Be Careful Who We Let Out Of Our Lives

I am currently in the process of starting a new blog. The title is "Grace Redefined." When it's up and running I'll let you know here, and tell you what it's all about. This blog post would work perfectly there... 

“Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Wishing is not enough; we must do.” 

~ Johann Wolfgang Van Goeth

There is this commercial for some arthritis medication that shows on television stations here, and it’s one that replays in my head. What I get out of it is this, “a body in motion stays in motion.” 

What I get out of that, is that we can’t leave everything to chance. There is God’s will, and then there’s what God wills us to do. I don’t care if you have enough money in the world to buy what you want out of life; you’re not going to get that job if you don’t apply. You won’t win an Olympic Gold Medal if you don’t realize that something athletic is your God-given talent and spent every available moment working to perfect the craft that He gave you. No one said it was going to be easy, but we all know it feels amazingly good when hard work prevails, good overcomes, and success is rewarded. 

The last few posts have been about friendship, and this post applies to friendship again. Kris Allen sings the song “Live Like We are Dying,” and in it he says, “be careful who we left out of our lives.” I hear it as, “be careful who we let fall out of our lives.” ‘

Face it, you won’t talk to every friend or every person in your life every single day. It would be a full-time job to physically and emotionally maintain those relationships. Facebook makes it easy, texting makes it removed, and I’m flabbergasted when I get a phone call. A handwritten note card? Stop the presses! That’s breaking news. 

Through some unexplained reason, I found myself compelled to sit down last weekend and write handwritten note cards and letters. My intention was just to brighten someone’s day, but as I was writing, I could feel the Spirit move within me. Halfway through writing one note, I stopped to get out a file box filled of writings I started more than 10 years ago. Out of possibly 600 different things, I pulled out three to transcribe. The last one just hit me right over the head. 

I won’t share that here now, but what I will say, it’s about telling those you love you love them and why when you know. We can’t wish our friends (or family, or spouse, or lovers, or anyone) to know how much they mean to us, nor can we hope we may ever mean anything to them. We have to actually do something about it, and expect nothing in return. 

A body in motion stays in motion. 

A heart that loves always loves. 

Some of the most profound friendships in my life involve a person who walked in when everyone else walked out; a person who encouraged my strengths when others highlighted faults; a person who felt comfortable enough to confide in me when others might judge; and then there are the people who simply are always on the line. 

“Sometimes our candle goes out, but is blown into flame by an encounter with another human being.” ~ Albert Schweitzer 

Miracle: Rediscovering Grace in the Restoration of Faith

December 4th

Miracle: Do you feel you experienced or witnessed miracle this year? How so?

It might depend on how you describe a miracle. Some people describe seeing them in the moonlight, or in the sunshine, or in how the rays of sun glisten through clouds.

Miracles, for me, come through receiving grace. It seems that it often takes feeling a hurt deeper than you ever have felt before and sensing that your friendships, or your job, or your sanity will come crashing down. The sense of feeling as if you don’t do something and quickly you’ll never recover is what I call grace and a defining moment. 

A long-term relationship ended just shy of one year ago. It pained me and yet I so desperately wanted to prove that I was going to be fine and that I could move on, I pushed myself to move on and be alright without ever actually confronting why it hurt so bad to begin with. Several months passed before I realized that this "thing" I wasn't dealing with could destroy every other relationship I had: feelings of doubt, feelings of mistrust, and a general feeling of abandonment. 

I was exhausted - emotionally, hurting and fearing that the people I love and who I believe cared about me and sustained me during the initial difficult time would back away. 

Tired, feeling very much alone, and with nowhere to go, I went to a Church. It wasn’t like any Church I’d ever been to... a satellite campus and broadcasted at  a high school auditorium. Yet, I walked without resistance into the quad of the campus to see a sign that said, “A Place Where It’s OK to Not Be OK.” I immediately felt tears streaming down my face. 

I was undoubtedly torn. At one point, I didn't know who I could trust nor did I know why I wondered and doubted that. This Church I had just walked into announced they were starting a series called, "Torn: Trusting God When Life Leaves You in Pieces." 

The Pastor, Jud Wilhite, said at the beginning, "Maybe you don't know why that relationship ended, or maybe you don't know why it hurts." The tears at this point poured down my face. 

I thought, and somewhat still believe that the people I wanted to confide in, or had already vented to, may have considered me too emotional, or presumed I would have already moved on. I felt as though also these people I loved had their own concerns that I didn’t want to bother them. My ears heard the words, "It's not about you." 

My heart ached. Of course it wasn't, it was about all of them. I wanted to be there for my friends and for my family but knew I couldn't because the hurt I felt inside was greater than any love - at that moment - that I could receive or offer. 

Drug addicts.

Domestic violence victims.

Assault survivors.

Foreclosures.

Job loss. 

And so on... 

Many of us often rationalize that our hurts, a simple breakup, or the natural end-of-life death of a loved one, are not significant enough in either the eyes of God or our peers because our neighbors may be dealing with something that much "worse" or difficult.

In discovering grace, it becomes known that it doesn't matter what it is because you're the only one who is experiencing it. Only you know what it feels like to lose the job, to be abused, to have lost your house or try to quit... something. The one common theme is that each of us can be torn by that one issue only one of us knows about. That's where we can come together. 

So, when I realized my life had left me emotionally in pieces, I chose to seek my faith. It was the beginning of the return back to feeling at peace with myself, at the risk of losing loved ones and friends in the process.

Whether fortune or unfortunately, I had to work at rebuilding my faith, then myself, before I could tackle anything else. It's now all an evolving process. 

Torn: Lyric Video from Central Online on Vimeo.
My prayer for the end of this year, is that through the restoration of faith and self-worth, may also my relationships with family and friends be restored too. That also, one day, if a friend is hurting and feeling like they need to climb out of darkness, I can either have the awareness or the invitation to offer a hand in that climb.

Join the Journey. Answer the Prompts & Tweet Your Link using #resonate11 & #reverb11

If I Die Young... (Part 1)

Kimberly Perry is somewhat in a state of contentment. The song she wrote, that her band (The Band Perry) sings and has won awards for is all about knowing all is well.

con·tent·ment/kənˈtentmənt/

Noun:

A state of happiness and satisfaction.

Synonyms:

satisfaction - gratification - complacency - complacence

Just in case you were wondering.

In my last post I wrote about writing something down, making it happen, writing it into life. Writing, for me, is a way of putting something out into the world. Then, let whatever the world wants to do with it - have at it. Right?

“If I die young...” It’s a contemplative phrase. 

Life is short, so my question is what can each one of us do to ensure that however short, or long, our lives are that we can say the following:

“I’ve had just enough time.”

This isn’t a message about giving up. This is a message about living on without any hurried pursuit of anything. Just be you, the great you that you were meant to be. 

If you’re thinking about suicide, there is help:

In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Write it Down: What's Your Story?

Keep in mind that the person to write for is yourself. Tell the story that you most desperately want to read.
Susan Isaacs

It started out with Helen Keller, and then it was Lesley Stahl, and sometime later I tripped upon Chelsea Handler.

Each of these women have either autobiographies or biographies about their lives and their purpose. What’s your story? 

I’ve always enjoyed writing; finding and telling a good story. My Dad used to write down my thoughts on the day, or what I would tell him happened. We affectionately called them the “red books,” because they were in fact red daily diary books. They chronicle my early childhood from the perspective of my father, and occasionally as I told him. 

Throughout my life people have told me to “write it down.” Often, I wondered what they wanted me to write down. 

“You should write a novel, it would help people,” one person told me earlier this year.

“You should write a letter, then burn it, or tear it up,” said another not so long ago.

When I write fiction, I read the story back and it almost always reads like my on life. There’s no fiction in the stories I write. The names change and some of the circumstances are different, but I know who the characters are. I know where they’ve been, and I know where they’re going.

At some point that concept became incredibly frightening. 

On this journey to “something fabulous” I’ve found myself sitting right smack down in the middle of my faith. It’s something I haven’t done this earnestly and honestly since high school. Suddenly, I realized one reason why I cannot finish writing “someone else’s story” is because there’s someone else who will. 

As Christian, and in high school, I leaned up against Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV). The Bible says, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

For the first time in my life, I actually get it! I can’t write something down to make it true, or to make someone or some circumstance come to life. I can, however, write down whether in the form of a letter, this blog, a poem, or a novel, what I’m thankful for, the lessons I’ve learned, the friendships I’m grateful for, and where I hope I’m going. I can write down what hurts and who I need to forgive -- and no one has to see that! I can also write down the incredible fear in trusting that it will all work out. Whatever “it” is.

Religious or not, if you have faith in what you cannot see, it will work out. Know this: It will work out, even if it’s not as you expected, hoped, or so long desired it would. It’s better this way. 

What’s your story? Are you going to write it down?


UPDATED: 11/8/2011

I'm Not Asking "Why?" Anymore

I looked at my phone for what felt like hours waiting for it to buzz or ring or light up.

Nothing. 

My own wrestling with patience prevented anyone from contacting me first, or so it seemed. That’s because I would stop at almost anything to communicate with someone at randomized, seemingly perfect for me, moments. 

“Think about what you need to do for yourself in those moments,” someone said to me recently. I cannot remember the exact wording now, but they continued and said, “Instead of thinking about what hurts or why its hurting, try to figure out what needs to be healed.” 

Have you ever been hurt and knew exactly what you needed to do to help yourself heal? Could you figure out the first step? 

“That’s a good idea,” I said back. In fact, it seems quite simple now that I think about it. After all, when I was younger it was pretty simple to figure out the first step towards healing. 

When you fall down, you get back up again.

When I was eight, I got on my bicycle and started riding it down the steep back hill of our development. It’s not for certain, but I believe I might have been carrying other things with me, weighing down bicycle with a faster speed to the bottom of that hill. Half way down, the front wheel skirted right, the back went left, and I landed underneath it and the bicycle dragged me about ten more feet. I don’t remember if I cried, but I probably did. I have a scar on the inside of my elbow that reminds me just how deep the road carved into me as the bicycle dragged me down the hill. In that moment, I didn’t need to figure out why it hurt or what had happened. It was quite obvious! So, I, in a sobbing and tearful, bloody mess begrudgingly walked my bicycle back up the hill and home. 

Not all hurts are that easy to figure out, and for most people the hurts become a little more complicated when you get older. Not the hurts, but the cause, and the why sometimes is impossible to figure out. Then, sometimes, we, I know I do, get stuck in wondering why something happened that we cannot see the first step.

One thing is for sure, I’m not asking Why? anymore. 

As a child: “Why did Sigmund (the cat) die?”

Parent: “She wasn’t feeling well and she’s in a better place.”

As a teenager: “Why couldn’t I go to the college I wanted to go to?”

Parent: “Because it wasn’t what you thought it was going to be.”

As an adult: “Why did he leave me?”
Parent: “It’s for the best.”

It’s interesting, I think, that the answers are easy when we’re younger and they are more vague as we get older. More deeply, because when we ask such a deep question like, “Why did he leave me?” or “Why did she have to get cancer?” we most likely wouldn’t be happy with the answer. It would not bring us the joy that we so long hoped to feel again.

When I hurt, sometimes I hit the gym and I pound my feet on the rotating belt as if it were pavement. It’s as if I’m chasing after some sort of something on the horizon and I never get there. Other times, I hang out with friends and occasionally enjoy more than what I need to enjoy when it comes to wine. Or, I write down stories that I hope would make sense of the pain. 

Since my last post, I decided to stop asking why and just go to the source that my Grandma taught me as a young girl: my Faith. Instead of asking myself again, why did my life change in the way it did, I asked who will still love me tomorrow? 

If you’re not a Christian, or have never been to Church, it may not make sense to you. But, for me, the message that I knew, and had heard, and trusted for years was much more loud than it ever has been before. In Romans 8, the Bible says, If our God is for us, then who can be against us? 

That’s real soul food, and real comfort, for me, on this journey... to something fabulous. 

If you're interested in learning more about the Bible, please check out this website. 

I Want to Sparkle

It’s September. 

Of course, you already knew that. 

I’m not sure, though, when, or how, this year became to be three-quarters of its way through. Really, I look at the calendar and I’m certain that the pages just turned to June. By the time I recognized it was June, I think it was August. That may explain that.

Time flies when you’re having fun, moving on, learning new things, or growing up. That’s all happened in the last nine months. What have you learned this year?

This year, I learned that I love to be spontaneous, so long as everything else is planned. It’s important to me to know where I’ll sleep, or how I’ll get somewhere, but the rest -- I can go with the flow.

Also, I learned that I’m content with being alone. In fact, much to my dismay, I actually enjoy it. That being said, I do love companionship and hope one day that I can have a relationship where there’s an honest blend of mutual interests and individual interests.

What I learned most about myself and my experiences of this year is what I don’t want, and how to help those who may not want it either. I don’t want to be stifled. 

I want to sparkle.

Getting the frump out of your rump is a permanent process; it is a constant cycle and the recognition of what does deserve and what one does not; and getting it out allows your sparkle to shine through. 

I have something big coming. It’s still in development and it is coming. As soon as I can tell you, I will. I hope you’re as excited about it as I am. 

Staring Out Into Possibility

Written En Route San Diego to Las Vegas

Now that a year in my life has come and gone, even while in the midst of the current year, I find myself staring out into a valley of possibility. 

I could use the imagery of mountains to climb or hills to scale, but the entire concept of pushing something up a hill never to arrive is not one that I wish to pursue.

The Myth of Sisyphus is one of never attaining the goal, but always be engaged in the climb.

I, for one, am not certain that the climb itself is all that it’s cracked up to be. The journey, however, that’s an entirely different story. 

When people enter a dark moment of their life I never hear them talk about “the climb.” Instead, they’ll refer to it as “darkness” or “a rut” or a “battle.” Never, that I can recall, does anyone mention some pursuit upwards.

That is not to say that there is no pursuit in going up, it’s just that I’m not certain anyone cognitively feels that they are “moving” into a higher capacity while carrying weight in the process.

Leading up to this new series of 365 days, or 525,600 minutes, my vision is not one of standing in the same place, moving, but going nowhere. Instead, it’s almost a series of ballet movements across grains of sand and onto something.

Then, though, that begs the question: Is moving upwards as or more difficult than the grain of sand on previously uncalloused feet? I suppose that answer would be best told by the person engaged in the journey.

We All Have Little Girl Dreams of Making it Big

UPDATED: April 7, 2011


Ok, so I wrote this post last night after watching "American Idol." Then, without anticipating it, a person who seemed to be just about everyone's favorite, Pia Toscano, was eliminated on Thursday night. Clearly, she is in a caliber of her own and does not need a show like "American Idol" to be successful. 


Even though I participated in the "I'm outraged" and "what just happened" reaction, I do believe that she, just like every little girl (and boy) who tries to do what they believe they can do, is already a winner. 


Now a question for you, what is it that you really want to do? What's stopping you? 


ORIGINAL POST BELOW: 


Thanks to Charlie Sheen winning seems to be everything these days.

It’s not about winning, though. It’s about trying. It’s about getting up after falling down. It’s about trying that dance move one more time. It’s about wearing that ballerina outfit even though you think you look like a marshmallow when you’re wearing it. It’s about singing country, if you’re a little bit country, instead of singing rock ‘n roll. 

Just saying.

When I was about 7, I was in a little dance troupe. I was in a class called “intermediate jazz.” I wasn’t reformed enough for the ballet. I was way to attention-deficit for that, and not quite coordinated enough for tap (as much as I wanted to be). I had these small-town, big-girl dreams of making it big. 

Our dance teacher decided we would be dancing our final number to “A Spoonful of Sugar” from Mary Poppins. Little did any of us know then that a spoonful of sugar made me dangle from the chandeliers and not dance. 

I can still remember holding hands with the other members of our all-girl group as we wore these checkered red and white leotard outfits with frilly white things attached to them and sparkling red hats. We skipped are way to the right, and then around, in a circle. Then there was something about “jazz hands.”

Courtesy: franticmeerkat.com

Apparently, if you spread your hands open really wide you can feel the energy coming out of your fingertips. I think it was just the blood freaking out about which way to travel.

Somewhere, in the home archives, and not in this house, my parents have a picture of me in that dorky little outfit. Man, I thought I was something else. And, like almost every 7 year old girl, I knew, I was going to be a star. 

23 years later, all I an say to that is just dance. Lady Gaga got that right. Just dance. 

And, in the words of my eighth grade language arts and social studies teacher, to my friends, and to those who try, “You’ll always be famous to me.”

It’s not about winning. It’s about believing. 

It’s not about being famous, or even trying.

It’s about being you. Red and white checkered leotard with frilly white thing, and all. 

We Need Not Take Everything So Seriously (Part 2)

(Drafted in a hotel lobby after taking a final exam....)


Well, isn’t that the truth? Isn’t it so much the truth that some people still tell me that to this day. Recently, someone called me “Analyzing Annie.” While true, it was like a slap in the face. It was akin to walking out of a hot room into an ice cold blizzard. 

Anyway, I heard what my then-babysitter said to me, but still I went to school the next day in pursuit of my new would-be-failed-friendship with this person. 

In an admission I’m embarrassed to make, I literally chased this girl around in circles until she told me she didn’t want to be friends with me. (Reminder, this was third grade and on a playground).

[A few years later, I did the same thing, at a restaurant with the first guy I ever had a crush on. I walked and followed him around, and around, and around, until he finally looked at me and said, “I know you have a crush on me.”] 

Stunned. Hurt. Shocked. Rejection. 

So, I have said that giving is better than receiving. It truly is. Except, sometimes you find yourself giving so much to the one or two or few people who don’t give anything in return. Not that they’re not worth your love, or your time, or your thought, but there are so many other people who need your love, your time, and your thought. 

Many times during the last fifteen or so years of my life, people would tell me, “You know what you need, a hobby.” 

Or, “Why don’t you volunteer somewhere?”

Or, “Why don’t you work at a flower shop?” (because I randomly loved to send people flowers).

Or, “Why don’t you start your own card line?” (because I randomly liked to make cards and send them to people). 

Or, “Why don’t you look into catering?” (because I would make dinner for my friends and co-workers just because I wanted to.).

Finally, it dawned on me, the only satisfaction I would get out of wanting to be someone’s friend was by just being their friend. They didn’t have to be my friend back, but as long as I treated them with the generosity, loyalty, and companionship I would want, maybe they’d have a better day. 

On that note, I recall a saying that I used to say during middle school when I had the most unique core group of friends. 

You use time for the things that need to get done.

You make time for the things you want to do.

You have time for the people that matter.

It was that simple.  (I mean, seriously, who ever really wants to be "penciled in." Even though, I admittedly did joke several times to people that I'd have "My people call your people.")

Yet, echoing still, as I write this, “You need not take everything so seriously.” 

All the Other Kids Grow Up Too

How many homes does one have in their life? Not just a house, but a home, a place where there is a sense of family or community?

I just had to come back one last time, sings Miranda Lambert in “The House That Built Me.” 

In 1994, I went to high school with my direction facing the rear view mirror. I thought if I could just return to middle school every now and then I’d remember what I was afraid I’d forget. 

Del Dios Middle School became so much like a second home to me, I spent afternoons in the teachers lounge. I copied papers and put spiral bound backs in student print out documents. Mostly, I chatted. 

“So, I have this teacher who....” 

“I want to be President someday, still, but....” 

Honestly, I don’t think I ever had anything interesting to say, but I didn’t want to leave. 

Just as much as I didn't want to leave, I was in love with my Grandma. When she passed away in 2006, I could't believe I hadn't returned to her home, where so much love could be found, in so long. So, in 2008, I made the journey. I thought, finally, coming home. But, Grandma's house wasn't Grandma's house anymore. I looked for any evidence that it was, and immediately, outside I spotted what was once my swing, worn, tattered, used, and rusted, yet waiting as if just to say "hello." 

My "Swing" Outside Grandma's House (2008)

You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can, I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am. 

In 2002, I left my first job at what was then a Fox affiliate in San Diego. While working there I described it as a playground.

“Anne Marie, how can you run around barefoot!” someone would yell from the sports office.

“Because I can!” 

People would be tickled by the copiers, mini breaks were taken upstairs to make hot chocolate, and no matter what we all always went out for drinks afterwards. 

I remember this one time we convinced one of the main anchors and a weather anchor to come out to karaoke, something the rest of us did every week. Somewhere, on video, they are singing “I’ve Got You Babe.” 

When the men would sing, the girls and I would toss panties, yes panties, to them and scream like we were 17. The hostess of the karaoke night also worked at a strip club. She came with props. 

We had some really, really, fun times. Really. 

In 2009, I went back to that first job for a job interview. It was just happenstance, but someone who worked there when I did still remained and said to come on by. 

She took me inside the building, the same building that I had dreamt about getting lost in, and finding myself in, for the previous seven years. I had never left it. 

“Rust,” I said to her as I looked at the stairwell that had once been so clean and white. “Smudge,” I said again as I noticed dirt on the walls. I cringed inside a little because it wasn’t anything like coming home. 

Then, just as I felt a tinge of tears lulling me out of joy, I heard someone say, “Anne Marie.” 

Two years later, almost to the day, I returned to my latest home, hoping to take more than just a memory. For the first time, the place looked the same, some of the faces were still familiar, and the feeling inside was just right. I had come home.

Yet, I recognize there is always some nostalgia in “coming home.” Eventually, all the other kids on the street grow up and move away, too. It’s always fun when you come back to visit and there’s at least a few you can talk to at the mailbox, or catch up with during a morning run. Yet, they all leave too and we’re out looking for a new place to call home. 

They say home is where the heart is, and depending on who is in your heart, and what makes it beat, and has your chest rise and fall; it’s one place, or no place, or many places at the same time. 

I’ve found home in the teacher’s lounge at a middle school, in the studio of a TV station, on the stage at a bar on karaoke night, and in a little desert town where some people think you only retire, and ultimately, wherever the people I love happen to be. 

Love Comes in Any Size & For Many

Love can come in any size or shape or package. All that matters is that it comes and we recognize it when it does. Romantic love, friendly love, and just because I am human I love you as a human, too, love.

I get the funny thing, I do. Some people say I'm too analytical. Sometimes, that is true and other times it is not. Most of all I really just would rather dangle a spoon from my nose than care as much as I do or you think that I do.

If there is a lesson in not caring... This isn't it.

All week, I wanted to write about the anticipation of something...

For the last three weeks, I don't know why, I have rushed to the mailbox expecting "something." Good mail. But, no. Mostly bills.

I then got this urge to bake. I wanted to make cookies and for anyone who would eat them. Then, I realized I was anticipating mail like I was expecting cookies from Grandma.

When I was about 5, my Grandma shipped Valentine's cookies to our house. I remember it because I answered the door.

I was having a playdate with a friend and my Mom was on the phone.

This week I wrote on his Facebook wall (lame, I know) something to the effect of, "Remember when we were like 5 and my Grandma mailed heart shaped cookies and we ate almost all of them by the time mom got off the phone?"

Love me some cookies. Love me some cookie memories.

Love can come in any package, yet that is one I'll never forget.

So, I made cookies this week and thought as I mail them off to those who kindly wanted some, "With Love, from Grandma."

This whole baking for friends or "Operation Cookie" as I call it puts a whole new meaning to "That's the way the cookie crumbles."

My mom said, "Who doesn't like cookies?"

I laughed. Then, I thought if love comes in box of cookies, I'd spend my whole life making and shipping them so that others can rush out... Hoping for some good mail.

I can't do that.

So, I decided I would bring back cards, you know, because they're better than bills. So, I sent out approximately 12 Valentine's type cards to people whether they were my best friends or just what I now call "vacationers" ( you know, people you drop in on and pick up where you left off.)

I told a friend that by bringing back good mail I was going to single-handedly save the postal service. Then, I discovered that also meant saving Hallmark.

Despite the cost and the time spent baking and writing notes with an actual pen and the time it takes, I love it.

So here is the return to Happy Wednesday's and Just Because days, and cookies because I know you love them surprises.

Love comes in any size, for many. It might just be in your mailbox. Notice, I didn't say email.

When Doing Nothing is Absolutely Something

"There are no words." 

When I was younger, my Dad used to chronicle my day for me in these little red day keeper diary books. You can see what it looks like in the “About Me” tab up above. 

Anyway, sometimes he would ask, “Annie, how did your day go today?” Or, he would ask, “What did you do today?”

I’m not exactly sure what would happen next, because many times I was only 3, 4, or 5 years old. Just by looking at the pages of the years between 1982 and 1994 (when I started keeping my own journal and keeping my own stories), I often said a lot. 

Yet, every now and then you open up a page and it simply says, in his handwriting, “There are no words.” 

Today, which will actually be yesterday by the time you read this, I pretty much went about doing nothing. I had a checklist with about 15 items on it and only crossed one thing off. That doesn’t look great for my productivity, but for the self-continuity of being me, it’s great. 

I stopped what I was doing. I stopped chasing the agenda for just a moment, and went to a local resort for spa services. I’ve never been so relaxed while getting a massage before. I mean, when I awoke from my last service I wasn’t even sure which country I was in, let alone the city, or which year it was or where I was going next. Now that’s a good massage.

Leaving afterwards, my mind was completely blank. There was only one resounding voice in the back of my head. It came from a Carrie Underwood song. “Change.”

The smallest thing can make all the difference

Love is alive

don’t listen to them when they say

You’re just a fool, you’re just a fool

to believe you can change the world.

I’m not necessarily seeking to change the world, but I do believe wholeheartedly that sometimes by doing nothing in one moment, you can wake up to a nugget of knowledge in how to do something. Yet, for just a few more hours, the thought of doing something just stewed, while I sat and did nothing. The difference between the momentary lapse of action and the ongoing of nothingness is that the thought process makes me want to leap off the couch of nothingness into absolute action.

A lesson many of us experience now, or at some point of our lives, is that our eyes are closed when we miss the “why” of our negative experiences. It’s when they’re open that we see what’s happened. Then, when we close them again, and reflect, we gain wisdom. 

I believe now, more than I did before, that if an experience can be lived through, one must surrender to it. I must not be so quick to observe my own experience, but sit right in it, allow it to sink in. If I don’t, just like Friedrich Nietzsche writes, instead of wisdom, I’d end up with indigestion. 

in that journey to wisdom, there is nothing, until one arrives... at something. 

Being "Open" Can Change Your Life

Written around 7:00 p.m., January 16, Local time over the Pacific Ocean. Posted upon return.

This is relief.

Clearly stated, it is my opinion that anyone who says you can't "Eat, Pray, Love" the way Elizabeth Gilbert does is wrong. I just did it and didn't have to take six months off or quit my job. I just wanted it to come to me. You know, the grand feelings of nothingness like relief, solitude, and simple quiet celebrations. I experienced it all.

"Annie, you are free," said a former colleague, who now must be a friend, in the hours after my life changed. Her statement almost immediately allowed me to see that I should celebrate it.

Sidebar: Isn't it funny how one person can say something so simple and we just grasp on to it like a commandment? The smallest thing can make all the difference, I mean one word, one person can change your entire perspective. Ultimately, just by being open, it then changes your life.

Freedom followed me to Hawaii where I just came back from vacation.

The first night I was mistakenly recognized by ten members of the Air Force as a celebrity. Ashley Greene from "Twilight" and Jennifer Grey. I'm so glad they didn't ask me to perform any dirty dancing.

To Michael in Miami, thank you for telling me to relax... I certainly did.

The next day, my friend (who met me in Hawaii from Chicago) and I drove to the North Shore and we ate Mexican food. We escaped the rain and found a private beach where we sat and ran and laughed and took pictures. Later, at The Hula Grill, I ordered a Mai Tai (my first one in almost 8 years) and a seafood platter. That is my "Eat."

That night we went back the hotel bar, where I was the celebrity the night before. It was called The Shore Bird. Immediately I spotted a Man in Maroon sitting across from me. The connection was instant. After a drink or two, conversation, and a walk on the beach the following night it was over.

My friend back in California said, "No pressure, just have fun." I did, but the Man in Maroon represents the "love." Maybe I just had to travel that far for a confidence boost.

The morning after meeting the Man in Maroon we went to Pearl Harbor. There isn't a better place to signify "pray." Standing over the Arizona, I saw the "oil tears" rise up immediately after I prayed, and then I nearly cried.

I never once heard the word or uttered the word frump on this vacation. Getting the Frump Out of Your Rump is a process, a journey, and as much as we want to believe it is possible, it does not happen overnight.

I wish it would, but we are all a work in progress. We're all in or have been in situations we know aren't right but deep down hope that they are. We've all been tugged and pulled at every angle and left to figure out how to keep moving.

I'm still Floating on The Wings of Earthly Angels. Yet, I'm sustained by a journey in which I realized it's ok to be perfectly me, and find out that I'm just as attractive as I had hoped to be.

At the end though, this is not just about me. It is about all of you, too, and if I could have packed you all in a suitcase for the opportunity to just feel free, I would have.

In short, here are the lessons of the island:

• Smile. Everyone will smile back to you. 
• Laugh, because it matches the synchronous sounds of the crashing ocean waves.
• Embrace, because someone who just wants a human connection will embrace you back. 
• Be open. You cannot feel the healing until you recognize the freedom. When you do, let freedom ring. Buy a piece of jewelry, fitted with the plumeria, to remember your self-discovery. I did, and it will stay with me until I have a daughter or a granddaughter one day who needs that reminder as much as I do now.
• Be you. Being open and being you work together. You simply can't be open if you're faking any part of you.
• Love, because it offers the most rewards. 
• Forgive, because there is no passage to any of the above without it.

I forgive myself for believing for so long that I wasn't good enough, beautiful enough, or smart enough to have, or be, what I needed.

It may just be wishful thinking, but I never saw my worry wrinkle...

Join the conversation. Feel free to leave comments below, or  send me an email direct. 

The Stuff that Makes Us Who We Are

So, this is home.

They, as in the ubiquitous they, who always happen to be around, always say “home is where the heart is.” 

As I write this I’m in my new home, but it is not home. It’s far from any home that I’ve ever known. It’s new, it’s empty, as in it is just me now, and my cat (and no, I’m not a “cat lady”), and a second bedroom full of boxes that have yet to be emptied.

However, when I think about this, isn’t that how much of us live our lives? We move from room to room, or house to house, with boxes full of stuff we have yet to unpack and explore? I mean this both literally and figuratively. 

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“It’s just dredging up the past.” 

“I have too much baggage.”

I’m sure we’ve all either said one of those phrases or heard them at some point in our lives. In my opinion, that’s a good thing. You want to know why? It’s because you at least recognize that there are some “issues” you have to work through.

Let me digress for a second. I hate the word “issues.” In college, my roommates and I were simply just growing up. We were out there in the world learning academic information that we hoped would carry us somewhere, and trying to figure out who we were, emotionally, at the same time. At any moment we had some sort of situation we would say, “Oh my gosh, she has issues.” 

Seriously, I could probably write a book about the “issues” we all thought that we had then. Since then, each of us have lived through experiences that were far more issue-based than anything we went through back then. 

Recognizing that we have the stuff of our lives that make us who we are is part of becoming an even better person. A friend of mine asked me recently, after this part of my life changed, to find out from my other friends how I could be a better friend. I took that personally and agreed that I had not been a good friend. 

Let me tell you something. Relationships, at least for me, seem to give me permission to distance myself from the people who have sustained me before, during, and after said relationship (or crisis, or medical issue, or major life event.) Those people are my friends, how dare I abandon them for something temporary!

This is just my temporary home. As Carrie Underwood sings, this is just a stop along the way, this physical place, this emotional state, and this actual circumstance that you, and I, and we are all in. 

There is always something far more greater than what we are experiencing. In the moment, it’s hard to see. It’s harder, still, to accept that sometimes. 

My point is, wherever home is, there will be “issues”, and recognizing them will only help you, and me, and all of us move forward to that “something greater.” 

In the Stillness and Silence of a Moment

The new year is here, so what are we going to do about it? There was just one goal for me as the sun set on 2010 and 2011 was about to begin: clarity. 

I wanted to see it, the year, clearly leave and the new one clearly arrive so that I’d remember the moment forever. It would be a defining moment for me (and I’m sure for countless others around the world). 

As the crowded room started to shout in chorus “10, 9, 8....” I tuned them out. For a moment, like many moments recently and yet to come, I stood in the stillness, and the silence of my own moment. 

Maybe, just for a second, that clarity lifted the veil from obscurity and wonderment, and that always present question we ask: Why?

The answer that’s most often given is one that at the very core of our very human existence is just not acceptable. “it’s life.” 

In that one second, that question wasn’t answered with words. Instead, life answered in a moment. 

Seconds later, the sound, like turning up the volume on a car stereo, rushed into my brain. My eyes lifted open with astounding excitement and gracious acceptance of the new year. Yet, I smiled on knowing the secret to any clarity is in the stillness and the silence of a moment.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION: I like hearing from you, and if you have something you want to share, you may always comment below or email me. Remember, for some of you, this is your journey too.