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.
I Did It.
This past September, I stood at a church picnic, chatting with a few “runner” friends and mistakenly commented that I had always wanted to run the Turkey Trot, an 8K run on Thanksgiving morning and the oldest foot race in the country. Well. You don’t have to say that twice when you’re surrounded by runners. “So why don’t you?”, they asked in unison. “You should.” Major eye roll. Open mouth, insert foot without running shoe. Because in September, I wasn’t a runner. That’s why. And the thought of possibly being able to run 5 miles was completely ridiculous. I was practically sure I would NOT be able to do it. Inspired by one friend’s comment that running is simply “putting one foot in front of the other,” I started running that week. I had a little over 2 months and decided that I was going to do it. Ugh. 
But I did it! I really did it. I had asked my 19 year-old son if he would be up for it too and happily, he said yes. So together we headed out in the dark on Thanksgiving morning, joined by another friend as well, and made our way downtown. And I could not be more thankful that we did.
At the risk of sounding dramatic, the experience of this race was one I will never forget. I had an absolute blast. And with my son by my side–the fact that we were sharing those moments and running together–well, I was one happy girl. The energy and atmosphere were overwhelming. Thousands of runners, thousands of bystanders cheering us on and wishing us well. Running through the streets of downtown Buffalo. Sprinting through the finish line, a few seconds behind my son and seeing his smiling face as I crossed. A total emotional high that lasted all day and then some. I took mental snapshots that I have already replayed many, many times.
The ultimate ending to the story for me is that I set a goal and worked hard to meet it. I made new choices and rearranged schedules and set early alarms. I did it. Many days it sucked. Many days I really didn’t feel like running. But I am incredibly proud of myself for pushing through. And believe it or not, that won’t be my last race. In fact, I can’t wait to run another one. Did I mention I’m a runner now?
I am embarrassed to say that what I’m NOT is a goal-setter. I wish I were. But I think this is going to change too. (I was going to write “I hope this will change too”– but then I corrected myself– I didn’t reach my goal by hoping. It was by making intentional choices and a lot of hard work.) This whole experience has inspired to me to find other areas of my life that need a reawakening. The only thing stopping me is me. And I have decided that I am way too smart to be the only thing standing in my way.
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.
Just Do It.
I’m a new runner. By new, I mean I’ve been at it for about 3 months. I’ve gone through running phases in the past, so it’s not like I’ve never done it before, but this time it’s sticking. I know some of you hate me right now and I get it. Really. Because I’ve always sort of hated people who were runners. Like it was this secret club of these virtuous super heroes that had the mental and physical toughness it takes to knock off a few miles. But really, all it took was a decision. That’s it. There was no thunder and lightning, no voice of God, no waking up and suddenly feeling like it was in me. I just decided to do it. And then I did.
Now don’t get me wrong. It’s hard. It does take mental and physical toughness. It does take discipline. And despite the cliché that says the first step is always the hardest, it’s not. Are you kidding? I still feel like a rock star at the first step. What’s hardest for me is the first mile. The whole first mile I’m thinking, “This is kind of sucky. My legs hurt already. How could my legs hurt already? I’m still on my street. I can’t do this today. Maybe I should just stop right now and walk. People are still sleeping and I could be too.” But call it pride, or stubbornness (or wanting to eat something fabulous later), but something suddenly starts to kick in and I keep going. I find my groove. My breathing evens out and I’m soaring.
Okay. Soaring is dramatic. And truthfully, I can’t really say if I’ve ever experienced “Runner’s High”. Runner’s Hell? Yes. Been there. Many times. But man, when I finish a run, I could cry. And admittedly, the first time I finished 5 miles, I did cry. I was just so stinking proud of myself. Because I don’t see myself as a runner. But I am a runner now. And the only thing it took to become one was to run. And I did it. And I’m still doing it. For me, it’s a reason to celebrate.
I hope you’re starting to catch a little of what I’m getting at. It’s not about the running. Well, it is for me. But what is it for you? What is it for you that feels just out of reach? Like you want it, but it just doesn’t seem like it’s ever really going to happen? Well let me tell you, it won’t happen by magic. It will happen when you decide you want it to. When you make a decision. When you take the first step and then stick it out for the first mile and then some. A year ago I only wanted a blog. But I’m not an author. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I like to write. So do a lot of people. But one day it clicked– If there are millions of blogs out there, why can’t one of them be mine? Why couldn’t I have one too? The answer was, I could. As soon as I decided to write one. That’s the day I got one.
Sure, the bigger picture is humbling. I may never run a marathon or publish a book. But this year on Thanksgiving morning I’ll be running my first 5-mile race through the streets of Buffalo, getting me one step closer. And every time I decide to write a blog post or make notes for my “someday book”, I’m choosing my future. The only person responsible for your life is you. Go do something about it.
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%.
The Rest of the Story…
I was humbled and overwhelmed by the response to my last post, An Open Letter to My Daughters Bullies. Including, But Not Limited to the Mean Girls. Thank you for your support, your re-posts, and all the love and encouragement you sent our way! It meant so much to me, and to Casey, as well. I was struck by the number of you who told me your own stories of having been bullied and stories of the way your children have suffered and been victimized. But it’s that last phrase, “victimized”, that compels me to write a follow-up blog; Because even though Casey was, perhaps, a victim at the time, that isn’t the case today and that blog wasn’t the end of the story.
Casey is thriving. Period. Although ideally, she would rather be in school, not having to contend with so much high school level drama, intolerance, and exclusion has been a huge relief for her. It’s given her mental and emotional space to bloom. She feels free. She feels relieved. But best of all, she’s happy. She currently has a 95 average. She understands her math. (Sorry, this may be my own issue here…I’m always totally impressed when people understand Algebra. And any math. This could be why I married an accountant.) She has kept up with cello through private lessons. She takes Karate. She attends a youth Bible Study and Youth Group at our church . She’s part of a weekly home school co-op group with other high school students where she participates in a Phys Ed class and takes two other courses- American Government, and Literature- in addition to her own 9th grade academic schedule. She absolutely loves it. This past weekend, a treasured girlfriend invited Casey to her school’s Homecoming Dance- an event that she was originally very disappointed at the thought of missing. It is priceless that this friend thought of Casey and knew how much it would mean for her to still have the chance to go. She had a blast.
It has not changed her. Bullies have not changed her. It hasn’t ruined her. She is not a victim. Was she hurt? Yes. Was it painful? Yes, and still is some days. Would I rather it wasn’t part of her story? Absolutely. But if you ask her about it, she’ll tell you she’s stronger for it. Kinder yet, if that’s possible. She is the girl who will notice someone sitting by themselves and go sit with them and chat because she hates to see them alone. She hates gossip. She hates all things mean. It’s true, I am her teacher. But while I am busy teaching her about life, she’s teaching me what life is all about.
As an end note–If you’ve had a bad day, had your heart broke…or been bullied…there’s a Taylor Swift song for that! And we adore her. Click here to see Taylor’s total victory over her bullies.
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.
Where Have I Been?
Where have I been all summer? Nowhere. Here. Just not blogging. You actually might not have even noticed I hadn’t posted. I’m thinking you didn’t miss me as much as I missed writing. But, at any rate, I thought I’d blog a post to welcome me back.
When I first started blogging, I had all of these funny ideas. It must have a been a good month or 2. It seemed like everything I wrote was funny. And I really didn’t start out wanting to be funny or even trying to be funny. (Maybe you didn’t think it was funny. My mom thought so. She laughed hysterically at everything. Maybe that’s just what moms do. For your whole entire life–they think everything you do is wonderful :)) But that’s what happened. And then, even when I had other, non-funny ideas, they didn’t seem to fit the personality of the blog I had created. And the truth is, so much of life is not funny. I’m a glass half-full kind of girl and I love to laugh with the best of them, but let’s face it- life is hard. Life is complicated. My post, “Real Life. It’s Messy” came a little closer to the dailyness of my reality.
Now, I don’t want to go all Dr. Phil on you- but here’s the deal- I think I’ll try to mix it up. I’d like to write whatever is on my mind at the time. It might be funny. It might not be. And in keeping with this new freedom to hopefully write on a broader scope of topics, I’ve even edited the title of my blog to what was previously the subtitle, “Real Life. Truthfully.” (I will always love the phrase “Truth is Stranger than Fiction”–still words to live by :)) But either way now, whatever I write will fit. And feel true to me. And I hope in some way, when you read, it feels true to your life, too.
My Brain is 70% Song Lyrics
Yes. You read that right. My brain is 70% song lyrics. And I actually think that’s shooting a little low. I didn’t make that statistic up- I read it somewhere on the Internet (which means it’s fairly true, right?) and the reality hit home. I know the words to a lot of songs. A. Lot. And sometimes I wish there were a way to delete some of these song lyrics and make room for useful information. Like, I don’t know–my husband’s Social Security number. The preamble to the Constitution. My license plate numbers and letters. Something a little more helpful than Meatloaf’s “Paradise By the Dashboard Lights” or “Whatta Man” by Salt ‘n Peppa. Or “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer. Yep. I know the words. All of them. But on a regular basis if you ask me what I did last night, I ask you back, “What was last night?”
My husband and I were at a family wedding this summer with our 19-year-old son. Much of the night we were tearing it up on the dance floor (No really. We were. We took dancing lessons.) with lots of other family members, having a great time. But I know I read a certain mixture of horror and amazement on my son’s face when he glanced over at one point and realized his mom knew the words to Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”. Yes- it was as awkward as you’re imagining it to be. I don’t know why I know the words to that song. I don’t like that song. But somewhere, in the files of my brain, that song made the cut. I cannot lie! Thank God they didn’t play Funky Cold Medina. (This is also the son that, when he was at the age of discovering the world of music, asked if I had ever heard of the Rolling Stones. As if maybe his generation had uncovered something that mine missed. But anyhow.)
At every Buffalo Bisons game my husband and I have ever been to, after we sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during the 7th inning stretch (and Duh- everyone knows THOSE words), they play “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” by John Denver. Strangely, I know every word by heart. We sang that song in chorus in 4th or 5th grade and it stuck. Permanently. At Christmas time, when my family gathers around the piano and my sister is playing all the traditional Christmas carols, I know all the words. TO ALL THE VERSES. For the love of God- Why???? Words to my Senior Prom theme, “The Best of Times” by Styx. Check. “Only Time Will Tell” by Asia. Check. The Jefferson’s theme song, ‘Movin on Up’. Check. I’ve got it all. Including commercials and annoying jingles. Why has my brain saved things I don’t even like? Bruce Springsteen. Some Beastie Boys. Paula Abdul. New Kids on the Block. Michael Jackson. The Cure. Depeche Mode. And I’m not proud of this next one, but I think there might be some Weird Al Yankovic floating around in there too. What can I say? It was popular.
I know what you’re thinking- sheesh- join the 21st Century of music already, would you? But that’s where the real problem lies– I have. I have always listened to music. And new songs are out every week. Every day. And I know a lot of those too. So now I’ve got roughly 30 plus years of music filed in my brain. It makes my head want to explode. I’m bound to run out of room. Will I eventually forget the children? My address? The things I learned in college? (Actually, a tiny bit of that might be gone already.) Will it all be replaced by Taylor Swift and Toby Keith? And I’m certainly not a Nicki Minaj fan…but you’ve gotta admit, something about “Super Bass” sticks. If you see me around and I look lost or in a fog, don’t worry-I’m still trying to figure out the words to “Blinded by the Light” and meanwhile, I’m humming along.
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.
Truly Julie 