The move part 1: leaving the Lou

I moved westward in August 2009 at the beginning of my fresh woman year at SLU and, unlike many college students, I never once moved back home. That is to say, I have spent the last four years accumulating things in St. Louis as I bought them or brought them from Michigan. Look at it all!!!

 

The accumulation that occurred over the past four years has not just been of material goods but of knowledge and comfort and moments of joy and exultation and success and pain and exhaustion and failure and second and third and fourth chances. 

St. Louis and I have had a strange courtship. In the winter of 2009, as I was deciding which university's name would adorn my mother's car bumper, St. Louis was the forbidden city. My parents said it was too far away because they wanted to be able to get to me with relative ease if something major were to happen. There's a story in between that conversation and the moment I confidently walked up to my Mom in the student center hallway and said, "I think I found it" (referring to SLU as my college home) a few months later. St. Louis was a source of pride and anticipation that summer as I awaited the day I'd make a home for myself in the exotic, far-off land. Now, St. Louis is more home than Farmington Hills. I declare myself a member of and true devotee to Cardinal Nation. I know shortcuts and side streets here better than many who grew up here (thanks to many, many, many miles of running). Granted, we have had our rough times; I won't detail them here, but they have caused me to sink deep into my seat  hoping to disappear as tears stream down my cheeks each time the pilot alerts us "we are making our final descent into St. Louis." And there is a whole lot in between thinking St. Louis was an exotic, far-off land full of possibility and now...and that's why my head and heart are so congested with flutting emotions right now.

I've had this existential feeling all summer that it doesn't matter. I spent middle school and high school and much of college trying to get noticed and being noticed and then those people who noticed me just drifted away. I spent years worrying about being involved in the right activities for the right amount of time and the moment I graduated, it seemed like no one cared what you did anymore. I'm worried now that when I leave St. Louis, I'll realize that most of it didn't really matter. Maybe I'm right and I'm too vain too anxious too goal oriented to notice in the midst of it. Or maybe I'm wrong and there is lasting value in every word, every decision, every moment. If it doesn't matter, it is easier to forget. That's what I'm really concerned about. I don't want to forget the joy and exultation and success and pain and exhaustion and failure.  

Boston: sacred space

Today's bombing at the finish line of the Boston marathon has struck a VERY personal chord inside of me. My heart is weeping and shaking and I've accepted this is a good thing. It's a bit strange.

The World Trade Center and other attacks of 9-11, the various school shootings, the shopping mall bombings, etc--violence has been a part of my life as something I see on the news as something to happening to other people in a far off place. Today is different.

In just a few months, I'm supposed to be moving to Boston. And I'm just 6 minutes away from qualifying to run the Boston marathon. Even if I wasn't close to a BQ time, it would still hit home simply because I am a marathon runner and I see the finish line as one of the most sacred spaces I've ever experienced.

The marathon finish line is joy and success and a window and fullness and emptiness and sharing and greeting and so much more. The finish line is met by weary feet and willing, proud hearts. The space around the finish line is one reserved for smiles or success and tears of joy and focus.

Today someone tried to blow that away 

and I feel personally attacked

because the marathon finish is my sacred space too

I just ran a marathon last weekend and never ever would have thought there would even be the slightest possibility that my parents and grandparents standing on the side could be in danger. That shouldn't have to change. 

When I grow up...

While making dinner and socializing with some friends a few weeks ago, the question arose: if you could be/do anything (career-wise) what would you do?

In typical fashion the man who had this question asked of him replied, "hands down, I'd be an astronaut." And my thought, immediately, was, well then why aren't you trying to be an astronaut? Why aren't you somehow linking your career to the space-exploration industry? Why on earth, if that is your "hands down!" passion, are you studying theology and ministry?

To have a dream that just sits there seems absolutely pointless and ultimately sad. Dreams are meant to be chased after not just pondered on a lazy Saturday afternoon. The passion of a dream should ignite within you a flame so powerful, it touches every aspect of your being. 

I stood there, cutting broccoli and thinking of my answer. Honestly, I can say I want, more than anything, to be a therapist. That's my dream job. No, it's not sparkily and fun, In fact, it promises to be dark and mysterious at times...but those shadowy experiences lead to an awakening of the self with which no space mission can compete. I can imagine doing other things but I cannot imagine feeling the passion I feel toward providing therapy toward any other career. 

And I was happy.

In fact, I felt a sense of relief in my answer. I felt validation that I was doing what I needed to be doing to follow my dream. 

Not all dreams have to be so big and lofty they are unreachable. 

Confession: I'm an addict

If you know me beyond name, favorite color, and undergraduate major, you know I have a very addictive personality. Reframe it however you want: determination, commitment, dedication, passion, etc. When it comes down to it, I'm an addict.

For the doubters out there:

• in late January 2012, I began training for my first half marathon at the rate of ...I couldn't run a mile and in November 2012 I ran my first full marathon.
• while training for the full marathon, I got a stress fracture in my foot...and kept running. There were many reasons, among which was "it's what I do, I run."
• my favorite color is yellow--have you seen my bedroom and wardrobe?
• from February 2012 until about October 2012, the only cereal I ate was Panda Puffs. Now I'm on a Rice Chex sprinkled with coconut kick.
• come look at my bookshelf and you'll know exactly what four topics I've focused the majority of my research on.
• I chew every bite in some multiple of seven.
• Disney, need I elaborate?

True, I don't stress about when I'm going to score my next hit or if I'm going to have enough time to sober up before going to work in the morning or how I'll have enough money to buy food for the week after my cigarettes. But I latch on to things I like, things that are useful, things that make sense and hold on for dear life. That's addiction.

I'm a Brene Brown addict.

You haven't heard of her/her work??!!?!! Well, until late October, I hadn't either. Since then I've read each of her three books twice, watched her on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday, and become a follower of her blog: Ordinary Courage. No big deal.

Big deal!

She's a shame, vulnerability, fear, trust, courage, authenticity guru. She's a social work professor at the University of Houston and calls herself a 'researcher storyteller' because she believes "stories are just data with a soul" and her work brings that to life.

It all started when a professor shared Brene's first TEDtalk with us last October.

Within just a few minutes of engaging the video, I was hooked. If you didn't watch it, WATCH IT. That's all I'm saying here by exposing my addiction. Please watch it and let it change the way you live and love and walk through this messy beautiful world.

Everything is as it should be

Everything is as it is.
Therefore everything is as it should be.
Because everything should be exactly as it is.
That is not to say, perfection.
But, rather, compassion.

Everything it as it is right now.
And nothing can be anything else right now.
That which was, is.
And that which is, is.

Change is possible in the future.
Your right now determines your later.
And everything that is then will be as it should be.
That is not to say, happy, joyful, or unhurt.
But, rather, a culmination of life.

Stop wishing right now was different.
Because everything is how it should be.
That is not to say everything happens for a reason
Or that you deserve the sad, lonely, painful, hurt.
But, rather, it is part of life, your life.
Accept it.
Grow with it.
Go forward with it.

If it could have been different, it would have been different.

Dreams and Fairytales

Tonight I realized, with a hint of a tear in my eye, that I am no longer a little girl. Sure I've been filing tax returns for years and buy the majority of my clothes from the women's department (yes, I'm still small enough to wear clothes form the little girls' department when I want to) but I also really enjoy swinging and coloring and cuddling with stuffed animals when I fall asleep.

I'm sure you can remember the bedtime stories your mom or dad or babysitter or nanny told you during your childhood. Cinderella's foot fits in the glass slipper. The frog turns into a prince. Sleeping Beauty is awakened with a gentle kiss. Once upon a time...and then they lived happily ever after. It's nice to think about. Fairytales, the stuff of dreams. The problem is, though, that these peaceful endings, the chance to live happily ever after is all a dream. It's not real. Fairytales don't come true.

It's the other stories, the ones that begin in the dark and end in the dark, the ones that are scary and hard to understand, that come true. It's the nightmares that always seem to become reality--dark, scary, confusing, painful reality.

I was watching the U.S. figure skating championships tonight and remembered being a little girl watching the same thing. I have always been enamored with the sport but it is one that I never really tried. My mom built a ice rink in our yard each winter as I grew up but I never took lessons so I didn't know how to do much more than skate in circles and do close body and sit-spins. Still, I loved, loved. loved watching figure skating on TV. There was something mesmerizing about these women. They seemed so much older than me and so much more beautiful and graceful and talented but they led my heart to dream. I would sit on the couch dreaming of someday being something great. I never thought I would be an olympic figure skater but I had dreams. Honestly, I can't tell you what they were but I know I had them. I know I had dreams, big dreams. These are the kinds of dreams that don't take reality into consideration, the kind that don't care if you don't have the money or the time, or the access, or the talent...that's what makes them dreams. These beautiful young women gracefully glide to and fro across the ice as if they were telling me I could go anywhere I wanted. They stretched their arms wide to show me the world was mine. And they smiled to let me know I, too, was beautiful and could do anything.

Sometime between age 11 and 21, the way I watch figure skating changed. Tonight. though still enamored, I was jealous and felt inferior. These young women were younger than me and people already knew their names, they were already important and on their way to being remembered...and I'm still nobody. Sure, I am important to the people who love me. And there are quite a few people on this planet who know my name, but it's different.

The freedom I associated with figure skating was nothing short of a fairytale. Perhaps it comes true for one girl somewhere, but not every girl like me with their eyes glues to the sequined skaters dancing across the television.

Sometime between 11 and 21, my dreams learned the limits of reality. People don't talk about it, but life is governed by fear...and this now includes dreams. I only dream what I think can actually happen...and I am careful in how far I push that actuality because a dream that doesn't come true at 21 still feels as crushing, if not more, than it did at 11.

We all want happily ever after but for most people, I'm guessing happily ever after means something much different than it does for the princesses in my fairytale stories.

practice, practice, practice PATIENTLY

Let me join the rest of the cyber-world in wishing you a very

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And now let me tell you my thoughts about this hyped-up time.

SCREW RESOLUTIONS.

I know I'm not the only one who thinks this, but I'm going to say it: I don't think I've ever actually fulfilled any of my new year's resolutions. EVER. Yeah, sure, I'm young, but in all reality, resolutions set us up for failure. Resolutions are  black & white. Resolutions are either kept or they're not. You either fulfill what you resolve to do/be/see/etc or you fail. 

From 10:30 on New Year's Eve until midnight, I participated in my Bikram yoga studio's  silent, candle-lit class to say goodbye to 2012 and welcome 2013 in peace. Bikram yoga is a set of 26 yoga postures practiced in unison in a room heated to 105 degrees with 40% humidity. That is to say, it is intense...then turn off the lights, light some candles, and remove the instructor and shoot dang! you've never witnessed anything like this before. 

For 90 minutes, the only words we heard were "start" when we were to begin a posture and "change"when we were to release. 

START

CHANGE

START

CHANGE

START

CHANGE

Yoga is a practice of the present. It's not something you ever master. It's not something you ever cannot do. It's not something that is ever the same one day to the next. We come to the room and practice. We practice challenging our bodies and and practice being kind to our bodies. We practice mindfulness of the moment and practice letting go. And when we drift from the view of our goal, we reign ourselves back in. 

This year, I resolve to PRACTICE.

I'm not going to promise any results will be accomplished.

Instead of kicking myself around the moment I fail, I will change and start again. This is called resilience. I will start and change and start and change and start and change and I will probably fail to keep this mindset but the beauty of my promise to practice is that falling short is not just okay, it's necessary. 

So while I check off the January days of watching people come in the the gym once or twice because they've superglued themselves into a straightjacket of fitness or whatever other "resolutions" people have made, I will walk forward and practice getting back up each time I fall. 

Take that!

It's new year's yoga style.