Moments

My favorite moment from the week.

Reminders

I needed the reminder as I slogged through my run today.

I needed the reminder as I struggled to stay awake and alert at home.  If I do not get off the couch right now, I will be late picking up my kids.  If I do not get off the couch right now I may never get off the couch again.

I needed the reminder that I don't have to do this.  I get to do this.  I get to live this life.  It is a privilege and a gift.

It's a gift that I have two strong legs.  I get to lace up my running shoes and I get to pound the pavement.  There are days, like today, when the steps hurt, a twinge here and a pull there.

But there are also days, like Sunday, when I blaze forward faster than I have ever gone.  I may not be the fastest and I sure as heck won't win anything but that time is fast, super fast, for me.  Personal record, personal best.

I also get to share my passions and joys with my family.  I always thought running was solitary, just me and the road.  But it's not.  Frink is there to feed the kids when my morning runs go too long.  Bunny and Lion are there with signs cheering me on as I start and finish a race.  And Lion is there running faster than I ever thought possible, leaving his momma in the dust with her heart swelling with pride.

Those are the days that make days like today worthwhile.  I know that the slow days will be replaced with faster ones.  The dull days replaced with ones that are much, much brighter.

Scared

I left the house this morning with my computer saying I am going to write today.  I always have the intention to write but I get distracted with social media.  Next thing I know an hour has passed without me writing anything other than a Facebook status.  But not today, today I will write.

I had intentions of writing about running.  Running is my happy place.  It brings me peace and joy.  It clears my mind and makes me feel strong.  But that is not what I am going to write about today.

As always after I got my coffee I opened Facebook right away.  A few minutes won’t hurt, just a few.  I clicked a few links, learned some things and laughed a bit.  I saw Momastery’s series Sacred/Scared and clicked the link.  I read and started to cry real, ugly tears in the middle of a coffee shop.  

The women who shared their stories were women I admire - beautiful, strong and smart.  I had followed them for years.  I assumed they were better than me.  They had done things.  They were somebody.  They were perfect.  But they weren’t better than me.  They weren’t perfect.  They were scared.  They had insecurities and fears.  And they were strong enough to share them in this beautiful series to let us know that we are not alone.

So today I am going to share one of my biggest insecurities.

 I am afraid that I will never have friends and I will always be alone.

 

This is the same fear I’ve had since I was 4 years old.  I cried about it at 6, at 16, at 36 and even yesterday.

It’s true. 

It’s true because I am alone all the time.  I sit alone at a coffee shop.  I see people meeting for coffee.  I see them hugging and laughing while I am alone.  I sit at home with my family on the weekend.  I see pictures of gatherings on Facebook.  I wasn’t there.  I wasn’t invited.  My phone doesn’t ring.  I hear people making plans.  “I’ll see you there.”  Then they see me, say “Hi” and they walk away.  I don’t have someone who knows me, who wants me, who cares.

It’s true that I don’t have friends because I am always alone.

It’s false.

It’s false because I have friends I run with, friends I kayak with in the summer.  I get together with girlfriends from Law School for a vacation every year.   I see women on regular basis who are glad to see me.  They are always there with a smile and a hug.  I have a contact list in my phone full of women I can call at any moment.  I can invite them for coffee.  I can laugh and cry with them.  I know that it is false because I have friends.

It’s true and it’s false.  I have the potential to have friends, to make connections.  But I can’t make it a reality.  I don’t call.  I don’t know what to say.  I think people are too busy.  They don’t want to hear from me.  I don’t know how to make the connection, to say I want to get to know you.  Shy and anxiety ridden, I keep it on a surface level but inside I’m crying out.  Notice me!  Like me!  Choose me!

But if I don’t make the effort to change, nothing will change.  So every morning I offer up a prayer; please let me open up, to take a risk, to let someone in.  And today just may be that day.

Frozen

I've lived here my entire life.  I know it gets cold in the winter.  I know it gets really cold sometimes and really, really cold a few times.

But when I see - floating before a number, something deep inside seizes up.  The fear response kicks in.  Cold is bad.  Cold is scary.  Really, really cold is deadly.  So I make plans.  I stock up.  I hunker down.  And I stay the eff inside.

Except when I don't.

Frink called on Tuesday "There are Packer tickets available.  Do you want to go to the game?"  I did a spit take.  What?  Packer tickets?  There are never, ever Packer tickets available.  Ever.  My green and gold loving heart lept.  "Heck yeah I want to go!  Buy them!"

Then I saw the weather report.  Freezing cold.  Polar vortex.  Oh.  My.  God.  I'm going to the game.  Outside.  I'm going to sit outside for 3 hours.  I am going to die.

I proceeded to freak out for the next few days.  If you saw my Facebook feed, you know what I'm talking about.  The fear kicked in.  It took root in my brain and would not let go.  I could not get over the fact that it would be that cold.  I would freeze, get frost bite, die of hypothermia or a heart attack.

I tested out my gameday outfit 3 days before the game.  I went to the store and bought more.  More clothes, more layers, something, anything to protect me.  Frink saw me freaking out.  He didn't make fun of me.  He simply said "Let me know if you don't want to go.  I need to find someone else to go with me."

I had an out.  But I never took it.  I was terrified but I was going.

So I freaked out.  I added layers and more layers.  I updated my will (because of course I'm going to die).  But I never backed out.

I settled down during the two hour drive.  I was calm during the walk to the stadium.  I was approaching happy as we stood in line.  I was excited by the time we got to our seats just as the ball kicked off.  I screamed.  I cheered my heart out.  I was sad at the end.

But I was never, ever cold.

And What Do You Do?

Meet someone new, answer the question.  Fill out a form or a profile, answer the question.  It’s a way of defining or categorizing a person.  Lawyer, doctor, ditch digger, I don’t care who you are; I just want to put you in a box.

In the past few weeks I have had to answer this question repeatedly and it has caused me great pause.  There are no easy answers. 

I have kids, so I am a mom.  I run, so I am a runner.  I make stuff, so I am a maker.  These things are passions and joys of mine.  They make up who I am but they are not the answer to the question.

Last week I was at my law school reunion.  It was fun, a weekend with friends to relive the glory days, to laugh.  It was also nerve wracking, a weekend filled with lawyers who didn’t know me.  I was asked the question over and over again.  I struggled with my answer.

My friends would answer the question with their job title.  Dean, coordinator, general counsel; people understood those answers.  My friends are also mothers. They may run or make stuff or do other interesting things that make them who they are.  But they can answer the question. They do something quantifiable.  They fit into acceptable categories.  They do big things. 

And what do you do?  I’m currently at home with my kids.

Oh. 

What a noble job. 

That’s hard work.

And now we move on.  Let’s talk about what your friend does.  That is way more interesting than laundry, packing lunches and kids’ activities.

I’m dismissed from the conversation.  It hurts.

The simple answer to the question is I am a stay at home mom.  The reality of the situation is a bit more complicated. 

I chose to leave the workforce.  It wasn’t right for me at the time.  I spent all this time and emotional energy to become a mother.  I needed to do it with all of my mind, body and soul.  I couldn’t split my focus, that wasn’t working for anyone.  I left and didn’t look back.

As the kids got older, I was able to explore things that interested me.  I didn’t have to do something just because I held the appropriate licenses.  I wrote.  I made jewelry.  I made other things.   If I didn’t enjoy something, I didn’t have to do it anymore.  I had freedom, I had choices.

I found I loved writing.  I thought I was pretty good at it so I sought to do more of it.  I found a volunteer position that allowed me to write.  It grew into something more and I grew along with it. 

And what do you do?

I am a writer.  I am a maker of things. I run like a gentle breeze.  I am lucky to be able to share my talents with organizations I believe in.  I have the luxury of being home for my children.

That answer works for me.  I don't care if it works for you.

Searching

The room was empty.  Darkness and cobwebs covered the corners.  It was not a place you wanted to linger. 

After a quick scan of the room, she moved on.  It had to be here somewhere, but where?

Room after room, she searched unsuccessfully.

Perhaps it was lost to time much like this house had been.  At one time, there were people here.  The house bore witness to their joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies.

 

The people were long gone.  The house fell into disrepair, a lone sentinel to a life forgotten.

Standing in the empty living room, tracing patterns in the dust, she wondered if any of it was real.  The stories she had heard, the dreams she harbored about this place seemed to fall flat.

The empty house had no secrets to tell, no answers to give. She felt childish for holding out hope. 

At the door, she turned back.  One last glance, one last flicker of hope made her linger there.  She half expected someone to come running down the stairs waiving a book, a photograph.  Something.  Anything.

But there was nothing. 

She closed the door, walked down the porch stairs and go into her rental car.  She drove away empty handed, empty hearted.  

High Tea

She took special care in getting dressed today. After studying her options in her closet, she chose a pale pink cap sleeved dress with a full skirt.  Her hot pink sweater had beautiful paillettes that shimmied and danced when she moved.

Because the weather was warm, she eschewed stockings.  Instead she wore silver strappy sandals with the slightest bit of heel.  She was glad her mother had given into her relentless begging and painted her toes bright pink last night.

She carried her sparkly silver headband over to the mirror.  Studying her reflection, she smoothed back her hair and placed the headband just right.  A bit of pink lip gloss completed the look.  She twirled and smiled at the girl in the mirror.  It was perfect.

She placed her lip gloss in her purse in case a touch up was needed later.  She added the five dollar bill her mother had given her and her handkerchief.  She always carried a handkerchief because that is what a lady does and she desperately wanted to be a lady.

Satisfied with her preparations and brimming over with excitement, she ran out of her room and down the stairs.  Halfway down, she checked herself.  Ladies do not run willy-nilly, they make an entrance.  She walked down the stairs with as much grace as she could muster.

She found her mother in the kitchen.  “Is it time?  Can I go now?”

Her mother was chopping vegetables for the soup.  She placed the knife on the counter and turned towards her daughter with a smile.  “Yes it’s time.”  Mother reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “you look lovely.  Do you have the money I gave you?”

She nodded.  “Wonderful. Well off you go.  Enjoy yourself and don’t forget your manners.”

After kissing her mother goodbye, she raced out the door and headed for her bike.  She placed her purse in the basket and headed off.  Down one block, across the park, the excitement growing the closer she came to her destination.

Finally she arrived.  She carefully locked her bike and grabbed her purse.  She skipped through the automatic doors strait to chairs next to the elevator.  As she waited, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott entered.  “Oh my, Earl, will you look at this pretty little lady.”  

“Yes dear, she is a peach.”

She smoothed her dress and smiled.  “Thank you.  Today is a special occasion.” 

“Is it now dear? Do tell.”

“Opal and I are going to high tea!”

“High tea? That is special.”

“Oh yes!  The queen has high tea.  It will be lovely.”

Just then the elevator arrived, bringing Opal in to the lobby.  She gasped when she saw Opal.  Her silver hair was curled just so.  She wore a pale green dress, with a matching embroidered sweater.  Silver heels and a silver clutch completed her look. Opal looked so beautiful, just as if she had stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

Mr. Prescott winked, “such lovely ladies on such a lovely day.  I have half a mind to join you.”

“Oh Earl,” Mrs. Prescott giggled, swatting at him with her pocket book.  “You ladies enjoy your tea.  Say hello to the queen for me.”