Relationships

My New Running Partner

Running

As I was leaving the house for my run that morning, I was already running late. Torn between skipping it completely or rushing to fit it in, I chose the latter and scrambled out the door. Total self-imposed stress, I know, but still better than berating myself the rest of the day for missing a run. Within moments, I realized I had forgotten my watch but didn’t want to waste time going back for it. And as long as I wasn’t going to time myself, I figured I’d skip using Runkeeper, as well.

If you’re not familiar, Runkeeper is a GPS app that tracks every aspect of your run and also offers voice coaching with time and pace cues. If you’re having a good run, Runkeeper is your friend. On a bad run, you want to throat punch her.

So for the first time in a very long time, I was running without a clock. Without being timed. Without the compulsive need to check my pace and mile split times. Simply put, I was running without the pressure of performing and competing against myself.

My counselor asked me recently if I enjoy running and what I think about when I run. She wondered if it was a peaceful mental place for me. (Yes, I have a counselor. She has this amazing ability to help me process life events and relationships, and in turn, formulate healthy responses and reactions. I adore her and she’s worth her weight in gold) Ummm. Wow. The fast answer would’ve been, “Yes, of course I enjoy running.” And I do. To an extent. But you’d never know it by the self-talk that normally bounces around in my brain:

“Ugh. God, I’m so slow today. Is that all the time that’s passed? This sucks. What the hell is wrong with me? I do NOT want to run 9-minute miles. Mother of pearl- I wanna be sub 8 on this. Or at least low eights. Have I gotten slower? I need to eat better. Less beer would probably help too. I should really cross train. I say that everyday and never do it. Dumb. This hill is kicking my ass. I suck. How did I ever run 2 half marathons when it feels like I can’t run 4 miles today? I’ll never be able to run a full marathon.”

You get the picture. Big sigh. It’s not very nice. I’m kind of embarrassed by it. My counselor went on to ask me if I would ever talk to a friend the way I talk to myself. Ummm no. Never. Ever. So what would I tell a friend who was having a bad run? “Hey! Not every run is going to be your best. Every run is different. You still got out there today! You’re still running! Look at all the people who never exercise or run at all. Be proud of yourself. You’ll do better next time.” Woah. Big difference.
So there I was, running without any self-imposed pressure–and though I was tempted to worry about my time, I made a conscious effort to just simply run at a pace that felt natural to me. And then I did something that felt sort of corny at the time. I started to think about some quotes I’d read recently -the ones about living in the moment and enjoying life and being fully present. So part way through my run, I made myself breathe as deeply as I could and started to meditate on the positive things in my life right now. It’s very possibly been the worst year of my life (or 2nd worst year anyway) and therefore seemed like a loser idea,  but this is what I heard in my head:

“I love that the sun is shining right now. It’s an absolutely beautiful morning. The trees are changing colors and it’s amazing. I’m so thankful I can run this morning. I know my schedule won’t always be like this, but it is today- and I’m thankful for that.”

I could feel the tears starting to come.

“Thank you God for my kids and how well each of them are doing. Thank you that they are happy and healthy and each in a good place. Thank you for my parents and how much they love me and support me. Thank you that I have brothers and a sister that love me and would do anything for me. Thank you for the friends in my life that love me and adore me and think that I am lovable and funny and kind.”

I am in the home stretch now, running down my street with tears streaming down my face. “Thank you for my home. I love my house. My yard. My dog. Life has been so, so very hard- and yet there is so much sweetness too- I am overwhelmed. “

The day I forgot my watch, I probably didn’t run my fastest 4 miles ever, but it wasn’t my slowest either. I loved the happy and free girl I ran with. In those moments, yes, I loved running- but I loved my life, too. And that’s a good run day.

Life Doesn’t Have to be Perfect to Still be Wonderful

Life doesn’t have to be perfect to still be wonderful. Woah. I don’t know where I saw this quote, but it’s having a big impact on me. Huge. Because I want life to be perfect. I’m pretty sure everybody does. But we all know it’s so not. Even on really, really good days it’s so not perfect. And sometimes when its not perfect, it can feel like its not good at all. That because of those things that continually scratch up the picture, the whole thing is a toss. And when I read this quote I am reminded of just how untrue that is.
At the risk of sounding cliche, I know that I have so much to be thankful and grateful for. So much more than I deserve. So much more than so many others. But there are still things that I wish were different. There are still things in life that I can’t change, that make it unperfect- and that just bugs me. And when I say “perfect”, I’m not talking about a bigger house or a better this or a better that- thinner, richer, blah, blah, blah. I’m talking about those things in our lives that we just wish weren’t so. Or were different. Or had happened. Or never happened. There are aches in my heart over parts of life that I have no control over. And no control is a very hard place to be.
Now, if you know me at all, you know I’m a Jesus-girl. (If you don’t know me, I’m a Jesus-girl) So I’m not talking about having no hope. I mean really, hope is all I have, with my biggest hope being that this earth and this life are not the end- that heaven is a real place with no more sorrow and no more tears. But this side of heaven, there is life. And life is so not perfect. There is a lot of joy and a lot of sorrow. A lot of ups and a lot of downs too. But I want to embrace it all as parts of a whole that is still really good. And I want to fully understand that it doesn’t have to be perfect to still be wonderful. Because some day, in heaven, it will be perfect. And that will be wonderful too.

No, thank YOU.

For the past 10 years I have run the Thanksgiving Food Drive at my children’s elementary school. It’s a small but heartfelt operation that provides all the typical Thanksgiving dinner fare, including a turkey and hopefully a few extra pantry staples thrown in. It’s incredibly meaningful to me because it serves families who have fallen on tough times right in our own school–as in, boys and girls that might be sitting next to my daughter.

But yesterday was a first.  The school nurse, who is in charge of identifying the families and distributing the boxes operates under the utmost of confidentiality and discretion so as to maintain privacy and dignity for the recipients. So in my ten years of running this event, I have never known or seen a single family receive a box. But yesterday, during the sorting and packing and boxing up, a woman introduced herself to me and followed up by saying,”Every year I receive a box. This year, I’m still receiving a box, but I decided to help.”

Wow. What could I say? I didn’t want to lose this sort of intense moment by talking too much or too soon or sounding too…whatever the word is. Like a superficial suburban mom who might be somewhat out of touch with the reality of my neighbor’s hardships? I still haven’t really found it. Because in my heart of hearts, my intentions are good. And I just wanted her to feel like we were friends, working side by side at school PTO event. Because really, isn’t that what we sort of were?

In all of the humility it took for her to reveal herself as a recipient, ironically, I felt humbled. Very humbled. I thanked her for coming. And she thanked me back. And it’s hard to feel simultaneously thankful and a negative emotion at the same time. Such as judgmental or critical or resentful or whatever other emotion either one of us could have chosen for our own private reasons.

We wished each other a Happy Thanksgiving. And then we continued to work side by side. A little awkward. A sort of weighted silence. But still just two moms trying to show our kids and neighbors what Thanksgiving is all about. Choose to be thankful this week and watch how easily everything else falls away.

90% Good, 10% Under Construction

This weekend I heard popular speaker and author Max Lucado say that most people are 90% good and 10% under construction. His obvious point being that despite the sometimes seemingly overwhelming flaws in people, the good by far outweighs the bad.  Now, I know right out of the gate, some of you disagree with these numbers. You’re thinking that you know a lot of people who need a high-five. In the face. With a chair. And there’s another category worse yet–the people to whom you’d like to channel Bruno Mars and say, “Tell the devil I said Hey when you get back to where you’re from.” Ah yes.  We’ve all got a few in our lives.  But the reality is, “bad” people really are few and far between.

Sometimes when we have difficult relationships in our lives, whether it be family members, in-laws, our kids, spouse, or the people we work with, we can easily become micro-focused on their flaws and forget about all of the positive qualities that make up their majority. Instead of seeing the person as a whole and appreciating all of their gifts, talents and amazing, God-given personality traits, we end up like a laser beam, focusing in on the few negatives and forgetting the positives all together. We start thinking in terms of extremes– as in “they ALWAYS…” or they “NEVER”… and our perspective becomes skewed. In fact, we start to think that some people are actually 90% bad and only a measly 10% good. God help us.

We’ve all got our blind spots. We’ve all got our issues and the areas of our lives that are under construction. That’s just the way it is. And yes, it’s true. Maybe some people are a little closer to 80/20 or 60/40 –but that still means that they are largely good. That they are mostly made up of positives. That they can enrich our lives if we would use a little more grace and a little less tunnel vision. And if it’s our kids, our spouse, or family member, it especially means that they are by far, worthy of our love and the investment of our hearts.

And if not. If you have people in your life who really are that bad, then take the high road. Be kinder than necessary. Chances are you have no idea of the battle they’re fighting and they need your 90%.

An Open Letter to My Daughter’s Bullies. Including, But not Limited to the Mean Girls.

On my best days, I pray for you. I feel bad for you. I wonder what your home life has sown into you that is now reaping such ugliness. I wonder if your mom and dad know the things you say and do.  Maybe you only have one or the other? Maybe they are the ones you have learned this from? Or would they be shocked and disappointed?  I work hard not to judge them. Would they say things like, “This is not how we have raised you”?

I wonder who’s been mean to you. Have you been bullied too? I remind myself that hurting people hurt people and you are simply acting out of your own pain. I feel a spark of compassion for whatever pain you carry and I feel strangely curious about your internal life–Are you mad? Are you sad? Do you know you’re being mean? Is it on purpose? Do you ever feel guilty? Do you ever feel bad? Do you ever think of my daughter and wonder how she feels? Ever?  You didn’t have to be her best friend–just friendly would have been enough. But either way, it’s your loss. She would’ve had your back. She’s loyal. She’s kind. She’s true. She’s brilliantly clever and creative. And funny. But apparently those qualities aren’t trending these days.

On my worst days, I hate you.

I hate what you’ve done to my daughter.

I hate the way you’ve made her feel.

I hate the things you’ve said and done– all the eye-rolling, the smirks, the huffs and the knowing looks between you and your friends. The outbursts of laughter at her expense. The way you have excluded her. The way you have made someone so beautiful and shiny and precious feel so ugly and dull and worthless. The school day memories you have stained with a thousand tears. Hers and mine. It’s petty and wrong and right on your level-but it’s human:

There are moments when I want you to be bullied

and excluded and hurt the way she has been.  

I don’t understand you. I don’t understand how on earth you have been tricked into thinking your behavior is okay. I wonder where your parents are. I think things like, “The apple must not fall far from the tree” and I wonder if anyone has ever told you, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” And I think about karma. About what comes around goes around. And I think, I hope  you get what you deserve. And then I stop. Because I wasn’t raised that way. Because that isn’t the person I want to be. Because I can’t be the mom I need to be if I’m too busy being bitter and wishing you pain.

But truthfully, most days I don’t have time to let you take up too much space in my head.  The day my daughter came home from school sobbing, literally falling through the door and choking out the words, “I can’t do this anymore”, we decided to home school her. That’s right–even though we pay school taxes in one of the most highly ranked districts around, we home school her. You go. She doesn’t. You’ve made the price not worth the cost. The suicide of a local boy last month and the deaths of other kids your age are stunning reminders that for now, we have done the right thing. We have made the right choice.

We are not hiding our daughter from the reality of life–we are protecting hers. I know you are not the first or last mean person she will meet, but we are giving her a reprieve from you.

The school can potentially keep you from being mean by imposing rules and consequences, by  initiating expensive anti-bullying campaigns and promoting clever anti-bullying rhetoric, but they can’t make you be nice. And there’s a big difference. They can’t make you like her. It’s not their job to sow love and kindness into your heart so that your life will reap goodness and mercy and grace towards others. But along with reading, writing and arithmetic, that is my job. And I take it very seriously.

Here, Let Me Help You

I love Self-Help. I am a self professing Self-Help junkie. And I know, from all of my Self-Help study, that admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery. Not that it’s a problem though. Not for me, anyway. (And I am NOT in denial- the act of believing something to be untrue- at least I don’t think I am). Although it might be a problem for the people around me. (Not that I’m paranoid.) It’s just that by now, I’ve acquired so much useful information from all the books I’ve read and classes I’ve taken, that I could be so helpful to other people.  Isn’t that a good thing? What could possibly be wrong with that? I mean, as long as I’m not being an enabler and subconsciously encouraging co-dependency, right?

Does this make me weird? Although, I shouldn’t really care–that would be insecurity–the belief that I am somehow being judged by others and am somehow inferior. And I’ve read Beth Moore’s book,  So Long Insecurity, so I should be all set in that area. It’s just that I find myself so interesting. And not just me–because that would be Narcissistic: the obsession with oneself and the feeling that one is somehow particularly special or different from other people. But everyone else, too.

I somewhat consider myself a deep thinker–an analyzer– my husband claims that I’m always psychoanalyzing him. When at times, he asks me what I’m thinking, the truth is, he probably doesn’t want to know–because it’s a tiny bit possible that I’m OVER thinking. Maybe. Why does he  do we do the things we do? Why does he do we think the things we do? How do our perspectives get so incredibly skewed and confused and at times so far from the truth? I read a quote one time that said, “How I see it is not how it is. It’s just how I see it.” That’s a lot to ponder. Especially when you think you’re right all the time. You want other people to see it your way, too! Aren’t you just helping them gain a better perspective? Although this could seem controlling. Maybe as long as you don’t say things like, “WINNING!” …Because that doesn’t seem helpful.

I think the Self-Help sections of the library and the bookstores are really rather fun. I’m sure you’re familiar with some of the titles out there, but here are a few of my personal favorites: “How To Be Happy Though Married”, “When Your Phone Doesn’t Ring, It’ll Be Me”, “Sippy Cups Are Not for Chardonnay and Other Things I Had to Learn as a New Mom”, “How To Be Pope”, “Anybody Can Be Cool…But Awesome Takes Practice” and “Have a New Husband By Friday”. This last one kills me. I swear I have not personally read it, (though I know someone who has) but if I ever saw my husband reading a book called  “Have a New Wife by Friday”, I would make it really easy for him. By Tuesday. Trust me.

But here’s the funny thing about Self-Help–a lot of times when you’re reading it, you don’t see yourself. You see everyone else in your world. Instead of thinking of all the ways you need to modify your own behavior, all you can think about are the people you know who could really benefit from these new truths and insights. I am guilty of actually reading and highlighting in these books and adding other people’s initials in the margins! It’s like sitting in church, hearing a sermon and wishing so and so was there because you know they could really apply this in their life. I don’t have a technical psychobabble term for this behavioral phenomenon. I think it might just be called judgmental. Or critical. But those words sound kind of harsh and I mean it to be kind. And helpful. So let’s call it something nicer, like, love.

Real Life. It’s Messy.

I like my house the way I like my life. Neat. Tidy. Picked up. No loose ends. All my ducks in a row. I can even tolerate a little dirt here and there as long as it LOOKS and feels like it’s all put together. When things start to pile up and kids start leaving stuff around and everything feels a little too helter skelter, I can feel my skin start to crawl. I have even been guilty of being a bit of a kill joy if I come home to a messy house. The atmosphere suddenly shifts because I want order. No matter what else is going on or supposed to be happening, I suddenly have one main focus: clean up the house. Regroup.

But lately, I’ve tried to be better about all this because here’s the truth: Real life is messy. Real, true, passionately lived life is a mess. It’s not neat. It’s not tidy. And it will probably never look like the magazines that showcase my home front dreams. (Which, by the way, where’s their stuff? When you look at those pictures, you know, where’s their STUFF??) I want to learn to be okay with all this because I’ve come to realize that that’s when my family and I are truly living. Muddy jeans and wet socks for the umpteenth time last week meant that kids were playing in the creek trying to catch fish and frogs instead of playing video games or watching T.V. The Barbie mecca, complete with in ground pool, that was constructed in the living room and left for several days was like a field of dreams for a little girl. Size 13 sneakers by the door, empty milk cartons and cereal boxes left on the counter, the T.V. stuck on Sports Center means our son is home from college. Last weekend, stuff was everywhere. Dirty dog prints on the hard wood floor. Dishes. Papers. Clothes. We were too busy to bother though–we were out and about DOING and LIVING. Would I really want it any other way? Just so it all looks and feels perfect? I want people to matter first. The house to matter second well, wherever it lands on the list.

But I’m not just talking about the house, really. I’m talking about life and relationships. Like most people, I’ve always wanted those to be neat and tidy too. But that’s just not realistic. Real life is messy. As people, we are constantly trying to battle for our identity; to be true to ourselves while trying to be true to the people we love. Sometimes we get it right, but lots of times we don’t. We hurt each other. Kids growing into their own have jagged and uneven edges. A marriage that is committed to last  no matter what, no matter how, is not always pretty. Raising a family will definitely stain your carpet with blood, sweat and tears and Lord knows what else. That’s another blog: the beauty of leather furniture–it’s washable.

While having this epiphany recently (I’m sure I was drinking a perfect cup of coffee from my Keurig–see! I think it even helps me think better!) my mental train of thought ended up comparing it all to child-birth.  Because really, childbirth is the literal analogy of bringing forth life. Talk about a mess. Holy Smokes. Talk about “stuff” being everywhere. (Sorry, guys, for that mental image– if you need a little brain bleach, the Mets are 22 and 25 right now.) Talk about the pain of battling it out–during the birth of my last child, as I neared the end of labor,  tears leaked from the corner of my eyes and I whispered to my husband, “I’m not gonna make it.”

But you know what? I did. And that’s life for you. It’s messy. It’s hard. It’s rarely perfect even when it looks like it is. But it’s washable. And fixable. And even when we think we’re not gonna make it, that we might not survive the mess, we do. And just like that baby, we wouldn’t give it back for the world.