will move into different houses. Divorce means you will likely lose some friends and maybe, even some family members. Divorce is an unknown that changes the fabric of every single important relationship you have. It also means a complete lifestyle change – navigating life as a single person is substantially different than navigating through life as part of a couple. I am not being dramatic – these things all change -sometimes in only a matter of days or months- when a person gets divorced. 

 Of course, I acknowledge that being married is hard as well, but it is hard for different reasons. In choosing to stay married, generally speaking, one doesn't lose the amount of security or wealth that occurs in a divorce.  Nor does a person who stays married necessarily lose time with their children or learn how to re-navigate life in a different status.  I want to affirm that I recognize a person may lose things if he or she stays married.  My only point is that marriage and divorce are hard in different ways.  The reality is that neither is easy. However, if a person stays married, I think it is safe to say people generally support that decision. Yet, when a person makes the decision to get divorced, that person often times is not going to be showered with support. No one is going to throw someone a party for being divorced for 15 years but they might if a person stays married for that long even if the marriage is not a happy one. No one asks someone to justify why they have stayed unhappily married but when a person gets divorced, at least in my experience, the first question is “Why.” The “why” implies there needs to be a justification for the outcome. Moreover, by asking why, the questioner has implied there must be an obvious reason that can be articulated for the divorce and completely glosses over the fact that divorce is a complex, emotional experience that cannot usually be packaged up in a succinct one-minute response. Not providing a response or not providing a response the listener deems “adequate” can result in a loss of support. The “why” is then usually followed by an “I’m sorry.” This statement presumes that the divorce was a bad or not ideal outcome. I think a better response might be “How are you feeling,” or “Is there anything you need?” These statements better acknowledge the emotional complexities of divorce without assuming it was a bad thing or prying too much for an easy justification.  Therefore, is it truly an "easier" path?  I think this term persists because it is a mental shortcut that is designed for the specific purpose of encouraging one outcome and shaming the other.  However, this characterization is really based upon what I believe to be an outdated construct of human relationships and lifestyles - i.e. one man, one woman in holy matrimony.   Our understanding of human relationships and lifestyles is slowly advancing (at least I think it is) beyond this singular construct. While the one man, one woman in holy matrimony construct still exists, it is not (or eventually will not be) the only acceptable construct. Therefore, I think it is more accurate to say that divorce is one of many paths, none of which can properly be deemed "easy." 

A second related phrase is use of the term "broken home."  This phrase is actually defined in an online dictionary (don’t ask me which one – it was the first one that came up when I googled it) as a family in which the parents are divorced or separated. It is used in a sentence as follows: “he comes from a broken home.” But what is really being said when this phrase is used? The definition of the word “broken” is having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. Ergo, the implication is that by getting divorced, one has damaged or fractured their home to such a degree that it is no longer in one piece or working order. This description of the home post-divorce is neither positive nor optimistic, and I think it is a rather judgmental generalization of a post-divorce home that is once again designed to shame the outcome.  The "broken home" pejorative stems from the premise that a married home is better than a divorced home.  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that when this term was coined it was specifically meant to compare a divorced family with a heterosexual married couple with the desired conclusion being that a heterosexual married couple is good, while a divorced couple (or anything outside of hetero married couple) is bad.  The origin of what constitutes a "good" or unbroken home is also based on the same outdated construct of human relationships and lifestyles. However, being divorced is really just another lifestyle/relationship choice on the menu of life.  A divorced home, or really any home for that matter, should not be referred to as broken simply because of how it looks. A home is a good home if there is love present. If there is love in a home, no matter what that home looks like, it is still and should be considered a good home.   

So what is my point in writing about all of this?  Is it to make you feel sorry for divorced people?  No, it is not. Is it to bash or denigrate marriage? Absolutely not. Is it to somehow argue divorced people experience more discrimination than others? Hell no (please see the P.S. at the end of this blog for elaboration).  My only point in writing this blog is to try and reframe how we think about divorce and the origins of the terms we use to describe it.    

P.S. I am aware that judgment about other types of lifestyles and relationships exists. I do not intend for this blog to be interpreted as excluding or ignoring that fact. This blog simply is not about other lifestyles. I acknowledge and affirm that other lifestyles and relationships experience discrimination. However, this blog is simply limited to discussing one lifestyle choice and should not be perceived as any sort of attempt to engage in comparative suffering.

Proud

I’m proud. I want to write this blog entry to say that…I’m proud of myself.

Almost exactly one year ago (January 5^th, 2021) I closed on my first house at 35 years old. 

Now, for some people, this may not sound like a significant accomplishment. Some people become home owners in their early twenties, and for many of my peers, they were home owners by their early thirties. Maybe they had a partner or parents to assist with the down payment…maybe they didn’t have student loans…maybe they lived in a small condo to start….etc. For some people, home ownership was a relatively easy next step.

But not me. I became a homeowner at 35 years old. And I am so proud of this fact, as well as the journey it took to get here.

Here’s the deal. Ten years ago, in 2012, I first moved to Des Moines. I’ve written a few blog entries about what it was like when I first moved to Des Moines, but let me recap. First, I had almost no money because I had just graduated from graduate school, and I was moving from Nashville to Des Moines. Second, 2012 was definitively the worst year of my life (and, to this date, it still is!) So, I literally moved to Des Moines for my hospital chaplain residency WITH NO HOUSING LINED UP. I arrived in Des Moines a couple of days before my position started, an emotional train wreck, possessing barely any money, and I had no place to live. Moreover, I wasn’t going to have a significant amount of income any time soon as my chaplain residency only paid a mere $28,000 per year.

And yet I survived. I found a place on Craig’s List I could afford on my meager salary, and I moved in. I had….almost nothing. I owned a used bed, a $100 futon from Wal-Mart that resembled the backseat in a van, and a box TV from 1995. I moved into a place that had ugly green carpet everywhere, no dishwasher, and mouse traps in the basement.

But slowly, I did what I could to improve the aesthetics of the apartment with the salary I had. I started donating plasma so I could have more money, and I also joined a pet sitting service to try and stow away more cash. Eventually I was able to buy a new couch and chairs, and a couple of years later, a flat screen TV. In the meantime, I read several DIY blogs, and so I painted the apartment and completed a few other affordable projects to make the place feel brighter and more pleasing. I was proud of how I had transformed a POS into a place that reflected my personality.

Nevertheless, as much as I poured myself into the apartment, it was still a bit sketchy, and I outgrew it. Fortunately, after a couple of years of doing chaplain residency for pennies, I was hired for a professional job as a bereavement counselor for UnityPoint Hospice.  And yet, even though I was ready to move on from my current apartment, I still wasn’t ready to buy a house. Primarily, I couldn’t buy a house because I didn’t have enough for a down payment. I had only made a professional wage for about a year and a half, and so much of my income from that first year and a half was going toward student loans, car payment, etc. So when I outgrew my green apartment on Carpenter Ave., I looked for another apartment.

I found one on Cottage Grove; it was a house built in the late 1800’s that had been split into apartments. And oh, it was definitely an upgrade from my first apartment. It had hardwood floors, 10 foot ceilings, 2.5 bedrooms, dishwasher, garbage disposal, etc. It definitely felt like-and indeed it was- an upgrade to the starter apartment I had prior.

And yet, within a couple of years, I felt as though I had outgrown that apartment too. I’ve always, always been drawn to older houses because of their uniqueness and craftsmanship. However, I was realizing that not all older homes are made equal, and this one had some definite problems. There were cracks all over the foundation, my basement stairs were rickety af, my basement scared me in general, I hated that my landlord didn’t take care of the outside aesthetics, and I grew tired of not having space outside to enjoy the outdoors. I wanted a house, I wanted to make it mine, and I wanted it to be nice both inside and out.

But…I still didn’t have enough money for a strong down payment. I was slowly getting into a better financial position with having sustained a long-term professional job, but yet, much of that money was still going into slowly paying down my student loans. Additionally, I started traveling in earnest in 2015, and that was another significant siphon of my surplus cash. I was fully cognizant that my student loans would be paid off earlier, and/or I would have more money for a down payment if I did not travel as I did. Nevertheless, I made the choice then- and I stand by it vehemently now- to make at least a couple of trips per year with family and friends. I could write an entire blog post about this, but I value my relationships above all else in life, and those trips are an incredible way to connect with others and create memories. And I will not postpone them because none of us-nor the people we love- are promised tomorrow. I hear all of these dismal stories as a grief counselor about people who wanted to wait until retirement to travel…who wanted to wait until they had more money…etc. But then, before those events could transpire, their loved ones died and they never got to fulfill their plans. Personally, I will not live my life in anticipation of a future that may never come to pass.

So, all that’s to say- I grew tired of my apartment after a couple of years, but because of the aforementioned reasons, I didn’t have enough money for a satisfactory down payment for a house. I felt annoyed that so many of my peers had houses, and yet here I was, still in an apartment. I loved my life and knew I had blessings beyond measure, but a part of me was annoyed that I didn’t have a partner to help with the payment…that I didn’t have parents that helped pay for college…that my chosen vocation didn't pay more...all things that would have led me to achieving home ownership earlier. However, as a grief counselor, I’m also privy to all of the ways that life isn’t fair, so I addressed my resentment and let it go. I told myself that I might have to wait until I found a partner….I might have to wait another 10 years….etc... I just…I put the feelings of longing for a house on hold because there wasn’t much I could do about it. I simply stayed in my current apartment, made it as homey as possible, and maintained high levels of activity so that I wasn’t home very often.

And yet…life is incredible with the surprises it gives us. I’ve long since learned you cannot predict the future because you simply cannot even imagine the things that will happen in your life.

Out of nowhere, 2020 came. We all know what happened this year. Like everyone else, I was forced to be in my apartment….a lot. And I hated it. I felt so stir crazy and depressed being trapped there I could hardly stand it. One day, in July, I was so restless while doing some documentation for my job that I got on Zillow for the hell of it. And I saw the cutest little house; it was a pink home with a front porch in central Des Moines. I almost cried when I saw it. I immediately sent the link to my family, figured they would simply say, “that’s nice!” and move on to other conversation, so I quietly went back to my documentation.

Well, long story short- my family actually strongly encouraged me to look at the house! I didn’t think that I could pull off being a home owner, but they helped me think through some of my concerns and the logistics. Moreover, my sister called my attention to the fact that interest rates were at historic lows. I vaguely knew this was happening, but again, I didn’t give it much notice because I didn’t want to start dreaming about something I didn’t think could become a reality. But with their support, I made an appointment to look at the house I had admired on Zillow.

Ultimately, after doing a walkthrough with my sister and Dad, I realized that while the house was super adorable, it wasn’t THE fit for me. So, I thought that I would go back to my original plan of waiting. But my realtor sent me a link to another home…and then another…and then another. Suddenly, I realized that I absolutely needed to do everything possible to buy a home. THIS was the time. I felt like…I couldn’t wait any longer. I felt like…I was ready. I felt like…the opportunity was ripe with interest rates as low as they were. I.Needed.To.Buy.A.House. IT WAS TIME.

And so I threw myself into buying a home. I was on Zillow constantly, and I found myself simply mesmerized by all of the beautiful homes. However, I still needed more money for a stronger down payment, so I also threw myself into DoorDashing. Thankfully, because 2020 was such a shithole of a year, there weren’t many exciting things happening, so I could DoorDash constantly so I could quickly grow my savings.

I looked at a million homes, but none of them seemed right. I obsessively looked at houses July – October, but I couldn’t find my house. It felt like maybe it was simply another pipe dream. 

Until I found it. I found this house, and it was the perfect fit. You see, I realized from prior experience that I couldn’t shake my desire for an older home because I simply ADORED their authentic wood, craftsmanship, and individuality. But I needed to have one that was updated and modernized to a tee so that I didn’t have so many maintenance issues and frustrations. And I found it in this house. This house was a craftsman home built in 1923, and it has the original hardwood floors throughout the whole house, as well as the crown molding in every room!!! Nothing has been painted or removed! However, it has also been thoroughly renovated. Foundation, wiring, plumbing, lighting, roof, etc.- it has all been meticulously restored.

I immediately loved it, and I realized the only reason it was still on the market was because the sellers wanted to close in January, and it was only October. Most people would want a 30 day close for a variety of reasons, but with my month-to-month apartment lease, I gave zero effs about the closing date. I put in an offer, they countered, we continued negotiations, blah blah blah, and….I got the house.

I sort of feel like God/the universe led me to this house. As I stated earlier, it met all of my very specific qualifications (I actually didn’t even list all of my, er, many qualifications for a house here. For example, one of my top qualifications was that I refused to even look at a house if it didn’t have a giant front porch!) And then there were other positive signs as well. For example, I found out later that the person moving from the home was a fellow seminarian! I appreciated knowing that I was buying the house from someone who was in a similar field and gave off good vibes. Additionally, when I had my house closing, something got messed up with the paperwork, and it was the fault of my lending company. To apologize for the mistake, they bought me an even lower interest rate! I could hardly believe my good fortune. And finally, I realized that I really was led to this house at the right time when I just happened to run into my old apartment neighbor at Hy-Vee. She told me that just after I left my old apartment, the place was sold, and the new landlords were terrible. Indeed, she actually ended up moving out on the spot after she found mold and the new landlords wouldn’t do anything about it. I….I felt…simply incredulous when I heard this. Things really had fallen into place for me when I didn’t think they would.

One year later, I still completely love my house. I try to spend more time at home, now, because I love it so much. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come in only a year. Again, I moved into a house with having only lived in an apartment, and while I possessed more than what I did when I first moved to Des Moines, I had NOTHING to assist with home ownership. I’ve had to save up and buy some of the simplest items, such as a snow shovel, garden hose, rake, curtains, etc. And, I’ve had to work hard to pay for more expensive items. My cheap ass apartment furniture looked like ass in my elegant house, so I’ve been slowly replacing all of that. To start, I bought a new dining room table, buffet, and desk. Oh! And- the item I had been looking forward to the most- I bought a swing bed for my front porch. I could live out there in the warm months.

Obviously, I still have so much more that I want to do with my house (which is probably true of anyone!) I need to paint the upstairs, replace my bedroom furniture, buy a new living room furniture set, redo the landscaping, etc. I have an ongoing list on my phone. :) 

But, while I’m always planning ahead, I never forget the past and the journey it took to get here. I’m proud that in the past 10 years, I went from living in a shithole with a van seat futon for my only furniture to living in an impeccably restored historic home. And I’m proud that I did this by myself. It took…so much hard work on my part to be able to achieve this. I worked 85 different odd jobs on top of my full-time career, but I made it. Now, let me be clear- just because I’m PROUD of myself for having achieved this doesn’t mean that I PRESCRIBE this as the path to home ownership. I’m HAPPY with where I landed, but I DO wish that the path had been a bit easier. I wish that I hadn’t had to work quite so hard and fight so desperately, and I strongly believe there are some systemic changes that could smooth the path for others.

Nevertheless, those systemic changes haven’t happened. Additionally, I didn’t have a partner or family to help me out, and so I did it. By myself. Working extremely hard. Strategizing. Praying. Doing the best I could.

And I’m proud of that.

Arrogant. 

Intense. 

Masculine.

I oftentimes cannot understand why these words are used to describe me, when for me, they seem to be a state of simplistic normalcy. And if they are a state of simplistic normalcy, why do I always feel so insecure and offended when someone describes me as such?

Am I arrogant or am I just a woman that holds herself with a strong presence and confidence? Would you even think to call me arrogant had my gender been the other? You see, it is my "arrogance" that allows me to speak up in a room full of dissonance. It is my "arrogance" that encourages me to do and be the things I want to do and be, even if they are contrary to popular opinion. It is my "arrogance" that gives me the courage to showcase my skills and be "good" at things women may not usually be perceived to be good at. Am I arrogant? Or are you just intimidated by the fact that you have nothing to teach me as a man? Am I arrogant? Or am I just not a feeble woman inquiring and grasping for your help?

Am I intense or am I just a young, passionate and hungry soul? I do not think I have ever heard a man be described as "intense" unless it has been for an athletic endeavor or business move. The same intensity which is too much for you is the same intensity that keeps me young and vibrant. I lift heavy things and I run really fast. The same intensity which is annoying to you is the same intensity that drives me to influence and create change that benefits the world and others. And the same intensity in which is an intrusion to your own comfortableness is the same intensity which sustains my hunger. My hunger to travel the world, love deeply, learn about different cultures, meet 1000s of new faces and reflect on my own interactions and impacts they have on humanity. Am I intense? Or am I just not as quiet or soft as you would like me to be? Am I intense? Or do I just give a damn about more than how my cleavage looks in the blouse I wear out?

Am I masculine or do I just fall outside of our binary gender norms? I guess this question has already been answered with the contents of my previous two paragraphs. I never quite understood why many describe me as masculine. It didn't make sense that to be confident, bold, outspoken and strong were qualities only a man could exhibit. To me, these were qualities that made me, me. Because I can lead, and lead quite well. Because I can project my voice rather loudly. Because I can manage the difficulty of physical labor without complaint. Because I can pay for my own meal and hold the door open for myself. Because I do not let you talk over me. Because I can clap back just as quickly as you can. Because I am more than just an accessory to your own success. Because I am all of that, I am masculine. Am I masculine? Or do I just keep up with you? Am I masculine? Or are you just intimidated? 

I see how each of these qualities are used to describe a woman negatively more often than not. And I also see how these qualities are actually positive attributes that have benefited me in more ways than I can count. I see how society masks their sexism in the form of a skeptical or condescending description, and yet, why is it that I still get so insecure and offended when I hear these three words used to describe my person? Why is it that the qualities that I love about myself are simultaneously the ones in which I hate about myself? 

Perhaps it's because I am so much more than those three attributes. I am "arrogant," yet I am very thoughtful, loving, nurturing and reflective. I  am "intense," yet I am super invested in the causes, people and movements I support and love. I am "masculine" and I am also feminine and both are beautiful. You wouldn't see that though, would you?

At the End There is a Wiener Dog.

 As the season changed from summer to fall, I found myself reflecting. My summer was a whirlwind of fun, sun, friends, music, love, and joy. In fact, from the end of July to the end of August, I really felt like I didn't stop much - there was always another fun event, another sunny summer day. We did the whole week of RAGBRAI, riding over 473 miles across the state of Iowa. The weekend after that, we biked down to the Hinterland music festival, pulling our tent and supplies behind us. We camped three days at the festival (without showering) and listened to live music, danced, and spent time with friends all day, every day. The week after that, the Iowa State Fair started and I set a personal record, attending eight out of the 10 days of the fair. And I loved all of it.

The week after the fair, I suddenly had free nights during the week. And I noticed how good it also felt to be home and not have somewhere to rush off to. It felt good to rest, have some calm, and be a little more still. For quite a bit of my adult life, I have paid attention to the seasons, beyond the changes in weather. I love the spirituality that accompanies the solstices and equinoxes. I started thinking about how this summer and the transition into autumn were taking place before my eyes and also within my own life.

During the summer, there were times when I was tired. There were times I wished we had one more weekend with nothing in it between events. And in some years, I might not try to do it all. This summer, though, I had the thought that this is happening right now - event dates aren't changing to suit my energy level so if I want to experience them, I need to do it now. It made me think of plants - wildflowers grow in the mid- to late-summer because that is when the resources are available for them to do so. They don't have a choice of waiting until December to bloom and that's kind of what I told myself. The state fair is now - you can't move it to December so you have to live it now.

As we come into fall, I've found myself thinking about plants again. They are starting to slow down and lose their steam, in preparation for the next season of the species life cycle. I can feel myself starting to do that, both physically and mentally. I've been a little more tired. I've been more mentally distracted and a little melancholy. I've had more anxiety. And I've also been thankful for the reprieve from constant engagement and stimulation.

In the past week or two, this brought me to a stark personal realization. I've known for quite some time that I experience seasonal affective disorder (SAD). Everyone knows people get it in the winter and I assumed that was when I experienced it (because I do...lol). What I didn't realize was that I experience it in the fall and spring, also.

For over 20 years of my life, I have dealt with a binge eating disorder. Early on, I stopped the purging portion of this cycle - yet when I would get stressed or anxious, binge eating was there for me. Sometimes I would binge eat for several days in a row. Without going into all the gory details, trust me, this is a miserable existence. As I got older, I was able to decrease the episodic length of time, as well as the frequency of episodes. But it still happened about three or four times a year.

Last September was the last time I had a binge eating episode. Like any other coping mechanism or addiction, that might not be me LAST last time. But as of right now, it is the last time. That is the longest I have gone without having an episode. And I am proud of that fact.

How does this fit into everything? Struggling with some of the feelings (I'm looking at you, anxiety) I've had in the past few weeks and not binge eating like I would have in the past, helped me realize a pattern over my life. These bouts of anxiety (and when binge eating was in the mix, these bouts would lead to depression) occur almost like clockwork (seasonwork? Lol.) every fall. Last fall I missed a family trip to an apple festival because of it - in previous years, I've taken time off work, missed concerts and time with friends. I even remember being a child and having a weird feeling I couldn't describe during the fall and spring. Not using binge eating as a coping mechanism to ignore how I am feeling opened my eyes to a new way for me to view myself and my way of being.

I know I am sensitive to the seasons, to the sun, to the moon, to the time change (why do we still do that, anyway? *eye roll*). We all are. Maybe it took me longer than most to realize what I was going through and struggling with. It probably took me longer than most to see the pattern that was blurred by a now ineffective coping mechanism. I will say, now that I see it and acknowledge it, that makes it a lot less scary to me. It's not for some unknown reason - there are real, biological reasons our bodies and minds react the way they do to natural phenomenon. We evolved in the natural world, just like the plants. We ARE animals. I love that about us and I love that about myself that I am still in tune with that part of us that mainstream US society tries to ignore or call primitive.

I am finding beauty in listening to my beautiful mind, body, and soul. Sometimes that means being uncomfortable, sad, irritable, anxious - those feelings make us just as alive as joy, happiness, excitement, and love. My sister Kristen asked me the other day when the last time I felt truly alive was. I thought about it for a while - and I realized it was a time last week when I was hurting and sad and raw and I was crying on my walk and feeling my pain. I realized I had blinders on when she originally asked me that question - I was trying to think of a time in the last couple of weeks when I was mind blowingly exuberant and ecstatic. When I remembered my experience on my walk, I fully appreciated that being alive is both the joy and the pain. Fully appreciated it beyond an intellectual knowledge of it.

I'm realizing I have no witty, succinct way to pull this all together. So I will end with saying I am thankful I have the resources (therapist, health insurance, money, time, health, and more) to be able to heal myself on this journey through life. I am thankful I have the opportunity to continue to grow spiritually and emotionally. And I am thankful for those of you who I am fortunate to share this journey with. Here's to feeling alive - in all its bittersweet beauty <3.

Chapter 43

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.