“How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved.” – Sigmund Freud
One morning last week, I gave five-year-old Mr. D a kiss on the cheek as he was getting out of the car at school. He turned and said, “Sometimes I wipe your kisses off.” I laughed and then he jumped out of the car and ran to join his class line.
I was still laughing when this retort popped to mind: “Nice try but the mark of love doesn’t wipe away that easily.”
It’s in the clean clothes you have to wear. And packed with the lunch I’ve taken the time to try to balance nutrition with edibility.
“Blessed are the flexible, for they should not be bent out of shape.” – unknown
The holiday season is over. I swear the collective sigh of relief that we can all get back to our routine is so big as to be palpable.
My dear friend, Katie, whose amazing daughters are grown, came over the other day and we were talking about the highs and lows of this season. The magic, the expectations, the busy-ness, the boredom of the down time, the togetherness. It’s not like the gift of the season comes in a neat package. It’s more like a gift basket put together by a five-year-old and there are some pokey and slimey things in the mix.
When I went to my annual physical with my doctor in early December, I asked her about her sons. She answered that her younger son was home from college on the east coast from Thanksgiving through Christmas. She smiled when she said it was nice, but she was getting a little tired of crumbs on the counter. We had a good chuckle about that.
For me, I wrestle with being flexible enough to go on adventures, to throw the ball around, or to play a game. Often it feels more comfortable to cling to things I need to do. Who am I if I leave dishes in the sink, the crumbs on the table, close my laptop, and start chasing butterflies?
But I’m always rewarded when I set what I’m doing down and participate in the play. I benefit from the magic when the kids share their perspective and fun. Longevity and healthspan expert, Dr. Peter Attia lists socializing as one of the ways to stave off dementia. The complexity of what we do when we interact with others helps to keep our brains well.
So, for everyone who is sipping a cup of tea or coffee and celebrating this week of getting back to normal, please give yourself a pat on the back too. Reading a book given to you that might not be your genre, drinking from a new mug, navigating niceties, trying out the new gadget – all of it helps keep us flexible.
(featured photo is mine – I love the light and dark captured together)
“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until becomes a memory.” – Dr. Seuss
I put my hand in my coat pocket this morning and came out with a shell, two rocks, and a coin. The collection made me smile because they came from spending our New Years holiday week at the beach.
Staying at the beach in the winter felt like leaving everything else behind. The only thing we had to be mindful of was the tide chart. With the new moon on December 30th, the tides were pretty extreme. The water was really high during the day. So much so that the beach was under water except for about an hour window mid-morning. At night, there was a huge low tide.
So we threw rocks, balanced on logs, and looked for treasure when we could during the daylight hours. Then we went for night walks on the beach. The kids and I put on our hats with head lamps built in and walked out with Cooper on the smooth, flat sand.
On a couple of those nights, the sky was clear and the plethora of stars we could see were awe-some. Five-year-old Mr. D came inside and drew out Orion’s belt and the Big Dipper so that he could remember them.
The memory that seared into my heart was one night when we reached the beach and the kids fell into a line ahead of me. Nine-year-old Miss O in the front with her light shining out wide, Cooper in the middle visible only because of his white coat, and Mr. D not far behind with his light trained on the ground at his feet. They made a beautiful line parallel to the water as the waves lapped softly in accompaniment.
I’m going to leave the shell from my pocket on my calendar. It’s a reminder that while making appointments is part of life, the real goal is to make memories.
“One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide.” -Brene Brown
One of the things that Vicki Atkinson and I hear from podcast guests is that we are warm and welcoming. A lovely thing to hear. But I’d flip that around and say that what makes it work is that our guests are open and courageous.
We met author, public speaker, and parental advocate Vickie Rubin through our mutual blog friend, Ab. I love that because they both have such genuineness. We get to see in action how they show up for life. Whether at home or in their roles as advocates, they come alongside others to see them and share stories that make everything a little clearer and brighter.
So in the latest episode (and last episode of 2024) of the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, Vickie gives us the elevator pitch for her book, Raising Jess. She jokes that it’s long enough to require an elevator in the tallest building in Manhattan. Fitting, because there is so much goodness in her book about raising her child with a chromosome deletion: mother’s intuition, decisions about whether to have more children, the grandparent’s point of view, and more.
Vickie’s openness and support of others are so inspiring. In her work supporting other families trying to navigate the systems to get resources for their children and in Facebook communities, Vickie is a powerful parental resource and advocate. By telling her story, she continues to help others navigate their own challenges.
Vicki and I ask about what’s next for Vickie. She’s recently published an article in Newsweek and she tells us about the writing classes she taking.
This is a great episode that not only focuses on the resilience, love, and thriving of one family but also inspires the same in everyone who listens. When we share our stories, we empower others and Vickie illustrates this so well.
I’m confident you’ll love the scenic and beautiful places we explore as we share the power of storytelling – in our books, our podcasts, and our lives.
We know you’ll love it!
On a programming note – this is the last podcast for 2024. Our next episode featuring the amazing Beth (i didn’t have my glasses on… blog) will drop on Jan 10th, 2025.
Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts OR Listen to it from your computer on Anchor: Episode 97: Raising Jess with Vickie Rubin
“Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.” – Mark Twain
I’ve become entranced with a word lately: inkling.
Inkling according to Merriam-Webster is a slight knowledge or vague notion. It comes from Middle English yngkiling meaning “whisper or mention.”
When I think of the inklings I’ve gotten, they relate to the niggling feeling that something is off. I’ve had inklings about big events like when my business partner told me of my ex-husband’s infidelities and right before I was laid off. Kinda like a surprise party when everyone stops talking to you in advance.
And I get inklings about little things like when one of my kids is about to catch a cold. Something isn’t quite right about how they react or eat food and it sets off the radar.
For me, inklings are closely related to the internal God whispers, those insistent notions that seem Divinely inspired. On a recent morning when I meditated, I had the urgent sense that I needed to reach out to our dear blogging friend, Julia Preston.
Later that day, I discovered that she’d passed away the night before at the age of 85. She hadn’t blogged much after her cancer diagnosis but she’s been present in emails and comments in the last few months.
After I published one of my favorite posts about the words I become entranced with, My Love Affair with Words, Julia jokingly asked what word I associated with her. I had no hesitation before responding “luminescent.” Julia glowed with love and light for all. She faced her diagnosis with that same delightful curiosity about what comes next.
Her last blog post hinted about the light and love we all can (and should) tap into. Julia left us with the question in When We Gonna: “When are we gonna turn the world around with the power of our thoughts? When are we gonna create light instead of dark and love instead of fear?“
“I do not understand the mystery of grace — only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” – Anne Lamott
One of the books I read in my morning meditation time is Listening to Your Life by author and pastor Frederick Buechner. My mom and I were talking about it a little while back. She mentioned that some find his writing to not be doctrinal enough. Funny because I read him and find at times that I think he’s too doctrinal.
When I was trying to understand how my view of faith differed from that of my dad (and mom) as I was writing my book Finding My Father’s Faith, I read Dr. M. Scott Peck’s book Further Along the Road Less Traveled. In it he describes four stages of faith.
The first stage, chaotic/antisocial, he reserves for people with anti-social tendencies; his second stage is formal/institutional in which faith is governed by an outside body, typically the church.
Dr. Peck calls stage three people “skeptic/individual.” Often stage three people are children of stage two people who have been raised with the values of the church but fall away from the formality and governance of it.
He then describes these stage-three people as usually scientific, truth-seeking people who often begin to see patterns in the big picture that tie them back to the beliefs of their parents and when they do, they transition to stage four, mystical/communal, “people who have seen a kind of cohesion beneath the surface of things.”
Those stages rang true to me and I found comfort in the classification of it all. Regardless of the theory behind it, I suspect that whatever our ideologies are, it’s a narrow band trying to find others who are align exactly or even fairly closely.
But I think we transcend that when we tell our stories. For me, authentic storytelling skips the doctrinal distinctions in the head and goes right to the heart. Here’s one that recently struck me, Buechner tells the story of a friend showing up when Buechner’s daughter was sick. He’d come from 800 miles away without any advance notice and then spent a couple of nights hanging out.
Buechner said they didn’t do anything particularly religious – went for walks, smoked some pipes, took a drive. “I believe that for a little time we both of us touched the hem of Christ’s garment, were both of us, for a little time anyway, healed.”
For me, it hits me right in what I believe is sacred: showing up, being present, holding space for one another to tell our stories.
“Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell
Two weeks ago, on the same day that my niece had a baby, I got laid off from my job. I know that seems like two disparate events. But hear me out because they are the both the birth of new things.
It’s not hard to see the first. My beautiful niece says that she’s having a hard time sleeping when the baby is sleeping because she can’t stop looking at him. “He’s just so perfect.” And she’s enthralled with interpreting his every expression and sound.
I’ve seen the pictures – he indeed is absolutely perfect and precious.
Losing my job was a shock. I’ve never been laid off before and so it was a completely new experience. But twinned with the surprise was a feeling of elation. I was free. I try not to act giddy when I talk to the others affected by this layoff. But honestly, and I promise that this isn’t toxic positivity or denial, for me I knew this was a really good thing, even when it signals hard work.
I’ve been an entrepreneur for most of my career so I suspect that helps take an edge off the fear. And when I peal back that cover, I have a chance at seeing underneath to the opportunity. Similar to babies, I have to work hard to decipher the signs and signals of the bread crumbs where life leads me.
Life comes with pain – kinda like childbirth. And on the flip side, it too is perfect and precious to have the opportunity to keep growing.
P.S. Everyone that I’ve seen in real life has been able to take one look at me and sense the burden lifted from me. If you are worried about me, truly, I’m fine, the kids know and it’s all good. One of the things I’m so grateful for this week of American Thanksgiving is the gift of time with them.
“I believe that you have to walk through vulnerability to get to courage.” – Brene Brown
Let me take your temperature on something. Do you think that middle-aged and older means that you don’t have to be vulnerable any longer? Emotionally vulnerable, that is.
After all, we don’t have to go door to door with our resumes looking for our first job. And many who have life partners have had them for quite some time. We know our hobbies and interests and don’t have to try a bunch of new things to see what fits. We’ve even developed our conversational patter so that anything that comes close to a sensitive spot can be deflected without much effort.
Here’s the discovery I’ve come to after many years of searching for the things that make me feel vital. Continued vulnerability is one of them.
When I believe that vulnerability is off the table, I’m unlikely to:
Here’s what I’m afraid of. If we retire from life, we leave so much potential and wisdom gained from 50 years or more unsaid. The things we’ve learned through trial and error that we are passionate about? We fail to bring them up.
When I was in my mid forties and wanted to have children, I found it incredibly difficult to say out loud. In one respect, it makes sense because such a precious dream is fragile in its early stages. But when I managed to broach the subject with a few of my dear friends, the incredible support they offered helped to fuel the vision.
So for me, I think I want to keep pushing myself towards openness. But I’d love to know what you think about vulnerability at any age.
“Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell
The morning after a really rough night’s sleep, I was sipping tea and realized I didn’t like the mug. It was scratchy to my lip and it made my tea taste different. We were staying at a friend’s house on the Washington Peninsula so all the mugs were new to me.
Because I hadn’t slept well, I was more attuned to it. After a dozen sips, I forced myself to go the kitchen and change mugs. The smoothness of the new one made me realize how many sensations go into feeling soothing.
I hadn’t slept well because I realized in the middle of the night that I hadn’t refilled the water reservoir for Rusty the gecko before we’d left home for three nights. I sat up with a pit of dread knowing that without the water misting twice a day to keep his enclosure humid, he’d likely die. The questions swirling of when I last did it and how long he could survive sent me shooting out of bed.
It was our last night of this mini-getaway. It was 3am I was two hours and a ferry ride away from home. There was nothing I could do to help poor Rusty in that moment.
Instead I sat until I unraveled the knot of feelings in my gut. I felt the weight of all the responsibility I carry for keeping things alive. I sensed the thread of how tenuous life can be. I even worked my way to compassion for myself for making mistakes.
I finally went back to sleep feeling how dang precarious this thing called life is.
So when I awoke, I needed that soothing cup of tea. I wonder how often we forget that our time here is limited. Speaking for myself, when I lean in to the knowledge that life ends, it spurs me on to pay attention and drink out of the right cup. To take care of ourselves so that we can take care of others.
There’s a happy end to this story. I emailed my mom and she checked on Rusty. He was out of water – but she refilled it and misted him. He made it. So one other thing – thank goodness for moms!
“Many of the great achievements of the world were accomplished by tired and discouraged (wo)men who kept on working.” – Oscar Wilde
This week has not been one of my favorites. But nonetheless, we’ve had fun…
Biking
Climbing
Reaching high
Road tripping
I went for a walk the day after the election. I was feeling heart-sore and tired. When I came upon these ducks, the scene hit me right in the heart. One duck was sleeping while the other paddled around and around. It spoke to me of reassurance, of faith, and of peace.
It helped reorient me to the bigger picture of what I believe that is more enduring than politics. It’s in that spirit that I choose this sign of the week.
Surprised By Joy 