4 Words That Are Changing my Life

Photo Cred: buffalorising.com

I always feel conspicuous when I do something like this. Driving down the well worn, depressed streets of Buffalo in my happy little Candy Blue car, wearing my Michael Kors parka and listening to Taylor Swift. Just add Ugg boots and a Starbucks’Pumpkin Spice Latte and I am the Ultimate Basic White Girl.

But my heart was in the right place, despite my uber-sterile style.

A few weeks earlier, I had read an article in the the Buffalo News about Sister Mary Johnice Rzadkiewicz and the Response to Love Center. The center serves its neighboring residents with a food pantry, hot meals, clothing, GED and ESL programs, as well as spiritual ministry and much, much more. But the focus of the article was their shortage of diapers.

Nearly 30% of parents in the United States cannot afford diapers, which can cost up to $100 every month per baby. And it is an expense not covered by food stamps.

(http://www.cnn.com/2015/09/10/us/cnn-heroes-cannon/ )

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After reading the article, it seemed simple enough:

Put a call out to my local friends on Facebook and collect some diapers. Drop them off. The end.

Except yesterday, when I dropped them off, it wasn’t really the end. As I cautiously pulled around to the side of the building and unloaded the haul with a volunteer from the center (who knowingly reminded me to lock my car doors), he asked if I would please come in and speak with Sister Johnice, “because she’ll want to thank you in person.”

I can’t explain it, but I felt myself getting choked up and at first I said no.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just drop these off and be on my way.”

But he insisted she would want to thank whoever had brought the diapers.

And the whole thing was starting to give me big feelings.

For a few years now I have felt an unrelenting pull on my heart to be more involved in some sort of social justice or humanitarian work; To be involved in something bigger than myself, outside my usual comfortable little circle.

You can’t keep reading books and journaling and crying in your bed over the needs and brokenness of humanity but never actually get out of your bed and do anything about it. You just can’t.

I mean, you can. But it doesn’t make sense. And I think sometimes we just get so paralyzed by our fears or inadequacies or by not knowing quite WHAT to do or how to do it.

And then we do nothing.

But a diaper drive? A diaper drive seemed like such a simple place to start. Babies in my city need diapers. I can buy diapers and I can ask my friends if they want to buy diapers. And then I can bring them to the Response to Love Center.

I sat in Sister Johnice’s office with a life-size cardboard cut out of Pope Francis behind her, fighting back tears as she started to share with me detailed ways the center helps struggling families.

south-korea-pope-francis-visit

I can’t lie– I also sat there fighting back the urge to ask if I could take a selfie with her and the Pope. Self-restraint and social dignity won this time. But when I’m there next time, I’m going for it. I figure why else would there BE a LIFE SIZE POPE FRANCIS, if not for the selfie op?

I listened to story after story of the way Response to Love Center changes lives every single day and I started feeling like maybe I had found my place. I confessed to her that I had been wanting to make a more thoughtful and examined contribution somewhere, somehow. I told her how I keep wrestling with so many different ideas and plans– because there is so much need EVERYWHERE. In fact, I was just about to get involved in a Livestock program to purchase goats for poor families in other countries for Christmas.

RTLC-Building

But here I was, sitting in an outreach center in my own city. My own city that has hungry, needy people. My own city that has babies who need diapers. My own city with tired, scared, insecure mamas and daddies trying to figure it all out.

Sister recounted her meeting with Mother Teresa in 1985. Mother Teresa held her hands, looked her in the eyes and charged her with these words: “You must find your own Calcutta.”

Woah.

Find. Your. Own. Calcutta.

And I feel like maybe I just did. And so I’m telling you friends. I don’t have an answer to the refugee crisis facing our world. I don’t have an answer for WORLD hunger or human sex-trafficking. But there are hungry people in my city and babies who need diapers, and that’s where I’m going to start.

What can you do, right where you are?

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.)

800px-Listening_to_is_Yes'_self-titled_debut_album_from_1969

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.

fd quote

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.

That Time Social Media Took Up All of My Time and I Didn’t Get Any Work Done. Also Known as “Every Day”.

Scroll through Facebook. Watch Jimmy Fallon Lip-Sync Battle with Emma Stone. Stare in total awe and admiration of how perfect she is. Wonder for a few seconds about trying out red hair again. Dismiss those thoughts immediately remembering last disaster. Feel semi-productive because video produces positive endorphins which fuels positive vibes, and that’s sort of like soul-care, which is a good thing, right?

Scroll through Twitter. Again. Retweet something to my daughter because I just know she’ll find it hilarious, too. And it’s good to stay connected with her like that.

Post an inspirational quote to Instagram. (Well, technically, search Pinterest first to find something that fits EXACT mood and what it seems the world needs to hear today. Then post.)

While on Pinterest, get caught up in looking for new ways to wear denim shirts. Over a black dress, tied in a knot? I like it! Pin it. Check out St. Patrick’s Day printables. Struggle with printer and settings and finally in a huff, decide this is taking up way too much time. MUST. BE. PRODUCTIVE.

Look in the mirror for a minute. How did I miss that when I was tweezing? Maybe I need new tweezers. Or better lighting. Think about new lamps or overhead lighting. Wouldn’t a chandelier over my bed be so chic? Pledge to find one next time at thrift store.

Back to Instagram for just one sec. Search trending hash tags. Make a mental note to eternally like Taylor better than Katy and conclude if Katy throws shade at Taylor one more time, we will not even listen to her music anymore. Realize it must have to do with John Mayer. It’s always about boys. Sigh audibly.

Make another cup of coffee. Check the label on the Fat Free Half ‘n Half. Again. Just to make sure this is not where the few extra pounds are coming from. Remember eating 8 Thin Mints and 4 Tag-Alongs last night and admit it’s more likely from that. Silently curse Girl Scouts. Take it back. That feels wrong. Reassure yourself it is NOT from beer. It just can’t be.

Do a quick Google Search on calorie count of Shamrock shakes. Shit. It’s a lot. Decide NOT to have one this year. Back to Pinterest for one sec to search low fat Copy Cat recipes of Shamrock Shakes. Decide NOT to pin the one with kale in it. Just no.

Resistance: The habits and behaviors that keep us from reaching our goals.

On days when I’m feeling very zen and calm and self-aware, this is what I call all of that nonsense.

Because it feels so much nicer to call it resistance than procrastination. Or laziness (which I detest). But whatever you call it, and whatever it looks like in YOUR life, the end result is the same: Resistance keeps each one of us from reaching our goals and accomplishing even the smallest tasks. Daily. Monthly. Yearly.

I’ve written about resistance before, because it’s definitely a thing: A form of avoiding something that feels uncomfortable. Too hard. Too scary. Overwhelming. Unfamiliar. We get overcome by feelings of fear, inadequacy, self-doubt, perfectionism, or even self-loathing. And it just feels a little bit easier to distract ourselves with a nap or the internet or game apps or TV then to actually roll up our sleeves, bite the bullet and dive in.

But the enemy of resistance is action. Any action.

And as my brother reminded me the other night:

Action precedes motivation.

This feels so true. Sometimes when I finally buckle down to finish a project or make a phone call I’ve been putting off, or start a new blog post, I wonder why I waited so long. It’s never as hard as I had pictured. I just needed to start.

The action of getting started fuels the momentum that finishing requires.

I just came up with that. I like it. I think I’ll make a cool little graphic about it. You know, just to remind myself. And tweet it. And maybe Instagram it, too.

Right after I get my work done. Obviously.

Must Be Nice

If I hear someone say this one more time in response to another person’s good news, good fortune, or good luck, I will seriously throat punch. My patience is starting to wear thin like WOAH for such a selfish lack of sharing in another person’s happiness.

Guess what? There’s enough happiness and goodness to go around. And we each come by it through different means at different times, usually without knowing the whole of someone’s back story. I wouldn’t want to get there the same way you did, and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to get there the same way I did.

At some point this year, I started to understand when I’m feeling jealous, envious, or as if there ISN’T enough goodness and happiness to go around–or when I’m feeling scarcity for some reason– it’s time to move back to the mindset of abundance. Of gratitude. To spread love. To generously compliment. To be EXTRA gracious. Not in the form of insincere flattery, but to truly share in happiness WITH people– instead of competing for it– which really doesn’t work or make sense, anyway.

So please. For the love. When good things are happening for the people around us, can we all agree to stop saying, “Must be nice” and try one of these instead?

I’m so happy for you
You deserve this
This has been a long time coming
I hope you enjoy every second
I feel so grateful to share this with you

Or how about this?

“Must be nice to have such good things happening in your life…and I wish you many, many more.”

The end.

7- foot Deep Thoughts from Buffalo

Unless you live on a beach or in a free field of daisies, you know what “Snovember” is. You know that Buffalo got absolutely tucked in tight, snug as a bug by Mother Nature and the Snow Gods this week. In some places, as much as 7-feet of fluffy white love fell upon us, spread out over just four days. When you’re trapped in your home with no means of escape, your brain starts to squirrel cage and you start to think in very different ways. And if you can’t relate…well, it’s obviously a Buffalo thing.

1. Doing nothing leads to a whole lot of doing nothing. I was not nearly as productive as I thought I’d be. Lots of wandering around the house. Lots of lounging. LOTS of social media. And we never played a board game. Not once.

2. I’ve previously been way too hard on Netflix. Netflix saved our lives. I love Netflix. Even with all of my relationship issues and concern for retinal damage, I would now marry Netflix.

3. I don’t know who named this Storm Knife. It’s more like Storm Knife, Fork and Spoon. We ate. A lot. Not to “fuel our bodies” but as an activity. A constant, glorious activity. I would like us all to agree on a term for the storm-related weight gain and be gentle with one another. Because you know, WE GET IT.

4. I buy a lot of food. I could’ve made Thanksgiving dinner. With appetizers and desserts. But I still thought things like, “Should I eat this whole banana? Should I save half for the children?” What the what? Meanwhile, I’ll actually have to make banana bread with them. No one was eating bananas. They were eating brownies and cupcakes and Pringles. It was a food free-for-all.

5. I don’t stock enough to drink. At one point running out of Half ‘n Half felt like a very real problem. And beer. And wine. And I also had to make the harrowing decision of whether or not to use 3/4 cup of skim milk to make Bailey’s Chocolate pudding shots. I made the shots. I chalked it up to a morale booster. But I almost didn’t.

6. Wherever you’re gonna live, make sure you like your neighbors. This is a big one. I have fantastic neighbors. We shoveled. We laughed. We ate. We drank. We had that true Buffalo community spirit other towns only read about. It’s much more fun to be trapped with people you like. Trust me.

7. I cannot believe how much time we were previously wasting on personal hygiene. Really. In our defense, at random times of day, I would aimlessly call out, “Have people brushed their teeth?” But that was about it. It just seemed so pointless. Sleep, eat, shovel, lounge, repeat. I would know the storm was over the day I had to put on a bra and take off the leggings. Which I will burn. But our nails have never looked better.

9. As much as we complained, as much as we “hated” it, we secretly loved it. It was like the self-indulgent days off you would never actually give yourself. Except for the shoveling 17- feet of snow. Because there was that. But otherwise. Heaven. Today I’m going to make the children pretend-play Starbucks and Target with me. Because, you know, we’re still prisoners in our own home. But I’m sure we’ll be free soon and miss this.

10. There’s still no other place I’d rather be stuck. I love you, Buffalo. Snovember and all.

It’s Thursday and This is What I’m Reading: A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

“If you watched a movie about a guy who wanted a Volvo and worked for years to get it, you wouldn’t cry at the end when he drove off the lot, testing the windshield wipers. You wouldn’t tell your friends you saw a beautiful movie or go home and put a record on to think about the story you’d seen. The truth is, you wouldn’t remember that movie a week later, except you’d feel robbed and want your money back. Nobody cries at the end of a movie about a guy who wants a Volvo.

But we spend years actually living those stories, and expect our lives to be meaningful. The truth is, if what we choose to do with our lives won’t make a story meaningful, it won’t make a life meaningful either”

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life, chronicles the process of two movie producers working with author Donald Miller to turn his best-selling memoir, Blue Like Jazz, into a film. The producers keep looking for ways to make the movie more exciting, because the reality is, Don’s life is actually pretty boring and directionless. It’s missing the essential elements of a good story: Overcoming hardship and suffering, living with meaning and purpose. Miller goes on a quest to change his story. He finds his father, chases true love, and sets out for adventure– changing his life from boring reality to meaningful narrative.

The idea of our lives unfolding as a story is not a new concept. But with self-deprecating humor and deep vulnerability about his internal life, Miller strikes a completely fresh chord. His usual conversational tone is what makes this book so relatable and makes living a better story seem so doable.

One of my favorites parts of the book was when Don and a friend are having coffee. His friend is lamenting over the troubles he and his wife are having with their teenage daughter and the poor dating choices she’s made. Don casually comments to his friend that his daughter needs a better story~

“He thought about the story his daughter was living and the role she was playing inside that story. He realized he hadn’t provided a better role for his daughter. He hadn’t mapped out a story for his family. And so his daughter had chosen another story, a story in which she was wanted, even if she was only being used. In the absence of a family story, she’d chosen a story in which there was risk and adventure, rebellion and independence…”

The father goes on to make dramatic changes in their family story, taking them to Mexico to volunteer at an orphanage. It changes his daughter’s entire perspective on life. It gives her story the meaning it had been missing. “No girl who plays the role of a hero dates a guy who uses her. She knows who she is. She just forgot for a little while.”

If you only read one book this year (which is like, ridiculous and I’m so unhappy with you if that’s true), I want it to be A Million Miles in A Thousand Years.

This is what I thought:

How we spend our days is how we spend our lives and I waste a lot of time waiting for “someday”. Someday is a myth that keeps you on the sidelines of your life. Someday is never going to come.
Living a better story starts now. Today. With whatever chapter I’m in. Today’s choices write tomorrow’s chapters.

This
is what I felt:

“A story is based on what people think is important, so when we live a story, we are telling people around us what we think is important.”

I’m afraid I’m telling the people around me that Target and clothes and coffee and beer and Pinterest are important. And none of these things are bad, but they have no lasting meaning. They don’t provide purpose. I don’t want to be the Volvo guy. If a camera crew were to follow me around and document my days, they would keep asking, “When do we get to the part where you actually DO something? You already fixed your hair and curled your eyelashes. Your clothes are fine. You don’t need another purse. Your house looks cute. We’ve had all the coffee we can hold. WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DO SOMETHING? And put that damn book down. LET’S GO.”

You get the point.

“Once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can’t go back to being normal; you can’t go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time.”

This is what I’m going to do now:

“Here’s the truth about telling stories with your life. It’s going to sound like a great idea, and you’re going to get excited about it, and then when it comes time to do the work, you’re not going to want to do it. It’s like that with writing books, and it’s like that with life. People love to have lived a great story, but few people like the work it takes to make it happen. But joy costs pain.”

I’m going to complete Storyline, which is a module that helps people map out their lives so that their daily schedule supports their life theme and priorities. In short, it helps people live a better story– the whole point of this gig. (Yes. It’s another Donald Miller thing. I really like the way this guy does life.)

I’m going to try to live more wholeheartedly and mindfully so that more of my time is being spent on things that matter. I’m going to set some specific goals for 2015– harder things that will keep adding more direction to my life and support the theme of my story. And whenever possible, I’m going to enlist my kids in it all, so that their own lives become intentionally written chapters– building blocks for epic life stories.

If we were to read about your life on the inside of a book jacket, what would it say? What’s your story about? If you’re not sure, then odds are, no one else knows either…

It’s Thursday. And This is What I’m Reading: Take This Bread

“Conversion isn’t, after all, a moment: It’s a process, and it keeps happening, with cycles of acceptance and resistance, epiphany and doubt.”

Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion, by Sara Miles

Raised an atheist, Sara Miles is a left-wing lesbian who traveled the world as a journalist, covering world revolutions. Early one morning, on what felt like a whim, she wandered into St. George’s Episcopalian Church in San Francisco, participated in their “Open Communion” service, and as she received the sacraments, had an outrageous life-altering encounter with Jesus– a Jesus she had thus far scorned and rejected. What happened in the years that followed left me equal parts fascinated, convicted and inspired.

“As I struggled with bread and wine and belief over the following year at St. Gregory’s, it stayed hard. I began to understand why so many people chose to be “born-again” and follow strict rules that would tell them what to do, once and for all. It was tempting to rely on a formula– “accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and savior,” for example– that became itself a form of idolatry and kept you from experiencing God in your flesh, in the complicated flesh of others. It was tempting to proclaim yourself “saved” and go back to sleep. The faith I was finding was jagged and more difficult… It was about action…My first, questioning year at church ended with a question whose urgency would propel me into work I’d never imagined: Now that you’ve taken the bread, what are you going to do?”

Miles had an answer to that. She went on a mission to start and run a weekly food pantry serving the poor and gritty community surrounding the church. Through it, she continually comes face to face with the best and worst of people, within the church walls and outside of them; daily wrestling with what it means to love, to serve, to co-exist and to know God.

“I was going to keep giving food away. What I glimpsed in the projects was the last thing I’d expected growing up: that because God was about feeding and being fed, religion could be a way not to separate people but to unite them…The sharing of food was an actual sacrament, one that resonated beyond the church and its regulations, and into a real experience of the divine. I wanted more.”

Page after page, chapter after chapter, as I read of her hunger to know God and her hunger to serve people, I slunk lower and lower into my seat. This woman. A few years ago, before my own faith shift, I would not have been able to read this book and see this woman for the inspiration and role model that she is to me now. I am embarrassed to say I would’ve judged her. I would’ve said no. Not her. Her lifestyle. Her history. (As if mine is so exemplary) The totally unorthodox and untraditional way she lives in every sense, relative to my White, suburban cage. Ouch. And now. I like her. More than I like myself. She’s going and doing. And I admire that.

“So many of the arguments between left- and right-wing Christians, fundamentalists and Episcopalians, Roman Catholics and Pentecostals, seemed to hinge on the idea that their own sect had the correct practice, “the secret code,” that would save the followers and make God reward them. That was idolatry, as I saw it: magical thinking, pagan religion. I didn’t think God needed humans to practice religion at all: God didn’t need to be appeased by sacrifices or offerings or perfectly memorized quotations from the Bible spoken in the right order. God was not manageable.”

The idea that God is not manageable, not to be tamed; That perhaps there is no exact science to faith and belief… Well, I think I sighed audibly after reading that. I think the relief I have felt at discovering this was…is…palpable.

As I turned the last page of Take This Bread~

This is what I thought:

If you’re doing more judging than loving–

If you’re doing more talking than walking–

If you’re not somehow doing SOMETHING that makes a generous, soulful contribution into other people’s lives–

No one really gives a shit what you think about pre-destination and election. About post-trib or pre-trib. About free will. And quite frankly, I don’t think God does either.

“You have been greatly loved,” said a piece of the Gospel that had stuck with me. Go and do likewise. That seemed pretty damn clear. My only sense of “mission” now was to show others that they, too, could feed and touch and heal and love, without fear.”

Love people and do something about it. Period.

This is what I felt:

A little overwhelmed and embarrassed– a little silly– by how white, suburban, Evangelically, I have viewed God. I mean, really. There is a whole world out there whose experience with God is just as valid and real and authentic. I felt guilty and kinda dumb for thinking that the way I previously believed and lived was somehow better than Sara Miles and everything she represents.

This is what I’ll do:

Ok. The last few years have been rough. And I needed a break– from church, from service, from community, in many ways and on many levels. But as I move ahead in this new season of my life, this book has inspired me to find church again, to engage in community again, to be of service again.

“What happened once I started distributing communion was the truly disturbing, dreadful realization about Christianity: You can’t be a Christian by yourself.”

“Unity is a gospel imperative when we recognize that it opens us to change, to conversion: when we realize how our life with Christ is somehow bound up with our willingness to abide with those we think are sinful, and those we think are stupid.”

I want to give back. I want to get involved again. I want to take up a cause. Be a part of social justice in some way. And this time, with my eyes and heart fully open and aware that the cost of relationships– of community– is part of the rent we pay for living here. And it’s worth it.

“Christianity wasn’t an argument I could win, or even resolve. It wasn’t a thesis. It was a mystery that I was finally willing to swallow. I was loved by a big love. In the midst of suffering, of hunger, even of death. Alleluia. What was, finally, so hard about accepting that?”

Read this book. Even if you don’t connect with Christianity- or any faith at all, for that matter. Sara Miles has written a challenging and engaging story that has continued to help me redefine what I want my journey here on this earth, as a human being, to look like. I am loved by a big love. What’s so hard about that?

The Un-Fun Truth about Self-Discipline

I didn’t write a blog post last week. Or finish one, anyway. I started 3 or 4 different posts that felt totally inspired when I first got into them. But somehow, I lost interest and they suddenly they didn’t seem so great after all. Whatever the case, I skipped a week. And even though I was a little disappointed, I totally cut myself some slack. (Super generous and sweet of me, right?) But the days have passed quickly and here it is, next week already, and I still didn’t have anything prepared; Just several unfinished posts…waiting. Undone. Incomplete. But this week, it doesn’t feel like NBD. This week it feels lazy. It feels like too much time wasted scrolling through Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. And Pinterest. (Ohhhh. Pinterest. How I love thee. Hashtag TIMESUCK. GIANT. HUGE. TIME SUCK. But Please. Never leave me.)

There’s an un-fun truth here that won’t leave me alone: In my life, writing needs to be a daily discipline. Just like working out. Just like eating well. Just like making time for reading or meditation, or anything else that requires brain power, body power, will power, or focus. It’s a discipline. And generally speaking, we tend to resist things that are even loosely connected to discipline. Or maybe it’s just me. I tend to resist things that are even loosely connected to discipline.

self-dis·ci·pline
noun
the ability to control one’s feelings and overcome one’s weaknesses; the ability to pursue what one thinks is right despite temptations to abandon it.
synonyms: self-control; restraint, self-restraint, self-command; willpower, purposefulness, strong-mindedness, resolve, moral fiber; doggedness, persistence, determination, grit

By very definition, self-discipline sorta sucks. I mean. Ugh.

Self-discipline equates with hard. It requires something of us. It costs us something– time, energy, pleasure, sleep, relaxation. And yet, the hard is what leads to greatness. The hard is what separates the men from the boys. The badasses from the wimps. The accomplished from the unaccomplished. Catch me at the wrong time and I’m likely to say, “Who cares?” But the truth is, I do. I tell my girls all the time: We can do hard things. If it was easy, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.

“If it was easy, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

If I want to grow as a writer, increase my readership and finish the books I’ve started writing, I need to discipline myself. If I want to grow as a runner, I need to discipline myself. If I want to be healthy and fit, If I want to eat clean, If I want to feel good, If I want to be the best mom I can be, I need to discipline myself. Even when I don’t feel like it. Even when it’s not convenient. Even when the hot flash of inspiration has passed. Even when my social media is all lit up with stuff more exciting than…this. There are always plenty of good reasons to cut myself some slack, with “I deserve it” being my favorite and most used line. Ever. Discipline for anything is hard. It hurts. It’s a conquering of the lesser part of ourselves with the better part of ourselves.

Here’s the un-fun truth. As much as I love social media. And reading. And doing crafty Pinteresty things. And shopping. And candy corn. And beer. Lots of candy corn and beer, too much of any of these things will keep me from reaching my goals, no matter how good and deserving they feel at the time. And if ever there were passing pleasures, all of these things rank right up there. Do I really want to sacrifice (insert important goal here) for candy and Pinterest? Um. Some days I do. But not mostly. Really. Not mostly.

Somewhere along the way, our brains started firing backwards about what it truly means to be good to ourselves. Why does my brain equate both physical and mental junk food with indulgence and pleasure, yet link hard work and successful, meaningful results (that I truly want to achieve) with deprivation? Self- discipline is a gift we give ourselves so that the things we want most are not over shadowed by the things we want now.

We all sort of know there are no shortcuts to greatness. We just wish it weren’t true. (If there are, I swear on everything holy I will find them for us and pin them. Trust me. They’ll be on my “Shortcuts to Greatness” board) Author Jim Rohn has said, “Suffer the pain of discipline or suffer the pain of regret” and “Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishment.” And really, who could disagree with such clearly inspirational statements ~~that sort of make me feel crappy~~ ? Not this girl. And so here I sit, with a beer and a bowl of candy corn beside me, about to press “Publish” on this bad boy and recommit myself to the process of self-discipline. Because after all, I deserve it.

You Are The Conductor

Don’t you hate it when your thoughts and worries and brain train just feel like they will not settle down and cooperate? When thoughts are stirring in your head so loudly that you’re just not able to function and focus at the level you want? And it actually feels like you just…can’t? Of course you hate it. That’s pretty much a rhetorical question because we all experience this. It’s part of being human and for most of us, it’s just part of our monkey brain– the crazy ways our brain can jump from one topic or idea or anxious thought to the next, a little out of control…

Recently during another conversation with my older and wiser brother Robert, [You know, the one who told me THIS] he used the illustration of an orchestra to explain a powerful concept to me. I love metaphors ~~because I’m a word nerd~~ because they can so clearly illustrate and help us see life through a different lens than we have become accustomed to viewing it through.

Picture yourself as the conductor of a full orchestra. You are standing on stage, with absolute power and authority over every piece of this stunning instrumental collaboration before you. Each section uniquely valuable and beautiful in its own right, with its own sound, tone, timbre, and purpose.

And now imagine that each one of these sections represents an emotion.

You look out and you can see and hear the fullness of range:

Joy. Sorrow. Peace. Happiness. Excitement. Grief. Anger. Anxiety. Depression. Arousal. Complacency. Contentment. Frustration. Ambition. Loneliness. Fear. Exhaustion. Worry. Anticipation. Timidity. Indignation. Love. Hate.

And on some days, the orchestra plays so well and so melodious and so smoothly, you forget to remember that you’re the conductor! These are very good days, indeed.

But on other days, it does not sound like music at all– it sounds like noise. Like racket. Like clamor and pandemonium. One of the sections is out of sync. Out of tune. Playing louder than the others. Not in balance. Upsetting and ruining the quality of sound being produced.

And even on these days, we are still likely to forget to remember that we are the conductor! We have the power and ability to stand from the place of command and give direction to the unruly sections!

Conductor Daniel Barenboim

“Ok, Anxiety. I see you and I hear you. I understand that you have your place. You are a valuable part of this orchestra. And sometimes, I NEED you to play louder– you are my internal warning system that something might be wrong and needs attention.

But today, I need you to soften. I need to turn down your volume. Everything is okay and I NEED you to get back in sync and in line with the rest of the group here. You are being too loud. You are overpowering the rest of the music and it causes chaos. “

{Big Exhale… Thank you, Anxiety}

“Yes, Grief. You are seen and heard. But your volume is getting louder and it’s making it hard for me to think straight and focus on what needs to be done. I love you– and I know you hurt– and you have been a steady, steady companion. But when you’re too loud, I’m not happy. I get stuck. So I want you to stay; you have an important place, but you need to play softly so that I can still hear joy and peace and contentment.”

Conductor Christian Schumann

This is a word picture that kids can grasp easily, as well, and even for more positive emotions like excitement or anticipation. Sometimes those need to be turned down and tempered too, so that we can keep our focus and do what needs to be done, even just for the sake of sleep or peacefulness.

Trouble comes our way if we forget that we’re the conductor and have all of this control. We get so caught up in emotions that are playing too loudly and pounding in our ears that sometimes we allow the orchestra to say, “Screw It” and let sections run rampant, overtaking common sense, impulse control, or our good conscience. Many a bad decision, a bad day, or just.. bad has ensued when the conductor has walked off the stage.

Can it really be this simple? Well maybe not always, but much of the time, I actually think it can. And so close your eyes for a minute and listen to the music your brain has been playing. Listen to the sound your life has been making. Ask yourself if you like it. Ask yourself what it sounds like. And if the answer is no, you’re the conductor. Change the tune.

Conductor Gustavo Dudamel

Are You Just Taking Reservations?

Jerry Seinfeld and his compadres are like invisible dinner guests at nearly every family function we have. My family quotes lines from episodes you barely remember exist. We are that good. It’s always in perfect context and form and it’s just sort of a family thing for us. But recently my older brother [Robert] used a well-placed Seinfeld one-liner on me and it had impact. Robert has been a big fan and supporter of my blog right from the start. And as an older brother, he has looked out for my well-being in a myriad of ways. On occasion, he has hinted that perhaps I should more closely follow some of my own prescriptions.

And so recently, he had this to say:

“You know how to TAKE the reservation-

You just don’t know how to HOLD the reservation”

Oof. Ouch. Because holding the reservation, my friends, is the key to making progress.

Or in simpler terms, DO SOMETHING. FOR THE LOVE. JUST. DO. SOMETHINGGGGGG.

Because listen– there is no shortage of inspiration in my world. You want quotes? I’ve pinned 6,732 of them. Inspirational pictures? Kick-ass words to get you moving? They plaster my walls. I read books. I journal. I’ve illustrated pictures. I’ve filled notebooks. I meditate. I pray. I’ve cried tears of joy and fear and frustration and ambivalence over my future. I have translated them into champagne bubbles of excitement and have put on my lip gloss and psyched myself up 10,000 different ways. But the truth is, all of that is useless if I never actually DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

Hard work and hustle and ACTION will trump dreams and talent every day and twice on Sundays, regardless of how flowery and precious and inspiring my hopes and dreams look on paper.

And so I’m doing it. I’m moving forward. I’m taking bigger steps. I’ve started writing the books. I’m brainstorming and creating the business plans. It’s forthcoming and happening and I am excited and terrified and thrilled all at once. Anybody can take the reservation. But finally, I am holding the reservation. Because that’s really the most important part. The holding. The doing. The making it happen.

If your life looks exactly the same as it does today in

1 year

2 years

5 years

How will you feel about it?

Time passes whether or not you do anything.

Ps. I would love love love to hear what this means to you, in your world–

What is it that you want to do?

What small, inspired action can you take TODAY?

Tell us!

Truly Julie

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

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