WORDS TO LIVE BY

Have you ever had a day when you weren’t your best self? A day when you said things that should not have been thought, much less said out loud? Yesterday was my day.

I would like to blame it on Covid isolation, no exercise, and/or symptoms of SAD, but the truth is, I truly do not know what came over me. It was as if I was possessed by a demon that was spewing ugliness rivalling the Exorcist. Worse yet, I was sharing my venomous thoughts with a friend through texts. Thank God she’s a trusted confidante who will forgive me (and delete the texts) without asking for ransom.

I’ve decided to put myself in time out for a hot second to reconsider this colossal melt down. Was I dehydrated? Did I need sleep? Do I have Tourette’s? I can say, with all honesty, I don’t even recognize the person I became last night. (I’m finding hope in that realization.) Yes, I can be funny, and No, that is not my usual MO, but the fact that I tumbled down that rabbit hole with lightening speed scares me. Truth be told, it wasn’t really a tumble, it was more like being shot out of a cannon.

And so, first and foremost, I beg forgiveness from those poor souls I was maligning. Thankfully, they will never know, but I owe them my sincere apology. (I am, after all, Catholic, so imagine the guilt!) My second mea culpa goes to my friend on the receiving end of those texts. Ain’t nobody got time for that (even if it did make you laugh). Lastly, I beg forgiveness of myself. It may take me a minute to get over this nightmare, but I think that’s a good thing. I don’t ever want to wake up and feel this way again.

The recent fires in Colorado destroyed innumerable homes and businesses and left thousands homeless. This event reminded me of another catastrophe I lived through, the Great Flood of 1993. In both instances, people lost everything. Watching these events unfold on television was surreal. When you are from a particular area, and familiar with the homes and businesses destroyed, the pain is palpable. One of the television reporters began to cry as he described the devastation he was witnessing.

In 1993, I was working in human resources. I remember interviewing a young woman for a position and asking her to provide her driver’s license. She replied, “I lost that in the flood.” I then asked for a copy of her social security card or passport. Again, she replied, “I lost those in the flood, too. I lost everything in the flood. These aren’t even my own clothes.” It wasn’t just that she didn’t have a few documents, she lost everything…her purse, her personal effects, her house, her car, and every little and big precious thing. Watching the tragedy unfold in Boulder, I was reminded of that woman’s story. I cannot imagine losing everything.

Witnessing these events caused me to consider what I would save:
My dog, Maggie
A file that includes my birth certificate, passport, SSN card, a copy of my insurance cards, and a copy of my driver’s license. Today, I made duplicates of those documents to give my children for safekeeping.

I probably forgot something but, for now, that’s all I can think of that would be invaluable in starting the onerous process of re-creating a life. I’m good about backing up my phone on the Cloud which secures phone numbers and pictures. I also went through the house videotaping each room for insurance purposes and saved that on the Cloud, too – a minor inconvenience compared to those who lost everything.

Although the start of 2022 feels eerily similar to the start of 2021, it’s time for a new word to serve as my touchstone for the coming year. This decision was not easy. I was tempted to choose words like redundant, fatigued, bullcrap, despondent, apathetic, wretched, dismal, jaded, discontented, annoyed, disgruntled …words that reflect being so, so over the latest virus, vaccine debacle, masks, stock market fluctuations, and political tomfooleries…but enough about me!

After much deliberation and reflection, I’ve decided on embrace. Given life as we know it today, the idea of embracing the unknown feels hopeful. I’ve made enough trips around the sun to know there’s no predicting the future; to worry and fret about what might happen seems futile and a colossal waste of time. Besides, there’s so much to embrace. I want to embrace the future with open arms. I want to “embrace each moment as if I had invited it”… Pema Chodron’s words, not mine. I want to embrace uncertainty and welcome new ideas and adventures. I want to embrace the possibility of new career opportunities. I even want to embrace the suck (disappointments, set-backs, missteps, and mistakes).

Embrace is my guiding light for 2022 and you are welcome to remind me of that when I falter. And trust me, I will falter.

What’s your word?

It’s time for the dreaded New Year’s resolutions. I don’t know why we do that to ourselves. Those that study this kind of thing tell us most resolutions last for 36 days. To be more specific, an article in Smarter Living states the “second Friday in January is the fateful day when our annual commitments start to crumble.” That’s January 14, 2022 for those counting!

So often, we set unrealistic, unattainable goals and then succumb to defeat no sooner than we begin. I think part of the problem is the language we use when we’re talking to ourselves.

Words like:
I have to lose weight.
I need to exercise.
I must quit smoking.
I should eat healthier.

Need to, have to, must and should are heavy, overwhelming words. You can feel the stress and pressure before you even get started. Would you say those words to your best friend? Probably not. Then why do you say that to yourself?

I propose a kinder, gentler approach. Spend some time in quiet reflection asking yourself what or where you would like to be this time next year…not tomorrow or next month…a year from now.

Try using words like:
I would like to lose weight (and be realistic about how much each week/month for the next 365 days).
I get to exercise (whether it’s walking, yoga, going to a gym…think of it as a privilege).
I want to adopt healthy habits (start by setting incremental goals, be patient, expect setbacks but don’t let them totally derail you…start over as many times as you need to).

Remember, a goal without a plan is just a daydream.

Happy New Year!

It’s Christmas time AGAIN! Didn’t we just do this eleven months ago? Actually, I guess it’s been Christmas time for the past 3 months judging by the holiday displays in the stores. I think I saw my first Christmas commercial in October and the carols on the radio weren’t far behind. UGH!

For the past few years, I’ve been gifting experiences rather than things. I took my mom on a ‘girls’ weekend.’ I kept my great-niece for a few days while her parents had a babymoon. Two years ago, I gave my grandsons a trip to Seattle to experience kayaking and whale watching. And then there was Covid…The Germ That Stole Christmas! This year, I’m planning trips to the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit, theatre performances, sports events, and pool passes. Rather than asking, “What do you want?,” I suggest asking, “What do you like to do?” BAM – there’s your gift.

What I know for sure is experiences = memories and that’s the gift that keeps on giving.

That said, if you can’t resist gift giving, especially for older relatives, here’s a list I found in my Grief and the Holidays file. (Doesn’t everyone have a file entitled Grief and the Holidays?) Maybe something on the list will bring holiday joy to you and yours:

• A plant
• A gift for their pet
• A home-cooked meal delivered and shared
• A hand-made coupon book for household repairs, lawn mowing, leaf raking, etc.
• Pictures of your family (Digital photo frames are wonderful)
• A jigsaw puzzle
• A birdfeeder and the promise to keep it filled
• A book (especially if its about someone from their generation)
• A donation to a charity in their honor
• A subscription to Storyworth.com (We got this for our mom, and she loved it)
• Your undivided time and attention once a month = time well spent and may just be the BEST gift ever!

What a year!

My word for 2021 was curious, and 11 long months later, I’m curious how the heck we survived another trip around the sun. The year started with optimism and Covid vaccines. We were going to be rid of those pesky masks and social distancing in no time…or so they said. Eleven months later, at least in Colorado, we have the highest number of Covid hospitalizations since the pandemic started, the kids are still wearing masks to school (at least they are going to school), and more and more businesses are requesting that patrons mask up and be kind to protect their dwindling staff.

My beloved part-time job working with terminally ill patients and their families came to an end when my employer informed me that I needed to work full-time for less money. I’m still curious why they were surprised when I did not accept that oh-so-attractive offer. Instead, I’m seeing clients in my private grief counseling practice along with teaching and leading guided meditation walks at the Botanic Garden. It’s hard to keep a good woman down!

l will admit my curiosity got the best of me this year. I had been hearing about Critical Race Theory and White privilege and I wanted to understand the concepts more fully. I thought the best way to educate myself was to teach a course entitled Power, Privilege & Oppression. OMG! What I learned is that ‘you don’t know what you don’t know’ is no joke, AND, I’m never teaching that class again.

Don’t get me wrong…there were highlights. A vacation to amazing places with a forever friend was wonder-full. There were visits from friends and family, including one from the newest family member, a six-month old beautiful little red-headed girl named Scarlett, who reminded me why parenting is best left to those under whatever age doesn’t need 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I would say I’m curious what the new year will bring but ain’t nobody got time for that. I’m still working on my word for 2022. Given that 2022 will include a milestone birthday…I may decide to go with three words…beats the alternative.

This has been the year for warranty work.

In January, I noticed something in my left eye that I couldn’t rub out or wash away; things looked a little fuzzy. I made an appointment to see an ophthalmologist and, much to my chagrin, I was informed I had a cataract. He kindly offered to examine my right eye, but I assured him that eye was just fine. He persisted, I resisted…until finally the office was closing, so I gave in. You guessed it, a cataract in that eye too! The procedures were simple, but the process was months long. We were on a first-name basis by the time I got the “all clear.”

In the Spring, I took a test in the AARP magazine entitled, “Do You Need Hearing Aids?” Aced it!
Before I purchased said appendages, I had to let my hair grow longer so no one would see them. (Yes, I am that vain.) I started out with the over-the-ear models but found a mask, glasses, and hearing aids felt like I had cargo trunks hanging from my ears. I upgraded to the in-ear models, which I like much better, but now I have to eat dog food until I get finished paying for them.

I’m currently researching the new-and-improved bunion removal procedure. Once that’s finished, I should be good for another 50,000 miles.

Timeouts don’t get the credit they deserve. Timeouts provide the giver and receiver a chance to rest and reset. Although often considered a reprimand by the receiver, I have first-hand knowledge that the giver can feel pretty bad about them too.

Many years ago, my son kept whining that his arm hurt after a soccer game with the neighborhood kids. I gave him the choice to go back outside to play or take a timeout. Much to my surprise, he elected the later. A little while later he summoned me to his room to show me his aching arm – which was clearly broken!
I did not win Mother of the Year in 1985.

I once sent both kiddos to their rooms for a timeout after the babysitter complained about their behavior. As they were headed down the hall I mumbled, “I should just put you up for adoption.” Sometime later, my tearful son appeared in the hallway and said, “Mom, can I ask a favor? Please don’t put us up for adoption, they never choose the older kids.” Didn’t get Mother of the Year that year either.

I don’t remember giving my daughter timeouts. As a teenager, the door slamming, piercing glares, and raging allegations of unfair punishment resulted in giving myself a timeout to escape her wrath. (Not a parenting style I recommend…but it did work…we’re both still alive). To her credit, she outgrew that phase and is now navigating corporate America with grace and finesse.

My kids are grown now and my grandchildren are perfect so they never get a timeout at Mimi’s house. Every once in a while, I still put myself in timeout to regroup and recover from the stresses of the world. I’m a firm believer in ‘just because a phone rings doesn’t mean you have to answer it’ (unless it’s one of the gbabes). The same goes for texts, emails, and doorbells. In fact, over the past few months I’ve gotten pretty good at putting myself in timeout for an hour each day. Some might call it taking a nap but what do they know?!

Did you know there are two definitions for the word committed?

The first defines committed as a dedication or devotion to someone or something. Committed is a strong and unwavering intention to do whatever it takes to succeed. We all know people who are committed. We’ve watched in awe as they overcame insurmountable odds and achieved feats beyond our wildest imagination. We also know people who remained undaunted as they tried, failed, and accepted disappointment, yet remained steadfast and committed to their goals – people who live by the creed, “Quitting is not an option.” People who took 17 years to get their undergrad. People who wanted a healthier lifestyle and lost 200#. People who decided to live their truth. People who quit their job, sold their home, and traveled the world. People who walked away from high-paying jobs to start a non-profit. People who have a learning disability, so in grad school, they listened to recordings of the textbooks rather than reading them. Can you imagine?

Then there’s that other definition of committed.

Some would contend it’s a fine line between the two. Who’s to say?

I worked in end-of-life care for 20 years. Quite often people commented, “I don’t know how you do that. Isn’t that incredibly sad?” To which I usually replied, “That’s how I feel about accounting.”

My honest reply was always, “It’s a calling, not a career.” Granted, it’s not an easy job and it’s not for everyone. Empathy and compassion are mandatory. Patience and understanding are required. Meeting people where they are and supporting them as they embark on the unknown requires courage and tenacity. Although social work is a special calling, who doesn’t do that in their chosen profession? Nurses do. Teachers do. Parents do. Police, firemen, EMT’s do. I know my coaches at the gym do. Anyone who works with the public does, in spades.

Through the years, I’ve learned some helpful techniques. Sometimes people appreciate my pearls of wisdom, sometimes not so much. There have been times when I was effective and times when I totally missed the mark. My successes are fondly remembered; my failures are hard to forget. It’s helpful to know I’m not alone.

Hands up: 
Who has spoken before their brain was fully engaged?  
Who wishes they could take back the words that caused pain or sorrow?  
Who would give anything for a second chance to get it right?

We all have a calling. We all have days when we are spot on and days we fail miserably. I think the most important thing to remember is that everyone is doing the best they can. As I was reminded not long ago…we are all just walking each other home.