Free to be real

A few months ago, after my brother-in-law Greg passed away, I played dress-up with his granddaughter, Macy. My sister Amy took a picture of us. I thought about sharing the photo on social media at the time because it captured a fun moment but I didn't because I don't like the way I look. When I jut out my chin, an unconscious gesture, I accentuate the strong jaws I inherited from my paternal grandfather. Today, I'm willing to share the goofy photo because life is teaching me that I'd rather be flawed and real than perfect and fake - both inside and out.

I have always been reserved, holding back from expressing myself freely. It's a protective instinct. I have to really, really trust that I am safe with people to let my hair down. Although I am more comfortable expressing myself by writing, I still censor myself too much. I filter out what I don't want other people to see, holding back what I really think. I control what I say or do, especially to avoid criticism. When I censor myself, I conform to the expectations of others instead of sharing my unique perspective. Sometimes I keep my thoughts to myself because what I have to say might offend or turn off one friend or another. Not appropriate for atheists. Not appropriate for Evangelicals. Too boring. Too weird. Too much navel-gazing.

Censoring myself to avoid disappointing or offending or boring others is not extending the same grace to myself that I would to someone else. I don't expect or want other people to be a cookie-cutter version of me so why should I try to be like anyone else? Self-censorship isn't being real and authentic. By editing out parts of me, I present an incomplete image, just as in keeping an unflattering photo to myself, I hid my playful side. 

I will never be perfect and that's okay

Like everyone else, I have a public personality or persona. My persona is the social facade that reflects the role I play in life. It is the image people expect me to uphold, the image I present to meet the demands of my environment or the situation I am in. My persona is the way I want other people to see me. 

The persona is a mask disguising the real self. It often represents an idealized image or role. Some of us have a professional buttoned-down persona, others want to be seen as the life of the party, others maintain a facade of toughness, and still others resist being typecast. Your reputation is based on the impression people have of you, so in that sense, image is everything.

When the persona is false, based on pretending to be something you're not, image is nothing. Pretending to know everything when no one does. Pretending to have a perfect life when no one does. Basing your image on things that are superficial - like money or the way you look. That kind of image is meaningless. We may fool a few people with a false persona but perceptive people see through the act whether we want them to or not. 

Spiritually speaking, people who put a lot of effort into protecting and maintaining a chosen persona have a lot more inner work to do to face the truth about themselves. In Falling Upward, Richard Rohr wrote that you should be really careful about any idealized role or image because they are hard to live up to and can trap you in a "lifelong delusion."

I have to admit that I do have an idealized image. She is a Nice Person, a Good Person, like my grandma. I want to be seen as kind, gentle, and considerate - the kind of person who doesn't step on toes or make anyone feel bad. I want the world to see me as someone who is never angry and never says anything bad about anyone else. The real me falls far short of my ideal.

I've always been turned off by people who are pretentious, fake, phony, or hypocritical. I'd rather be around people who admit that they don't have all the answers, that they don't do everything right, that they don't always look good. I'd rather be that kind of person myself.

I have learned that my idealized self is not worth protecting because 1) it isn't achievable and 2) although I will never be perfectly good, God loves me anyway. Francesca Battistelli's song, Free to Be Me, sums it up well:

When I was just a girl I thought I had it figured out. My life would turn out right, and I'd make it here somehow. But things don't always come that easy and sometime I would doubt.

'Cause I got a couple dents in my fender. Got a couple rips in my jeans. Try to fit the pieces together but perfection is my enemy. On my own I'm so clumsy but on Your shoulders I can see, I'm free to be me.

I have nothing to prove. I'm free to be the real me. 

If trees had necks

Three years ago, I wrote that I was Determined to Age Gracefully. Now I'm rethinking my choice of the word  "gracefully" because for some reason it makes me think of Grace Kelly, the actress who had flawless skin and an elegant neck. That mental image doesn't quite match the face and neck I see in the mirror. Then again, she was only in her twenties.

Speaking of necks, I finally read Nora Ephron's essay I Feel Bad About My Neck. I feel bad about my neck too! I wish I had appreciated its firmness when I was young!

For years, I have been very good about putting daily moisturizer with UV protection and nightly rejuvenating cream on my face. I forgot about my neck. But just as Nora said, you can put makeup on your face and concealer under your eyes but "short of surgery, there's not a damn thing you can do about a neck. The neck is a dead giveaway. Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. You have to cut open a redwood tree to see how old it is, but you wouldn't have to if it had a neck." Truth.

As I age blithely (imagining Blythe Danner), I can't escape the honesty of my neck. I have experienced the shock of seeing its reflection in the side view mirror when I ride in the passenger seat. Again, from Nora: "if you want to get really, really depressed about your neck," look in the rearview mirror.  

Nora had a couple of suggestions for coping with a neck that is loose, crepey, saggy, flabby or all of the above. One, avoid looking in the mirror if at all possible or you may find yourself shrieking, Eek! I have a wattle! If you must pass a mirror, avert your eyes or squint so that if anything bad looks back at you, your eyes are already half closed. While on vacation a few months ago, we went to a restaurant and sat opposite a mirrored display case. Watching the old lady across from me nearly ruined my appetite. I should have squinted.

Two, practice "compensatory dressing" even if it means you have to eliminate 90% of the clothes you might otherwise buy because the neckline isn't flattering. Think turtlenecks and scarves and chokers, which perhaps could be called wattle wear. Sadly, I only have one turtleneck and am not a fan of scarves. What'll I wear now?

As I age rosily (imagining Rose of the Golden Girls), I'll try to remember to moisturize my wattle as I squint at the old lady in the mirror.

Not So Random After All

A couple of weeks ago, I challenged myself to write every day. I thought I would see what it feels like to just write whatever random thoughts are in my head each day. The truth is whatever thoughts are in my head on any given day aren't really random. My thoughts are influenced by what I read in the news (and whether I care about it or not), by the time of year (holidays, deadlines), and by my own personality and interests.

If I really wanted to write about something random, I'd write about a topic someone else chose for me. I remember doing writing exercises like that in school. WordPress has a one-word prompt for blogging ideas (recent examples: percussive, underdog, gremlins, mercy). That's random.

If I chose a random word and wrote about it without any preparation, I wouldn't do it very well unless the word evoked thoughts of something I really care about. For example, I have no idea what to do with the word percussive but I would have a field day with underdog and mercy. I just don't express myself well extemporaneously. It's the way my introverted mind is wired. My random thoughts take a long ride through the Broca's area and the right fronto-insular and the left hippocampus. It's nice to know they're going somewhere and not just bouncing around aimlessly.

Word: brain. I'm fascinated with the human brain. Whether introvert or extrovert, I don't think the mind's wiring is random.

Last weekend, my husband took me to the public library. I always go to the one closest to our home. It's small but I always manage to find something to read. Kent wanted me to see how much better the more distant library is (3.5 miles from home versus 1.8). It was nice! Since we were there, I checked out a couple of books.

One of the books I chose is Before You Know It, by John Bargh, PhD, about the unconscious mind and the reasons we do what we do. In a chapter on gut instincts or intuition, Bargh wrote about research on whether unconscious decisions were as good or better than decisions we make consciously. He said that conscious thoughts are better if there are rules to follow, such as when you are making a financial decision based on a budget. 

Unconscious decision-making is better when there are many complex factors to consider. Bargh explains that our conscious working memory is limited and can't focus on more than a few things comfortably. 

Studies have shown that the best decisions are made with a combination of conscious and unconscious thought processes. If you first consciously think about a problem and then put your unconscious mind to work, the outcome is better. The trick is, you have to distract your conscious mind by thinking about something else entirely. Your unconscious mind remains active and helps solve the problem.

This makes me think of the "tip of my tongue" experience, when I'm trying to remember the name of a person or movie and I think it might begin with a certain letter but I just can't remember it no matter how hard I try. I've learned to just say, never mind, it will come to me when I'm not trying. I know my unconscious mind has the answer.

Writing works the same way for me. If I think of a topic with my conscious mind and then go on to do something else entirely, my unconscious mind kicks it around for awhile. I pull up long-term memories and make personal, emotional connections. My frontal lobes get into gear and plan how to organize and make sense of my thoughts.

Knowing that my thought processes aren't as quick or spontaneous as I would like them to be doesn't mean that I shouldn't challenge my brain to work differently. One of these days, I'll give the truly random one-word thought prompt a shot. 

Gremlins were lemons.

The Memory Holder

Today we put up our artificial Christmas tree, a new one. It feels like we just did this, I said. Every year I say this because every year flies by so quickly. Maybe we should just leave it up year round, he said. But the Christmas tree wouldn't be nearly as special if I see it all the time. I would also miss the annual ritual of decorating it.

So I went down to the basement to get the box that holds most of my ornaments. First I hung several glass ornaments in my favorite color, red. Then I got out the partitioned box that holds almost all of the special ornaments I've collected over the years and carefully selected a spot for all of my favorites.

Santas and angels and snowmen. 

Chipmunks and mice and deer.

Snowflakes and sleds and polar bears.

There's the knitted mini Christmas stocking that my Grandma C. made and a knitted cap from someone I can't recall. There's the felt mouse that hangs with a candy cane.

Many of my treasures were given to Kent or me or us by people we worked with who are no longer in our lives. In some cases, I couldn't even tell you who because I wasn't smart enough to write it down. But I know the gold deer came from Alan's wife. And the delicate glass shell was from Mr. Hamilton's partner Lisa.

There's the set of blue snowflakes made out of beads and the white tree and cross, also made of beads. There's the giant feather covered ball that looks like it would be quite cat enticing so I put it out of reach of inquiring paws. 

There are two sets of glass Hallmark ornaments from 1985-1987, the years that Kent and I worked together for Kennedy and Coe in Salina. Also from the Salina years, two Garfield the cat ornaments. From my job at FPPA, I have a collection of wood ornaments, each one a gift from Hancock Timber. I see them and remember our trip to Richmond, VA and our stay at the historic Jefferson Hotel. 

When I get out the angel and the violin, I think of a graceful redhead named Amy who went to Jazzercise classes with me years ago. My pink Precious Moments ornament - the only pink ornament I've ever had - was a gift from another Jazzercise friend, Janeen.

Memories. Even the box that I carefully pack my ornaments in evokes memories. The box originally held Libbey juice glasses - a wedding gift from my college friend Cherri.

My tree brightens up a corner of the family room for a month every year. But it holds precious memories, precious moments in time.

A Glorious Purging

Yesterday, a friend said that people should stop confessing the sins of others. I thought it was kind of clever and while I agree that we should all focus most of our attention on our own sins, there are times when the misconduct of others should be called out and publicly condemned. Collectively, we have a responsibility to protect the vulnerable and the powerless. Culturally, we have a responsibility to demand moral behavior and to elect people of good character.

We're seeing an example of the value of public confessing play out in the news today. It isn't pretty. It isn't pleasant to hear. Some say that we are witnessing a cultural shift and I hope it is true. As a fifty-four year old woman, I say, it's about time.

Every day, another woman comes forward to confess, it happened to me too, and she publicly identifies the man who did it. Since the beginning of time, sexual assault, unwanted advances, and other forms of sexual misconduct have been swept under the rug. Boys will be boys. It's just locker room talk. She asked for it. Powerful men get their attorneys to pay off their accusers and no one knows. Their status and reputation remain intact. A judge slaps a young rapist on the wrist because he doesn't want to ruin his life; never mind the fact that he ruined hers. 

I think of this particular confessing of the sins of others as a glorious purging. The public purging is necessary to rid our culture of deeply ingrained behaviors and attitudes that denigrate and harm women. Purging is the airing of dirty laundry. It's  messy and nasty. It's embarrassing and potentially costly for the accused. And while it might seem better, at least for the accused, to not name names, putting a face to the story humanizes it. By listening to personal stories, we give a measure of dignity to the victims.

All women are empowered when a few women have the courage to come forward - that's the glorious part. Instead of being the usual he said/she said, it's he said/she said to the 14th power. Collectively women are saying, we have had enough. We deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. That's glorious.

Thankful for Clarity

By Jean-François Millet - The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. 

Earlier this month, I looked back on the night a year ago when it became clear that an unfit, immoral man was about to become president of the United States. I grieved for my country then and I continue to do so today. My feelings about him have not changed. The office did not make him grow up. He is still a narcissist. He is still ignorant and uninformed. He is still the antithesis of Jesus Christ. But despite the darkness that pours out of him, I find reasons to be grateful and to have hope.

I am grateful for the much maligned press because it exposes the president for who he is. I wish that shows like CNN had not given air time to dishonest mouthpieces like Kellyanne Conway who claim that lies are "alternative facts." But I gained respect for the Washington Post and the New York Times and other news organizations that continue to shine a light on the truth whether the president likes it or not. I have been inspired by Dan Rather's wisdom on News and Guts. No matter how bad things get, he has hope for our country.

I am grateful for voices of resistance. It was very powerful to take part in the Women's March and in a few others that followed it. This is what democracy looks like! As a follower of Jesus, I am grateful for the religious resisters who have the courage to say that many Evangelicals are hypocrites, modern day Pharisees all too willing to trade the teachings of Jesus for political power.

I am grateful that there is much more clarity now about where people stand and what they stand for. I used to assume that people shared my values because we grew up together or attended the same church. Those days are gone. Now, I see that many people, even Christians, only care about people who are like them. They live in fear of cultural changes and resent anyone who threatens the status quo or their economic security.

I am grateful that my faith has held firm. Jesus is the same yesterday and today and forever. I am convinced that Jesus is able to guard that which I have entrusted to him. I believe that when the time comes, he will separate the chaff from the wheat with his winnowing fork. He will clean up the threshing area, gathering the wheat into his barn but burning the chaff with never-ending fire.

I want to be unplugged and free

I don't want it to be the first thing I reach for each day.

I don't want to check it, even when it doesn't make a sound.

I don't want to walk around with my eyes glued to its screen.

I don't want it to bombard me with ads for things I don't need to buy.

I don't want to ignore people because it has sucked me in.

I don't want to depend on it for entertainment.

I don't want to live in fear of missing out.

I don't want to waste so much time with it.

I don't want to always be reachable on it.

I don't want to always be plugged into it.

I want to give people my undivided attention.

I want to really see my surroundings.

I want to notice little things that others don't see.

I want to make eye contact.

I want to smile and say hello to a stranger.

I want to lose myself in a story.

I want to enjoy quiet and solitude.

I want to use my imagination.

I want to express myself creatively.

I want to move.

I want to explore.

I want to unplug.

I want to just be.

A Special Place in Hell

When news of Charles Manson's death came out, I read comments on social media rejoicing that he is now in hell. It made me think about how much we count on God's judgment, especially when human justice is so inadequate, as it was for Manson. This got me to thinking about how little I know about hell. 

Jesus had more to say about hell than anyone else in the Bible. He described it as a dark, fiery place where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, he taught that there is a chasm between heaven and hell that no one can cross. 

I have always thought about hell as a place of endless suffering and separation from God. And just as I imagined that the righteous immediately go to heaven when they die, I imagined that the wicked immediately go to hell.

But according to What is hell like? on BibleInfo.com, the fires of hell have not started burning yet. The wicked will be reserved for judgment day - the day of doom. The fires of hell will not burn forever but will burn out. The article poses an interesting question:

Have you considered the following? If people were tormented forever in hell how could all things be made new? Additionally, how could all tears be wiped away if you were saved and happily living in an earth recreated, but could still see loved ones burning in hell for eternity? Eternal life for you in heaven would be eternal torment as you continually saw those you loved in unending agony. 

I don't like to imagine anyone burning in hell for eternity, not even the really evil, like Manson or Hitler. God is far more merciful and compassionate than I am. But I would like to think that God would fit the punishment to the crime. Would it be fair for Manson to meet exactly the same fate as someone who is guilty of lying or stealing?

I'm reading a book that mentioned Inferno, the first part of Dante's poem Divine Comedy, which I have never read. Dante imagined nine concentric circles of hell, increasing in degrees of wickedness from the outside to the inside. The circles represent different sins - lust, greed, wrath, etc. The devil is in the very center, condemned for the sin of treachery against God.

I would like think that there is a special place in hell for people who commit the most heinous crimes. But even if there isn't, I trust God's judgment. I know He hates evil. And I feel better knowing that the world now has one less psychopath.

Acting Like an Armadillo

Nine days ago, I started blogging everyday because I wanted to practice writing more freely and spontaneously. At the same time, I also challenged myself to share my posts on my personal Facebook page because I hold myself back from sharing with people I know. I want to get out of my comfort zone. I managed to share 6 out of 8 posts, which was pretty good for me. But I have to admit that it took a lot of mental/emotional energy and now I'd like to curl up into a ball and protect my sensitive side.

I received positive encouragement for sharing my posts but I'm not accustomed to much attention so it feels uncomfortable. I felt misunderstood by one extrovert and ignored by some of the people I care about most. I was also dealing with my usual self-doubting internal dialog - wondering whether people think I'm boring, self-centered, weird or whatever. Processing all of these emotions was exhausting.

I remember reading once that introverts withdraw even more when stressed. I know that is true for me. In Why Do Sensitive Introverts Withdraw, Brenda Knowles expresses my emotional patterns so well.

Sensitive introverts need safe spaces in order to engage. The less safe and more vulnerable an introvert feels, the less they tend to share. We need to feel especially secure and confident before revealing our personal thoughts. Critical and judgmental people will push us further into ourselves.

Even if I'm not facing critical or judgmental people, if someone misinterprets my point, it discourages me from wanting to say anything at all. 

I am trying to be authentic which means not constantly censoring myself. I don't want to fear being exposed for who I really am. Who I am is good enough. But at least for today or however long it takes to restore my inner calm, I'm an armadillo.

Extraordinary Gratitude

One of my favorite holidays is almost here, the annual day of thankfulness and excessive eating. So far this year I haven't read the usual 30 days of thankfulness posts. Although I have never participated in the 30 days of gratitude challenge myself, I am grateful for public displays of thankfulness, even the obligatory one I participated in yesterday.

Last night, at my church's small contemplative service, my pastor passed the mike around so everyone could say what they are thankful for. I listened to the usual responses - pregnancies, grandchildren, marriage, family, jobs. While I waited for the mike to get to me, I worried about what I was going to say. Grace? Family? My marriage? The good job I was blessed with after taking a leap of faith and quitting the one I hated? I dread public speaking so I just wanted to get it over with. When my moment came, my answer was no more deep and reflective than anyone else's. Family, marriage, job.

A couple of people said they are thankful for a Christian spouse, Christian kids, the Christian spouses of Christian kids. That's all good and nice if you live a life insulated from people who aren't like you. But I don't. And I thought to myself, I am thankful even if my husband is not a Christian. The One who created my inmost being and knit me together in my mother's womb knew the choices I would make.

Of all the expressions of gratitude, I thought one  was extraordinary. On the other side of the aisle, the mike was passed from one family member to another. The boy of the family said that after reading a book about coins and money, he is grateful for our monetary system! His answer appealed to me because there are so many things in life we old folks take for granted. The young and curious see the world with fresh eyes.

This morning as I drank my coffee, I read Garrison Keillor's post, A Trip to New York. I appreciate his quirky sense of humor. I appreciate the perspective of an old grump who can still say "It's good to be old. Every day is an adventure." After misplacing his driver's license and having his I-phone die on him, he wrote, "my phone is a God-given miracle. With this and my driver's license, I can go anywhere." The old remember what things used to be like. Every day truly is an adventure.

With the wisdom of the young and old in mind, I pause at the beginning of this week of thanks to express my gratitude for the ordinary and extraordinary things in my life.

1. Convenience foods - like my morning OJ and banana
2. Microsoft Excel. I couldn't work without it.
3. Office supplies - Post It notes, Sharpies, dry erase markers.
4. The body's ability to heal and protect itself
5. Pain that fades so quickly I can't even remember where I got that bruise.
6. Books
7. The public libraries that lend out those books. For free.
8. Netflix
9. Crossword puzzles to expand my vocabulary and keep my mind sharp
10. Sweet and salty granola bars and other delightful flavor combinations
11. Good bosses
12. Blue jeans
13. Technical tees for my sweaty workouts
14. Reusable grocery bags
15. Printed and digital newspapers
16. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
17. Memories of loved ones I have lost
18. Comfortable shoes, especially sneakers
19. Baby belly laughs and Macey's giggles
20. Electricity
21. Prayer
22. Lightening, thunder and rainbows
23. The First Amendment
24. Second chances
25. Ibuprofen
26. Personalities
27. Music - rock and roll, classical, the blues, gospel and soul
28. Oceans and beaches
29. Diversity
30. Givers, servers, volunteers

My list could go on an on.

I am grateful even if. Even if things don't always go right. Even if I don't have a perfect life. Even if my prayers aren't always answered the way I hoped. Even if I have fears about the future.

Even if. Life is good.

Miles apart but close in heart

I moved to Colorado almost thirty years ago. I drive to Kansas once or twice a year to see my family. I drove out for all the high school graduations of my many nieces and nephews. I have also made the trip for college graduations and weddings. Even though I chose to move away, I hate missing out on family gatherings.

My sisters and a few of my nieces are getting together at my sister Cindy's house this weekend and I won't be there. (My Alabama sister won't be there either.) I know they're going to have a lot of fun and some great conversations and I'm going to miss it. I want to be there. But I am going out of town in a couple of weeks for a conference. Plus my husband didn't seem to want me to go this time. (He usually enjoys having a couple of days to himself.) It's such a long trip, I decided to wait until I have time for a longer visit.

My mother also moved away from her family, even farther than my 550 miles. It must have been hard for her to live away from family for 48 years. She didn't get to visit as often as I do. It's much harder and more expensive to travel with kids so we visited grandma and grandpa and the aunts and uncles every few years or so.

I don't remember her exact words, but I remember my grandma sharing her wish that her grand kids could somehow be magically transported to Indiana from Kansas. If only we could have used Facetime in those days.

My brother Gerry lives in Bali Indonesia and his daughters live in San Diego. We don't get to see the girls or him often enough. My niece Ashley also lives in California and frequently posts pictures of her family. Even though her trips don't often coincide with mine, I'm glad to see that she often travels home to see family.

Distance is just a test to see how far love can travel. It travels from Colorado to California and to Kansas and to Pennsylvania and to Indiana and to Bali and wherever my family is. Side by side or miles apart, family is always close to my heart.

IT Ain't Helping

My office does not have IT personnel onsite. Instead, we have an IT "Help Desk" which seems to be nothing more than an email box monitored (or not) by a guy in Atlanta named Juan. When I started working here, my coworkers gave me the names of a couple of reliable support guys who work with Juan. Since then, one of them left the company. Juan hired a replacement after a couple of months.

At my last company, IT support was so frustrating and useless, we called it the helpless desk. I'm not sure what to call this help desk but It Ain't Helping. Last month, I needed help with installing a new application. No response. I followed up and Juan said, I'll work on it shortly. Then nothing. So I called the new guy and he got on it right away.

A couple of weeks ago, I sent an email about an issue with my laptop. I will be taking it on a trip in a couple of weeks. I can't power it up with the battery and my control panel said that no battery was detected. Before contacting the help desk, I tried removing the battery and putting it back in but that didn't help. There was no response to my email. I gave it more than a week, then sent another request. This time I copied the new guy.

Juan responded. After asking for my laptop model, Juan said: Go to your IT room and look for another laptop like yours. Remove the battery and put a note on your old battery that says "do not use."

Our "IT room" is a storage closet with a few old laptops that aren't like mine and few spare monitors. Interestingly enough, one of the laptops was already missing its battery. So I emailed Juan to tell him there were no laptops like mine.

In the meantime, while I waited for Juan to respond, I googled to find out how much replacement batteries cost. Then I checked to see if there were any articles about Dell laptops and the "no battery is detected" message. Sure enough, this is a common issue and I easily found a fix online.

Completely power down the laptop and remove the cord from the computer. Power on the computer without the battery. Once the computer is fully booted, completely power it back down and remove the cord again. Slide the laptop battery back into place, plug in the power adapter and re-boot the computer.

I am the Self-Help Desk. My laptop detects that it has a battery but it does not charge when the adapter is plugged in.

Juan emailed to say he is sending me a replacement. He gave me the shipping tracking number. It was addressed to the California office.

I'm not in California!

Unintentionally Offending

Some people offend people on purpose. I am guilty of offending people completely by accident. I am also guilty of taking offense when none was intended.

Yesterday a couple of things happened that make me think about how easy it is to offend people unintentionally. One, I wrote a blog post saying that every year I celebrate being married longer than my divorced parents. When my marriage surpassed the length of my parents' marriage, it proved to me that my marriage wasn't doomed to fail just because I was a child of divorce. A couple of friends said that they are divorced and do not feel like failures. I didn't intend to suggest that people who divorce are failures. But because I want to have a strong marriage, it was very important to me to not repeat the mistakes my parents made.

Our life experiences color our perspectives so much that we don't always get where someone else is coming from. We don't always stop to consider the impact of our words. You can drive yourself crazy trying to please everyone. I censor myself so much already that if I worried even more about saying the wrong thing, I would never say anything at all. So I have to take the chance that I won't get it completely right.

It is easy to make blanket judgments about people when you don't know what they have been through.

A few days ago, I chatted with a woman from church who is going through a long, painful divorce. When she first told me about it a year ago, she explained that her husband is an attorney and he litigates everything. He questioned every single decision she made. Life with him was a daily battle over insignificant things. It was emotionally exhausting. When their kids were grown, she decided it wasn't worth it to stay in an unhappy marriage. And now, even though the divorce is dragging on, she feels like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She is much stronger and has a much better outlook on life. I get this. If I were in her shoes, I would do the same thing.

Yesterday I read a friend's social media post asking that people stop complaining about pregnancy symptoms because it is insensitive to people who would give anything to be in their shoes. By the time I read the post, the woman who complained about being pregnant deleted her comments. I don't know anything about her so I can't judge her intentions. But I get the pain of insensitive comments and I know what is like to be attacked when you meant no harm.

But in reading the comments, I was reminded of Mother's Day and how a day of joy and celebration for most people is a day of sorrow and mourning for others - those who have lost a child or a parent or who struggle with infertility. I get it.

Not everything is black and white. Not everything is either all good or all bad. And even bad things are redeemable. Mistakes and failures are learning opportunities. One person's joy is another person's sorrow.

  

Dreaded Deadlines

I started a new accounting job about ten months ago. The ability to meet deadlines is an essential skill for my job. We have deadlines for preparing financial reports for our clients and deadlines for filing reports with state insurance departments. Not meeting reporting deadlines doesn't make the client happy but not meeting regulatory deadlines can result in some really stiff penalties.

At the beginning of the year when I was new at my job, the server went down for a week and I had to work over the weekend to get everything done on time. We were pressing the submit button at the end of the day on the due date for year-end filings. 

My boss told me that the guy who had my job before me always rushed at the last minute to get the quarterly filings done. I can tell that he didn't think much of him. He didn't want us to be rushing at the last minute because it is too stressful.

I am much more efficient now that I've learned my job. I get things done faster and with fewer mistakes. I know what needs to be done.

This quarter, my financial reports were completed almost two weeks before the due date. But I had to wait for my boss to review my regulatory filing. He gets distracted and pulled in many directions. He kept putting off his review. So I waited. And I waited. But I wasn't stressed because I knew things were in pretty good shape. Then finally, yesterday, the day before the due date, my boss came through and I got the go ahead to submit my reports.

It may not seem like much, but getting things done one day early took a lot of pressure off of me. When I'm not rushed, I don't make as many mistakes. I breathe easier.

Random Thoughts #4

31 or 14

I am an adult child of divorce. When I was twelve, my parents split after seventeen years of marriage. Their marriage was rocky as far back as I can remember. Although there were examples of strong marriages in my extended family, including both sets of grandparents, I didn't get to see first hand what a strong marriage looks like.

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. Even if it's not a big one (like last year), my anniversary still means more to me than my birthday. I didn't choose to be born but I did choose to get hitched. Every anniversary is a reminder that I chose a good man. 

Even as I celebrate, I'm the first to admit that marriage isn't always a walk in the park. Sometimes it feels more like a three-legged race - two separate people joined at the hip, doing their best to match the other's stride. Sometimes you get out of sync. Sometimes you trip and fall down. But when you're in it to win it, the two of you make adjustments and keep on going.

As a child of divorce, I run a parallel race of my own. In my mind, there was a big hurdle at the end of lap seventeen. When I jumped over it, it proved to me that I wasn't damaged goods, that I wasn't doomed to fail at marriage. I learned from the mistakes my parents made. I learned what not to do. Every year since then has been a victory lap. 

Tomorrow is my thirty-first anniversary. And my 14th.

Me at 14

I have been following the stories about Roy Moore, the Senate candidate who is accused of sexual misconduct against girls as young as 14 when he was 32 or so. Today I read that women are sharing what they looked like at fourteen or what they were like at that age to illustrate just how outrageous this behavior is.

I won't share what I looked like at 14 because I hated my school photo that year. I had long shiny blond hair and wore little oval wire-framed glasses. I did not participate in sports. If not for PE, I would have been a straight A student. I babysat for spending money.

My parents divorced when I was twelve so I did not have a dad at home to guide me in the choices I made about boys. Fortunately, I was cautious and not attracted to fast guys. I remember thinking a guy from another town was cute. But when I heard the way he spoke about the girls, I was turned off. 

When I was 14 and my older sister was 16, we both had a crush on a guy in our brother's class. He was a lifeguard at the swimming pool. We didn't speak to him, just watched him surreptitiously. I had crushes on other boys but I was too shy to talk to them. I turned down the first guy who asked me to a dance.

I didn't date until I was a junior. My first steady boyfriend was only a year older than me.

When I think about how much older an 18-year old seemed when I was fourteen, it is unfathomable to me that a man in his thirties would even think of making sexual advances on a 14 year old. As a college student, I dated a guy who was 10 years older than me. But there is a vast difference in maturity between a 14 year old and a 21 year old.

It's disgusting and so wrong.

Random Thoughts Day #3

The Cat's in the Bags

Day #2 of Random Posts

I went to bed at 8:00 last night because I couldn't stay awake. Sometime during the night, I heard Misty playing with a plastic bag. I've learned that we can't leave plastic bags in the bedroom or she will play with them during the night. I think all cat owners know this. I will have to put that one away. Or add it to Misty's stash.

A couple of weeks ago, I gathered up the plastic bags that were under the kitchen sink so I could take them to the basement. There was one large Target bag and several normal size bags. I tend to keep bags and boxes on hand just in case I need one for something. We don't accumulate a big stash anymore because we take our own bags to the grocery store and to Target.

Instead of taking the bags to the basement right away, I put the bag of bags on the floor next to the stairway in the living room so I could take them on my next trip. Later, I looked into the living room and Misty had crawled into the bags and made her self comfortable for a nap. 

I decided to wait on taking the bags downstairs since Misty seemed to enjoy getting into them. I think she likes the crinkly, rustling noise they make. Finally, when I got I got tired of seeing them on the living room floor, I picked them up to take them to the basement. Then Misty came running down the stairs like she was looking for her toys! I brought them back up.

Yesterday the inevitable happened. I was upstairs and Misty came running up with a bag handle around her neck. She ran into the corner of the office and it fell off. So I picked up the bag and put it back downstairs with the others. It wasn't long before she was back to playing in her bags.

The only cat toys we've every bought that have gotten much use are the little mice that have a bead in them so they rattle when you shake them. The battery operated mouse toy that Kent bought when Misty was looking for something to play with (she kept getting into my stash of Mardi Gras beads) - she's just not into you. The cloth and twine "toy" I bought because it makes a crinkly noise - it just sits there.

We also have a few boxes laying around our house that we haven't been able to throw away or recycle because of this cat. Just when I think, maybe I can get rid of this shoe box, she crawls into it for a nap.

Running & Knee PT

I am not a typical blogger. I don't post frequently. It often takes me days if not weeks to finish even one post because I spend so much time composing my thoughts. But then, I do have a day job.

I thought I would see what it feels like to just write whatever random thoughts are in my head each day. So I'm going to try to write a post a day for 50 days. By the end of the year, I should know whether my thoughts flow more freely after this mental exercise.

Today my thoughts are on running.  My husband and I signed up for the Pizza Pie 5K which is this morning at 9:00. It will be chilly out. It's in the Park Hill neighborhood which is near the Denver Zoo.

I have been slacking off on running lately even though I am actually in a "run club" for the first time ever. Four or five of us meet at 6:00 am on Mondays. I am the only one who is not a beginner though I am not a high mileage runner; I usually run 3 miles. As a group, we are working our way up to a 5K, which is just over 3 miles. The farthest I have run is a half marathon (13 miles) and I did that distance twice. I have also run a couple of 10 milers. I learned that my body starts to fall apart if I run too far.

My thoughts are also on my right knee. I hurt the back of my knee training for a stair climb months ago. A friend thought I might have a Baker's cyst but I didn't feel a lump. The pain seemed to be mostly on the calf side and not from the hamstrings.

I managed the pain for months by wearing one of those ugly compression things (the ones with a hole at the kneecap). Then I aggravated my injury running a 10K trail run. I don't remember hurting it but I must have wobbled or twisted it somehow. The day before my 10K, I also whacked my knee hard lifting a cooler into the back of the SUV.

I finally decided to get help for my knee and have been undergoing physical therapy for about 4 weeks. The x-rays showed that my knees are actually in pretty good shape - no signs of arthritis. The surprise during my first week of training was that my pain seems to originate in my ankle. I couldn't do a knee to the wall exercise without my ankle hurting. So I do a couple of exercises for my calves twice a day and a lot of exercises to strengthen my glutes. Which means lots of butt squeezes and single leg squats. The squats show me how weak my right side is compared to the left. I have a couple more weeks of PT.

The pain behind my knee has almost completely gone away. The front of my knee hurt this week when I went up and down the stairs but I have been dealing with that off and on for years. I'm thinking that was either due to the squats or because I thought I could get away with not wearing the supportive knee band.

Time for more coffee.

You've shared 3 days in a row. 👍

Lately, Facebook has been encouraging me to post everyday with a message that says, "you've shared # days in a row and your friends are responding." I like Facebook. I'm on it almost everyday. But this notification, instead of encouraging me to post more consistently, instead makes me want to rebel against a business that tracks my behavior to influence it. Especially because I know that Facebook does influence my behavior and morale and not always for the good.

I'm not the only one who thinks Facebook's notifications are out of control. Alex Kantrowitz of Buzzfeed said that Facebook encourages you to feed its feed because if there is no sharing, there is no Facebook. "It only works if you share stuff inside it." I have definitely done my part to make it work. Facebook recently announced that it has 2 billion active users. If Facebook were a religion, it would be the second largest in the world. That's even more reason for me to consider how I'm being influenced, consciously or unconsciously, to feed the beast.

You've shared 3 days in a row.

Facebook wants to be part of my daily routine. Honestly, it already consumes too much of my time. I check Facebook notifications the first thing everyday and read several articles a day on my news feed. It is a distraction - an addictive distraction.

Peter Ormerod wrote an article, Why I'll be giving up Facebook for Lent - again. When he gave up Facebook the first time, he noticed that he did not waste so much time mindlessly scrolling and was not so distracted. He wasn't so consumed with how he appears to other people. He spent more time in quiet reflection. While he acknowledged that there are good things about Facebook, he noted, "it makes a good servant and a bad master."

We don't need to check it as a matter of instinct or reflex. We don't need to live our lives and relationships through it. - Peter Ormerod

I like keeping up with family on Facebook. In fact, I first signed up 10 years ago when my nephew was in the Peace Corps in Uganda. I've gotten to know coworkers and classmates better by following them on Facebook and they in turn learn more about me.

But in scrolling through my news feed, I end up filling my time with a lot of noise. Some of it is disturbing. I see a side to people I would rather not see. If not for FOMO (fear of missing out), I would be spending my spare time reading a book, talking to a loved one on the phone, or spending time in quiet reflection like I am right now.

I don't want to be one of those people who is so concerned with what they might be missing out on on social media that they miss out on connecting with a person who is right there with them in the flesh. I've watched as families sit in a restaurant, all intently staring at their phones, missing an opportunity to talk to each other. My husband occasionally complains about me being on Facebook. He doesn't like it if I look at the phone when we are out to dinner. I get it. It's inconsiderate of me.

Having said all that, I like sharing on Facebook and because I like sharing on Facebook, I'm likely to do it whether or not Facebook gives me a big thumbs up for doing it. As an introvert, it is much easier for me to communicate by writing because I need time to process an compose my thoughts. I also find it easier to share when people aren't looking at me. And I ❤ nature so naturally, I ❤ to share nature photos.

When Facebook congratulates me for sharing, it's kind of like getting a trophy just for participating. It says nothing about the quality of my posts. I have friends who share several posts a day from the pages they follow. Sometimes I wonder if they share everything they like. Where's the filter? I try to be more selective, which means some days I will not share anything.

Your friends are responding.

First, we all know that Facebook uses the term "friends" loosely. Researchers say that Facebook users have 155 friends - but would trust just four in a crisis. I like the people on my friends list or they wouldn't be on my friends list. But when Facebook says that my "friends" are responding, I take it as "your friends and/or casual acquaintances are responding."

Facebook friends should be seen more like a 'village' of casual acquaintances rather than a close network of allies.

If you crave social approval - and I'd be lying if I said I don't - it is easy to care too much whether people like your posts. Unless you're a reflexive sharer, you share something expecting to get a response from somebody - anybody. I've shared articles that have been completely ignored by my friends. Or maybe one or two click "like." It's enough to make you feel invisible. And so you delete the boring, unpopular post. Even though you didn't create it and it really wasn't boring to you.

A majority of the people on my friends list don't respond to my posts. Many of my friends are not as active on social media as I am; a few of my closest friends shun social media completely. I'm guessing many of the friends who don't respond to my posts don't respond to anyone's posts. That's okay. In person, especially in a group, I keep my mouth shut more often than not.

In person, friends have told me that they enjoy seeing the photos and articles I've shared. I have noticed that my most liked posts are the most personal and human. When I shared my grief at losing my mother and my brother-in-law. When I shared my joy at leaving the job I hated. When I celebrated 30 years of marriage by painting the bedroom. This tells me that I am not being ignored. That my little village of acquaintances is reading my posts even if they don't react to mushy Positive Outlooks posts.

Why do Facebook 'likes' have so much power over us? My self-worth is not based on getting likes or loves or laughs or wows. I've always been a lone wolf. I've always marched to the beat of a different drummer. I'm not even comfortable with a lot of attention. Yet Facebook encourages me to pursue "likes" as if I signed up for a popularity contest.

Martina Weiss is wise in explaining why you should stop caring about how many Facebook likes you get. It's more important to be real, to embrace your individuality.

Express who you really are, without being overwhelmed by the fear of rejection. Understand that you are worthy, just as you are, no matter what you share on your timeline and no matter how many likes it does or does not receive.

So Facebook, thanks for giving me 10 years of free social media. I'm even going to use you to share this blog post, knowing it will add another day to the stats you're tracking. But I've got to say, sometimes you are annoying!

And this is where I get to ignore Facebook. I don't care how many days in a row I've shared or how many likes I get.

I'm real. I'm me.

Time and chance happen to all

When you hit 40 or 50, people joke that you are over the hill. Unless I'm really, really tired, I don't feel my age and I don't think I look as old as my mother did at my age. But my perspective on life has changed. At 50, I realized that I am past, maybe well past, the half-way point. More people are younger than me than older than me. While I still feel young inside, I can't deny my age, even though I am more fit and healthy than many of my peers.

Last month I turned 54 and remembered how much I looked forward to my 50th birthday, amazed at how long I've lived. Five decades. A half century. The four years since that milestone flew by so quickly! When I started college at 18, four years was more than 20% of my life. Now, it's less than 8%. Before I know it, I'll be 60, God willing. As you get older time accelerates like a ball rolling down hill. 

I don't really enjoy running on a treadmill but I do it because it's good exercise. To make a treadmill run less boring, I select a virtual workout so I can run up a few hills and look at some scenery - Angels Landing, the Wave, the Black Hills. To keep myself going, I figure out what percentage of my run is complete - 10%, 25%, 50% and so on. It motivates me to see the fraction get bigger and bigger because I'm closer to the finish.

Sometimes life is like that but instead of wishing the miles away, we wish the days away. We spend the week days wishing it were the weekend. Or we count down the weeks until vacation.

Unlike a run on the treadmill, I can't figure out what percentage of my life is complete. It could be 50% or 70% or I could die tomorrow. In planning for my financial future, I have to expect to live into my 90's like my grandmother. But when my mother passed away at only 76, I saw how foolish it was to assume I would have her around for 20 more years.

Time and chance happen to us all. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera. 

This hit home for me last week. Hard. Greg, my brother-in-law of 37 years, passed away unexpectedly in his sleep at only 56. I think about the things he didn't get to do. Little things. He'll never drive the scenic route from Limon to Denver that he told me he'd like to take. He didn't get to visit the Konza Prairie with me.

I don't think my brother-in-law had a bucket list. He wasn't that kind of guy. His life was complete even if he never went bungee jumping or traveled around the world or tried sushi. He filled his jar with the big rocks of life - his wife and kids and grand kids. He helped out his neighbor. He took good care of his yard. He enjoyed being around people.

When King Solomon looked back on his life, he also became reflective. He saw how random life is, how futile certain pursuits are. "However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all. But let them remember the days of darkness, for there will be many."

The race is not to the swift
or the battle to the strong,
nor does food come to the wise
or wealth to the brilliant
or favor to the learned;
but time and chance happen to them all.

Moreover, no one knows when their hour will come. As fish are caught in a cruel net, or birds are taken in a snare, so people are trapped by evil times that fall unexpectedly upon them.

When the unexpected happened to my sister, she told me she prayed for the strength to get through one day at a time. That's all any of us can do. She'll go to work and spend time with her family.

One day at a time sweet Jesus  

That's all I'm asking from you.

Just give me the strength

To do everyday what I have to do.

Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus

And tomorrow may never be mine.

Lord help me today, show me the way 

One day at a time.

Reelin' in the years. Stowin' away the time. Life goes on and so do we.

On this side of the hill, I'm not in such a big-ass hurry. I've figured out that the race is not to the swift but to those who endure, to those who keep going on day after day - putting one foot in front of the other. 

Enjoy your years. Take the scenic route. Stop and smell the roses. Chat with a stranger. Don't worry so much about what people think. Eat, drink, and enjoy your work.