I am living in the midst of boxes.
Again.
Since Roy and I got married, we have moved six times.
We started out in Colorado...then California...then New Mexico...then Wisconsin...then Texas...then Missouri...then North Carolina...
...and now back to Texas.
Full circle--as that is where we met.
The first time we moved to Texas, back in 2005, was traumatic. I wasn't ready for the change as I had so many great friends and memories in Wisconsin. Back in those days, I said I wanted to retire there in Wisconsin. Now? I can't imagine 20 below zero for 30 days straight. I can barely stand 20 degrees, much less below zero temperatures!
But this time? Well, this time I'm excited. Ready to go. Eyes straight ahead.
I will miss many things about North Carolina...
-Holcombe Cove Road
-my precious coworkers who have become some of my dearest friends
-my INFJ bestie
-lunch dates with Tammy
-mild winters that still have snow and bursting flowers against a backdrop of green and mild summers and stunning fall colors
I could go on.
But the truth is, I am longing for Texas. I am ready for Sunday when the movers come and pack up this house that has been my home for six years. I am excited for this next adventure in my life...
-a job at the university working as Alumni Director where the name of the game is people rather than working in a cubicle from 7-4 (and don't get me wrong--I have LOVED my job...)
-Roy on a totally new career path that offers independence and financial success and being his own boss (ah--so happy for him).
-my co-worker is my brother in law.
-friends that have been friends for years. And years.
-my parents and my sister Lori are within 4 hours' driving distance.
-sunsets that make me stand in awe.
-my precious nieces and nephews who have my heart.
-my sister Tami lives four blocks away.
-my sister Tami lives four blocks away.
-my sister Tami lives four blocks away.
I can't wait to go house hunting, to figure out whether we want to build. To look at land and envision standing on the porch and watching the sun come up in the east. To know that, God willing (please God--please be willing), this will be our last stop. This will be where the kids come home when they've all reached adulthood, where the grandkids will run, where I will grow old and gray.
I have so much on my plate right now--it's a little bit crazy. I have so much to think about that my brain won't stop won't stop won't stop. Packing and moving and starting a new job and looking for a house and what about the cats and I need to change addresses and when will I get my license as I can't take off work for 90 days and I am so excited to work with Tami Condon--I love Tami Condon--and Janelle! We'll be working buddies again! And Chas' Indian Dahl and Estee Marie is only a few hours' away and ...
The truth is, my mind spins so much that I often pretend to listen and have no idea what someone said because I forgot to tell my brain to stop.
I am constantly reminding myself--This is step 1. Packing.
I cannot conquer step 23 or step 37 or even step 3.
I can only conquer step 1.
And that will slow me down for a minute, help me remain calm.
I was talking to Jacque the other day--you know, the one who keeps me sane--and telling her that sometimes the stress of this new adventure gets the best of me and I find myself frantic, paralyzed with a to-do list that is overpowering...
She laughed in that way she has that lets me know she understands, she gets it, and then she said...
Polka dotted pandas.
That's your word. Whenever your brain is spinning?
Just think...polka dotted pandas.
It is currently 6:06 am. It's officially my last day of work at Buncombe County DSS.
And though I am excited for my next adventure, I am sad to say goodbye to my friends at the Department who have welcomed me in and become my friends.
But right now I can't think about that...
Right now? Well...
Polka dotted pandas.
Friday, June 24, 2016
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Anyway
Sometimes life is messy.
Sometimes people say and do really mean things that are undeserved.
And sometimes I say and do really mean things that are undeserved.
The past few months have been difficult at best. They have been filled with angry words and assumptions and over-analyzations and a lot of dark moments. The past few months have tested my ability to stay balanced emotionally and physically with so many unknowns and so many inflicted hurts.
So many days of crying, so many what ifs...
But it's over.
Thank God it's over.
The other day, I found myself reeling. Again. It had to do with Savana's wedding and people I thought were friends and words that were left unsaid, and once again, those repetitive tracks played in my mind over and over and over again. I found myself spending far too much time doing mindless things--you know, perusing Facebook, analyzing who "liked" certain pictures and who didn't, playing games on my phone--those things that we do when escapism is better than reality.
I don't like that me.
That isn't who I am.
That is certainly who I don't want to be.
And so, I took myself for a walk, looked up at the blue sky against a mountain-filled backdrop, took a few deep breaths, and remembered why forgiveness is so important.
Because forgiveness? It has nothing to do with the act that created the pain and everything to do with whether or not I am going to be overcome with bitterness, spending my days reliving the pain and licking or my wounds...or I am going to choose freedom.
And folks, I'm choosing freedom.
I am so thankful for Jacque who has coached me through the past few months and helped me deal with the pain so that the pain doesn't become infused in my being and create a me that nobody likes, including myself.
I am so thankful for my family--my man, my kids, my sisters, my parents--who endure the worst of me and love me anyway.
I am so grateful for the girls I work with who have been a source of laughter and community when I needed it the most.
My life is enriched by my precious friend Kayla who has emailed me faithfully and encouraged me to get back up.
These past few months have shown me who my true friends are--the ones who have reached out, who have cared enough to stop by, to love when I may not have seemed available.
And....
I am grateful for what the past few months have taught me and that is this:
Being nice can be a whole lot different than being kind.
Above all?
Be kind.
A Mother Teresa poem has haunted me the past few months. I say "haunted" because it has challenged me to go against the grain of what I inherently wanted to do. It goes like this:
Mother Teresa's Anyway Poem
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.
I am grateful for her words because they challenge me to be better, to get outside of my head and remember that sometimes, people do mean things. Sometimes people say mean things.
Sometimes I do too.
I am grateful for her words because they help me to remember that life is short and that I want my life to count for something beautiful that goes beyond my own selfish desires.
I want my life to be infused with kindness and forgiveness and love.
It may not be who I am right now...but it is my beacon.
And I will keep moving forward, one step at a time...
...anyway.
Sometimes people say and do really mean things that are undeserved.
And sometimes I say and do really mean things that are undeserved.
The past few months have been difficult at best. They have been filled with angry words and assumptions and over-analyzations and a lot of dark moments. The past few months have tested my ability to stay balanced emotionally and physically with so many unknowns and so many inflicted hurts.
So many days of crying, so many what ifs...
But it's over.
Thank God it's over.
The other day, I found myself reeling. Again. It had to do with Savana's wedding and people I thought were friends and words that were left unsaid, and once again, those repetitive tracks played in my mind over and over and over again. I found myself spending far too much time doing mindless things--you know, perusing Facebook, analyzing who "liked" certain pictures and who didn't, playing games on my phone--those things that we do when escapism is better than reality.
I don't like that me.
That isn't who I am.
That is certainly who I don't want to be.
And so, I took myself for a walk, looked up at the blue sky against a mountain-filled backdrop, took a few deep breaths, and remembered why forgiveness is so important.
Because forgiveness? It has nothing to do with the act that created the pain and everything to do with whether or not I am going to be overcome with bitterness, spending my days reliving the pain and licking or my wounds...or I am going to choose freedom.
And folks, I'm choosing freedom.
I am so thankful for Jacque who has coached me through the past few months and helped me deal with the pain so that the pain doesn't become infused in my being and create a me that nobody likes, including myself.
I am so thankful for my family--my man, my kids, my sisters, my parents--who endure the worst of me and love me anyway.
I am so grateful for the girls I work with who have been a source of laughter and community when I needed it the most.
My life is enriched by my precious friend Kayla who has emailed me faithfully and encouraged me to get back up.
These past few months have shown me who my true friends are--the ones who have reached out, who have cared enough to stop by, to love when I may not have seemed available.
And....
I am grateful for what the past few months have taught me and that is this:
Being nice can be a whole lot different than being kind.
Above all?
Be kind.
A Mother Teresa poem has haunted me the past few months. I say "haunted" because it has challenged me to go against the grain of what I inherently wanted to do. It goes like this:
Mother Teresa's Anyway Poem
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.
I am grateful for her words because they challenge me to be better, to get outside of my head and remember that sometimes, people do mean things. Sometimes people say mean things.
Sometimes I do too.
I am grateful for her words because they help me to remember that life is short and that I want my life to count for something beautiful that goes beyond my own selfish desires.
I want my life to be infused with kindness and forgiveness and love.
It may not be who I am right now...but it is my beacon.
And I will keep moving forward, one step at a time...
...anyway.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
My Little Girl
My daughter is married.
In my mind? I still see that little chubby baby face with the huge grin and eyes that light up a room. She shouldn't be married; she should be running in the house with chubby legs and dimpled hands filled with flowers she picked from the yard.
She should be singing songs at the top of her lungs, the fan her microphone.
She should be playing Maid with Darian: she is the princess, Darian is the maid.
She should be telling me stories in that grown up voice though she is only 5 years old.
She should be doing lots of things. But walking down the aisle? Taking the last name Williams?
How did that happen?
I remember when the girls were little and my life consisted of dishes and lunch and scattered toys and vacuuming and monkey bars and swing sets and fruit on the porch so it wouldn't drip on the carpet and swimming pools and car seats and 3 year old fights, and I thought,
...when these girls are 6 and 8? My life will be easy.
And then I blinked...
Turned around twice.
Savana's wedding day was perfection.
We all got up early, showered, took extra time getting ready. It was a beautiful day--the sun was shining brightly--as we headed to the Williams' property for pictures. The First Look was scheduled for 10:15 as they were taking pictures before the wedding rather than afterwards, and that moment was so precious, magical. Guerin stood with his back to Savana and as she finally reached him, walking through the dew-covered grass, she tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see her, couldn't hold his composure, and just held her in an embrace for what seemed forever.
It was a beautiful thing.
At 1:40 (the service started at 2:00 in a field by our house), Roy, Savana and I were in the house when it began to rain--a hard rain falling in sheets from the sky.
"It will stop," Savana said matter of factly, as though she would control the weather by sheer determination.
And it did.
The wedding started shortly after 2:00 as there was a reprieve in the pounding rain. A crew dried chairs and hustled the guests out to the field that had been transformed by white roses and greenery-laden arches into a little piece of paradise.
The wedding party walked in to the theme song from Forrest Gump and then, Roy drove Savana up in his '81 Firebird--waxed to perfection the night before.
She looked stunning.
The service was magical--it was so fitting and whimsical and representative of Sav and G and who they are as people and as a couple. Eddie told their story; their vows made us all cry; Justin sang the acoustic version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and I wanted to listen to it again and again and again; the flower girl and the ring bearers? Ah--my heart. I thought it might burst.
And then? They were married and they whooped it up from the front and made their way to the back.
And about that time, the sky opened up again and the rain began. We all flew into gear, moving the reception into the All-Purpose Room in the little elementary school. And though the reception wasn't quite what Savana planned, it was joy-filled and beautiful and perfect, all the same.
Because really...it's all about the couple. The un-decorated walls lined with school supplies? That's just stuff. Being surrounded by our family and friends? That's what matters. And clearly none of them cared about the pounding rain that pummeled the photo-lined tables covered in white linen.
Savana Jalei Seals is now Savana Jalei Williams.
She's married to her soulmate--to the love of her life.
And what a beautiful couple these two make.
But in my mind? Well...
...she'll always be my little girl.
She'll always be that adorable baby with a big grin, dimpled hands, and eyes that light up a room.
In my mind? I still see that little chubby baby face with the huge grin and eyes that light up a room. She shouldn't be married; she should be running in the house with chubby legs and dimpled hands filled with flowers she picked from the yard.
She should be singing songs at the top of her lungs, the fan her microphone.
She should be playing Maid with Darian: she is the princess, Darian is the maid.
She should be telling me stories in that grown up voice though she is only 5 years old.
She should be doing lots of things. But walking down the aisle? Taking the last name Williams?
How did that happen?
I remember when the girls were little and my life consisted of dishes and lunch and scattered toys and vacuuming and monkey bars and swing sets and fruit on the porch so it wouldn't drip on the carpet and swimming pools and car seats and 3 year old fights, and I thought,
...when these girls are 6 and 8? My life will be easy.
And then I blinked...
Turned around twice.
Savana's wedding day was perfection.
We all got up early, showered, took extra time getting ready. It was a beautiful day--the sun was shining brightly--as we headed to the Williams' property for pictures. The First Look was scheduled for 10:15 as they were taking pictures before the wedding rather than afterwards, and that moment was so precious, magical. Guerin stood with his back to Savana and as she finally reached him, walking through the dew-covered grass, she tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see her, couldn't hold his composure, and just held her in an embrace for what seemed forever.
It was a beautiful thing.
At 1:40 (the service started at 2:00 in a field by our house), Roy, Savana and I were in the house when it began to rain--a hard rain falling in sheets from the sky.
"It will stop," Savana said matter of factly, as though she would control the weather by sheer determination.
And it did.
The wedding started shortly after 2:00 as there was a reprieve in the pounding rain. A crew dried chairs and hustled the guests out to the field that had been transformed by white roses and greenery-laden arches into a little piece of paradise.
The wedding party walked in to the theme song from Forrest Gump and then, Roy drove Savana up in his '81 Firebird--waxed to perfection the night before.
She looked stunning.
The service was magical--it was so fitting and whimsical and representative of Sav and G and who they are as people and as a couple. Eddie told their story; their vows made us all cry; Justin sang the acoustic version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and I wanted to listen to it again and again and again; the flower girl and the ring bearers? Ah--my heart. I thought it might burst.
And then? They were married and they whooped it up from the front and made their way to the back.
And about that time, the sky opened up again and the rain began. We all flew into gear, moving the reception into the All-Purpose Room in the little elementary school. And though the reception wasn't quite what Savana planned, it was joy-filled and beautiful and perfect, all the same.
Because really...it's all about the couple. The un-decorated walls lined with school supplies? That's just stuff. Being surrounded by our family and friends? That's what matters. And clearly none of them cared about the pounding rain that pummeled the photo-lined tables covered in white linen.
Savana Jalei Seals is now Savana Jalei Williams.
She's married to her soulmate--to the love of her life.
And what a beautiful couple these two make.
But in my mind? Well...
...she'll always be my little girl.
She'll always be that adorable baby with a big grin, dimpled hands, and eyes that light up a room.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Bring It On
This morning when I let Piper out, I spied a splash of red in our barren bush that sits on top of the hill in our yard. It grabbed my attention and so I looked a little closer and realized it is a cardinal. A stunning cardinal.
Spring.
I am ready.
I am ready for bursting flowers and vibrant green again. I am excited for thunderstorms and sunshine on my face and the promise of wedding bells in our very near future. I can't wait to envelop Darian in my arms because she is actually standing in front of me instead of on my computer screen that flits in and out because of a poor connection.
Carefree rides on the motorcycle, the wind whipping all of my cares away.
Barbecues on the deck.
Short sleeves even though we have a love/hate relationship these days.
My worn pink flip flops that are actually Darian's. I bought them for her one summer and then she left them here accidentally and I stole them. At this point, she will never get them back. And frankly, she wouldn't want them.
Juicy watermelon from the farmer's market along with cantaloupe, all squared up in a bowl, marinating together.
Ball with Piper while I hang on my swing that is falling apart and the stuffing is hanging out but, hey, it still swings so oh well.
Long evenings where the sun sets past my bedtime.
Meandering walks down Holcombe Cove Road.
And that road?
It is just as quaint and peaceful with its winding curves and cattle grazing fields as its name implies.
Spring.
I am ready.
I am ready for bursting flowers and vibrant green again. I am excited for thunderstorms and sunshine on my face and the promise of wedding bells in our very near future. I can't wait to envelop Darian in my arms because she is actually standing in front of me instead of on my computer screen that flits in and out because of a poor connection.
Carefree rides on the motorcycle, the wind whipping all of my cares away.
Barbecues on the deck.
Short sleeves even though we have a love/hate relationship these days.
My worn pink flip flops that are actually Darian's. I bought them for her one summer and then she left them here accidentally and I stole them. At this point, she will never get them back. And frankly, she wouldn't want them.
Juicy watermelon from the farmer's market along with cantaloupe, all squared up in a bowl, marinating together.
Ball with Piper while I hang on my swing that is falling apart and the stuffing is hanging out but, hey, it still swings so oh well.
Long evenings where the sun sets past my bedtime.
Meandering walks down Holcombe Cove Road.
And that road?
It is just as quaint and peaceful with its winding curves and cattle grazing fields as its name implies.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
My Manifesto
The values that guide me in my effort to show up and be seen are authenticity and courage.
I stand for kindness to all people.
In my heart of hearts, I believe that people do the best they can and that if I walked a mile in their shoes, I would be no different.
I am on this planet to love with open arms, to be true to my family and to those I call my friends, and to make my piece of the world a better place.
I will love myself by treating myself as a friend. This includes making healthy choices: not eating when I'm not hungry, choosing movement, finding time for fun, and putting down my phone and being present in my everyday life.
I will dare greatly by setting healthy boundaries:
Not everyone deserves to hear my story.
Gossip is demeaning when it's about me and when it's about others. Be quiet.
Choosing courage over comfort.
Choosing vulnerability--being me--rather than pretending or people pleasing for the sake of approval.
Choosing to have the difficult conversations rather than to push those I love away.
Choosing to face life head on when the road gets difficult rather than numbing the pain with my phone or mindless games.
Finding beauty in the simple things--a budding flower on my windowsill, a blazing sky, winding roads, cattle grazing, my child's laughter.
I will live my life with laughter, with kindness, and with open arms.
Every day...
I stand for kindness to all people.
In my heart of hearts, I believe that people do the best they can and that if I walked a mile in their shoes, I would be no different.
I am on this planet to love with open arms, to be true to my family and to those I call my friends, and to make my piece of the world a better place.
I will love myself by treating myself as a friend. This includes making healthy choices: not eating when I'm not hungry, choosing movement, finding time for fun, and putting down my phone and being present in my everyday life.
I will dare greatly by setting healthy boundaries:
Not everyone deserves to hear my story.
Gossip is demeaning when it's about me and when it's about others. Be quiet.
Choosing courage over comfort.
Choosing vulnerability--being me--rather than pretending or people pleasing for the sake of approval.
Choosing to have the difficult conversations rather than to push those I love away.
Choosing to face life head on when the road gets difficult rather than numbing the pain with my phone or mindless games.
Finding beauty in the simple things--a budding flower on my windowsill, a blazing sky, winding roads, cattle grazing, my child's laughter.
I will live my life with laughter, with kindness, and with open arms.
Every day...
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
I'm Alive
I have been going to the same guy--John--for haircuts for a few years now. Savana discovered him at Fantastic Sam's shortly after he moved to Asheville from Florida where he had a successful salon that was featured in magazines and won awards and where he rented out booths and dealt with management issues and owned a huge house and worked crazy long hours and made great money and...
And then he and his partner came to Asheville on a whim for vacation and decided they loved it and that they were tired of the rat race. And so, John sold his award-winning salon, packed up his life, and moved to Asheville with only a dream in his pocket: no home, no job. And that's how it came to be that Savana met him at Fantastic Sam's where he landed shortly after his arrival.
I must say, I admire such courage.
Seriously.
Who does that?
John does. And others, actually. Lots of others who decide the dream is worth more than the comfort of their regular.
This past week I was in desperate need of a trim. I'm like that--I wait until I'm desperate, until I'm afraid I'm going to burn my hair off because the ends are so dead that I have to singe my hair to style it. And so I gave John a call, set up an appointment, and found myself chatting it up with him a couple of days later. We're friends now and conversation comes easy these days. And so, as I sat in that chair while he trimmed my fried ends, he told me how he is struggling right now. Finances are tight and his partner's health is failing.
The dream has dimmed. His brow is creased with worry.
"Be thankful for the struggle, John," I said.
When we struggle? We know we are alive.
This past fall when the evenings got cooler, Roy would coerce me into tagging along on golf cart rides. We would lazily wind around the academy roads and check out all of our usual sights. I would bundle up in a blanket as, the older I get, the less I tolerate cold. What's with that? Sometimes I feel like my grandma. Anyway, as we turned to head towards home and headed down the hill directly in front of our house, Roy would plaster the "gas" pedal all the way to the ground, catapulting the golf cart into rocket speeds, my hair flying back behind me and the cool hair bursting on my face. "Stop!" I would squeal and Roy would inevitably yell, "This is how you know you're alive!"
Dreams are made of struggle.
When I feel the most alone...
When the winds of strife are tearing at my face...
When sleepless nights haunt...
That's when I know that the dream is just on the horizon.
That's when I know...
I'm alive.
And then he and his partner came to Asheville on a whim for vacation and decided they loved it and that they were tired of the rat race. And so, John sold his award-winning salon, packed up his life, and moved to Asheville with only a dream in his pocket: no home, no job. And that's how it came to be that Savana met him at Fantastic Sam's where he landed shortly after his arrival.
I must say, I admire such courage.
Seriously.
Who does that?
John does. And others, actually. Lots of others who decide the dream is worth more than the comfort of their regular.
This past week I was in desperate need of a trim. I'm like that--I wait until I'm desperate, until I'm afraid I'm going to burn my hair off because the ends are so dead that I have to singe my hair to style it. And so I gave John a call, set up an appointment, and found myself chatting it up with him a couple of days later. We're friends now and conversation comes easy these days. And so, as I sat in that chair while he trimmed my fried ends, he told me how he is struggling right now. Finances are tight and his partner's health is failing.
The dream has dimmed. His brow is creased with worry.
"Be thankful for the struggle, John," I said.
When we struggle? We know we are alive.
This past fall when the evenings got cooler, Roy would coerce me into tagging along on golf cart rides. We would lazily wind around the academy roads and check out all of our usual sights. I would bundle up in a blanket as, the older I get, the less I tolerate cold. What's with that? Sometimes I feel like my grandma. Anyway, as we turned to head towards home and headed down the hill directly in front of our house, Roy would plaster the "gas" pedal all the way to the ground, catapulting the golf cart into rocket speeds, my hair flying back behind me and the cool hair bursting on my face. "Stop!" I would squeal and Roy would inevitably yell, "This is how you know you're alive!"
Dreams are made of struggle.
When I feel the most alone...
When the winds of strife are tearing at my face...
When sleepless nights haunt...
That's when I know that the dream is just on the horizon.
That's when I know...
I'm alive.
Saturday, February 13, 2016
New Eyes
When I was about 7 years old, Mom was taking a bath and I said, "Hey, Mom. You know what's funny? I see two of you." And suddenly my mom knew.
My sisters and I learned to play the piano at a very young age. Our teacher? Mom. And so, when I was about 6 years old, Mom decided it was my turn and so, day after day we sat at the piano bench while she tried to teach me the different notes on paper and how to translate those to the keys on the piano. Middle C has a distinct line through it, and when one is learning to play, it is a large, boldly written note that just can't be missed. Day after day I forgot all Mom taught me the previous day...except for Middle C. Mom would say, "What is this note?" And point to a D. I would shake my head, baffled. And then she'd point to Middle C. I got it right every time, so proud.
Mom was not.
She was beginning to wonder if I was significantly lacking in the intelligence department...until I saw two of her in the bathtub that morning.
A first grader at the time, I loved school. I had friends, I felt accepted. But after a trip to Oklahoma City, I came home with pop bottle glasses that made my eyes the size of round silver dollars and on that day, everything changed.
I suddenly found myself the object of cruelty, of name calling, of isolation. And I was only 7. By the time I hit second grade, I no longer loved school and insecurity encapsulated me--frozen within a label that I couldn't escape.
In the spring of my 8th grade year I went to see the eye doctor--the same one I'd been seeing for seven years now--and he had gradually corrected my eyes until I had 20/20 vision, which I still have to this day. It was one of the best days of my life when he said, "You're free."
No more glasses; no more Four Eyes. That label was decimated in that moment.
Maybe this early experience in my life is the reason I hate labels. They box us up in little packages and throw a tightly wound bow on top that simply won't come undone. Labels strangle and destroy.
Jace has had the opportunity to start over at Enka Middle this year and it has been refreshing watching this boy come alive. I talked to one of his teachers the other day and she said to me, "Jace is in a boisterous class. I had to come down hard on them today because of their behavior. I am so sorry Jace had to hear that."
Excuse me?
Did I hear correctly?
"What do you mean?" I asked her, puzzled, because in my head, Jace was probably right there in the mix of it all. I envisioned kids jumping on desks and screaming like banshees and Jace ring leading the entire affair.
"Oh, Jace is one of my good kids. I can always depend on him to do what he's supposed to do."
Good thing I was sitting down. In that moment? My heart burst ten sizes larger than it was before.
Labels are painful and debilitating. Once you know you've been labeled, there's no escape. It's a long, vicious journey out from under it. When one recognizes they have been labeled, it's like putting on a brand new pair of glasses: it all comes into focus. Suddenly you know who your friends are.
And suddenly you know who your friends aren't.
My sisters and I learned to play the piano at a very young age. Our teacher? Mom. And so, when I was about 6 years old, Mom decided it was my turn and so, day after day we sat at the piano bench while she tried to teach me the different notes on paper and how to translate those to the keys on the piano. Middle C has a distinct line through it, and when one is learning to play, it is a large, boldly written note that just can't be missed. Day after day I forgot all Mom taught me the previous day...except for Middle C. Mom would say, "What is this note?" And point to a D. I would shake my head, baffled. And then she'd point to Middle C. I got it right every time, so proud.
Mom was not.
She was beginning to wonder if I was significantly lacking in the intelligence department...until I saw two of her in the bathtub that morning.
A first grader at the time, I loved school. I had friends, I felt accepted. But after a trip to Oklahoma City, I came home with pop bottle glasses that made my eyes the size of round silver dollars and on that day, everything changed.
I suddenly found myself the object of cruelty, of name calling, of isolation. And I was only 7. By the time I hit second grade, I no longer loved school and insecurity encapsulated me--frozen within a label that I couldn't escape.
In the spring of my 8th grade year I went to see the eye doctor--the same one I'd been seeing for seven years now--and he had gradually corrected my eyes until I had 20/20 vision, which I still have to this day. It was one of the best days of my life when he said, "You're free."
No more glasses; no more Four Eyes. That label was decimated in that moment.
Maybe this early experience in my life is the reason I hate labels. They box us up in little packages and throw a tightly wound bow on top that simply won't come undone. Labels strangle and destroy.
Jace has had the opportunity to start over at Enka Middle this year and it has been refreshing watching this boy come alive. I talked to one of his teachers the other day and she said to me, "Jace is in a boisterous class. I had to come down hard on them today because of their behavior. I am so sorry Jace had to hear that."
Excuse me?
Did I hear correctly?
"What do you mean?" I asked her, puzzled, because in my head, Jace was probably right there in the mix of it all. I envisioned kids jumping on desks and screaming like banshees and Jace ring leading the entire affair.
"Oh, Jace is one of my good kids. I can always depend on him to do what he's supposed to do."
Good thing I was sitting down. In that moment? My heart burst ten sizes larger than it was before.
Labels are painful and debilitating. Once you know you've been labeled, there's no escape. It's a long, vicious journey out from under it. When one recognizes they have been labeled, it's like putting on a brand new pair of glasses: it all comes into focus. Suddenly you know who your friends are.
And suddenly you know who your friends aren't.
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