Tag: friendship

Friendship Brownies

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“A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us be what we should.” – unknown

This was originally published on 2/9/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

After I wrote that post on Vulnerability last week, I had lunch with my friend Doug. He was the person I mentioned in the post as the friend who’d asked about the blog and then not responded when I shared it with him. Turns out that he’d both read and liked the writing very much but just had forgotten to respond. We had a good laugh about that. Fortunately I’d written another post about him on my personal blog that we could also talk about.

Doug is planning a climb of Mt. Adams with his son this summer. It’s a 12,280 foot mountain in Washington State – tall enough to be a challenge but not technical enough to need a lot of equipment and training. The last time we summitted this mountain was with his daughter about 10 years ago when she was 14 years old.

Doug asked if I remembered what packs we carried between our camp at about 9,000 feet and the summit. He is a meticulous packer and doesn’t carry anything more on his back than necessary.

I have a long history with backpacks – picking them out, carrying them, feeling relieved to take them off. At one point when I was in my thirties and planning a lot of climbing trips, I got one that was almost 6000 cubic inches. I can’t even describe how large that is but suffice it to say that when you have a backpack that big, your friends start believing you have room to carry their stuff.

Which is what happened when we were planning a climb on Mt. Rainier that would take place over Doug’s birthday. His wife asked me if I would carry some brownies up to celebrate Doug’s birthday. It was only after I happily agreed that she told me that Doug said he wouldn’t carry them because he didn’t want that unnecessary weight in his pack.

It is probably all this carrying of loads that makes one of my favorite meditations the one where I imagine I sit down, empty everything out of my pack, look carefully at each thing I’m carrying. When I’m done sorting through the worries, the presumptions, and fears as well as the love, the purpose, the nostalgia, the energy stored for digging deep, I mentally load the pack again with only what I need. I always carry a lighter load after that meditation.

But in thinking about those brownies, I realize that friendship means we are willing to carry things for other people that they won’t carry for themselves.

We hold in our packs a version of our friends at their brightest and most creative that can be shown to them when they are in a slump. We carry memories of the times we laughed, did silly things, failed and succeeded. We store all the depth of the ways we have walked side by side on the path as well as the times we waited at an intersection while they took a detour and vice versa.

Then at just the right moment, we unpack the brownies we’ve carried so far and celebrate our friends. There are some things worth the extra weight and friendship is one of them.

I’ve written about another powerful climbing story on Wise & Shine – Climbing to the Top of the Rankings.

(featured photo is my own – Mt. Elbrus, Russia)

With Me Everywhere

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“There is no where you could go that I won’t be with you.” – Moana

In a tradition suggested by a Jewish friend, I burn a Yahrzeit candle every year on the anniversary of my dad’s death. The ritual, as I understand it, is supposed to celebrate our loved ones and bring them close as the candle burns for 24 hours.

I’ve had to modify the tradition slightly since I’ve had kids since Mr. D in particular is fond of blowing out candles. So I light the candle and then hide it around the house until the kids leave. [“Sorry if the candle brings you to the laundry room, Dad.”]

With or without the candle ritual, my dad seems to be especially close at this time of year. The anniversary of his death is November 7th. On November 6th of last year, I received an incredible email from my soon to be dear friend, the amazing, talented, and incredibly wise Vicki Atkinson, with notes from a wonderfully deep read of my book about my dad, Finding My Father’s Faith.

The conversation then went on to be the beginning of our close friendship, even though we’ve never met in person, as well as our partnership in creating the Sharing the Heart of the Matter blog and podcast. But it started with my dad. And Vicki’s incredibly open heart, of course.

And then on November 4th of this year, I got a delightful email from another wonderful blogging friend, Jane Fritz of the Robby Robin’s Journey blog with some great humor. In our email exchange, Jane said, “They made me think of your father, and I never even knew him!”

Two things that strike me about this. [I’d like to make it three because my dad loved having three points in his sermons but I’ll just leave it at two for now.]  

The power of writing is amazing. In these examples provided by Vicki and Jane, they have a sense of my dad because I write about him so often. Putting words around the people we love creates connection to know us and them. Writing about my dad has not only helped me to clarify and cement what I learned from him, but it has also allowed others to meet him, even after his death.

Which is my segue to the next point – death isn’t as final as it seems. Of course I don’t know what happens when our loved ones are beyond the veil, but I can feel times when they are tantalizingly close. I’ll forget it’s the anniversary of my beloved dog Biscuit’s death until I see the golden patch of sunlight on his favorite place to lie that oddly shows up on January 13th, even though sunshine that time of year is not a given.

Or the touch of my dad in these emails from others, bringing him close and making me comprehend that there is no where that I can go that he won’t be with me.

For a post about a way that I found to move through my grief, please see Gratitude versus Greed on the Sharing the Heart of the Matter blog.

When You Want to Give it Back

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“The strongest of all warriors are these two – Time and Patience.” – Leo Tolstoy

The other night as we were getting ready for bed, Miss O asked me, “Mama, with the dogs you’ve had, did you ever wish you didn’t have them?”

Oh, oh, oh, my heart. This was after a tough evening of puppy training with Cooper. He had been nipping at the edges of shorts, knees, and feet, the kids were running from him which he thought was a game. There wasn’t an ounce of calm to be found.

When everyone got settled down to watch a little bit of the Cars movie before bed, there were a few minutes when Miss O got to calmly pet Cooper when he was being good, but it wasn’t enough to heal the tiredness and irritation that come with getting chewed on and chased.

As we headed up the stairs to do the kids bedtime routines, I pondered Miss O’s question and the follow-on that led from it: Is there a gift in this world that doesn’t come with a downside or a moment when we wish we didn’t have the gifts we’ve been given?

I absolutely adore, treasure, and love my kids, but there are occasions when I’m flat out exhausted or sick, and don’t have the sense of humor to understand why they think sitting on my head is the right choice and funny. It’s fleeting, but I certainly long to only take care of myself in those moments. But thank goodness, I always bounce back after I get some sleep, or even just a moment to myself.

Any other gifts that we don’t momentarily doubt? Job? A new car? The place where we live? Our family?

All I could think to say to Miss O is that the work put in on the front end of relationships usually results in great dividends.

With a puppy, training pays off in spades when they are 7 times their original size.

With romantic relationships, authenticity and vulnerability allow true intimacy.

With friendships, when we keep looking for people with whom we can let down our hair.

With kids, when we create secure attachments.

It was just two weeks ago when I overheard Miss O’s mic drop moment in the car bringing the puppy home and explaining to him, “And you are something called my new best friend.” The problem with her new best friend is that he can’t automatically understand when she wants to play and when she wants to snuggle.

Funny how much I relate to wanting all my friendships to be effortless, only to discover that they grow when effort is applied. I suspect that for Miss O and Mr. D, learning that through raising a puppy might be one of the best gifts of all.

False Positives

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“A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us be what we should.” – unknown

Recently I was driving my eight-year-old daughter and her friend to camp. In the back, one was teaching the other to blow bubbles with Hubba Bubba bubble gum and between spit, pops, and crackles, they were talking about a girl they were in camp with.

“She doesn’t like it when we cheer her on and give encouragement,” one said.

“Yeah, it makes her grumpy,” the other replied.

At which point I couldn’t hold my silence any longer and asked my daughter, Miss O, why she doesn’t like it sometimes when I give her encouragement. She teased out that she doesn’t like it when I cheer her on and she’s not close to her goal, when it feels like the gap of accomplishment is too big for the praise she’s receiving.

But, I countered, sometimes the person doing something can’t actually see how close they are.

Our conversation made me think of the work of friendship. How we hold a space for each other that’s based on who we know the other can be. And yet, it can sometimes miss the mark if our ideas get outsized, are based on an old idea of who our friend was, or comes across as inauthentic.

Miss O’s comment reminds me that no amount of perceptiveness or encouragement on the part of a friend works if we haven’t done our own inner work to be able to hear. Listening to these two young girls talk, made me realize that some of our self-limiting beliefs can start really early in life. It left with me a feeling of introspection that I chewed on for most of the day: patterns, beliefs, encouragement, friends. It made me want to drive carpool every day just to heart two eight-year-olds remind me of the basics of life.

For more of the wisdom of children, please check out my Heart of the Matter post about what my 4-year-old son taught me about the power of working for something, Working for Joy.

Love at First Write

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“Write what you need to read.” – adage

I’ve been mulling over online relationships, specifically the WordPress blogging buddy ones, lately. Mostly because last week when I was in NY, I got to hang out with two blog friends, Libby Saylor aka The Goddess Attainable, and Jack Canfora, from The Writing on the Padded Wall blog.

So now I’ve met three bloggers that I regularly read, including a wonderful hike with the amazing Deb from the Closer to the Edge blog. And a fourth, Betsy Kerekes from the Motherhood and Martial Arts blog is coming to visit this week.

In all these cases, I love to read the writing of these wonderful people – and when I’ve met them, they’ve been exactly who I’d expected they’d be, with the added bonus of being able to feel their energy and presence.

If you add to that Vicki Atkinson from the Victoria Ponders blog and my partner in the Heart of the Matter blog, with whom it feels like we are like-minded sisters even though we’ve only met by Zoom or Teams video calls, and all the lovely people we’ve gotten to meet doing podcasts – it feels like I’ve been lucky enough to meet a lot of bloggers.

And in all the cases, they are as delightful to interact with in real-time as they are to read. This makes me realize that when we write from our authentic, deep and vulnerable places, it speeds our ability to get to know each other. In fact, I regularly have more vulnerable conversations in the blogging community than in real life because I’m writing and reading about topics that are really meaningful to me or the author.

So yesterday, when I was reading Vicki’s blog, Finding Our People, it brought the topic full circle for me. I’m grateful to be part of this wonderful and supportive community of people that I cherish. It’s an honor to read everyone’s deep, fun, and beautiful writing. It’s a pleasure to meet people in person. And it’s a leg up on wonderfully meaningful and authentic friendships when we get to do both!

I’ve written a companion piece to this one on the HoTM blog about being open to new people: Love at First Sight. Check it out!

(featured photo from Pexels)

Sacred Spaces for Stories

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“Our actual job as writers is to make the world a little more clear. A little less cluttered. A little less ugly.” – Ann Handley

In my favorite coffee shop, there are three cushy chairs by the window, organized around a low coffee table. I’m usually early enough to get my seat, the one where I can put my tea on the windowsill and plug in my laptop, and then the other chairs eventually fill up. Usually it’s two people by themselves like me but sometimes it’ll be two people together and then since they are facing me, we’re all in it together.

A while back I heard two 50-something women sitting in the chairs together catching up after a while. One was talking about her process for measuring progress on her diet, lamenting the fact that any weight gain or loss she experiences happens three days after she eats (or doesn’t), making the intervening days till the scale registers seem interminable.

She sighed and said she had a friend who was overweight and very happy. “Somedays I think I should just give it up and follow her example. She’s not sweating over everything she eats.”

Her friend replied, “No! For goodness sakes, stay the course.”

And then the first woman smiled and said, “Thank you, that’s what friends are for.”

As far as blog fodder goes, this seems like totally safe territory. I don’t know these women and will likely never see them again to report on whether the first, who I couldn’t pick out of a lineup, stayed with her eating regimen.

It reminds me of right after I found out about my husband’s (now ex) infidelities and told my friend, Bill, about the drama over dinner in a tiny Japanese restaurant with tables barely a foot apart.

I started the story with my business partner inviting me out to lunch even though we’d never socialized just the two of us. Then I showed up and he’d asked to be seated in a booth in a section of the restaurant that wasn’t open. At this point, I was on pins and needles and felt like I was going to throw up, so that when he finally started down the list of my ex’s infidelities, it was pretty awful but almost a relief from the anticipation.

Then my business partner cooked up a scheme that he’d send me an “anonymous” email with the information so that I didn’t have to tell my ex how I’d found out.

By that evening, the email hadn’t arrived and I had gone out to dinner with my dear friends, Jill and Sue, as planned before the whole drama unfolded. The business partner called to ask if I had gotten the email and I said I hadn’t. He said he was okay if I told my ex I found out from him.

At 5am the next morning when I finally opened the conversation with my ex, “Have you ever been unfaithful to me?” and he answered, “no,” the ball was rolling. His primary question was “how did you find out?”

When I couldn’t keep it secret any longer, I revealed the business partner’s role. My ex packed a bag of clothes to check into a hotel and then told me he was going to the business partner’s house. “He betrayed me!” he shouted, completely missing the irony of the comment that we were talking about his infidelity.

As I launched into the part of the story about calling my business partner on 8am that morning (which happened to be New Year’s Eve) telling my ex was heading his way to confront him, I noticed that all the tables around us in that small Japanese restaurant were silent. I didn’t mind. It seemed they all deserved to find out that my ex barged in to the business partner’s house without knocking but didn’t hit him or inflict any other physical damage. He didn’t ever forgive him though.

So maybe I ended up as blog fodder for someone else. Fair enough – I don’t mind on many levels, the most obvious one being that I shared it in a public space.

Of course, this becomes a trickier balance when we blog, talk, preach, about people we know. Talking with a fellow blogger last week, I know I’m not the only one that wrestles with how to make sure that people in my life know that I honor a sacred space for their shared stories.

I take my cue on how to navigate this from my father. Growing up as a pastor’s kid, there was a definite likelihood that you could end up in a sermon. My dad would share stories or funny things we said – but didn’t share secrets or embarrassing moments, and he had a way of making the point about what he learned, instead of ever making us the butt of the joke.

Of course, I could not write about the characters in my life at all but they are a great deal of my inspiration – for learning, laughing and, loving. So I walk the line of asking for permission and (hopefully) being gently respectful because in these post-Covid days, I don’t often hear conversations in coffee shops.

For more about creativity, please check out my Heart of the Matter post this morning, The Creative Rhythm and subscribe to that blog as well! The theme for the month is creativity so there will be great inspiration to be found!

(featured photo is of my kids telling me secrets)

Cheers and Blessings

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“My friends are the beings through whom God loves me.” – Saint Martin

My friend, Bill, came to visit me a couple of weeks ago. I hadn’t seen him in 10 years and in those years, he got married and has moved to three different countries. I still live in the same house, but over that time, I’ve had two children.”

Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do. At first, as Bill was settling his bags in the guest room and talking with my kids, it felt surreal – like paint from one palette had spilled on another. Then when Bill and I went to dinner, it felt like we were working hard to find stories that conveyed the essence and meaning of the lives we live.

I experienced it as practice of the deepest kind of listening. I had to draw from far-back memories of living abroad when I was a kid, and again for a short time in college. And he had to relate experiences he’s had with other parents to try to know the life I’m living. But we both showed up to do that practice and it didn’t seem forced or contrived.

I don’t understand the mechanics of my deep connection to this friend. I wrote about him about a year ago in It’s Love Calling because we usually only speak to each other once every five years or so. Bill and I connected instantly when we met 25 years ago but have not spent a lot of time together in any of the intervening years. The what, how, where, and why of it are completely inexplicable and changeable – only the who stays consistent.

And in between our calls and visits, so much life has happened that it takes conscious effort to pick out the thread of what’s important to say. Yet this weird connection remains vibrant and meaningful.

My conclusion when I talked with Bill last year and wrote was that our connection exists to remind each other that we are lovable without having to perform for it. That there is a Oneness that we can both touch from our disparate lives when we are quiet and still. Somehow this friendship exists as evidence of and a waypoint to it for each other.

I’d add one thing to that conclusion – it’s a gift to have someone so connected yet disconnected come immerse themselves in my life for almost 24 hours. It shows me that every once in a while we receive the gift of being seen from the outside. Someone who knows us and can see our growth – but they have to stay on the outside in order to bestow the gift. I feel the love of God through my friendships, as the quote for this post describes – and every once in a while God makes a special one to deliver perspective as well.

Bill left this note, “Thanks for everything, Wynne. What a pleasure to spend time in your love filled life. Your family is absolutely amazing. Cheers and Blessings.”

Well, I’d probably describe my family as four parts love, one part chaos – and what a gift that he was willing to jump into our chaos to feel and see our love.

As I write this, I still have so many questions about abundant love, connection, and what humans can evoke in each other. But it feels like I have a better sense and shape of the mystery and have extended the notes that I want to cultivate because I’ve written this. It’s expressive writing at its best and if you are interested in the topic, it’s what Vicki Atkinson, Brian Hannon and I discuss on Episode 8 of the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast: Episode 8: Expressive Writing to listen on Anchor. This podcast is also available on Apple, Amazon, Spotify and Pocket Casts by searching for Sharing the Heart of the Matter and new episodes drop every Friday morning.

Please subscribe! Next week’s podcast is Mitch Teemley talking about having the audacity to believe that others want to read, watch or listen to his stories. It’s really good!

The Window Part 2

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“When we were children, we used to think that when we were grownup we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. To be alive is to be vulnerable.” – Madeleine L’Engle

Do you remember this scene in Winnie the Pooh?

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. ‘Pooh!’ he whispered.

‘Yes, Piglet?’

‘Nothing’ said Piglet taking Pooh’s paw, ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.'”

Winnie the Poor by A.A. Milne

Of the many sweet things about that exchange, one that I notice is how proximity is so reassuring. The “sure of you” quality of a hug or a hand.

When I wrote the piece about The Window six months ago, our neighbors and my daughter’s first best friend had just moved away. The window had shut and the only thing that I knew for certain was that the reassurance that comes from proximity was no longer going to be there.

Getting to the other side of that grief only comes with time. Now I’ve written The Window Part 2 on the Heart of the Matter blog. It’s part reflection on loss – and part reflection on what comes next…

What To Do When We Stink

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“We are all human. Let’s start to prove it.” – unknown

There’s a famous set of mountain climbing twins from Seattle – Jim and Lou Whittaker. They are 94 years old now but back in the day, Jim founded the gear and outdoor company, REI (Recreational Equipment Inc.), and Lou founded RMI (Rainier Mountaineering Inc.), the guiding company that for many years was the only way you could do a guided climb on Mt. Rainier.

Jim and Lou both had sons who are also climbers. There’s a notable story about one of the sons – maybe Peter Whittaker. Could be Win Whittaker. Regardless, one of the sons was climbing on Everest and was with his climbing buddies up above the Khumbu icefall when he had to go to the bathroom.

Several minutes later, he still wasn’t back and his buddies started to worry and wonder. Finally he reappeared but looking a little soiled and worse for the wear. He was wearing the down suit most climbers wear above base camp – one piece, puffy and hooded – and when he pooped, it had, unbeknownst to him, landed in the hood. When he zipped himself up and flipped the hood back up. Well, ewww!

I was thinking of this story because my post on The Heart of the Matter today, Marketing, Mountaineering, and Making Meaning, is about telling stories – and making meaning of the stories we tell.

And the meaning of this one? Well, there are a lot of ways this can go so I’ll just say this. When you are trying to do something hard, it’s best to surround yourself with people with whom you can laugh at your s…

(featured photo from Pexels)

Do You Think I’m Stupid?

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“A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us be what we should.” – unknown

My best friend in college and I used to debate whether or not it meant that someone thought we were stupid if they lied to us. In those days of black and white, I definitely thought it to be a sign they thought I was stupid. Of course, the thing I feared most was being thought of as a dumb blonde so I probably was inclined to the position.

Now in these days of seeing the shades of gray in everything (and not just my hair) 🙂 I tend not to take umbrage if someone isn’t truthful. It’s the topic of my Wise & Shine post this week: Telling the Truth

(featured photo from Pexels)