Stop the Madness!

Oh the beauty and angst of a tiny little heap of metal called a cell phone- excitement dwelling up inside of you as it vibrates, chirps, sings, announces or PROCLAIMS someone is thinking about you! Yippee! Who could it be? What do they want? The questions begin to swarm around one’s mind as you think of all the possibilities- the job offer you’ve been anxiously anticipating, the significant other who’s been on a long trip, the family member calling to tell you Baby is on his way, the doctor relieved to deliver great news to worried individuals, the new crush you’ve been desperate to take out, your grandchild’s delightfully squeaky first words. 

You finally get to talk to them- the soft sound of their voice on their other end, carefully sharing with you the news. You’re hanging on every word anticipating the next, desperate to hear the end of the sentence, the crux, the climax  and then . . . silence. 

Hello? 

Heeelllllllooooooo?

 HELLO? 

Where did you go? What happened? 

There are no sweet sounds on the other end. The phone cuts out. How could it be!? You quickly try and press re-dial but get sent straight to voicemail. Another attempts serves no variance. Yet another attempt gets you a ring but no one picks up (why!? Because they’re trying to call you back!) And then you wait- ever so patiently, frustrated, excited, angry, and joyful ALL AT THE SAME TIME simply because one could not finish a conversation on a cell phone that someone sold you once upon a time by telling you you’ll have crystal clear service and be able to hear a pin drop at the other end of the line. . . if you actually stay on the line long enough for the pin to hit the ground!

All of this because of the invention of the cell phone. 

Did you know people used to write letters to each other to communicate? Ya, go figure- real letters, words slowly, methodically, and gracefully  strung together written by hand. Black ink across a paper sharing hopes and dreams, humor and laughter, journeys and destinations. People had to wait months to receive these letters, but once you had them you had the complete story from beginning to end, no interruptions, no false anticipation, no emotional MADNESS! 

I feel like plucking leaves off a flower- My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. . . 

The Space Between

Looking out the window all you can see are reflections of the kitchen, beyond the window we are met with darkness, indicating the late hour. We’ve just finished watching a movie. Entertaining at best, but it accomplished it’s purpose. . . To keep us all from loosing our emotions on the eve of a sad departure. All three of us are right at the cusp of opening the flood gates to our sadness, desperately trying to avoid it at all costs. 

And so we clean- oh the invaluable distraction of cleaning. Works like a charm. 

Sort of. .. 

I found my friend washing the dishes with tears running, not trickling nor gently sliding, but running down her face. I gently rested my head on her shoulder as if to say “It’s going to be okay”. Words didn’t seem appropriate in the heaviness of the moment. I pick up a towel to dry the dishes.  

In an effort to escape the tears, my friends asks me how my sister is, what I’m doing tomorrow, if I know what the weather will be like this weekend, anything to keep from discussing the sadness, all questions asked through blowing noses and wiping tears from her face.

“I hate cleaning utensils, do you mind?” No, of course not as we switched places. And I find my self washing a spoon over and over, getting lost in the rhythm and repetition. The spoon sparkling, shinny was cleaned 5 minutes ago. I look up at my friend in an effort to answer her question, which I apparently didn’t hear, only to find myself being met with, “Please don’t- I can’t handle it right now”. Damn- she had noticed my eyes were moist. “What is it about the kitchen sink tonight? Seems to be the catcher of never ending tears” as she desperately tries to bring humor to the situation. A little chuckle from us both however half-heartedly it may have been. Both trying to be strong for the other. 

I quickly gather my belongings, believing the best thing is to leave as soon as possible. I know I can’t keep it together and all my friend needs is for my eyes to stay dry. On my way home I receive a text message inviting me out for a drink- it’s late, I’m tired, I’m emotional, and all I can think is “Thank God, yes, I’ll be there in 5”. 

The next day I awake early to the sound of silence- the beauty of a Saturday morning is that most are sleeping soundly in the beds, catching up on much needed sleep. I jet over to my friends house to help them put the last of their boxes in the car. We make breakfast together- a little sausage left over from earlier in the week, a few eggs they can’t take with them, the last 3 slices of bread desperate to be eaten. There’s no warm, rich spell of coffee filling the kitchen as all coffee makers are packed away. 

Its finally time to go. Standing by the door my feet do not seem to move. They are glued to the floor. My arm is heavy by my side, feeling like a million pounds, unable to reach for the door handle. My friend fixes the ruffled collar on my shirt, desperately avoiding eye contact. I look at the beautifully bleak white wall beyond her.

 “It’s hard, emotional,” she confesses, “But that’s good- it means our time here in Colorado was blessed.” Her eyes begin to moisten. “Ya,” a softly say. Both trying to stay composed not for ourselves, but for the other. We both know how difficult this is, how grieving is healthy, but not now- not when her and husband need help getting out the door, into the car, and on the road. And so the moment becomes one of great love as we stay in it- silence hung frozen in the air. Not wanting to leave each other, to say good-bye. 

“This is my favorite song,” as she notices the back ground music from the computer. Divine Romance plays softly and quiets both of our screaming souls. We listen, standing motionless in the door way. 

A quick hug and I run for the door and exit- yes, run. For the music had helped the lump in my throat disappear and I needed the space to do what she needed me to do- leave dry eyed. 

Her husband was by the car, organizing the last of the boxes. “I’ll see you soon, P” I tell him.  “Ya, see you soon”. . . A hug that lasts a little longer than normal as it shares the tenderness of words that can not be uttered. He walks me to my car, “It’s hard. It’s emotional, but it’s right.” Confessions of where his heart is at- again, the glance that meets and holds mid air. Please don’t lose it, please don’t lose it, please don’t lose it. I hold my breathe, reach for the car door and sit. He shuts it for me and walks away. . . turning once as though to check on me and make sure I’m okay. Hands gripped on the steering wheel, memories of laughter, instances, conversations, life flood my memory. There will be more, but in different ways. 

The space between .  . . between desire and need, hope and sadness, gratefulness and fear. They hang in a moment. Sometimes all we can do is experience it, not respond to it (at least right then), nor react to it. The desire becomes not only to survive it but to embrace it for what it is, for it won’t last long. It may feel like an eternity, but there is always light in the morning. 

Rilke, one of my favorite writers, puts it perfectly. These words have been swimming around in my head and heart all day. I hope you enjoy them as much as I:

“try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

-Rilke

Have you Ever Tried to Teach a Woman Anything?

When I was a kid I always used to ask my dad his opinion on various different matters:

“Dad, what do you think I should do about xyz?”

“Dad, what dress do you think I should wear? The blue one or the green one?”

“Dad, if you were in this situation, would you choose route A or B?”

My dad would then proceed with a beautifully eloquent reason what he would do and why. Typically, it was a pensive response, requiring thought on his behalf as he  tried to figure out the best way to guide his moldable and impressionable young daughter.  

After a lengthy explanation from him and deep heartfelt listening on my behalf, I would immediately proceed to set out and accomplish whatever it was that was bothering me, content that I had a brilliant answer, direction or response. 

Inevitably, it was the exact opposite of whatever Dad said. . .Always. 

Mind you, I never wanted it to be that way. I did not intend to ask his opinion and then immediately ignore it. I mean, let’s face it, what he probably heard, however unintentionally it was, was “Thanks for the input, Old Timer,  but you are totally, completely, and horridly mistaken and I, no matter how young I may be, actually know better than you. So see ya later, Senior!”

Not knowing exactly what just happened to him, he usually would sigh, cross his arms in front on him as if to as “I’m invincible” and then moved on with life, not necessarily looking forward to the next time I would strike again. . . 

I don’t believe Dear Old Dad is the only person to fall into this inevitable trap- boyfriends do as well. 

 Their beautiful, young new sweetheart asks them to teach  them something. Honored that their beau would request such a thing, they puff out their chest, push their shoulders back, straighten their backs ever so slightly, as if to say, “Watch out world, I’m going to impress her! Here’s my moment to shine!”. Settling into a teaching mode, they dress themselves with patience and humility, reassuring their Baby that no question is a stupid question. They look gently and confidentially into their Lovely’s eyes  as if to say, “I’m safe, Honey.” The girls softly bite their lower lip as they bravely listen and try to learn all their Heartthrob has to offer. She looks up at him in anticipation and excitement and hangs on his every word. 

At the end of the lesson the young, sturdy guy is proud of how he handled the situation, believing his Sweetheart is completely satisfied; however, tender moments such as these usually end up with a, “Thanks, Honey. I thought about doing it that way, but I think my way is better!”

And all he could think is, “What!? Are you kidding me?!”  

Joyous Journeyer

Today was an anniversary at work- a time to reflect on the growth and change over the last year, of all that was accomplished. So we took a field trip. I took my team up to mountains where we basked in the glory and warmth of nature, sitting alone, by ourselves and pondering over the last year. 

It’s funny how much can change in a year, even in a day.

The start of my day began with a new representative coming into my office for a little mentoring time. His face was drawn, weary, his eyes heavy. “What’s on your mind this morning?” I asked. I was met with a firm but definitive, “I want to quit”.

We’ve all been there- those moments where everything feels so heavy, where every task feels like we’re fighting for our lives, where getting out of bed in the morning is more burdensome than exciting. 

Obviously, the next question out of my mouth was “Why?”. Then I simply listened.

I heard words of exhaustion, despair, fear, purposelessness, sighs and pauses as he searched to clearly communicate how frustrated he was. . . . And I could only smile. 

I didn’t smile maliciously or as if silently grateful someone was going through their own personal hell, because that is not at all what I wanted or desired for my dear first year representative. The smile that crept across my face began deep down in my soul, it was a smile of understanding, of hope. 

How ironic that on this particular day, the day where my team and I were going to analyze and reflect on the past year as well as dream for our future, my mentee would need a little encouragement and reminding? Reminding of why he chose to began this career in the first place, of how many lives and clients he had helped and impacted, of the trust he had gained from doubtful worriers, of how he caused walls to crumble and restored hope to those he met, of the potential for what the future held for him, and of his own dreams that had somehow been buried between the late nights and early mornings, the midnight oil that seemed to have run dry. 

And I was in a position to say, “I understand”! Not “I’m here with you” or “We’ll make it” nor “You’re not alone”. Not this time, no siree. This time my words were “I’ve been there”, “You will make for I did and if I did it, you can too”, “You probably feel alone, but there is light at the end of this tunnel”. 

Do you see the difference? Can you hear the excitement, overwhelming joy, and giddy glee that is fluttering inside me as I write these words? I WAS ONCE THERE and I am not now. I have grown, I have flourished, I have survived the hardest part of this career’s path. You see, this morning before my mentee walked in, I thought I was where he is currently. There are days that feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life and you’re at the bottom of a steep, graded mountain where you can’t see the top. It’s simply a leap of faith that the top exists and each baby step you take, you’re praying that your faith is not in vain. To start a day that was designated for celebrating, reflecting and dreaming, beginning it in doubt was not the birth of what I wanted for the day. My mentee, in his frustration and willingness to be broken before me, reminded me of all that I have done and can be ever so grateful for.

I did not title this posting Joyous Journeyer on accident. Notice I did not call it Joyful  Journeyer. There is a distinct difference. Joyous is a state of conscience continuous realization for what you are experiencing and learning- It is contentment in the process, not the outcome. Joyful is a moment of jubilation as it freezes in time and then it quickly passes away. 

The road, the path to whatever is important to us, is not always paved. It can be lined with dust, rocks, boulders even. It can be unsteady, curving where we don’t expect it to, rising and falling under it’s own notion paying no regard for us or what we want. When I experience the hardest and steepest points of my life, I begin to see what I’m made up of- I see a steadfast, loyal, determined heart that I may never have recognized had the road been a stroll through a flower filled field. We can find moments to be grateful for the journey, to notice our growth and be joyous for the dream we are moving towards, however slowly, to find contentment in the longing for something more. Then, one day, when we stop to catch our breathe, we just might look down and realize we’re at the top, where the view reaches as far as the eye can see, the air is clean, crisp and fresh, where we are surrounded by beauty. This is what makes my heart joyous. 

Confession

I am a workaholic. Not by intention nor identification. In fact, I would say I just recently realized I even had an issue. . . But when I look closer, it’s been about 10 years in the making. 

I worked three jobs to pay my way through college. If you include actually going to school, it would be justifiable to say I worked four jobs. During those years of work and school, habits were created to simply “get the job done”. Every minute had a purpose or assignment to it. There were no ‘wasted’ minutes. 

Two weeks after graduating, I started a position with one of the “Big Four” firms- some fancy exclusive name given to an elite set of four universal accounting & auditing firms. Receiving a position with them signified significance in the world of finance- it was a trophy to hang on your resume, proving you were deemed by someone somewhere the ‘best of the best’. Instead, it felt like a clothing factory back in the early 1900’s, a sweatshop. Once you accepted a position with them, they treated you like property, worked you to the bone, demanded your best 12 to 17 hours a day. They relieved themselves of their guilt by buying you a beer ‘on the firm’, as if to stroke their own ego and remind you how lucky you were to be there. 

I can’t really blame them- I did accept a position with them. I was free to leave at any time. But I didn’t. My friends and family got put on hold- parties got ignored, phone calls were never returned, responses to emails (if any) typically were one or two sentences. It became a battle to prove to the firm they made a good decision and it was worth it at any cost. 

Why did I ever believe them? 

I constantly questioned when I would leave, at what point was it enough. 

Finally, I did leave elated at the prospect of reclaiming my life back, only to find I had accepted a position with a company that had a similar mind set. And so the battle to prove oneself to Corporate America began all over again. 

Eventually, I was able to cut ties to the auditing & accounting world. I enjoyed finance and landed on my feet as a financial representative. Sounds good, huh? Turns out I was self employed. And anyone who has started their own business knows that the first few years you put your all into it. And so the cycle began again. This time there was hope that I was doing it for me and not Corporate America, that it would all payoff in the end, and one day soon, I would be working very small amounts of time and receiving handsome rewards.

The dream was starkly jolted when one of my dearest friends shared with me that her and her husband were moving out of state. I had finally gotten my practice to place where it was a well oiled machine- I could begin to focus on my life and get it back into balance. I was going to be able to spend time with all those people I cared about, return a phone call in a reasonable time frame, go out for a beer and not be wishing I was in bed sleeping, answer an email with depth and intention- IT WAS FINALLY MY TIME! 

But it was too late. My friends needed to move forward with their lives and with this particular friend, that included accepting an amazing job offer elsewhere. 

Never in the last ten years would I ever imagined that I was a workaholic. In the wake of my dreams and passions for a well balanced life and secure future, I had overlooked the gifts that were right in front of me. . .  And so came a deep introspective period of “what the hell is this all for anyways?”. 

Thus, the birth of my blog- my desire in starting this blog and sharing the process with you is in hopes of sharing my story I may encourage you in yours. I have no set agenda or purpose with this blog, simply to take notice of the little instances every day we overlook, the instances that are put in our days to remind us about what we do and who we are. I don’t want to let them pass me by unnoticed. I want to see them, feel them, embrace them, celebrate them. It will be a process and one that I am excited to explore, as if unwrapping layers only to find another or unpacking a gift only to find a smaller one inside, always expectant and excited until you come to the last box or unwrap the last layer to find your treasure. 

For the record, I do not believe the last ten years have been a waste. Somehow in between the long hours at work, I managed to make and sustain relationships and friendships that will last my whole life, with depth and vulnerability that opened doors for growth and love. When I reflect upon those successes, successes of the soul, heart, and mind, I wonder if it would have been possible if I was not in a constant state of vulnerability. What I may have viewed as the enemy- the never ending job- may have just been the exact catalyst that propelled riches in friendships and relationships beyond my wildest imagination. 

Journey, not Destination

I’m sitting in the middle of Montana, by the Boulder river, listening to the sweet sounds of rushing water as it pours over rocks and through crevices, winding it’s way to God only knows where, not concerned about the destination, enjoying the journey. I get to the witness the half a second of it’s wild ride as it crosses in front of my camp sight. To the feel it’s cool, refreshing, and when splashed upon my face, somehow gives me a feeling of renewed hope- as if to wash away all the cares and concerns I brought with me, reminding me there’s more to life than the city. 

The big scare of our trip is the potential of a bear sighting- not telephones, nor emails, no crises of man. Just nature. “You might want to sit by the fire a while, since you helped cook breakfast- Bears can smell the scent of food in your clothes.” Wow! Right now, if that’s my only concern, I feel great. A concern that can be diminished by a few moments of pure bliss sitting by camp fire smoke. Life is good. 

Our very noble and honorary men of the trip are going to gallantly try to teach the women to fly fish. Have you ever taught a woman anything? It’s entertaining to say the least. The women are all trying to put their rods together, throwing out phrases like “This is an elk caddis, size 16”. . . A slight pause as the other girls stand in awe at her ability to pick up the wording so quickly- then a confession, “I only know this because I’m reading the tag”. Smiles creep across faces of the remaining girls as they silently cheer assured they are not complete dummies.

And so it begins, “There are four phases of a fly line, the first stage. . .” Sweet words holding hopes of relaxation and contentment. 

I drove 12 hours to get here. “Get where?” I ask myself as I sit in a state of almost delirium at the calmness in which I find myself. Where my thoughts don’t finish and the openness of my self monologue is beautiful- random, tangential, no rhyme or reason, no order or purpose- just scattered thoughts. At work, back home, in a place where time is of the essence, where urgency is in every action, efficiency lurking around each corner, the “shoulds” sound off every half a second: you should be doing this, should be doing that, that should’ve been done yesterday. Today, all I can think is “Really? Why?”.

 I wasn’t concerned about the destination in my purpose for coming- I came for the journey. For the unexpected moments of hilariousness that only come when you’ve been sitting in a car for inordinate amounts of time. For the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, and campfire that gently wake you from your sweet slumber. For the sound of only rushing water, no cars, sirens, or airplanes. For the stories shared around a campfire late at night. For the walls of your soul that tend to become soft, perhaps even begin to crumble when nature and laughter have their way with you. For the reminder of why we are here and what really matters. 

I was in desperate need of a big dose of perspective. My heart believed everything I was doing had great purpose, that it required my all, and that leaving it, even for a moment was not okay. 

What on earth was I thinking? 

Have you ever buried yourself into a task or mission so blindly you forgot why you desired it to begin with? Why do we do that to ourselves? I could list all the reasons in the world, but they don’t seem to matter or hold any weight right here in this moment. . . For in this moment, one of the girls just caught her first fish. Elated, she gleefully shows it off to our group, with a smile that resembles the pureness of a five year old- innocent, ecstatic, and oh so proud. Every thing else has simply faded into the background. 

What a precious moment.