Living with Wholeheartedness

This has been a week of revelations.

First of all, I have been reminded of how mean we can be, of how we can forget that we are all just people, doing the best we can. We may not understand the journey of others, but they are just humans as the rest of us. It has been a tragic reminder as I have seen how the cold, harsh acts and words of others have decimated lives.

And now for my own "be real" admission:

It has also been a reminder that I am far too controlling by nature. That I need to let go and trust. (Thanks, Laurie.)

When it comes to my kids, I am a mama bear. Don't mess with them. I can be nice...until my kids are involved. And then? Well, then I see red and I scramble like a bat outta hell to make things right in their world. I have risked friendships for my kids' honor. I have badgered teachers and principals and anyone who may dare to judge harshly. (Don't judge me until you have walked a mile in my shoes. Just sayin'.)

Currently, my world is filled with Brene' Brown. If you don't know who she is, I would encourage you to find out and to engage in her books, or her online OCourse. She's hands down amazing and insightful and wise. Anyway, her basic message is that we need to live wholehearted lives and raise our kids that way. Wholeheartedness is not for the faint of heart, I might add. It's tough business; it's painful. But? It's real and it's authentic and it's living your best life. It's about feeling the sorrows and experiencing the joys in a very powerful way. It's about being knocked down and then having the courage to crawl your way back up without burying your feelings and shutting out the pain.

And? Here's the kicker, for me especially.

It's about letting your kids have their own wholehearted journey without your control. So in other words, they get to fight their battles and experience the heartaches and the accomplishments that life brings their way without controlling their circumstances. And that's a tough one for me.

Of course, that doesn't mean you have to send your five year old out the door without holding their hand...but it does mean that by the time your son is 13 years old, he gets to start maneuvering and learning tough lessons and taking the hard knocks without my interference.

That's a scary idea. It's a harsh reality. And yet? Well, it offers freedom at the same time. Because my job is to give my kids a safe place to land, a place that offers kindness, that allows them to experience the hard knocks but know that when they are home, they are loved and that we will brush them off and offer comfort and encouragement to get back up and try again.

And that also means I have to trust. And that's another tough one for me.

But, this week I began this new journey; I began the process of letting go.

We'll see how I do.

I Have Enough

Sometimes it's easy to fall into the pattern of "never enough."

There's never enough time, never enough joy, never enough power, never enough weekend, and never ever ever enough money.

I have been reading this week about how to turn the "never enough's" into "enough." What a difference life would be if, rather than contemplating the deficiencies, we contemplate the sufficiencies. And really, isn't there always enough? Because somehow, we survive. Somehow we get to the next day, and we do that over and over again.

I want my life to be one that is joyful and grateful and "enough."

But sometimes I forget.

So the "enough"? That's the North Star. That's where I'm headed, though I'm sure I may experience some detours along the way.

This weekend Roy and I had a Staycation. Jace left with the Pathfinders on Thursday morning for a three night/four day Pathfinder event that involved camping and soccer games and basketball. To say he was excited would be an understatement: I'm never going to go to sleep!  he exclaimed over and over again on Wednesday evening.

We spent the majority of that evening packing, checking off items one by one on the list to ensure all was included that was required. His suitcase was perfectly organized when he left; I am sure it will be a full-blown disaster when he returns. And he'll be exhausted.

Perfection.

(Here's to hoping that Shane and Darrell aren't ready to kill him when I pick him up on Sunday afternoon.)

Anyway, so Roy and I have relished in our time together, living free and celebrating adult time. Ah--it's been a blast. Over the course of the weekend we went to a play called Young Frankenstein that was put on by Asheville Theaters. It was mind blowing as it was performed by amateurs who volunteered their time, and yet...you would never know it. The talent these people brought to the stage is breathtaking. The one who stole the stage was an 18 year old Senior in high school that was P.H.E.N.O.M.E.N.A.L.

One day Roy and I went out to eat and our waiter was a friendly guy who told us he is engaged, scheduled to get married a year from this October. We talked about how he needs to start a honeymoon fund and we laughed and we left thinking, This is just a great kid and I hope life treats him well.

At another place I went to the bathroom where a mom was derailing a little 3 year old who was just sobbing her heart out, all dressed in a frilly white dress but clearly misbehaving out in public. And Mom had had enough. Oh, I remember those times, and how I regret my lack of patience now. As I left, an older lady left with me, and as soon as we got in the hallway, the older lady said to me, shaking her head, "I just want to tell that mom to relax, to enjoy her little girl, that she's going to be just fine. They grow up too fast."

I get it.

Roy and I rode the motorcycle up Mt. Pisgah, a 40 mile loop that involved towering trees, rocky cliffs, and a rainbow of shimmering reds, bursting oranges, and shades of gold. Though Roy and I often communicate the best when we're riding the bike, we were both quiet on this journey as we soaked it all in.

And then one afternoon we took out his '81 Firebird and decided to get dessert at a nice restaurant in Asheville. As we always do, we locked the doors to the car...but Roy, in a rare moment of forgetfulness, left the car door key sitting on the console. Older cars have two keys: one for the doors and the trunk; one for the ignition.

Oops.

As we no longer have Triple A, this was a problem. But, due to the kindness of a K-Mart employee who found some wire in the back, and less than 30 seconds from Roy who is well-versed in breaking into old vehicles, we were back in business in less than 30 minutes.

Our Staycation isn't quite over. We're going to breakfast this morning as the finale of this weekend that we've been anticipating for weeks. And then? Well, then real life will kick in: shopping at Sam's, a few items at the grocery store, laundry, cleaning, and preparing for a week that will announce its glory at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow.

But here's the thing that I've noticed over our three day reprieve from parenthood. Even though we did a lot of laughter and talking and living in the moment, our thoughts were still engaged. We still worried about the things that bind us; we still experienced some frustrations and negative emotions along the way.

We were still us.

We didn't ever go away because, you know, wherever you go...there you are.

This weekend was on the highlight reel of our lives. That's for sure. But my readings this past week have reminded me that every day is filled with enough. It isn't just the Staycations that provide enough fun, enough time, enough joy, enough beauty...

Every day is enough.

I want to be on the lookout for the negativity that rises its ugly head on occasion, and I want to change those thoughts to...

I have enough time.
I have enough money.
I have enough power.
I have enough love.
I have enough friends.

I have enough.

Again and Again

Yesterday I was walking downtown with a friend. We were walking fast, talking a mile a minute, laughing, when I noticed a pole with several cables that were all connected at the top of the pole and then angled down and were anchored on the sidewalk. My friend's fast pace led her smack dab in the path of that pole and for a split second, the thought crossed my mind, "She's going to hit the pole!" But it was one of those surreal moments. I didn't have the presence of mind to reach out my hand and stop her, to warn her ... and then BAM! She slammed into that pole, hitting the side of her face at record speed because she was turned to look at me. Her head bounced back and hit the cables surrounding the pole and she stood there for a moment, stunned.

Last night she sent me a text: the entire side of her face is black and blue. Poor thing.

This week? This week I slammed into the metaphorical pole.

I have been reading a lot of Brene' Brown lately. If you haven't read her...you should. She's amazing. Inspiring. Real. And she's all about living in a wholehearted way. She deals with shame and how we all react to shame--the tricks that we use to escape the pain and succumb to its pressure rather than facing it head on and continuing on a wholehearted pathway.

And I "amen" her all of the time--love her messages.

And now I'm going to get really "real" for a minute.

This week? Well, this week I didn't love her messages. This week involved quite a lot of shame. And I found myself wanting to retreat from everyone I know, to just hang on Facebook for hours and numb the pain, to curl up in a ball and pretend like none of it happened.

But every time -- every single time -- that I found myself "reacting" from the shame, I remembered Brene'. (We are on a first name basis, Brene' and me.)

 And I sighed. Heavily.

Because being wholehearted is easy when things go your way. Focusing on messages such as "I am worthy of love and belonging" or talking to oneself as one would talk to a friend rather than having inner thoughts that rage: Why are you such an idiot??...is easy as pie...

until the going gets rough.

And then it's a whole different story.

Sometimes when I am at work, I throw something on in the background to listen to while I do tasks that don't require critical thinking. Sometimes it's music; other times? I try to find something inspiring or informative or, simply entertaining.

Yesterday I chose Ted Talks. I love Ted Talks. When I taught, Friday was always Ted Talks day and I would start the class with one that inspired discussion or deep thought. It was my students' favorite part of the week. In fact, if we ever missed school on Friday due to a break or whatever, they would beg for Ted Talks Monday.

Anyway, the first one I listened to was a young guy in his 20's who has ADHD. His talk was fascinating as he discussed what that meant for him as a student growing up in a regular classroom and the shame the ADHD diagnosis brings. However, he is blazingly successful now--and all because he has ADHD. He has taken the aspects of the "disorder" and used them to his own benefit.

Another Ted Talks I listened to was a 17 year old boy who suffers from a terrible disease that deeply affects his physical appearance. Genuinely there is nothing about his appearance that is attractive. He is tiny, awkwardly built, bald, has an elfish face and a squeaky voice. But he shines with confidence and a can-do spirit. Clearly his family has encouraged him to live in a wholehearted manner because this kid thrives.

Sometimes we all have moments, days, or even weeks where we get punched in the gut, breathless. Sleepless nights seem to be our best friend.

That was my week.

But I am going to do my best to face it, to grow from it, to seek control in my own perceptions and my own reactions rather than others' because that is the only control I really have.

I am going to strive for wholeheartedness when what I really want is a dark closet away from the world around me.

I am going to be brave, courageous...

And when I am not? I am going to get back up and try again.

Because that's what wholehearted living is all about: trying again and again...

...and again.

All About the Attitude

When I was in 8th grade, we moved mid-fall from a town of about 10,000 to a very small town on the outskirts of Oklahoma City: Piedmont. Piedmont was one of those small public schools that had about 50 kids per class or so, and most of them had grown up together. They were a close-knit group and, as a result, I wouldn't say they welcomed me with open arms. Meanwhile, I came from Cushing and from a school that I dearly loved, filled with a group of friends whom I adored. I had won a student association office for my 8th grade year, but, of course, once I knew that we were moving? Well, that ended that. But my point is, I felt successful, loved, and accepted.

And then we moved.

My first day at Piedmont felt like a disaster. I didn't know a single face in the crowd and felt isolated, alone. However, band was a raging success.

When I was in the 5th grade, our band instructor came into class and asked if anyone wanted to join. He demonstrated the various instruments and so, I begged Dad, and he finally gave in to my whims and purchased a used flute for me. But he didn't have much confidence that it would be something I pursued.

I proved him wrong.

I loved band. I practiced for hours on the flute and poured my heart into being the best flute player I could be. My dedication paid off, and by the time we moved to Cushing my 6th grade year, I could play relatively well, for my age, of course. Mom taught us girls how to play piano, and so I had a good handle on reading music and such. That was probably the biggest reason for my success as, I really only had to learn how to play the various notes on the flute. The rhythm and reading the music? Well, playing the piano made that a piece of cake.

Anyway, when I attended school on that first day, they happened to be doing try-outs for chairs. First chair is the coveted spot as that means one is the best player in the group. Melody was in the 8th grade as well and Melody had been challenged multiple times by the other flute players in the group, but she was clearly the best and held her spot for the previous two years.

As I was new to band and nobody knew me, I sat in the very last seat after the other 8 flute players. The band instructor's challenge was to play the B flat scale, up and back down. I shrugged to myself. Easy as pie.

But clearly I was the only one who thought so. The other 8 girls struggled and hit wrong notes and couldn't keep the correct rhythm--even poor Melody. So when the band director got to me? I played the entire scale with ease.

"I do believe we have a new first chair!" he proclaimed. And so, I moved from Chair #9 to Chair #1...just like that. Melody was clearly unhappy with my success, and scowled my direction repeatedly. I looked straight ahead. Over the course of the year, Melody challenged me one time but...well, I kept my spot.

We were never friends.

Other than the bright spot of band each day, I struggled socially that year. Being in 8th grade is a piece of work anyway, but when one adds "being the new kid on the block" to the mix...well, it is a whole new level of insecure. After some time, though, I finally managed to get in with a group of girls that begrudgingly accepted me.

One time a neighbor came over to the house and I was in the shed helping Dad change the oil on the pickup. The neighbor asked, "So how do you like school here at Piedmont?"

I scrunched my nose and shook my head. "I don't like it," I quipped. And that was that.

Well, that was that until he left. Dad was none too proud of my response. "I don't care whether you like it or not," he fumed. "That school is part of our neighbor's home and you just told him that it isn't good enough for you. That better never happen again."

It didn't.

One day, after being at Piedmont Middle School for several months, I went to lunch and got in line with these friends. They were all laughing about something and, wanting to be in the know, I said, "What are you girls talking about?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "You always do that," she said. "You always come up in the middle of a conversation and we have to stop talking to get you up to speed." And then she turned away, and the only thing I knew about their conversation was that I was annoying.

Her words never left me. Clearly. Because 35 years later? I still remember them.

I was the outsider and I wanted nothing more than to leave that school and find a place where I belonged.

My mom taught at a small Adventist school--Parkview--in Oklahoma City that had grades 1-10. That summer, in order to escape my social crazy, I chose to switch gears and enrolled at Parkview. I was sad to leave Band behind. The fall of my 9th grade year they were going on a two week tour through Switzerland and, had I stayed, I would have been part of it. But nothing could sway me to stay. I was determined: determined to leave, determined to start fresh, determined to make it work. My attitude was a whole different ball of wax going in to Parkview that first day. My motto?  To have friends, to make it work, to like it, to be likable, to be other centered.

And my attitude? It worked. I made friendships that I still have to this day. I loved my little school and it made all the difference.

But I have wondered so many times, what about if I had brought my attitude of confidence and determination to succeed to Piedmont Middle School? How different would my story be? Because when I started Piedmont, I had the attitude of insecurity, of begrudging the move because I loved my previous school, of being a victim because I was a misfit in a group of friends who had been together since they were 5.

Sometimes life is all about the attitude.

Roy is one of those people who never looks back. I admire that about him. He refuses to "cry over spilt milk", to regret a major decision, to stew. I've learned a lot from him over the years.

Perspective is everything. Change your thoughts? Change your world. One experience at a time.