Chapter 17: Love

It seems cliche to end 2015 with a post about love but it’s the only word that really comes to mind when I think of my last year. A year ago on this very day I could not even fathom what was ahead for me. I had chosen my 2015 new year’s slogan–Sip and Savor–as a way to embrace and cherish the amazing life I was creating. Work was changing, my MBA was in full swing, I was running like crazy, there was a nephew on the way, and I was footloose and fancy-free as a single lady.  I remember being excited about 2015 the way I am excited about every new year. So much hope and possibility. I could not wait to sip and savor every moment. What I could not have predicted is that not only would I have a lot to sip and savor but that 2015 would turn my life upside down in the most beautiful and profound ways. In the end, everything this year has been defined by an incredible sense of love that has helped me grow and has allowed me to share who I am in ways I never thought possible.

Love is a tricky word because it is so romanticized in our culture. We talk about love so often that it tends to lose its meaning, but for me real love is complicated. It is not just rainbows and butterflies (although that part is nice) but also the practice of giving oneself to help another. Love is laughter and fun and joy and pain and heartache and sadness and loss and gain.  For me, love is in the nitty gritty stuff of my life.  It’s what makes me want to jump out of bed one morning and pull my blanket over my head other mornings.  If you are really going to love in this lifetime, be prepared for utter joy and utter pain. You can’t have the one if you don’t have the other.

This year, love was holding my nephew Cade Oliver for the first time and feeling like my heart actually might explode.  It was the immense pain and fear when he was in the NICU and the incredible relief when he was okay. It was watching him learn to crawl and laugh and play. It was rocking him to sleep and playing and reading and becoming an aunt.

Love was staying at a job that was rapidly changing and was frustrating and difficult.  It was discovering my capacity for change and growth and taking a brave step to take on a new role. It was supporting my colleagues when they were tired and wanted to quit.  Love was trusting that I had something to contribute to my department and that I could be a source of goodness in the midst of struggle.  Love was continuing with my MBA even when I wanted to quit. It was taking notes and studying for finance exams and learning how to let go of being a perfect student.  Love was trusting my intelligence and my intuition and my passion for helping others and making my work become a vocation and not just a job.

Traveling to Turkey and stepping outside my comfort zone was an act of love, as was the immense care, concern, and hospitality my friend Seda’s family provided as I navigated a different culture. Love was seeing another country, so different and yet so like my own.  There was immense love in spending time with Seda and Jeff and their boys and seeing the place where my dear friend grew up and became who she is today.  Love was exploring and relaxing and being away from my daily routine.  Love was being homesick while being simultaneously grateful I was getting such an amazing experience.

And perhaps most of all, love became defined in a whole new way for me when I fell in love with David.  Our courtship was truly unexpected and has taught me more about the true meaning of love than anything else in my life. Being with David has redefined unconditional love for me. When I cried and felt crazy he did not run away but put his arms around me. When I was afraid, he held my hand.  When I felt alone, he stood with me. He is my best friend and the love of my life. And he has shown me that I am capable of being loving and caring and nurturing in ways I could never imagine.  Our love has been a mixed bag of laughter, silliness, tears, joy, stupid fights, running, a torn Achilles, learning to share a space, learning to let go of being on our own, embracing what it means to be a couple, meeting families, and planning a future together. I pinch myself most days because I never thought I would find him anyone who could love me for me. Our relationship has taught me that love is a messy business that is not for the faint of heart but for those willing to put in the work and then reap the incredible rewards. Being with him is the gift of my life.

I’m not sure that any love song ever written really can define what my experience of love has been. I believe we all try to define love because we want to explain it and share it and make others really understand how we feel.  But ultimately, authentic love is indescribable.  It’s the mystery of our human experience and one that makes life worth living.  As this year ends and another one begins, I hope to be more mindful of the abundant love in my life and all that it teaches me in its ups and downs. In the end, all that I have sipped and savored have been those very things that warm my soul, challenge me to be better, and bring deep joy to my life…in short…love.

 

Chapter 16: Making a Space

I am exhausted.  Almost 100% of the time.  It’s my own fault, really, because I am engaged in eight million activities because I love to do so many different things.  For a good portion of my life, I had a difficult time saying no to anyone who would ask me to do anything. I would be invited to events for which I had no interest but would agree to go because I hated the alternative–hurting someone’s feelings. I did a lot of things out of obligation–because the word “should” was so firmly ingrained in my consciousness that to choose not to do something because I just didn’t feel like it, well, that seemed like something I should not do. I made a lot of choices based on what everyone else wanted and expected and thought very little about what I needed.  Over time (and with copious amounts of therapy), I began to see this was no way to live, and thus decided to embrace and cherish the word no.  I began to say no to many, many things and it got easier. I began to practice my own self care and think about what would be best for me. It was so refreshing to realize that I didn’t have to do things I didn’t want to do. Sure there are some obligations like work that are required but for the most part, I could choose the life I wanted.

At this point, you might be wondering why I am so exhausted and so busy if I have become such an A+ student in the art of saying no.  Well, here’s a little something I’ve learned friends–not only do you have to say no to the stuff you do not want to do, sometimes you have to say no to the things you would love to do.  This seems blatantly unfair.  If we would enjoy an event or a gathering or an activity and it helps us grow or develop relationships then why would we NOT do it? I’ll tell you why. Because we are exhausted. EXHAUSTED. We simply cannot do all of the great things life has to offer at one time.  This is why parents, who choose to raise and delight in their children, cannot go out on the town every Saturday night. Do you think they don’t want to escape from their beautiful babies? Of course they do. They are just too exhausted to do it all the time.  This is why people who are excited and passionate about their careers cannot have long relaxing evenings and weekends. Do they not like rest or downtime? No. There simply are not enough hours in the day to get everything done. This is why people who are immersed in any hobby they love, whether music or athletics  or art, struggle to balance their time.  Is it because they don’t enjoy hanging out with their friends and family in their free time? Obviously not. They just don’t have enough time to do it all.  There are 24 hours in a given day, and we can only devote so much time to so many things.

I find this extremely disappointing and entirely true.  I want to do so many things and hang out with so many people and try so many activities.  At this current moment in my life, I am working my full-time job, taking classes for my MBA degree, and preparing to teach a college class in the fall.  In the midst of these work-type events, I am also trying to spend as much time as possible with my family, especially my beautiful nephew. I am trying to grow a relationship with an amazing guy. I am trying to be present to all my friends, many of whom also have no time as they have entered the realm of parenting. I continue to run and exercise (to keep my sanity) and I try to maintain some semblance of fun by going out to eat, seeing a show, etc. And what I’m struggling deeply with is that I WANT to do all of these things. I want to teach this class in the fall. I want to do well at work. I want to be with all these people. But I can’t do everything–even though I really, really want to do everything.  When we make choices about our lives–what we want and where we are going, we have to realize that every single choice we make comes with consequences and that part of life is being willing to deal with those consequences.

For me that means being tired a lot. It means things fall by the wayside. For instance, this chapter has been in my head for about a month and the words are just now being put down on the page.  It means that sometimes I cannot be the friend I want to be to everyone.  It means I can’t always be the one who stays late at work for that extra project.  It means sometimes runs get skipped in favor of sleep. It means sometimes I have to choose myself over other people. I’m constantly learning what it means to grow up–to be an adult–to make choices that are mine and mine alone.  It seems like it should be so much easier, when in reality it seems to only get harder.

About a month ago, I was asked to help give a talk with two former grad school classmates on discernment and listening to God’s call. I have done this talk before and really enjoy engaging that part of my spirit and soul, and so of course, I agreed to do it despite my limited time.  I think my part was okay, but what was really providential was what the other two speakers had to say about how they listen to God. My friend Troy said that to know God and to have a relationship with God we have to make a space.  Make a space. That phrase has been rolling through my head ever since. I feel like I have very little space and what I do have, I struggle to give away. But if I truly want to be healthy and happy, I must make a space. A space for my relationship with God. A space for my relationship with myself. I must make a space that is quiet and open and unscheduled.  This is not easy for me, and the achiever part of me wants to say that I’ve recently mastered the concept. But I haven’t. In fact, I’m so terrible at making a space for quiet and peacefulness that I’m currently stressing about how I can “accomplish” that this weekend. When life is so full and so rich and so lovely, it is hard to step back and make space for the unknown. To make space for solitude.  To make space for the grace that comes from simply being.  But I know that it is precisely that space where I learn the most about myself, about my relationships with others, and my relationship with God. I don’t have much time or space these days but I am committed to being more deliberate about what I am choosing when I fill them up. I may not have hours but there are always minutes where I can stop and be present.  Stop and be grateful.  Stop and be quiet.  And perhaps in making that space I can stop and truly savor the amazing things unfolding in all my exhaustion and busyness.

Chapter 15: On the Eve of a Half Marathon

(Written on the afternoon before the Branson Diva Half Marathon-5/17/15)

I am running a half marathon tomorrow, and I am so nervous.  Which is RIDICULOUS because I have run many half marathons and even one full marathon.  It’s not like I haven’t done this before.  Furthermore, I am not fast enough to win anything or qualify for the illustrious Boston Marathon so it’s not like my time really matters. In conclusion, this should be no big deal.  But it is to me. It’s a really big deal.  I have worked hard to be fit and strong, and I’ve gotten a lot faster. Tomorrow I want to see all that hard work come to fruition.  And it might.  Or it might not.  It’s a super hilly course.  It is in the middle of May, and the temperature might be close to eighty degrees.  These are not ideal conditions for a fast race.  Maybe I’ll pull it out anyway, who knows?  But what bothers me is that I’m so anxious about something that in the scheme of things matters very little to my life.  It’s moments like this that I reflect on my innate drive to push myself in everything I undertake.

I am ambitious.

This is not necessarily a bad thing but it can be an exhausting thing.  I am tired a lot.  Being so driven can be a great gift.  I’m a model employee. A great student.  I work hard.  Trainers and coaches love me because I put in a lot of effort.  I take initiative.  I want to be the very best version of myself.  This can be a very good thing, and it has led to a very full life.  But sometimes my ambition and drive get in the way of things.  I get anxious and overwhelmed and frustrated.  I fear I will fail or do poorly or not measure up to expectations (mostly my own).  I mean, really, if I cannot run a 2:05 half marathon time, what will happen? Nothing. I won’t die. I won’t be loved any less. In fact, literally no one in my life will think any less of me. But I have set an expectation–a standard.  And I will feel disappointed if I don’t reach it.  There is such a great paradox to setting up goals and expectations for ourselves.  On the one hand, it helps us strive for more than we thought possible.  On the other hand, these expectations can become toxic if we judge who we are by their measure.  Therein lies my problem. On some level, I will feel bad about who I am if I run slower than I want.  And that, my friends, is toxic thinking.  My running speed has no bearing on my ability to love or be loved.  Or to be my truest self.  It is simply something I love to do and helps me challenge myself outside my comfort zone.  No more. No less.

I don’t think I’m alone, especially among my female friends, in struggling with the line between a healthy ambition and a toxic one.  So many of my friends strive to be exceptional wives, mothers, employees, runners, musicians, yogis, writers, teachers, and friends.  They are always looking to do more and be more–which in itself can be a beautiful thing.  Yet, I should also note that many of these same friends have massive amounts of anxiety and worry that we are not quite measuring up the way we think we should.  Instead of seeing our goals and ambitions as a way to fullness, it becomes a hamster wheel we cannot get off.  Our successes and our failures begin to define us and that is not a good thing.  We forget that our core–our very souls–are just as they need to be and the rest is gravy.  Run a half marathon or don’t.  It’s simply one piece of a very full life.

Tomorrow I will push myself to run as fast as I can. I love the challenge.  I love pushing myself out of what is comfortable.  I love trying to run just a bit faster than the last time.  But maybe, just maybe, I could remember that no matter what the end result, my self worth is neither lessened or improved.  Maybe I could be proud of my hard work and effort without letting it judge my worthiness.  Maybe I could say that whatever happens adds to the beauty of the life I continually am creating for myself.  I can be ambitious tomorrow, and I can show myself loving compassion.

I’ll run hard tomorrow and hope it pays off with a great time.  And if it does not, I’ll take a deep breath and sign up for the next race.

Post Script–I did PR (personal record for non-running folks) and took over a minute off my previous time. It was the hardest half marathon I have ever completed. Still learning to be gentle with my wins and my failings…

full life.  But something

Chapter 14: Meaningful Work

Several months ago my co-workers and I had a debate about an article on the importance of loving your work. Our debate was primarily over whether or not it’s a modern fallacy that people should love their jobs.  Some of my co-workers argued that this was unrealistic and probably impossible.  They said it sets up an unattainable goal when the reality is that work is work and few can afford to pick a job solely on passion alone.  I remember feeling disappointed and angry at this perspective.  As a person who wants everything I do to have purpose, meaning, and passion, I believe work should bring us joy and energy.

And yet, I am also aware I say this from a place of privilege.  I have a solid education, a large network, and have been lucky enough to be in fields that challenge and inspire me.  Not everyone is so lucky.  Some people want to do different jobs but have no means to get there (both literally and figuratively).  Some people have financial constraints that prohibit them from doing anything but that which pays the bills.  Some people lack resources like education, time, and support of family and friends.  In my ideal worldview, I want everyone to bounce out of bed and head to fulfilling and lifegiving jobs.  In reality, my co-workers are right–this is pretty unrealistic for most people.  This disheartens me because we spend the majority of our time at work, so shouldn’t it be, well, better?

As I said, I have been lucky.  I have been blessed to love most of my jobs.  Initially I chose a career–Catholic ministry–that one can only choose out of sheer love because it pays peanuts.  You don’t do ministry for the money.  I think that is why I so vehemently debated my co-workers.  I had only chosen jobs out of love, so just assumed that is what everyone can and should do (note that I recognize the supreme arrogance and naivete in this statement…)  Is it possible for all of us to find joy and energy and purpose in our work?  Several months ago, I would have unequivocally said yes, but now I’m not so sure.

The past few months at my job have been difficult.  Really difficult.  We are going through a major restructuring in my department, and it is exciting and frustrating and overwhelming.  I have a great boss and wonderful colleagues, and I do believe good things are unfolding.  But in the interim, going to work has not been a fun thing for me.  I feel a total lack of passion right now.  I am tired, run-down, and apathetic.  This listless, lack of of energy has been really difficult because by nature I am extremely passionate about everything I undertake.  I want to be energized and engaged about my work.  And right now, I am not.  So does this mean my co-workers were right?  Is it an illusive dream to love what I do for a living?  The truth is, I’m not sure.  I’m hoping the truth lies somewhere in the middle.  Maybe it’s possible to to find joy and passion in any job AND to be realistic that this joy cannot and will not be sustainable every minute of every day.  Maybe it’s possible to have gratitude for my job and acknowledge it’s not going to always fill my energy tank.

When it comes down to it, I think for me, it’s essential that I am passionate about my work.  This does not mean every day I’m kicking up my heels in joy about what I do at work but rather that I find the purpose and value in my work.  In many past jobs I have found meaning and passion in little ways.  When I worked at Starbucks, I developed relationships with the regular customers and volunteered to use my expert organizing skills to make the store look great.  When I marketed credit cards at Busch Stadium (yes this was really one of my jobs), I made up funny chants and cheers to get people’s attention (which made me laugh and passed the time).  When I worked at an animal hospital, I declared myself human resource manager and put up inspirational quotes each week.  Little things make a big difference.  I’m working on this in my current job–finding little things to infuse energy into my work at a time when the reality is that my job is evolving and not always easy.  Reading inspiring articles, attending good trainings, engaging with positive colleagues, volunteering for new projects, and finding new ways to teach my classes are some of the small steps I’m taking to re-engage my work.  It’s not a magic solution but rather a way to find a middle ground, to gain energy, and to recognize that work can be both energizing and challenging at the same time.

When I look back on my debate with my colleagues, I know I was a bit naive but at the same time, I want to be part of a world where the work we do, day in and day out, matters and engages and inspires.  No matter what job I do, I can make choices to bring joy and life to that space, even in the smallest of ways.  It won’t always be fun to go to work.  It won’t always be exciting.  But I believe my approach to work matters.  I get to choose how I find meaning and purpose in my work.  No job is perfect but if I am willing to re-center myself in my values and what brings me to life, then maybe those 40 hours each week will have a bit more energy and joy.

Chapter 13: Leaning In with Life

As my boss will tell you, I have a slight obsession with Sheryl Sandberg. Her book, Lean In, was life-changing for me, helping me think about the kind of career I want and how important it is for women to push forward and boldly declare that we are leaders and have a voice that should be heard. After I read Lean In, I would frequently start sentences at work with, “Well, Sheryl says…”  I ate up her words and found myself inspired to be better at my job and to begin really thinking about how I can be a leader.  Of course, her book was chastised by some as being only for those women of privilege who have the education, the opportunity, and the support to lean in to their roles in organizations.  However, it is precisely these women who have been given opportunities that must stand up for those who have not, so that, as Sheryl says, “In the future, there will be no female leaders. There will just be leaders.” In short, I love Sheryl Sandberg. I love that she has created a dialogue on women in the workplace. I love that she wants to ban the word bossy because it can be detrimental to a young girl’s self esteem. I love that she wants women AND men to think about how we are all better served when we work together at home and at the office.  She is one of my heroes.

And this week, her husband died tragically in a freak accident while their family was on vacation.  When my friend Katie texted me about this, I literally gasped. I don’t know Sheryl. She’s a celebrity to me. But my respect and admiration for her make me feel so incredibly sad. This woman I deeply admire, who has amassed success, wealth and fame and somehow has also managed to be a wife and mother, just experienced the most horrific part of being human–losing someone you love. I feel sad for her and sad for her children. And sad for all of us. Because moments like these are reminders that we live with an illusion that we have any control over anything.  So much of our lives we try to hold on to things and plan and organize, but in the end, we know that life can change on a dime. This is terrifying to me.

Since I heard about this tragedy, I have told both my boyfriend and my coworkers they are not allowed to die. I’ll be telling my family and other friends the same in the coming weeks. This is not new to me. I have been known to tell my parents, “If you ever die…” which supposes that there is a chance they might not. When I say these things, my mom and dad do the thing they did when I was a kid, where they look over my head and knowingly look into each other’s eyes as to suggest that one of them will have to do a reality check.  The thing is, I’m not actually scared of my own death. I’m just scared of losing those I love.  Each day as human beings we form relationships, and we give pieces of ourselves to those we love. We are vulnerable and give our hearts away because that’s in our DNA. We are meant to love and be loved. Yet, it comes with such a risk–because in the end, life is fleeting and things change so quickly.

Some would say that to avoid this inevitable pain, we should simply focus on ourselves and not worry about these intense human bonds. Those people are crazy. And I bet Sheryl would say, even in what I imagine is her indescribable pain, that getting to love her husband is worth whatever comes next. That is not easy to remember when the wind has been knocked out of us by the pain and sorrow of life. But it’s true and we should always lean in toward what is true. It’s easy for me in my daily life to feel like I have control over everything going on around me. I have a color-coded planner, a phone that connects me to everyone I know, and I make relatively sound choices to keep me safe and healthy. Those are all good things, but in the end what these tragic life moments teach me is to stop. To stop planning and thinking and controlling. To simply be present to those I love. To hold my nephew. To laugh with my godson. To have coffee with friends. To eat dinner with my family. To curl up with my boyfriend. To listen to my coworkers. These are the things that matter and even though I cannnot control what happens next, I can be present to what happens now.  Sheryl taught me to lean in with my career and now she is teaching me to lean in with my life.

Chapter 12: Floating

“I just kept waiting for something to happen.”

These are the words my sister-in-law Courtney uttered as we drove away from the trendiest, hippest, and arguably oddest experience we have ever shared together: floating.  As in, floating in the water.  Several months ago, Courtney sent me an article discussing the latest hipster trend, which involved spending 90 minutes floating in a pool of water. Apparently, floating has been around forever (according to the website of our floating place) and is a way to clear one’s mind and truly experience peace. Courtney decided we needed to float and thus, as her birthday present to me, we immersed ourselves (pun intended) in this new experience. I’ve been trying for over a week now to figure out how to explain floating to others and perhaps find a way to somehow integrate this experience in my life.  I have not been successful, namely because I hated floating.

I’m a person who loves to try new things. I am open to almost any new food. I love things that are considered artsy. I like to try out different ways to experience God. I like to be open to new ideas and new trends. And honestly, even after I floated, I desperately wanted to say that I enjoyed it and had an existential experience.  It sounds so alternative to say that I floated (I mean even now as I write this I’m having a hard time believing I tried it in the first place).  Even for those who love to float–apparently there are a lot of these people–the whole idea is far from the mainstream.  First, you basically get into a bathtub filled with warm water and copious amounts of Epsom salts. (As a side note, there is an option to get into a pod which encloses you and is somehow meant to replicate a womb. Courtney and I decided we would absolutely be claustrophobic so said no thank you to that option). These salts create a buoyancy that allows you to feel weightless in the water and has the added bonus of keeping you afloat if you fall asleep. You have a little knob in the bathtub that turns off the lights once you are settled, and then it is pitch black. Like the darkest room I’ve ever been in.  Like I couldn’t tell when my eyes were open or closed.  Then you float.  For an hour and a half. Initially I was excited to spend some quiet, relaxing time with myself and I thought this might be like meditating, only possibly more relaxing.  It was not.  In fact, it was the opposite of relaxing.

First, I was overheated the minute I got into the water. Ironically, Courtney was freezing the whole time over in her bathtub. (It should also be noted that Courtney and I were in two separate rooms and several times I wanted to just bang on the wall and see how she liked floating, but that would probably have been frowned upon by the staff).  After getting used to the temperature of the water, I got salt in my eye, which the owner told me was a possibility and why they keep spray bottles with fresh water to spray on your eyes. Then I couldn’t get comfortable. There was a little noodle thing to put behind my neck but it took me awhile to figure out how to relax. At this point, I’m already annoyed and wondering why we didn’t just get a couple’s massage, but then the worst happened. My hand felt a long hair in the water which could not have been mine as I have a pixie haircut.  Now I’m completely grossed out and wondering how long it’s been since I started and wondering if I could just get out and wait for Courtney in the incense-filled lobby.  But I don’t want to be a spoil sport so I continue to float and pray the time goes by quickly. I try to pray. I try to plan out my week. I try to clear my head of thoughts. I try to think of things for which I am grateful.  Eventually I fall asleep for who knows how long and when I wake up I begin to pray that this is ending at any moment.  When the light goes on to signal the time is up, I literally jumped out of that tub, got into the shower to clean off and felt the immense relief one does when a terrible experience has ended. In the car, Courtney echoed similar thoughts (down to a rogue hair that she found in her tub) and we both agreed floating is NOT for us.

This entire week I’ve been thinking about floating. I’ve been thinking about what Courtney said–that she just was waiting for something to happen and it never did. I think life is a lot like that. Sometimes we try new things and we think they will be amazing or life-changing and they end up being kind of dumb.  Other times we try something we think will be ordinary and it changes everything.  I think I felt bad at first that I disliked floating. I like to think I can get into some of this new age stuff and that I can do things that expand my horizons. But I suppose that sometimes things just don’t float your boat (and this pun was totally not intended but obviously I’m leaving it in here).  Floating reminded me that I can try new things, and I can choose if they are fitting for me. I can be adventurous and brave and when something is not quite what I want, I don’t have to do it again.  It’s a pretty cool thing to have opportunities in life to do things like float in a vat of salty water (and my God even as I write this, it’s a wonder Courtney and I thought it was ever a good plan…).  But what’s even cooler is the freedom to say it’s not for me.

Next year for my birthday, I think Courtney and I will stick with the tried and true–pedicures, drinks, a day at the spa.  Unless of course she reads an article on the latest trendy, new age experience because who are we kidding, we would probably try it out.

Chapter 11: On Vulnerability

Being vulnerable is hard.  I’ve been thinking about vulnerability a lot lately—what it means to open myself to others in a space of honesty and integrity. I’ve been pondering how to be my true self, without any masks. Really, if I’m being honest, this is not a new journey for me. I have been striving for authenticity my entire life. I want to be someone that is true to herself and who shares that self with others in real and intimate ways. But lately it just feels hard.  Really hard.  And I’ve been feeling a bit bad about myself because as a card-carrying perfectionist, I feel like it should be so easy to be vulnerable. I should be good at it by now because I try so hard to be open and honest and true.  But no matter how long I’m on this journey, it’s never totally easy to be myself.  Why is that? Why is being my honest-to-goodness true self so stinking difficult?

As a lover of words, I decided to look up the definition of vulnerable.  The good news is I feel a lot better about thinking vulnerability is so difficult.  The bad news is that vulnerable is defined as “capable or susceptible to being wounded or hurt.”  Well that sounds terrible. No wonder I struggle (and I suspect others do as well) to be so open and honest about myself.  Because when we are honest, we might get wounded or hurt and that does not sound very appealing. Yet, if we are going to fully engage in life and be present to our work and our relationships then we have to enter a space of vulnerability.  Without vulnerability, we risk being fake or shallow or simply untrue to the core of who we are.  Brené Brown, one of my favorite gurus has researched and written extensively on vulnerability.  She says, “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”  I’m struck by this contradictory idea that it is only by digging into the darkness that we experience the light. It’s only by acknowledging our weaknesses, our failings, and our struggles that we can know the beautiful gift of who we are.  To be vulnerable is not a weakness but rather the only way to become truly strong and to be in true connection with others.

I think about and reflect upon about my perfectionist nature a lot. It’s a little thorn in my side and has been for as long as I can remember.  My desire to be perfect, to be the best at everything, is a fruitless attempt. I know that I can never actually be the best at everything and yet somehow this little voice inside me urges me to try harder, to be better, and to work more.  This little voice is not always a terrible thing, as it often challenges me to be the best version of myself and helps me strive to make myself and the world better.  The problem is not striving for excellence. The problem is when I start to believe that unless I reach excellence I am not okay. The problem is when I begin to think that unless I present the most perfect version of myself I am not loveable.  The problem is when I believe my self-worth is tied up in what others think of me or how I did on my last run or whether my parents are disappointed in me or whether my friends think I’m making good choices or whether my coworkers thinks I’m competent.  The problem is when I believe I am only loveable when I am successful or funny or smart.  You can see why vulnerability can be so hard. Because if I’m going to truly be open and honest about who I am, to myself and those I am in relationship with, then I’m going to have to share all of me—even the parts that aren’t so pretty.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see why people struggle with vulnerability.  That level of honesty and openness is scary, and it takes courage to acknowledge the darkness as much as the light.  Boldly announcing that I am not good at things. That I’m scared a lot. That I’m worried I’m not actually that smart. That I am a pretty slow runner. That I sometimes don’t feel like being outgoing. That I get really angry and really sad.  That I’m nervous about new things and am afraid of the unknown.  That I feel anxiety about silly things.  That I am emotional and loud and expressive. These pieces of me are not pieces I love to share with others. BUT they are a part of me. I can’t be Meghan unless I share these pieces along with all the things I love about myself.

As an incredibly outgoing, intuitive, extroverted, feeler, I am vulnerable about 98% of my life. I wish I had a poker face, but I really don’t even know what that means. I wear my heart on my sleeve, well, really on my face.  And there are moments when I feel like I’m my authentic self, and I’m literally terrified that whomever I’m with will walk away because they won’t like what they see. That’s the risk every single time we open our hearts and our souls to another—that we might get hurt. Yet, for as much of a struggle as it is, I don’t know how else to live.  Choosing not to be vulnerable may seem like the safer choice, but I’m pretty sure it’s no way to live. Without vulnerability, we would all live on the surface, never really knowing one another and certainly never knowing ourselves.  I choose to be vulnerable even though it’s scary. I choose to be my true and imperfect self even when I wish I was perfect. I choose to be the most authentic person I can be even if that means people see my warts and weaknesses. In the end, I don’t know another way to live or love.  It’s not always easy to be comfortable in my own skin and to vulnerably share who I am with others, but I take small steps each day.

I think today, I will remember that I’m not perfect AND I’m loveable.

It’s a start.

Chapter 10: Gratitude (and why I love Birthdays)

I love celebrating my birthday. I think as an adult, I’m supposed to dislike the day of my birth because it means I am getting older, but the truth is, I still look forward to every single birthday.  In the interest of full disclosure, a small part of this is that I’m a huge fan of parties, presents, and cake.  But I love my birthday beyond those lovely things.  Every year my birthday is an opportunity for me to center myself in gratitude for this amazing life I have been given.  Gratitude is one of my most cherished values.  When I practice gratitude, I am able to see the bigger picture and really own the ups and downs of my life.  When I practice gratitude, I open myself to a deeper awareness of the goodness around me and hopefully a deeper patience and compassion for the things that are not so great.  When I practice gratitude, I am better able to live in the moment and take life as it comes.  When I practice gratitude, I am the kindest, gentlest, and most authentic version of myself.

Gratitude is a practice.  I took a class from writer and speaker Brene Brown, and she talked about the difference between feeling gratitude and practicing gratitude.  We will not always feel grateful, and sometimes life will really suck.  But if we practice gratitude, even in the worst moments, there is this shift from helplessness and despair to ownership and hope.  I practice gratitude because I choose to live a life where I honor everything as a gift–even the stuff that is painful and difficult.  This doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with pain or suffering, but rather that I want to center myself in the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, grace often crashes through.  But if I’m not paying attention–if I am not truly living the moments of my life, then I miss the grace that comes from the good and the bad.

This is why I absolutely love my birthday.  It helps me see that I am making a difference in the lives of others.  It reminds me that I love and am loved.  It reminds me how blessed I am to cross paths with some of the most amazing people on the planet.  It is a day for me to celebrate my life up to this point and to go forward in the coming year with joy and expectation.  This is probably why I also get immense joy celebrating others’ birthdays too. I love having the chance to show my gratitude for the wonderful people in my life.  Birthdays can be the most marvelous opportunity to be grateful, to acknowledge grace, and to ground ourselves in what truly matters.

I celebrated 34 years of life this week, and it was such a delightful, joyful day, namely because I got to share it with the people I love.  I was so blessed to get calls and texts and cards from so many people.  But what really made the day great was that I just kept re-focusing on gratitude.  Gratitude for those who touch my heart each day.  Gratitude to be a person who wants to seek and grow and learn.  Gratitude for the chance to make a difference in the life of others.  Gratitude that I get to live this one crazy and wild life.  My birthday reminds me it’s all gift–every, single day.  And for that, I am truly grateful.

Chapter 9: Solitude

If you had asked me several years ago to describe what comes to mind when I hear solitude, I would have said things like quiet, peaceful, reserved, and introspective. And while those things might be true, I’d like to share a few words that describe me: loud, dynamic, energetic, and social.  You can see my dilemma.  I have often felt unqualified to talk about solitude because it seems that solitude is the opposite of who I am.  But I’m learning that my perception of solitude has always been a bit off. Solitude is an essential element of our humanness and whether we are the shyest, most introverted individual or the loudest, most extroverted individual, we all experience and we all need solitude.  It’s taken me a long time to really understand and own my solitude. For me, solitude is challenging because at its deepest core, to be in true solitude, I have to know myself. And knowing me has been, and sometimes still can be, a really scary thing.  To enter deeply into solitude means to enter into relationship with myself. Without anyone else. Without any masks. It seems like it should be such a simple thing to do, right? To be on our own with ourselves?  But it’s not. And I think the reason most of us avoid solitude is because it makes us dig deeper than we are comfortable.  It makes us confront the yuck we haven’t dealt with. Being in solitude means that I am willing to really think about who I am and that can feel like a daunting task.

When I was just out of college, I learned about solitude in a whole new way by attending an eight-day silent retreat.  It’s still a wonder to me that I said yes to this experience, but I did, and it was life-changing.  Although I must admit, it did not start off well.  I’m pretty sure I cried for the first two days.  I was terrified of being quiet. I was terrified of being alone.  I could not even begin to imagine how to fill eight long days without my family and friends. I really thought I wouldn’t make it. And then through some talks with my mentor and some re-framing of the situation, I began to realize that this “silent” retreat was more about solitude than anything else. Of course I would be quiet most of the time, but the point wasn’t to see how long I could go without talking. The point was how I could get to know myself in a space that was just mine for eight whole days.  What could I do to know myself on a deeper level, and arguably know God more deeply too?

It wasn’t easy. I had to think outside the box. I went walking.  I went to a movie by myself.  I read books. I finger-painted. I sat quietly in the chapel and prayed. I began to see what time with me might look like.  This time ended up being a lovely experience, and it taught me my first lesson about solitude—it involves being quiet but more importantly it involves being present.  Present to the moment and present to the things around me that I miss all the time. During that retreat, I could sit quietly in the park and not worry about anything. I could just BE.  It helped me realize that while I am incredibly social and outgoing and loud, I also can be quiet and alone. I began to see new parts of me, and I think that helped me know the divine in a new and different way. I felt true contentment for the rest of those retreat days, and it was solitude at its best.  I didn’t feel lonely or alienated but rather felt a sense of peace about who I was and what I was beginning to learn about myself.

But one retreat is not enough to understand oneself or really understand solitude.  That experience was like dipping my toe in the water.  I wanted to know myself and enjoy my own company but as you can imagine, it’s a lot easier for an outgoing gal to just throw herself into her life and her relationships.  It wasn’t until life handed me one of my biggest challenges that I was able to go to the next level of self-awareness and experience solitude on a whole other plane.  The challenge was being single.

I have never been married and have no children. And apparently if I lived in New York City, I would be one of many single persons living the footloose and fancy-free lifestyle.  But I do not live in New York. I live in St. Louis, Missouri where 97.4% of the people I know are married (and most of them now have children). This may seem like I’m exaggerating, but I am not. I have been a bridesmaid 10 times. I have attended more wedding showers and baby showers than most people do in a lifetime.  I have been the third, fifth, and seventh wheel.  And in the midst of all of this, I was alone. And perhaps as I share this, I sound bitter.  I’m really not anymore.  But I was. For a very long time.  Being single is not for the faint of heart.  It gets old when people ask, with a sort of pitying look, “Are you seeing anyone?”  It is hard when you are always by yourself, and everyone else has a partner to bring to events. It’s hard when society seems structured to support and uphold those who have significant others and you can’t seem to find one.  In fact, for a long time it really made me angry. I felt angry at myself for not figuring this all out like my friends had done. I was angry at God for not making the situation better.  I didn’t like myself very much and so spending so much time alone was pretty terrible.   Solitude was not something I wanted to experience because I was so angry.

And then things changed.  Not overnight but very gradually.  I made a career change. I began working with this amazing coach who has become a trusted mentor. I began to work on really getting to know myself. I spent a lot of time on my own. I journaled. I read a lot. I tried new things. I began thinking about things I really wanted to do, not things I thought I should do. I started running and loved it and so began running half marathons and even did a full marathon.  I became the leader of a local running training group. I found a new community of friends who became sources of support and love. I decided I did not need to be married to get new towels and sheets and home décor. I bought them myself. I decided I could go to a bar and get a glass of wine and read my book. I decided I could have date nights with myself where I got to be with me and do whatever I felt like—watch TV, read a book, see a movie, get something yummy I didn’t cook for dinner.  And somehow as I began to think more about what  I loved to do and how I wanted my life to look, not only did I realize I wasn’t so mad about being single, I actually really loved it.

I realized I was happy and that my life afforded me the opportunity to travel, be ambitious in my career, and be an important adult for my friends’ kids.  I realized I could be a person who could choose what brought her bliss and then do that thing. Suddenly, my solitude was not so awful because I had learned who I was and as it turned out, I liked her a lot. So solitude has become less scary.  It doesn’t mean it is easy or that it isn’t still lonely at times, but I am more comfortable in my own skin and that has made me more comfortable to be on my own.  It’s also connected me more deeply to God.  I don’t know any other way to connect to the divine than to know who I am. I believe God is present in every single human being I encounter and if I’m going to work hard at my relationships, I might want to start by seeing that same thing in myself. Somehow it’s harder for me to love myself.  I’m always struck by how Jesus said we should love others the way we love ourselves. I can’t help but think that others would be screwed if I loved them like I loved myself because I’m a lot harder on myself than on everyone else. But this is what solitude invites us to do—to know ourselves so we can know God and so we can love others in ways we never thought possible.

If we are to be in relationship with God and with others we have to start by knowing who we are.  If we can own our solitude and create a space to know and love ourselves, then we can enter into relationships with others in some beautiful ways. I am better in relationship the more I know myself.  I am able to honor others because I can honor myself.  Solitude is an amazing, beautiful part of the human experience. Like anything, it is scary and sometimes lonely. But it is also the space for us to truly know who we are and who want to become. And that my friends, is the space we meet God.

Chapter 8: Lessons from Qdoba (and Why I Hate my Eyebrows)

While waiting in line at Qdoba this week, the woman making my quesadilla looked up at me with a startled expression and said, “Oh my gosh. I love your eyebrows. They are so dark and defined.” And I think I started laughing because at any other time in my life if you had asked me what one thing I might change about my face, my eyebrows would be the answer.  Hands down. No question.  They have been a source of great distress to me for my entire life.  First of all, they are darker than my natural hair color which led everyone my whole life to think I colored my hair. Ironically, when I did color my hair, people thought THAT was the natural color because of my eyebrows.  They are thick and need to be shaped because otherwise I might look like Bert from Sesame Street. I can’t tell you the number of times I have yelled at my father for his role in this ridiculous genetic trait because of course my mother has these lovely, thin, very feminine eyebrows.  When I was in sixth grade, a girl in my class came up to me unprompted (as middle school girls are prone to do) and said, “You need to tweeze your eyebrows.”  At that age, I didn’t even know that was a thing you did. So I went home and was very upset and my mom taught me how to tweeze my eyebrows.  It’s funny that I still remember that moment. It was one of those pivotal events that you don’t forget because the innocence of being a little girl is somehow taken away. No longer can you just be a girl with wild eyebrows and a moderately pudgy stomach. Suddenly, you are expected to start looking like a woman. You begin to look at other girls and realize you are different. And that different, where appearance is concerned, is not okay.  For the first time, you need to fit a certain model of beauty, and when your eyebrows are dark and thick and decidedly different than everyone else’s you begin to worry that you can never, ever be beautiful like everyone else.

I cannot name one woman in my life who doesn’t have her own version of an eyebrow story.  I taught teenage girls for four years and in one of my classes we did an activity where each girl had to name ten things she liked about her body.  I had girls cry.  Literally cry because they could not think of anything. I had to change the assignment to five things and even then some girls could not come up with enough things they liked about their appearances.  This was heartbreaking to me, and yet, not even a little surprising. After all, I had been one of them. Hell, I still was one of them sometimes! As women we critique every part of our bodies.  Our noses are too big. Our breasts are too small (or too big). Our eyes are too close together. Our arms aren’t toned enough. Our stomachs are not flat enough. Our thighs look huge. Our eyebrows are too thin. Our eyebrows are too dark. Our hair is too straight. Our hair is too curly. It’s madness the number of things we can dislike about how we look. And of course we can blame the media and fashion magazines and movie stars for setting up a standard of beauty that most women cannot achieve.  We can say that society has set up this impossible definition of beauty. I believe this is true, but I also wonder how much we as women have to take some responsibility for allowing this to continue.

Why is it when I dress up for an evening out, I can think I look decent enough and then see one of my friends and immediately feel less beautiful? Why is it when our partners tell us we are beautiful, we don’t say thank you but instead dismiss them? Why is it that when our friends are struggling with an aspect of their appearance and we show them love and compassion that we don’t do the same for ourselves? Why is it that we worry more about how thin we are than how healthy? At what point do we as women draw a line in the sand and say, “No more. I won’t be defined by this ridiculous and arbitrary standard.”  I suspect like most things we have to start with ourselves. This is not easy. I want to be a woman that thinks she is beautiful. I have moments.  But most days I think I’m just passable.  I don’t like this about myself. I want to be confident that how I look is its own beauty even if it’s different from everyone else’s beauty. I have dated some wonderful men and there have been these moments where they look at me, and I know they see beauty. And it always evokes two responses in me–sheer surprise and the desire to see what they see.

I don’t know exactly what it takes for women to look at themselves and like what they see. It feels like a daunting task most days. I suppose it’s like any other part of the journey of self-discovery to know and love oneself…you have to start somewhere. Maybe by saying thank you when someone recognizes your beauty. Maybe by not using the ugly and cruel words we often use when we are alone looking in the mirror. Maybe by holding one another up and trusting that beauty comes in many forms.  Maybe by taking a compliment from a Qdoba employee who finds your least favorite physical trait attractive.  I’m learning that loving myself (inside and out) is not always easy. But I try each day.  And you know what, when I looked in the mirror in my car after getting my quesadilla, I thought, “Well, maybe you are not so bad, eyebrows. Maybe a bit more striking than I thought.”

It’s a start.