Tell The Truth

It's a glorious October morning and I have awoken to a completely empty house. A very unfamiliar energy slaps me in the face- a product of absolutely zero place to go, nothing that really needs to be done, and no one that needs attending to. So I've made my cup of mint chocolate coffee and headed outside to write.

I listened to a podcast the other day where Glennon Doyle was talking about picking yourself back up after a crisis. Women's social media today seems to be awash with our modern-day gurus whose claim to fame is radical imperfection. In a way, I love it. But in a way, it gets on my nerves. Sometimes it feels like spectacle- and I am now aware that I'm especially sensitive to mass produced spectacles lived out in front of the prying eyes of the public as fodder for personal transformation.

But I listened to the podcast nonetheless, and she said something so simple and so beautiful that I had to sit in my car and wipe my tears and get myself together before walking into work. She said, "Everyone needs a space where they can tell the truth." Driving down a city street in Mesquite, TX at 7:30 in the morning, that tiny sentence unexpectedly knocked my carefully held-together world off its axis a little bit. The wheels in my mind instantly started grinding trying to figure out why I'd lost my breath in that instant, just hearing those words. I thought of the ways I don't tell the truth most days. But I also thought of how I'm not a liar. I thought of how hard it is to keep up a carefully constructed facade of how I'm supposed to be. And how hard it isn't at the same time.

Ahhh, this is why.

From birth I have been programmed not to tell the truth. On the front row of a church pew in front of thousands of people, I was programmed to pretend to tell the truth as someone else defined it. I was molded and prodded and scolded to present to the world what they wanted to see, not anything that was authentically me. In turn, I learned to apply a rigorous filtering process to all the words and all the thoughts that entered my consciousness. I am a master at figuring out in an instant what needs to be said, how it needs to be said most effectively and to whom. Only rarely does that equation include complete authenticity on my part. I almost always have a goal in mind, and it rarely includes me showing up just as I am and telling the truth.  Some people with this skill use it to manipulate others and get what they want. Others of us use this skill to make sure everyone is happy all the time and do our best to keep the peace with those around us, pacifying others and rarely considering our own needs.

Don't get me wrong. Reading people, reading a room, knowing how people will respond and why can be a great asset-  especially if you work with people who are trying to accomplish a common goal. It's a hallmark of self-awareness to consider your audience and know how to tailor your message, to consider your words and how they will affect other people. But it can also be a crippling talent when it becomes your mode of operation. You lose yourself. You easily become a slave to other people's expectations of how you should be.

And while I don't think I've ever totally lost sight of who I am, I don't think I've ever felt like the world was my space where I could tell the truth.

But I'm taking baby steps. It is first and foremost important to me to speak out when I see injustice happening around me- when I see people harming other people. I've spent the last nearly twenty years of my life in my career helping others in one way or another, whether it be as a resource for women with unplanned pregnancies, as a caseworker for children in the foster care system, as an urban public school teacher, and now as a school administrator. I work almost exclusively with people who need help and healing. I also encounter people who hurt others in one way or another almost daily. Speaking out and telling the truth means confronting that. It means telling people to STOP. It means teaching them how to love others and how to communicate with others even when it's not easy. It means being brave in the face of hate, anger, insecurity, and selfishness. And it means being courageous even when I don't feel like I can be.

I read a powerful meme the other day that simply said,

And I don't know, but I try every day anyway. And so letting the world be a space where you can tell the truth, doesn't necessarily mean we have to have that moment where we do the Big Reveal of the thing we've been hiding all these years- although it can mean that, and those are definitely life-altering experiences. I think telling the truth is most importantly about being courageous enough to speak up about the little things- about how people make you feel, about how you perceive people are making others feel. It's about sometimes saying no. It's about saying, "You know what, this particular thing is not my bag, but you're doing a great job, and you should run with it." And being courageous enough to say, "This is my bread and butter. Nobody can do this better than me," and take off leading even when you're terrified. That's telling the truth.

So I'm working on it in little ways every day and asking for the courage to speak up and stand still in the uncertainty and chaos on the days when I have to speak the truth in big ways. I'm showing up and being brave enough drop some of the filters I so naturally employ to speak the truth, even when it's difficult.

I wanted to be a cheerleader.

When I was seven years old, my parents packed up the house and everything we owned, put my sister and I in the back of the car, and moved us from Burleson, Texas to Oklahoma City. I remember it like a movie scene, staring out the back glass off the car with tears streaming down my face, gasping for air in between sobs as I watched the culdesac of Tracy Lee Court fade into a distant memory on the horizon. My seven year old self was being forced to leave everything I knew and loved because a new church had hired my father as pastor three and a half hours away. I was leaving my elementary school, my friends at church, my best friend Sarah and our matching dresses. I was leaving our house and my bedroom, and my box that housed my imaginary friends, a family of toads. In my seven year old mind, I was losing absolutely everything I held constant and dear in my life. And upon my arrival in Oklahoma, apparently I didn't do much speaking for a while. I didn't do much of anything for a while. My mom says she couldn't understand why I wouldn't get off the couch.

She and my father took me to a child psychologist. I remember the elevator ride to the top of the building. I remember the doors opening to a hallway filled with glass windows looking into large offices. I remember kid friendly posters of smiling families on the walls.

In the quest to find out what was wrong with this seven year old girl who was listless most of the time and seemed so sad and wouldn't budge from the couch after she had just been separated very suddenly from everything she loved, this doctor in his infinite wisdom had me draw a picture of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I drew a picture of myself as a Mansfield Tiger cheerleader.

My babysitter back in Texas was a cheerleader at Mansfield High School, and it was the highlight of my year when she gave me a uniform to play dress up in. So on the page I scrawled a girl with dangly earrings covered in big swaths of Tiger yellow and black on the page.

She's angry, the doctor concluded. Yellow and black all over a seven year old's paper equals angst. That's silly. She just wants to be a cheerleader, my mother concluded. They both were right.

Eventually I got off the couch, started school in Oklahoma and made wonderful friends that I still talk to today. I tried out for the cheer squad in seventh grade and fulfilled my lifelong dream of finally becoming a cheerleader. Oklahoma ended up not being the gradeschool disaster I feared it would be. But all these years later, something still sticks with me about that ordeal of packing up and moving and not being sure of my new surroundings that summer after second grade.

How many times in life do we take difficult situations and complicate them more than we have to by not just acknowledging that things are tough, breathing through them, and letting them be until they pass. That's hard to do. As humans, most of us don't like stress. We want to fix the uncomfortable thing as soon as it rears its ugly head, and move on about our lives unscathed. But that's the thing about life. Those situations that pop up in life are there to teach us something- even if it's just how to react, to ourselves or others, during the hard times.

I'm sure it seems fairly obvious now, looking back, to both my parents and myself that a visit to a child psychologist may have been a bit of an overreaction. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe my parents did recognize that as a seven year old I was deeply sad about leaving my home and my friends and they needed resources to help me. Either way, moving to a new state and beginning a new life can be an immensely stressful time for a family. Being there for each other, communicating about feelings, and moving through the difficult moments together during the adjustment are all normal things that should happen during the course of such a huge event in a family's life.

Letting the feelings breathe. Letting them be. Acknowledging them, their importance, and letting go of them as easily and as often as they came. With or without the broo-ha-ha of an appointment with a child psychologist.

Sometimes we want to kick and scream. And that's okay. I still move in and out of days where I want to kick and scream and say WHY IS THIS HAPPENING AND WHEN WILL IT STOP? But that little voice in the back of my mind still says to me, it will stop. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. I have to believe that. My dad has always told me, "If you don't like the way things are right now, just wait. They'll be different tomorrow." Then he laughs and says, "They'll probably be much worse tomorrow, but they'll be different!" And he's right, that's the nature of life. Everything changes and the pendulum swings. In the meantime, I have to let myself be angry and frustrated when I need to. And then I have to let go of that and make room for hope, even if it's just for a minute. Because that three hour tearful drive to Oklahoma doesn't last forever. How we move through the difficult moments is a choice we make. We breathe, we let the feelings come and go in waves, we fight, we kick and scream, we enlist the help of experts; the time passes the same regardless. Hopefully we come out the other side having learned something; even if it's just that we will survive-- and someday, finally get to be a cheerleader.

Four Years

Today is my wedding anniversary. Four years ago, Poncho and I said our vows, which occurs to me now did not include the words "I DO", and promised to love, support, and encourage each other in the best ways we knew how. And so far, we're batting a thousand. He makes a good point when he tells me, every year we seem to get better- and not just our relationship, because it pretty consistently stays awesome, but our life together seems to move up a rung on the ladder every year. We accomplish more, we learn new things, and we feel better about where were are in life. That's pretty cool. I feel really lucky that we're not one of those couples who have had to "go through some really hard times" to learn how to appreciate each other. We haven't had to royally screw it all up, just to figure out how it's supposed to work. And I'm very, VERY thankful for that. I hope we can stay on that road.

And now we have a son on the way. I can't put into words how that feels. Mostly because it's completely overwhelming. He was very much planned for but still felt like a surprise when we found out he'd be making his arrival in nine months. Yet, he wasn't a surprise at all. I married his dad knowing he was the only man I ever wanted to have children with. And now that we'll have a son together, I can't IMAGINE my child having a better father. He's a source of constant hilarity, immense care and compassion, and one of the best communicators I've ever known. He thinks things through rationally but still feels things deeply. And he's not afraid to talk about it. We've been together over six years now, and he still sends me text messages after he leaves for work at 6 a.m. telling me how much he loves me and hopes I have a good day. And he still takes time out of his busy schedule to ask me how my days are going. He's pretty much the most thoughtful people I know. He knows how to love and be loved. And he's hands down the hardest worker I've ever met. And I hope our son follows his example.

I feel extremely fortunate to have landed my husband. And I love that his marriage proposal was pretty much a microcosm of how our whole relationship would be. It caught me completely off guard and he didn't got the traditional route and get down on one knee. He hugged me tight and said, I know I'm supposed to be on my knee, but I have to be holding you when I ask you this. My heart jumped about a million miles in the air, his voice was shaking and he asked me to be his wife. And then he gave me the ring he'd been carrying around in his pocket all weekend. Then I said yes.

And here we are years later. We don't always take the traditional route, but it's worked for us. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a lucky girl. And I never, NEVER want to take that for granted.

Teaching with Poverty in Mind

I'm having lots of thoughts while reading this book: Teaching with Poverty in Mind. It's excellent, by the way. If you're a teacher in a classroom with low SES students, I HIGHLY recommend getting this book.

It talks a lot about the emotional under-development of children who come from high poverty households and how they need to be taught how to process emotions and proper reactions to them. I never thought about that at the high school level, but it's very true. And it explains a lot of the disruptive outbursts we see in class.

Right now I'm thinking about the high level of chronic stressors present in the lives of high poverty students. Growing up with chronic stress actually impairs the development of most aspects of the brain biologically. It's fascinating stuff. Chronic stress is the cause of their constant impulsivity (their lack of being able to think before they act or speak), because impulse is a survival mechanism they've used all their lives to stay alive and have their immediate survival needs met. The book says, "Our students don't wear signs around their necks that say 'Chronic stress lives here'..." but they don't have to. So many times you can see it in their appearance. And I'm not limiting myself to just judging a book by its cover here, but when you see a student that may or may not have bathed in the last few days, dragged a comb through his/her hair for a while, and you're pretty sure they were wearing those same clothes the last time you saw them, as indicated by that unforgettable spaghetti stain from the lunchroom, you pretty much know- that kid, and probably his/her family, operates in survival mode. You can almost perfectly predict classroom behavior at that point- at least to varying degrees.

What I really enjoy about this book is that it urges teachers to EXPECT these "negative" or survival responses from their students. It's the way they live their lives. Why would we expect anything different right off the bat in our classrooms? We have to create safe classroom environments where they can watch us model the correct responses to stress and in return teach them a healthy way of functioning in the world.

I have hallway duty the last 30 minutes of every other day, and without fail, every time I have to listen to a teacher, behind his closed door, scream at the top of his lungs and say some very berating and hateful things to his last period class because his class is out of control and he's been pushed over the edge. He doesn't know he's being counter-productive. And it doesn't seem to register with him that his screaming tantrums aren't fixing anything, because he still has to do it every single day. I want him to read this book-- it's laying on his desk. It would make his life so much easier if he would just breathe and have the patience to model and teach correct responses instead of escalating the stress in the room by hatefully screaming at the top of his lungs. Everybody is in survival mode in that room. Even the teacher.

I understand his frustration. I do. When a kid mutters EFF YOU, Bitch, under his breath about ten times in a class period, it's very hard to stay positive and have any desire at ALL to teach him ANYTHING- let alone how to act like an intelligent individual. But then that's our job, isn't it? Isn't that what we signed on for? To teach?

I did, anyway.

You are your own best advocate.

I don't know how many times I've sat in ARD meetings at school with special ed students and watched teachers, parents, and administrators talk over them and plan their lives out for them without even asking the kid what he/she thought. So I make it a point in each of those meetings to try to slow everyone down a bit, look at the kiddo, and ask him or her to talk about what they're struggling with at school, what they'd like to see done differently, or what support they think they need. It's important for them to have their own voice- especially as they get older and try to gain some kind of independence from their parents, they're going to need to be able to speak up for themselves and advocate for their own interests.

I've had to take a bit of my own advice to heart recently. I have had friends and family members with chronic pain before, and I've always sympathized with them, but never could really EMpathize with them until now. The onset of severe Cluster Headaches with this pregnancy let me put their shoes on, lace them all the way up, and walk about 3,000 miles in them. Cluster headaches are defined as a "rare headache disorder affecting 0.1% of the population". Thus, when you seek help from a doctor, most times you're just greeted with a sympathetic smile and a script for migraines. Many doctors have not heard of them, and those that have, haven't really researched them and figure it's a headache, so headache meds should work. (If you go to the website, notice CRISIS INTERVENTION is the first link on their menu- the number to the national suicide hotline. That's how desperate these things can make you feel. I can't imagine dealing with these without the kind of awesome family support I have.)

So I went through three weeks of this with my OB. Try Hydrocodone. Take 2 if it's really bad. I did that one night and of course, the pain meds didn't even put a dent in the headaches. They were coming fast and furious every two hours between the hours of 4 p.m. and 7 a.m. So I called them back a few days later, Hydrocodone doesn't work. I've done some reading and it seems like Oxygen seems to be the only treatment that slows the pain. Then there was a sigh and a Hmmmm on the other end of the line. I'm going to call you in some Tylenol 3. Try that. Bring on a few more nights of hard core pain and sleeplessness. Add to that an exhausted husband who wakes me up when I lie too still because he's afraid I've died from something exploding in my brain, and you have a pretty stressed out household.

Dad called the next morning. I lost it. I hadn't strung together more than three straight hours of sleep in almost a month and was emotionally exhausted from the pain and worry. I told him I felt like no one would listen to me. Like everyone says, Oh that sucks, sorry you're in pain, but you're SOL. I told him I just wanted to try the Oxygen treatment but nobody was listening because nobody knows what these headaches are. And I felt like such a little kid breaking down with my dad, and I later did it on the phone that day with my mom too. Sometimes pain makes us 5 year olds again, I guess. But I'm glad I did. Dad said, No, this is not going to work. I know I've got access to some oxygen and I'll have something figured out for you by the end of the day. And he did. My sweet, exhausted, stressed out husband, drove all the way to Oklahoma to pick up four bottles of oxygen for me last night after working outside all day in the 110 degree heat. He didn't even complain once.

I used the Oxygen last night, and the pain vanished within five minutes. I got more GOOD, PAINLESS sleep last night than I have in three weeks. And all because I took matters into my own hands, and well, my dad did too. Of course I called the doctor this morning to let him know what I'm doing, so as to make sure I'm not going to be harming Baby C. The people in the docs office just said, Well that's interesting, I've never heard of anybody using Oxygen to treat headaches before. And I said, Well, yes, that's because Cluster Headaches are very rare, but people do have them. So you may want to write this down for future reference. And it turns out that Oxygen is actually safer than Hydrocodone and Tylenol 3 for the baby. That's kind of a no brainer if you ask me.

So I'm learning that sometimes you do have to become your own advocate. And as my sister, the PA, says, All medicine is kind of a voo doo anyway. Don't just assume your doctor has all the answers. It's all just trying a concoction of different things til you see what works. And this time, I knew what would work, and went for it. I'm proud of myself for speaking up. And I'm overjoyed to have people in my life who don't let me stay silent and will speak up for me when I can't.

Cue the DJ Jazzy Jeff Song

It's the first official day of my summer. And there's already so much swimming around in my head- lists of things I want to do with my new-found free time! Being a teacher is one of the loves of my life, but this summer has been sorely needed and muchly anticipated! After all the stress of the potential impending budget cuts last school year- from Oh NO! They're laying off 50% of our faculty! To No, nevermind. Everybody's staying- which swung from one extreme to the next and back again for six whole months, the year was emotionally trying. People became more difficult to work with because the ax was hanging over all our heads. But as summer has approached, most of our jobs are still in tact and now we have a couple of months to rest and mentally recoup and prepare for the craziness that will begin again on August 15th.

This past year I've had some pretty amazing creative opportunities. My alma mater published one of my blog posts in an anthology by and about one of my college professors. I had the opportunity to begin writing book reviews for Penguin Books through BlogHer. And I was able to meet and hang out with one of my favorite musicians, who in turn encouraged me to up my game and my confidence a little in my singing and songwriting. (I believe chickenshit was the actual word he used. It worked.) So this summer, I'd like to keep doing more of the same, I guess. I feel like I'm on a creative roll and I'd like to ride it out and see where it takes me. And now I have the time to do it.

So I'm gonna go make some breakfast and see what the day holds. Send creative vibes my way and I'll send them back! :)

Graduation Day

Today I think of Jorge, one of my sophomore English students two years ago.

He came to America when he was nine years old having never set foot in a school before- neither here nor in his home country. He says he remembers walking down the streets of downtown Dallas with his mom, seeing business names high on the sides of massive skyscrapers and wishing he could read them.

I didn't even know my letters, Miss.

Today he becomes the first person in his family to graduate high school. And in a few months he'll become the first person in his family to go to college.

I'm not his momma, but today I feel like a proud momma. This is why I do what I do.

Courage to Do What is Right

This week is the fiftieth anniversary of the Freedom Riders- nearly five hundred Americans, black and white, who trekked from the north to the south by bus, challenging strongly held conventions of racism, especially in the deep south, and challenging the federal government to protect the rights of all people and enforce federal laws prohibiting segregation that had already been put in place.

They were harassed. They were beaten. They were humiliated. They were killed. Yet they pressed on. Five hundred Americans out of a nation of MILLIONS. Their views were for some, unheard of. Many people even thought they were immoral and flat out wrong. Some Americans even went as far as to say that the abolition of segregation and the mingling of black people and white people would be the ultimate downfall of our great nation. The country was deeply divided over this divisive issue that affected our nation's culture and identity. Yet they rode, they sat, they quietly protested for what they knew was right.

They were the innovators. They were the tiny handful that went against the grain to stand up for truth. I wonder today if I would have had the foresight, the wisdom, the courage to do what they did. And I wonder what atrocities I'm being silently complicit in today.

Much Ado About the Royal Wedding

So in two days the UK will witness the marriage of the heir apparent to the potential future queen of England. I've found no middle ground on opinions of this event. Either people can't wait to witness the event and have set their DVR's weeks in advance- some are actually hosting watch parties in the wee hours of the morning the day of the blessed event; or people could care less and don't understand what all the hubbub is about.

I read a great article the other day about why the Brits are so obsessed with the wedding. They're witnessing a tradition that goes back a thousand years in their country. It's history-in-the-making. It makes sense that they would want to feel like they were a part of the lives, at least in some small way, of the future heads of state of their country.

But why are Americans so interested? Well, besides the fact that up until 200 years ago, we also had kings and queens, at least for the girls I know, the interest falls into two categories. For some, Kate represents the little girl who always wanted to become a real genuine princess. And people will watch to see what her dream wedding will actually be like and imagine that fairy tale world where the peasant girl (or daughter of millionaires, whatever) gets rescued by the prince on a white horse and gets whisked off to the castle on the hill. But for others of us, I think we watch half excited for the pomp and circumstance of it all, and half astounded that a young woman would willingly step from relative obscurity into the very public and lifelong pressure cooker that is joining the monarchy by marriage.

We relate to it on some sort of personal level. We all know what it's like to have expectations placed upon us by the world around us. We try to fathom the pressure she'll be under once she says her I do's. We watch hopefully, cheering for her to succeed, but terrified at the same time that she might fail. We've already seen one princess succumb to the scrutiny of the crown-- and more than that, to the scrutiny of the public. And it eventually cost her her life. So we watch with high hopes, thinking of our own wedding days (and future wedding days), and wish her all the happiness and success in the world- and the strength to make it endure.

A Moral Obligation to Speak

I had a Facebook conversation with a friend the other day about the obligation we have to share our stories with the world- stories that would help and heal. She reminded me that it is our duty to speak out. And now I'm teaching Elie Wiesel to my tenth graders. And today I'm reminded of this fact:

I believe that anyone who lived through an experience is duty-bound to bear witness to it- the duty to remember. We are those who survived. We are those, who like Jeremiah, can say, "I have been there. I have seen it." Elie Wiesel

I am probably the biggest proponent I know of giving a voice to the voiceless. I'm a vocal supporter of those who are oppressed and those who are on the fringes of our societies. Yet, I deny myself that same voice.

And I've been sitting on multiple drafts of a 100 page memoir manuscript for three years now. At some point I'm going to have to own it.

Money Matters.

Today this teacher feels like she's got everything she needs and whole lot more.

I know it won't always feel like this, because it certainly has NOT always felt like this, and I know tighter times will be upon us soon (especially if the state decides to cut teacher salaries in the next couple of months), but I feel very fortunate today with my family's financial situation.  And I'd be remiss in not mentioning both my family and my husband's family who have helped us out financially in numerous ways, and are much of the reason we find ourselves in our current state of financial comfort.

Having said that, I think there are a few reasons we find ourselves with a few extra dollars in the bank account this month.  And here are some things that will probably work for you too, no matter what your monthly income is.

1) Refuse to pay retail for anything.

From phones to cars to clothes to vacations, there are SO many ways to get a better deal than the first price you see. The internet is your absolute very best friend for finding better deals. For me, paying retail equals wasting tons of money I could be spending on things like pedicures and massages.

2) Budget furiously and consistently.

Know your income and know how much your monthly expenditures are. In the beginning, budget for EVERYTHING- eating out, movies, and let's be honest, liquor. And when you're out of money in that category, then you're just out of money! Guess it'll be a card game kinda weekend! If your income changes or your monthly expenditures change, re-budget. Easy as that.  Good 'ol pen & paper planning. Write out your categories and distribute the dollars accordingly.

3) Know your credit score and keep it high.

Lots of different factors affect your credit score. The main things people do to get LOW credit scores are not paying bills on time and carrying too high a balance on credit cards. Your budget will help you pay your bills and pay them on time. Your budget will also help you eliminate the need to use credit cards, as you'll be paying cash for everything. You can even put extra money toward paying off your credit card balances in your budget.  And wah LAH! You'll have a higher credit score in no time. And we all know the key to getting nicer things for less money, like nice houses and cars, is to keep your credit clean.

In my early twenties my financial situation was dismal. And when we got married, even though I'd worked very hard to restore my own credit, my husband's personal financial situation left a LOT to be desired. But in about a year or so, after teaching him the art of budgeting, he was back on his feet and we had a much brighter financial outlook as a couple. So if you're in a bad place, it's possible to recover. You just have to be committed to doing it.

So when I go visit my little sister in Houston, I always try to make time to run down to Galveston.

"Ewwwww. Why?" she always says.

She lived there during PA school and has had a less than favorable opinion of it since. Apparently, Galveston = the hood. And whilst it isn't in my Top 10 Beach Vacation Spots, it does consist of sand and an ocean, and it's 5 hours from my driveway.

She always turns her nose up and asks me why.

I need to look at the water. This is always my reply. Water has always had a calming effect on me. It's always brought me clarity. And tonight, I figured out why.

I stand on the shoreline and I look. I listen to the roar. And I think. The ocean was there millions of years before me. It will be there millions of years after I'm gone. It is not concerned with my life or even my existence. And it keeps on going.

The ocean is the antithesis of meaning. And that is peace in my world. For those few minutes when I can't see the horizon and I can listen to the immense crash of the ancient waves, THAT is calm.

The ocean knows nothing of me or my family or of drama or of budget cuts or of babies or bank accounts. It just IS and continues to be in spite of it all.

And that's why I'll take the beach I can get. Even if it's in Galveston.

People 101

Didn't your momma ever tell you that you'll attract more flies with honey than vinegar?  The principle holds true even after you're through those grade school years when you're learning how to form relationships.  It is what makes you an effective friend, parent, spouse, boss.

Simple fool-proof tips:  (take notes, didn't ya know? :)

1)  If you see someone struggling, encourage them.  This will get results quicker than any other form of commentary known to man.  One way to ensure they fold and do the exact opposite of what you want them to do?  Criticize.  Yell.  Constantly nag.

2)  Recognize accomplishments.  This comes in especially handy in business and parenting.  If you have an employee or co-worker or child who is doing well, praise them.  Again, the quickest way to get them to about-face and start performing in the other direction is to nit-pick, criticize small, inconsequential details, or just fail to recognize in some way the positive accomplishments they have made.

These little gems will get desired results from people around you and are guaranteed to win you respect from those you come in contact with on a daily basis.

And that is all.

A Look Back.

So from time to time, I like to look back at what used to be my life.  It's an interesting read.  Even for me. And today I came across this.  I needed the reminder.  Sometimes we become so far removed from things that we used to be passionate about that we forget what we're even trying to accomplish in the present.  So I give you... my thoughts on my last day of undergrad.  I cried.


On my last official day of classes as a student of literature, I would like to take a moment to say thank you to the many friends I have made along the way and recognize them for their insight, encouragement, and inspiration. I would like to thank the following:

Alice, for letting me see that even if one eats eggs, one may not necessarily be a serpent.

Candide, for not letting me be content that this is the best of all possible worlds, and teaching me to tend to my garden on a daily basis.

Mrs. Wollstonecraft, for inspiring strength in me and truly demonstrating that intellect, will in fact, always govern.

Frederick, for making me believe even when there are times I may be a slave in fact, I do not have to be a slave in deed.

Nora Helmer, for helping me understand that I can dance the most heatedly passionate Tarentella for a man, but in the end, he's still going leave if the dance was all he loved in the first place. And for giving me permission to take societally unacceptable risks.

The murderous Russian, I will affectionately call Pod: for asking me to examine more closely my value as a woman.

Roderick Usher, for reaffirming to me that we all go a little mad sometimes.

To Ethan and Maddie, for helping me accept the fact that when we make the choice, we also choose the consequences. But mostly for making me believe more strongly than ever that weakness and helplessness always cause more pain in the end than strength and confidence.

To Sylvia, for being passionate enough in her death and in her spirit now to still shine through her posthumous work, even when others would try to defile what meant so much to her in life. And mostly just for being totally uninhibited in her willingness to just "put it all out there."

And last but not least, to Ms. Dickinson, who wrote the words I live by:

My life had stood-- a loaded gun.

More than enough.

The truly rich are those who enjoy what they have.
Confidence is half of victory.
If things are not as you wish, wish them as they are.
A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams.

Love those little nuggets that come to us and remind us to be grateful for what we have, even if we do not have what we most desire at the time. 

Sometimes we get so caught up in the wanting and not having, that we forget to pay attention to the lessons we can learn on our journey to attaining.  That's a loaded sentence.  Phew.  And it's even harder to make a reality. 

So these are the things I'm thinking about today.  I'm remembering that what I have today also used to be something I felt like I might never attain-- and yet here it is.  And it's more than enough.

G'day, mate!

So it's 2011 and I'm already learning new things.  I've started delving into meditations recently in an effort to learn how to truly and purposefully relax in my body.  I'm contemplating effortlessness and the anti-fight (which is going to be a process to really develop)-- letting thoughts and feelings just be.  Promptly noticing they exist and then just letting them move on without dwelling too much.  It's an interesting exercise and one that's entirely new to me. 

And in the spirit of improving mind and body, I'm going to amp up my writing exercises for the time being.  I'm going to choose from one of four prompts and write about them as time allows.  I won't over-commit myself and say I'll do it daily, but that would certainly be nice.  A few times a week is what I'm shooting for at the moment.  And so here's what I'm contemplating today:

"Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia."  Charles M. Schultz

What consumes us?  What do we spend too much time dwelling on or worrying about in our lives?  And what are we missing as a result? 

Lately, as you can tell, I've been thinking a lot about relaxing and letting go.  There are times during the day, when I'll randomly notice that the muscles in my legs are clenched-- same thing with my face, neck, and shoulders.  My body is literally bracing for impact.  From what?  What a sad idea my body is getting about the world.  It's like it's steeling itself, preparing for some sort of attack.  Yikes.  I know that I need to slow down.  I need to welcome whatever experience I'm having.  After all, can't we learn something from everything?  I've said it before, but I don't believe in regrets-- even when we see we've made horrible choices that have produced terrible consequences in our lives.  We can always learn something. We are the sum of our experiences.  We are the lessons we take away from them (and the lack of learning the lessons as well).  So if I can learn my weaknesses and learn how to consciously make better choices that will produce more desirable consequences in my life, why would I regret the experience? 

My mind knows these things to be true.  But my body clearly is riding the short bus on this one-- as it does not seem to be too welcoming of the moment.  Today I am extremely thankful for a husband who centers me and brings me back.  When I send him a text message saying that once again I've been thinking about our budget and that we probably need to sit down and figure out how we're going to finance the rest of this bathroom remodel, he replies back, "It will be taken care of, honey.  We've planned for this.  I need to you to relax and just be here with me and know that it's okay."  The physical response I have to his words even on the phone screen is amazing.  I feel my entire body release its tension and I feel like I could take a really great nap for a few minutes.

Which brings me back to what Mr. Schultz said.  Stop worrying.  It's already been taken care of.  So that's the lesson for the day.  Stop for a second to notice the response your body is having to your day.  And then let it go. Because it's already tomorrow in Australia.

Goodbye 2010

It's no secret, I'm quite ready to be writing 2011 on all my papers.  2010 has been a trying year.  While I've had years that were harder, 2010 was definitely the most trying year in my five years with P.  Things seemed to be coming at us from all sides- and once one things let up, something else would hit.  Sometimes it felt like we were down for the count.  But during these last few weeks of the year, things seem calm. (I'm whispering this in my head so the dark forces can't hear it...)  And I'm much anticipating the beginning of 2011, and I'm excited to see what it brings. 

It feels like new possibilities are around the corner in several different areas.  And my big hope for 2011 is that it sees us having the courage to create and be creative.  And take risks and reap the rewards.  And push through trials and be triumphant.  I want to keep exploring and keep learning.  And learn to be less afraid. 

And so as I let go of the painful and embrace the unknown, I promise to continue to be open and to not give up in the face of difficulty, but to see the possibilities and embrace the new.

Bring on 2011.

Something to Celebrate

Today is December 21, 2010.  It's the Winter Solstice.

What is this day, you might ask.  It's the day that sun reaches its most southerly point in the sky and begins to move back north.  It's the day that light begins to stay for longer periods of time in our days and in our lives once again.  It is the day, Alice Walker says, that literally makes the first day of spring possible. 

I'm celebrating this winter solstice.  This year, and most recently the past couple of months, have seemed rather dark.  Like the sun might not show its face again for a very long time.  Most days, it would be nearly dark by the time I got off work. I'd come home, slink into my chair, and sit there the rest of the night in the dark, wondering what life held for me in the coming days.

But today, quite literally, the light is coming back. What that means for my life, only time will tell.  But today is a renewal-- a rebirth of sorts.  And I'm thankful for it.

My Libra Scales are Broken

So P and I were sitting on the patio Friday night having drinks around the fire pit.  These times always make for good, honest discussion and introspection.  We started talking about our various creative projects-- the ways we like to express ourselves artistically.  And I told him I thought maybe my writing days were over.  I had a good run at it in my twenties, and now maybe I was done.

He asked why I thought I was done.  And I told him I've lost my voice.  And I started to cry.  And I couldn't explain it any further. 

It's like there is an ocean of thoughts swimming around in my mind-- and its full of good stuff, but it all just melds together, like I can't really distinguish one interesting thought from another.  It's just a big, nebulous cloud without specific definition.  And it's hard to pull material from that.  And even when I try, I shut myself down before I even start by censoring myself the way I always do.

So I got to thinking.  I used to have no problem just saying it the way it came into my mind.  I didn't have an audience, or if I did, I surely didn't think about them and what they would think when I was writing.  And then several months ago, whilst having dinner with a good friend, she once again pointed out that sometimes, during that era, I would "make a point just to prove you could make a point".  She was like, "Okay, we get it."  And it occurs to me that I probably haven't really made a point in a very long time.  And being wishy washy, never making strong points, and never cursing (really) just makes for some boring and frustrating writing.  So there's got to be a balance somewhere.  Damnit.  :)

Then I thought some more.  Poetry FLOODED out of me from the time I was eleven til, oh, about 2007.  And then suddenly it stopped.  Someone turned off the word faucet.  Granted, the drama in my life became considerably less that year by moving out of a state that I associated with many bad things in my life, and by settling down and having a happy, healthy marriage-- but still.  Didn't I still have thoughts and observations and emotions and struggles to work out on the page?  Surely I did.  But I was afraid to write them.  Afraid of what P would think if he saw a particularly gritty piece about an ex-lover, or about how confusing it was to have expectations for my life change from party girl who loves to travel to wife living in a suburb, things of that nature.  So I erred on the side of caution.  I shut it down.  But since then, our relationship has matured and I know that I don't have to worry about those kinds of petty things anymore.  He's completely and totally supportive, no matter what the topic.  And yet I stay silent.

So I've decided to try something new.  I'm reintegrating poetry into my life.  But I won't be featuring it on the front page.  In the name of psychological comfort, it'll be neatly buried in a link on this blog.  People can access it any time they wish, but they'll be going there because they want to, not because I've posted it on my front page and plastered on Facebook that HEY LOOK I'VE WRITTEN A NEW POEM COME READ IT!!

So the blog will stay virtually the same as far as I'm concerned.  But the poetry, oh the poetry!  It will be honest.  And it will not be for everyone.  It will be the place I make my points.  Uncensored.  So we'll try this on for size and see how the balance works out. 

Cowboy Boots in the Garage: A Conversation with my Mother

Recent events have had me thinking about the relationship between moms and daughters.  My mom just recently moved from out of state to be closer to my sister and me, and my best friend just gave birth to her first child, a daughter.  The relationship between moms and daughters has been notoriously complicated, especially through those tenuous teenage years.  It's that struggle for independence mixed with the desire to be known and appreciated as a woman and a person on our own merits.  That relationship daughters have with their mothers moves through many changes-- from that euphoric feeling of that tender relationship at birth, to those crazy roller coaster teenager years, to growing up and learning how to relate to each other as women and as adults.  And I heard someone say something the other day that struck me as very profound.

Most of us never really know our mothers as people.  So many times we leave our moms cast in that role of wife and/or mother and/or caretaker and never see past that.  Sometimes we can forget that before we came along, our moms were crazy, wonderful, interesting women in their own right!  They have stories to tell that sometimes never get told because we don't take the time out to ask.  Or maybe we don't even think to ask.  Mom is mom and that's it-- I mean, I am the very center of her universe, am I not?! 

So when it struck me that so many of us never get to know our mothers as women and as actual people, I started to evaluate my relationship with my mom.  I have been fortunate, especially in my adult years, to be able to know my mother as a person.  I've been able to walk with her through things in her life that showed me she wasn't just my  mom-- she is a person with thoughts and feelings of her own.  I've seen her vulnerable and I've seen her strong.  I've seen her be both dependent and independent. I've heard her get tickled at little things and I've also heard her weep.  It's been such a cool experience as a daughter to get to know my mom as an individual outside of the role she plays in my life.   And while I was thinking about all these things and the relationships we have with our moms, I decided to ask my mom a few questions and see if she'd be open to participating in this blog post.  And she agreed.  I asked her a few questions and she responded.  So without further ado, I give you wise words from my mother, Shery.

What did you always want to be growing up?

I always wanted to be a teacher or in politics– when I was growing up there really weren’t that many options for girls growing up in northwest Arkansas to aspire to. Not many role models beyond teachers and moms. Teaching, nursing, secretary, bookkeeper – those were the most prevalent career options.  I kind of wanted to be President but that wasn’t an option at all – at least not for a little girl from small town Arkansas!

What is your favorite childhood memory?

I don’t know if I can define it to just one memory. I remember seeing my mom’s cowboy boots in an old wardrobe in the garage. They were green and red and I remember thinking, “Wow, these are my mom’s boots…" I would have never imagined my mom in cowboy boots.  I remember thinking the boots were really cool looking but strange that they belonged to my mom. Who knows, maybe they represented some sort of hidden inner cowgirl side of her – they were in the garage in an old wardrobe.  I think it might have been good for me to see her wearing them!

I loved my kitten, Buzzy. He was gray and looked like every other cat around. He had an extremely loud purr, hence his name. I loved Buzzy! He wandered off one day and never came home.

My third grade teacher called me out in the hall one day and handed me a tiny booklet -a small imitation of an encyclopedia- and a pen and told me she wanted me to represent the third graders on student council. I thought that was pretty cool, and I’ve never forgotten it. Perhaps because it was important to me that someone would place that much confidence in me.  Representing third graders is a big deal when you’re a third grader!

Looking at and reading over and over again, the book, The Snowiest Day. It’s a beautiful book. The colors are incredibly vivid. I bought myself a copy just a couple of years ago.

My dad let me pick out the Christmas gift wrap for Strouds. [My grandparents owned a clothing department store in Rogers, AR called Strouds.] I loved that job and looked forward to it every year. I would spend hours flipping through the gift wrap catalog and then get to wrap the gifts for customers at Christmas.

What is one of the best things you’ve learned from your mother?

That life is too short to work all of the time, 24-7. One should rest a bit and have some fun before it’s too late. Actually, I learned this from watching my mom work so hard and for so long – it’s not something she actually taught me. I learned it from observing her life. She thrived on work then lost her health when it was too late to have some fun.  I’d like to have a more balanced life.

I learned lots of practical things from my mom. Like how to take care of things. I learned how to work hard and how to tend to details.

What one thing do you think every woman should know?

Every woman should have the opportunity to know that she is truly loved for who she is. And every woman deserves to have a poem written about her.  That person who truly loves her will probably write the poetry…or perhaps some prose.

Did you always want to become a mom? 

I guess I should really be honest here. Here’s the truth – before I was a mom, I never gave being a mom much thought.  I babysat twice in high school and didn’t like it at all. Little kids scared me. I just didn’t know what to do with them. I was never the little girl who wanted to dress up and play house or play with dolls. I had brothers. I was a tomboy.  I loved to play outside, play football, play catch, ride bikes, play kick-the-can, swim, and run faster than any of the boys.  I despised ruffles and bows and pink. So the idea of being a mom was just really never part of my thought life. 

What was one of your best moments as a mother?

Multiple moments of hugs and kisses from two absolutely beautiful little girls named Ashly and Dani.

What do you consider to be your greatest personal accomplishment to date?

No question; hands down – Ashly Cochran and Dani Boyles.

What are some things hope you accomplish in the future personally and/or professionally?

Personally – I hope to experience that love can last and that people can be more giving than they are selfish. The older I get the more I understand how important it is to notice, to pay attention and enjoy something in every day, and truly appreciate the immediate environment- seeing beauty in the physical world whether it’s the shape, shades of green and yellow, and the sweet taste of a pear or taking in the frenzied brush strokes and vibrant colors of a Van Gogh. It’s nice to be to be amazed by the orange low-hanging sun on the Dallas horizon. I’d like to just enjoy being.

Professionally – [Mom is the Director of Admissions at a local university.] Professional accomplishment isn’t as important to me as it was even five years ago. I’ve realized that I’m not going to be President or Secretary of State and bring about world peace. But, if I can help the school establish an admission and recruitment strategy for reaching out to area schools (primarily first-generation college students), I feel like I’ll have had a hand in helping individuals and communities build a more secure future. I’ll settle for that. 

If you could give one piece of advice to your children/future grandchildren, what would it be?

One piece? One piece of advice is not enough to give unless it’s this – learn to tell the difference between good advice and bad advice. Here’s my list:

• Be honest with yourself and with others
• Don’t let others define your dreams.
• Read a lot.
• Ask why.
• Learn to think in new ways about the world – stretch your mind – be open to new perspectives.
• If you have the legs and health to do it, run a long distance just so you’ll understand that if you’re called upon to do more than you think you can- you can.
• Thank you are two words that are always appropriate.
• Study hard.
• When you get to college study something you love and don’t worry about the job afterward.
• Loving is hard and it’s scary. But it’s worth it.

Wise words, indeed.  You can clearly see why I'm so well-adjusted.  I have a stellar mother.  Thanks, mom.  :)