You Know that Life You Wish You Had? Start Living it.

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I used to feel envious of some people and their seemingly adventurous lives– Days and weeks brimming with cool experiences and meaningful events. Their lives just seemed…full. Fun. Like they were always doing memorable things and I felt like I was on the outside looking in, not doing nearly enough and feeling like life was passing me by.

But this post isn’t about envy or jealousy –

It’s about making your life exactly

what you want it to be.

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You know that life you wish you had? The things you see other people doing and being and you wish YOU were doing and being those things? What’s stopping you? Just simply start doing those things and being that person. Start living it. Do something to start living the life you want, a step at a time. Literally, just do it.

Do you see pictures of Sunday Brunch or Sunday Funday on Instagram and

Brunch at Jane. In NYC. Because I can.

wish you were the Sunday Brunching type? Make reservations for this Sunday. Even if you just start with coffee somewhere.

(Or a Bloody Mary. Or both. Whatever.)

Have you always wanted to be the type of person who reads the New York Times over coffee on the weekends? Buy a copy this weekend and make the time.

Do you hear people talking about running or see people running races and wish you were the running type? So start running. Literally, just start running.

Do you wish you could travel more? Start saving and planning for your next trip today.

Sometimes we make it seem so complicated. It’s too easy to make a million excuses about why we can’t have the life we want or wish we had.

The biggest thing stopping us is the bullshit story we tell ourselves about why things can’t be different.

But when you decide you truly want something, the entire universe conspires in your favor to help you have it.

This year, I’ve learned to spend more of my money on moments and less of it on material things– and so I’ve had more adventures this year than ever before. Spending money on experiences and making memories {especially with my kids} has become a priority for me. _____________________________________________________

I’ve always wanted to take my girls to New York City at Christmastime. Somehow over the years, it just never happened. But mainly because I didn’t MAKE it happen. It got shoved aside and I let other things take precedence. But my little “dream” floated along and stuck with me. This past weekend, we did it. And it was everything magical I had hoped it would be.

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They say you only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. And I’m determined not to waste any more time wishing things were different. I’m determined to make them different and to live life so well now that my kids and I will look back and say,

“Can you believe our lives? We had such a good time, didn’t we?”

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If you ever feel as though you’ve read something similar here before or as if I have a common thread running through many of my posts, it’s true. Because I don’t know about you, but I need constant reminding. I need consistent encouragement to think bigger and then take the steps to make things happen. I read an article or see a quote and feel completely inspired only to forget it within a day or two as I navigate the dailyness of life. So I write these posts to remind both of us… 75 years

Everyone Wants to Be Seen and Heard

Last week I read a great article called The One Question You Should Ask Your Child Tonight . And so naturally that night during dinner, I posed it to my girls:

How can I help you feel loved?

I had to smile at the certain predictability of my kids– I knew one would think this was a super meaningful discussion and she was happy to be having it while the other would start to act a little goofy and feel uncomfortable at the vulnerability of it all. I gave them a couple options to break the ice and from there it was smooth sailing.

The best part of asking a question like this?

The answers are deliciously surprising and simple.

I feel loved when you call me love names. When you rub my back. When you randomly text me. When you tell stories from when I was a baby. When we go to Starbucks together. When we laugh and joke around. When we get in your bed and read or talk. When you help me decide what to wear.

It turns out the things kids want most are the easiest, most inexpensive luxuries we already possess: Time and attention.

To be seen and heard.

And if you’re a parent, you’ve surely witnessed the acting out that comes from a child who hasn’t been seen or heard deeply enough. They find unhealthy ways to make it happen and force your attention on them.

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It’s a few day later now and in the wake of the tragedy in France, I’ve been dialoguing and debating the refugee crisis online with strangers. During one such conversation, there was one man in particular who was extremely insulting, aggressive and downright mean to everyone. He was so blatantly condescending it almost became comical.

But you begin to wonder about a person who acts so openly hostile to others. And though I was frustrated, it actually made me feel a little sad. Here we were, the lot of us, feeling a little raw and thoughtful and desperately trying to make sense of how to approach such tenuous world affairs–with so much at stake– and this man was being so childish.

And somehow, I thought of the article I had read and I started to wonder…What would make this man feel loved?

I sat wondering if perhaps his entire life he had not felt seen or heard and behaving this way was the only time people paid attention to him. (Because as is common in these situations, the attention unfortunately drifts from the matter at hand to the jackass attacking everyone.)

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Photo Cred: Ed Uthman, “Yes Music in the Amphitheater, 1970

It was a clear illustration to me of what happens when unheard, unseen little people grow up into unseen, unheard big people.

It’s ugly. And harsh. And destructive.

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And so I’m going to ask my kids from time to time what they need to feel loved. And I’m going to ask the older one too, even though he’s out of the house now. Because over the years, things didn’t always go so well around here and I’m not so sure everyone always felt seen and heard.

I’m telling you this because I believe it’s never too late. When you know better, you do better. It takes courage and vulnerability to ask, but I’m betting the rewards are going to be worth the risk.

And I’m going to believe that it’s healing for parents of any age,

to ask children of any age

how to love them better.

And I’m sending hope and light and goodness to the mean guy on the Internet. I hope someone sees you and hears you today, sir. And that it softens your heart and changes your life.

A Reminder to All the Mamas Everywhere: You Gotta Keep Doing You.

Lipstick and Mustache

Recently when my youngest daughter had a day off from school, I asked her what she wanted to do and gave her some options~

Me: “We could go to a pumpkin patch or cider mill. Go shopping? To lunch? Is there a movie you want to see?”

Her: “Maybe I’ll go to a movie with a friend.”

Me: Blank stare. Long pause. Hard swallow. Fake smile. “Great! Yes! Great! What a fun idea!”

Me, internally: WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT? Oh? Why, you ask? BECAUSE I THOUGHT MAYBE IT WOULD BE FUN TO DO SOMETHING TOGETHER. ~~Jerk.~~

Man. I’m not gonna lie. My feelings were hurt big time. But she’s 13. And as much fun as we have together, (although apparently I’m having more fun than she is ) it’s totally normal and appropriate for her to want to spend time with her friends instead of her mom.

Whatever.

But it was a sharp reminder:

Mama needs to keep cultivating her own life.

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I’ve got 3 kiddos, two of them technically legal adults already, and Little Miss Smarty Pants.

The nest is getting dangerously close to empty which inspires a guttural, emotional cry of~

They don’t really need me anymore!

(FIST PUMP!)

and

They don’t really need me anymore…

(TOTAL DESPAIR…)

Nothing is more thrilling than watching your kids grow and develop into these amazing, separate human beings, complete with their own lives and friends and interests.

But nothing is also more desperate and wrenching than realizing your days as Full-Time Mama are dwindling.

{For single moms, I think this can be an even greater challenge. We’re not rekindling a marriage or reconnecting with a partner. It’s us. We’ve got ourselves.And it’s equally exciting and terrifying.}

So Mamas everywhere–this is not new information–But here’s your reminder:

You gotta keep doing you.

There is more to life than the kids. There is more to you than motherhood. And if motherhood has swallowed up the entirety of who you are and completely suffocated who you used to be, please go back and find the girl you were before you had kids.

What did she love? What lit her up?

What made her eyes and heart glow with life and enthusiasm?

What will bring her sexy back??

If you can’t remember, find new things. Join or start a book club. Get back to the gym or find a walking buddy. Take a class. Learn something brand new. Follow any little spark of curiosity burning inside you.

Pink Lemonade Design

But do these things NOW, while the birds are still in the nest.

So when they DO leave (or you know, want to go to the movies with friends instead of you), you already have your jam. You know what you like. You have things to do. You have options.

But doing all of this isn’t just about you. It’s about your kids learning to see you as a whole person, with a whole personality— not as just a one-dimensional Mom character.

Kids should not grow up thinking they are the center of the universe.

Kids should grow up thinking there is a universe that pre-dates them and they are joining in and becoming a part of it.

When my girls watch me follow my own passions and do activities that have nothing to do with them, it frees them to keep pursuing their own interests and hobbies. It silently gives them permission to be themselves and do their own thing.

I never want my kids to feel responsible for my happiness. Their hearts cannot bear the burden of trying to fill something in me that was never meant to be filled by them (or any other person for that matter).

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I remind myself on the daily: Happiness is an inside job.

My happiness is MY job.

And for now, their happiness is part of my job, too.

But it’s never too early for them to learn how to make THEIR own happiness

THEIR job, as well.

As it turned out, my daughter ended up spending her day off with me. We saw a movie, did a little shopping and a good time was had by all.

In my heart, my first choice will always be to spend time with my kids. But my second choice will always be me. So that when they come to me and say, “I’ve already got plans. Do you mind?”

I’ll smile and say from the bottom of my heart, “So do I.”

Even When it is So Dark I Cannot See, You Are There {Healing from Grief}

{This post was originally published at Creative and Free as part of a ten day series entitled, Scary Stories. “Some hope only grows in the dark.” Thank you to Christina Hubbard for opening up her space and sharing it with other women to bravely tell our scary stories.

The night Mark died was such an ordinary night, which has always been so strange to me. And sort of curious. How can the night you lose your childhood love, your best friend, your husband, the father of your children be so typical? How can the night he is killed in a one car accident be such an ordinary night? But it was.

December 28th, 1998. We were visiting my parents and by 9:00 that night, my kids were tucked in tight, fast asleep and dreaming. We had even said bedtime prayers including ‘God bless Daddy and keep him safe.’ I would later struggle with that 10 second prayer for years to come.

The details I remember in hindsight are sort of amazing to me. I think maybe our minds take certain snapshots during traumatic events so that eventually, it’s a story we can relive and retell whether we like it or not. My dad was in the next room watching Seinfeld- his nightly ritual- and I was at the kitchen table with my mom, painting my nails Magic Mauve.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t really Magic mauve. Had it been magic, the phone wouldn’t have rung a few minutes later bringing the news of Mark’s accident and death…

Click HERE to finish reading over at Creative and Free.

Open House for the First Child and The Last Child: There’s a Difference.

Everyone knows there’s a big difference in how you handle the first born, the middle child, and the youngest. Recently, I went to 8th grade Open House and had to laugh at myself as I saw the difference so clearly.

It’s significant. And I started to make a mental list…

Open House Experience for First Born Child

I arrived early and brought a pen and notebook and took copious notes. On everything.

I introduced myself to every single teacher, wanting to make a good impression and create a strong home/school connection.

I worried about my kid’s credits and weighted grades and asked questions. (I know. I’m sorry. I was that parent. Meanwhile, everyone else was just wanting to hurry up and get the hell home.)

I questioned personalities and teaching styles and wondered if they were a good fit for my child.

I stressed over the thought of detentions and policies and school protocol. High School seemed so complicated! And everyone looks so serious about everything!

When I got home, I grilled him: “Mrs. So and So said you should be reading 20 minutes every night. Are you? I don’t think I ever see you reading?! And did you know Math help is available every single day after school? No excuse for low grades! There’s always help! And by the way, join a club! There’s hundreds to choose from! Pick something. You’ve got to do something besides sports to be a well-rounded student! These things matter!”

I was a lot. But it didn’t seem that way at the time! It seemed CRUCIAL to my kid’s success! I was on every committee and super involved and super– well, just super. I was a school district’s dream. Free work! Professional volunteer! Call me! I’ll do it!

Five or Six years later and a Middle Child in there as well, I was pretty entertained by my own transformation. Things are a bit more… relaxed, shall we say?

Open House Experience for Last Child

Crap! That’s tonight???

Quick glass of wine because… well… because.

Running a few minutes late, but show up just in time. I think I’ve got a pen here somewhere.

Listen to chorus teacher but feel very distracted by the woman next to me and her boyfriend. Discreetly jump on Twitter and tweet about the awkwardness of bringing your BF to Open House. It just seems excessive. But maybe that’s just me. #IDontThinkHeWantsToBeHere

Decide there is nothing here, in any of these classes, I need to take notes on. Who does that? I’m pretty sure all of this info is on the website.

Mr. Math Teacher is kind of hot. Just sayin’. I think she’ll do just fine in here.

Why does this same mother keep asking so many questions? Why doesn’t she just chat with the teacher afterward? Schedule a conference, Lady. Nobody cares about your kid’s credits but you.

This computer teacher has now talked for fifteen solid minutes about the importance of typing and building a strong foundation with the Home Row keys. Honestly, I just had a broken wrist and collarbone and still managed to “type”. Pretty sure the kids will fight through it.

Of course when I got home, my child wanted to know all about it.

“It was great! I loved your teachers–especially Math. This is going to be your best year yet!”

And I believe it–I love my kid’s school. I love teachers. And I mean no disrespect. Also, I forgot to join the PTO, but that was a complete oversight. It’s just that with a little more parenting under my belt, I value a more balanced perspective this time around.

Rookie parents: It all works out somehow. Everything’s going to be okay. Even when it seems like it won’t be, it will. Of course be informed. Of course be involved– but cut yourself some slack, too. And as you already know, the ride goes light years faster than you think, so try to enjoy it while you’re on it.

And DJ, sorry bud. I was trying to be Super Everything, which also included Super Annoying.

A Message to My Kids about Adulting

We talk a lot about Adulting in our house. And by we, I mean the kids and I. Yes, that’s right. The kids and I give each other a lot of high fives and butt smacks and ‘Atta Girls for Adulting.

Adulting: Forcing yourself to do crap you don’t really want to do because you’d rather do something else or you’re afraid you don’t know how to do it.

As my kids have gotten older, it seems almost daily they’re faced with new and sometimes challenging situations, and I keep hearing myself coach them the same way I coach myself through this whole Adulting thing.

It’s not that I’m BETTER at Grown Up Tasks or that I LIKE doing them. It’s just that one day you realize, if you don’t do this stuff, then who will? There’s a cost to not having your shit together. And it can be pretty expensive. (Like $70 in overdue library fines expensive. Because that’s the type of badassery we commit around here.)

I vividly remember being in high school and lying on that luxurious red shag carpet and worrying about how to be an adult. (Can you even imagine? RED SHAG. It went with the tulip wallpaper. Bless.) In my neon green Champion sweatshirt and oversized scrunched down socks, I wondered, ‘How does everyone do this? Buy a house and a car and pay bills and all of this scary stuff. How do they know how to do it? It seems like a lot. Will I be able to? Will I be okay? What if I’m not good at it?’ But somehow, I’m doing it!

So this is what I want my kids to remember about Adulting:

None of us knows exactly what we’re doing.

And the way through Adulting never really changes:

Ask yourself what you already know about the situation
Ask questions or advice of the people around you
Ask for help

I used to be embarrassed to ask for help. But now I have absolutely no problem saying to someone, “You know what? This is not in my wheelhouse, so I don’t really understand it. Can you explain it again? And again? Okay, one more time…”

It seems like after I do something I’ve been putting off or that I wasn’t sure about, I almost always have the same reaction: It really wasn’t so hard after all and I’m not sure why I was scared to do it.

And the best part of Adulting is once you DO get your stuff done, you can sleep better at night. You can stop obsessing over the phone call you haven’t made yet. The bill you haven’t paid. The errand you were supposed to run last week. You can relax and enjoy yourself, guilt free. Unless you have to work. And in that case, get your butt out the door, because let’s face it, work is the cornerstone of Adulting.

If you’re still feeling stuck though, there’s just one other invaluable skill necessary for successful Adulting: Googling. No shame in my game, y’all.

What thing in your life says, “Hey Look! I’m Adulting!” like no other? I’d love to hear it!

What Kind of Story Would You Have Written?

All-American girl grows up in a happy, traditional household with a postcard-perfect childhood. She graduates from high school. Goes to college. Falls in love. Marries the man of her dreams. Has three babies, the career she always dreamed of and lives happily ever after.

I’ve been working on a writing project. And I keep thinking how much easier it would be to write this story if everything had just gone according to plan. Not that I had a Formal Life Plan, but I think all of us imagine how we’d like things to go.

But if things had gone according to plan, I’m not so sure I’d have anything to write about.

“Once upon a time there was girl who lived the exact life she imagined. The end.”

And really, who wants to read about that? Who wants to read about someone’s life going exactly as they thought it would? It’s sort of anti-climatic, isn’t it? Where’s the meaning? The struggle? The bravery? The victory?

Because instead, it went something like this:

All-American girl grows up in a spiritually split household, which leaned heavily on strict Word of Faith and Evangelical beliefs. Lots of struggle ensues. Girl graduates from high school. Goes to college. Gets pregnant. Has a baby. Gets married. Has another baby. Is widowed. Gets remarried. Has another baby. Gets divorced. (Does NOT have another baby). Dates. Struggles to figure out faith and love and relationships. Breaks a few bones. And hearts, along the way– including her own. And THEN…

Then what? What happens next?

You have to admit, the second version makes for a much more interesting story. I want to know what happens! (Ohhhhh I seriously want to know what happens!) I want to know details! I want to know the ins and outs and in-betweens! The first version actually sounds a little BO-RING.

Which on some days would be sweet relief, wouldn’t it?

Overcoming obstacles gives life meaning.

Searching for love. More than once.

Or twice.

Battling fear.

Pushing past insecurities.

Finding and losing… and finding… Faith and God.

Discovering and living out your true identity over and over again.

Wrestling with beliefs and traditions and mindsets that have just always been.

Building family and community and an authentic tribe of people you love and who love you back. And who like you, too

These are things that make life, well… alive. These are the things that create a great story. One worth reading about. (And writing about) And as it turns out, they’re also the things that make a great life. Living through the ups and downs of life has a way of reminding us that life is fragile. And special. And magical. And worthwhile.

If we could write our own stories, most of us would leave out the most difficult parts. I know I would. And I think about this for my kids, too. l want life to be easy for them. But it’s not. It won’t be. It isn’t for any of us. But it can still be beautiful. It is still beautiful. I know this now. Easy would not make a better story- or a better life.

An easy life would be absent of the deepest, most beautiful parts.

What has your life been like? Did it go as planned? Was there one HUGE, completely unexpected plot twist in your life? Or a hundred little ones? Tell me, please. I’d love to hear about it.

First Day Fears

There’s something about the first day of ANYTHING that combines to be one part fear, one part anticipation and one part bravado. My friend and fellow blogger Christina Hubbard of Creative and Free takes us on her First Day journey as her kids head back to school. Christina and I met last year at a writer’s conference in Chicago. I was immediately struck by her inquisitive nature and her open gracious spirit. She is a mother. A writer. An artist. And her soulful, deep-waters writing helps make me a better person and a better writer. A few weeks ago I was honored to guest post on her blog. And this week, I am honored even more so to feature her on mine…

How First Day Fears

Can Find Your Faith

When You Can’t

First day fears feel so wrong, like looking up at a sheer rock face we’re supposed to climb when we’d rather slide back down the rocky scree to safety. Inline image 10

I didn’t want the first day of school to come. I thought I did. Really, I didn’t.

I wanted to be the fierce Let’s-Do-This-Thang-Mama. Pretending to have it all together is like telling you I like to eat worms for breakfast. A complete crock.

I thought I was ready for the first day. As it turns out, I wasn’t.

Let’s face it. I was a mess before the first day. I couldn’t even lead my son in to meet his teacher when we got to sneak a peak at his new classroom. So he would be less afraid on the real first day, I was supposed to be strong. I had planned to be brave, but I wasn’t. My husband took his hand and carried the torch for all of us.

I didn’t know how this would feel. No one told me I would flash back to my daughter’s first day of kindergarten and feel tidal waves of missing her again. It felt like a double loss—sending two kids off to a new school for the first time. I wasn’t prepared for the surging emotions, but I don’t suppose anyone is. I longed for the sending off to feel like embarking to a new land, like our recent roadtrip, but it didn’t.

We made it home that night. While I consoled myself with courage tips from Bear Grylls, my husband tucked in the kids. They fessed to being nervous too. There’s strength in the solace of knowing we’re not the only ones who are scared.

I love what Bonnie Gray says about letting ourselves feel at the gut-level:

“…There comes a time when it takes more faith to fall apart with Jesus than to stay strong enough to stop it from happening.” (Finding Spiritual Whitespace)

My husband and I talked into the night about why our decision felt hard even if it was the right thing. It’s ok to feel broken up, to admit we have no idea what we are doing. Before he shut off the lights, Bobby said, “It’s going to be ok.”

The strongest faith grows from the most broken places. Falling apart helped me believe my husband’s words fully. Falling apart helped me believe the words God had whispered for months: “Trust me. It’s going to be ok. I love you.”

Let’s skip the part in the middle of the night where my thoughts raced like a rat in a wheel. (I remembered I hadn’t put my little Jedi’s pencils into his pencil box. Will he be able to open the package by himself? Dear, Lord… I must have prayed it fifty times.)

What transformed all of our fears into fortitude was admitting we couldn’t summit this mountain alone—not without God or each other.

Our whole family walked into the elementary double doors the first day. We came nervous, scared, and unsure—AS IS. This is the adventure our family has been preparing for, the change we prayed about, the step of faith we took. By God’s strength alone, they walked tall and so did I.

We didn’t have it all together. We held hands for a while and hesitated for a minute. All the kids were being ushered into the gym. Clearly, it was time to go. Our hands released, and I exhaled. Inline image 8

My husband and I went for coffee and sat together marveling at our composure and theirs. Clearly, we had nothing to do with it.

God uses weakness to give us the greatest strength. He takes our tied up, twisted up fears and uses hard things to make us mountain climbers.

Go ahead. Fall apart. Hold hands. FAITH FOUND.

The first day of school happened. Today is a few days after, and I’m still not prepared or happy about it.

We did it anyway, with God’s supernatural strength—nothing else. We came to Him at the end of ourselves—clueless and vulnerable. When we admitted our helplessness, the first day became do-able. We admitted our inability and the pressure in the can released. Bear Grylls has it right:

“Being brave isn’t the absence of fear. Being brave is having that fear but finding a way through it.“

Take it from the guy who really does eat worms for breakfast.

Take heart, fellow climber, you’re not trekking alone.

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Winning {and Losing} A Fish from the Fair

Before we even got to the fair, she was prepping me. The sun was high overhead and it was a picture-perfect day to roam around the fair eating and laughing in wonderment at everything there was to see.

“You know what game I want to play first, right Mom? You know I want to try and win another fish, right?” she asked smiling, a knowing glimmer in her deep chocolate pudding eyes.

Yes. I knew. And she was prepping me because she knew I would not share her enthusiasm for another fish.

She had won a fish at the fair last year, and for reasons still unclear to me, we went out the next day and bought a ten gallon aquarium, complete with light, filter, and every other accessory fish apparently need to survive. Were the moon and stars aligned just so? Was it the pet store guy convincing me each fish needs a minimum of three gallons of water just for themselves? In any case, we got the whole shebang, with two additional fish in tow.

A few months later, they were all dead.

Correction: A few days later, the Fair Fish was dead. And then at some point, the other two kicked the bucket as well. All unbeknownst to her, because like a ~~crazy~~ good mother, I ran out and replaced them before she ever knew. At some point, I put an end to the charade (because really) and then shortly after, our dog died. So as you might imagine, I did not share her eagerness.

And besides. Fair fish have what you might call a reputation.

A big scarlet letter.

And not for longevity.

Quite the opposite. They probably ARRIVE at the fair already weak, swimming in that toxic rainbow water with one fin in the grave. And yet why is the goldfish game the easiest to win? Rationally speaking, it should be the hardest! You’re taking shots at winning a LIVE pet, for God’s sake– not just a 3-foot stuffed purple gorilla. Who makes these rules up?

But there was something about the optimism beaming from her tan golden face that was charming and a little bit contagious. She knew the odds. She knew she would be going home with a fish. And she also knew it might not live that long. Her cheerfulness in the face of terrible odds was inspiring.

I took note. I watched how happy it made her to just try. To go after the challenge. I saw how fearless and nonchalant she was approaching the whole thing. How much she was enjoying it.

If she lands that ping pong ball, we’re doomed.

Look, I get it. We’re only talking about a stupid fair fish. We’re not talking about, say, LIFE. Or LOVE. Or you know, whatever. But it’s all relative. Risk is relative. It depends on what you’ve already won or lost and what it cost you. The price you paid.

And as luck and skill would have it, she won a fish.

And she was elated.

And then we lost Gilbert a mere 72 hours later.

But somehow I didn’t feel the panic or worriment this time around to run out and find a body double for him. (And shout out to those who’ve tried. It’s not necessarily an easy thing to do.) It seems a year later we’ve all grown enough to face loss head on- the big ones AND the little ones.

And she was fine. She really was. Actually, she was more than fine. She asked if we could go to the store to buy more fish and start the aquarium all over again. Oh, the optimism, I thought. I have to admire it. And perhaps work on finding mine again.

So you know what?

We’re going to.

We’re going to buy more fish and start the aquarium all over again, even if the odds are against us.

Tell me about your Fair Fish. Everyone has a story and I want to hear yours.

Somehow, You Just Do

Death. Illness. Accidents. Break ups. Broken Hearts. Bankruptcy. Betrayal.

Think of the last REALLY hard thing that went on in your life.

{Or maybe, like me, you’re still in the middle of something really hard.}

But now think back to all the really hard things you’ve already made it through.

And first of all, Bravo, you Bad Ass, you.

Second of all, whichever space you’re in, I’m gonna guess there was a moment–even if it was just a millisecond– when you wondered how you would ever survive. A moment when you thought you never would. A moment when you swore this would be the one hard thing that was TOO hard. Insurmountable. Impossible. Impassable.

Sounds silly now. And maybe a touch dramatic. But it didn’t feel that way at the time.

You didn’t know how you were gonna do it. But somehow. Somehow, you did. Somehow, when it comes down to getting through, a day at a time, you just do.

This morning, I went for a walk. A legitimate walk. I awkwardly strained to wrangle my hair into a messy bun. (An impossible task just a week ago) I couldn’t manage a sports bra, but I pulled up a bandeau bra thingy and leggings. Last night, I asked my daughter to loosely tie my sneakers so I could just pull them on this morning and actually go by myself. (I sound like a toddler. There’s been a lot of that. Not good.)

Side note: Speaking of something else I can’t manage yet: Spanx. Over the weekend, I tried. I really tried. There was a dress I wanted to wear that needed a little…help. And there was a literal moment when I had to choose between potentially damaging my healing wrist with all the pulling and tugging versus the illusion of a flat tummy. I actually had to think about it. Because priorities. But since I physically could not get them on, the decision was made for me. Dodged a bullet.

As crazy as it may sound, I was kinda scared to venture on this walk alone. (Although not as scared as I felt when I contemplated the idea of having to tell my mom I re-broke my wrist trying to pull on a pair of Spanx. AmIRight??) But there were two things: What if I get too far from my house and I run out of energy and can’t make it home? And the other one was the biggie: What if I fall? What if I trip on a curb or a banana peel or THE SIDEWALK?? Because apparently, these types of things happen to me. But the point is, I wouldn’t be able to catch myself. Then what? It might not sound like a big deal, but for me, it was.

I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to feel so fragile. I want to feel fearless. (‘She wants to be fearless. That’s cute’, my mom is thinking. ‘Hire a nurse next time.’) Good news: I went ahead on my walk and made it home just fine.

Today I was thinking about how far I’ve come. A few weeks ago, a three mile walk was unthinkable. I just wouldn’t have had the stamina yet. I was still spending a lot of time ~~crying~~ resting, which takes up a lot of energy.

And then I got to thinking of all the other things I’ve lived through that I never could’ve imagined. 23 years of parenting. 16 years having lost my first husband. 4 years of being a blonde. 2 years divorced. Lots and lots of heartache and heartbreak. Just life. And most recently, almost 2 months of broken bones and surgeries and depression and recovery.

You can’t really understand at the outset, how you’re going to live through some of these things. But somehow, you just do. And then you kind of look back in awe of yourself. And feel sort of proud. You think,’I did it. I thought for sure, this is how it all goes down, but I’m doing it.’

So what is it for you? What are the things you thought you’d never live through?

‘Cause guess what? You did it. You’re doing it. And so am I.

Truly Julie

"I am mine before I am ever anyone else's."- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Life with KiDs