Walking away...at a snails pace.

My family is moving. And I feel as though my clothes are snagged on the fence, unable to move forward or back.

This snowball of a life change started a few months ago when my husband was offered a chance at a real career...yes, up to this point I did consider what he does a job. (When you leave home every day and come home unhappy and unfulfilled, I have a hard time believing that you're in a career.) Anyway, as we were discussing our options, I was reminded of the 'vow' I made over six years ago. When I fell in love with this man, I had this overwhelming urge to make his happiness a priority of mine. I silently vowed to help and urge him to discover a passion and go after it. I truly believe that the challenges we face throughout life make us stronger but I also believe that everyone deserves a chance to find happiness.

This was Corey's chance.

So here I am, alone on this fence. After days and days of crying, worrying, talking about the good, bad and potential ugly (and potential greatness), I took a three-day break from my life. I felt I had hit my lowest low a week or two earlier and needed a fresh perspective. So a friend and I headed to Vegas...the land where nothing is real and that's okay.

I came back tired and maybe a little hungover, but I had rediscovered a piece of myself that I've been neglecting. I was ready to face this thing head-on. Two days after landing back in the Midwest, I journeyed up to our new area of residency. We rented a small, older home. I began thinking of what I needed to put in storage and what I need to leave out in order to make this feel like home to our children. I was once again filled with a sense of family that I've been missing since my husband's been gone. It was verging on peace and comfort...and then the waiting game officially began.

Now I'm here, working two jobs. Two jobs that I love dearly. With people that I genuinely care about. And I have six weeks to say goodbye. It's what I asked for. And yet, I'm a little afraid it's going to hurt worse in the long run.

This is one big-ass band-aid that I seem to be pulling off millimeter by millimeter.

Family? (part 1)

I recently received the following story from a close family member via Forward. I admit, I'm not a fan of forwards but because this was titled 'Family' I thought I'd skim it at least:

I ran into a stranger as he passed by, 'Oh excuse me please,' was my reply. 

He said, 'Please excuse me too; I wasn't watching for you.'

We were very polite, this stranger and I. We went on our way and we said goodbye. 

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,  my son stood beside me very still. When I turned, I nearly knocked him down. 'Move out of the way,' I said with a frown. He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken. 

While I lay awake in bed,  God's still small voice came to me and said, 'While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use, but the family you love, you seem to abuse. Go and look on the kitchen floor, you'll find some flowers there by the door. Those are the flowers he brought for you. He picked them himself: pink, yellow and blue. He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise, you never saw the tears that filled his little eyes.'

By this time, I felt very small, and now my tears began to fall. I quietly went and knelt by his bed;
'Wake up, little one, wake up,' I said. 'Are these the flowers you picked for me?' He smiled, 'I found 'em, out by the tree. I picked 'em because they're pretty like you. I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue.'

I said, 'Son, I'm very sorry for the way I acted today; I shouldn't have yelled at you that way.'
He said, 'Oh, Mom, that's okay. I love you anyway.'

I said, 'Son, I love you too, and I do like the flowers, especially the blue.'
 

Are you aware that if we died tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family we left behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than into our own family, an unwise investment indeed, don't you think?

Yes, I realize this is much like those forwards I have come to hate. It's sappy and religious and typical. But, it also made me stop and think for a minute. I had just returned home from a few days with my entire family...after which I was reminded (for about the third time in the last year) that our conversations have seemed to become stale. When I thought back on the topics my parents, siblings and I had shared over the course of three days, it dawned on my that they probably don't know me very well these days. I don't talk about work because it's become pretty obvious that they don't necessarily understand or really care. I don't talk much about my hobbies for the same reasons. And I try not to talk too much about my kids and how awesome they are. In fact, I think I spend so much time trying to come up with some neutral territory of discussion that there's really nothing interesting or personal in what's said anymore.

And I have a feeling they would agree. We're all so caught up in our tiny corner of the world. Unlike the story above, we may not be short with one another but we sure aren't taking the time or energy to truly absorb what's happening or what each of us is saying. I'm not sure if this is something that happens as we grow older. I'm a firm believer in life as a cycle. We start out completely selfish and dependent and that's exactly where we end up if we have the opportunity to grow old. I guess I never would have guessed that we shut out those who should matter most so soon in life.

Needless to say, I'm a little disappointed and unsure of how to initiate change...to reverse the deteriorating bond my family has.

We're all searching for something.

A week ago, I finished reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It's a few years old and I wasn't really interested in reading it until a client suggested a book club of sorts and this was her choice. Five pages into it, I realized this should have been on my to-do list a lot sooner.

The memoir is one woman's search for herself. Without giving it away, she hits her mid-thirties and quits her life to spend an entire year traveling to Italy, India and Indonesia. To explore Pleasure, Meditation and Balance (of the two). Granted, not many people could afford to do this but what I discovered is that her longing for discovering what really matters, for uncovering her true beliefs is very much in line with what so many of us seem to be searching for.

Married in the first portion of the book, she was a reflection of society. Finding someone when she was fairly young, dating, marrying and then buying into suburbia...ultimately setting the stage for kids, PTA and neighborhood grill outs.

It took her weeks of sitting fetal-style on her bathroom floor to realize that this life wasn't really what she wanted. It was suffocating her. And I think we all fall into that trap. We get caught up in the day to day. In the to-do's and deadlines and errands that someone somewhere had told us we should do in order to attain The American Dream. And quite frankly, it's appalling to me.

I too dated non-stop through college and afterward. Finding my husband at the young age of 24. Marrying him a week before I turned 25. Having our first child (oops) the week before I turned 26. And I often find myself getting caught up in the day to day, both with my personal life and career. I try too hard to fit this mold of efficiency only to be disappointed by those around me. Then comes the negativity, stress, and wrinkles. Personally, I get worked up about laundry, dishes, how many diapers are in-stock, potty training, groceries, etc. to really enjoy life. I wish I could flip a switch and just become an I-don't-care-if-you-approve-of-my-household attitude. We'd have way more fun. And I wonder if those lines in my forehead would be less deep?

I'm hoping that as I move deeper into this decade of thirties, that I'm more open to letting go. That I don't feel like I owe it to anyone to continue doing all that I am. That I don't feel the need to push harder or challenge everything. Because at the end of the day, I'm not even sure it matters.

And while I may not ever have the opportunity to spend a year solely figuring out myself and my wants and needs, I can make small revelations that will hopefully lead to a more authentic me.

The search continues.

I took a moment to look up Confidence today. In my handy Thesaurus, it lists: trust, belief, faith, credence, and conviction.

Pretty powerful list of words, huh.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm on an ongoing, no-end-in-sight hunt for self confidence. It's brutal. Been going on for over thirty years. And seriously, I'm getting pretty damn sick of trying to find it. For awhile, I convinced myself that it's all my parent's fault. I wasn't told enough how talented I am. I wasn't praised for my grades or my athletic accomplishments enough.

But I know I was wrong. It's not their fault. So I moved on to telling myself that it comes with age. You grow into a confident person. But at 30, I feel less confident than I did at 21...which, in hindsight, is probably when my esteem peaked. (Must have been those velvet pants and backless shirts. Knew I should have kept those around.)

Anyway, back to today. I have no answers. And I'm pretty sure I just fell 20 feet back down that seemingly steep, razor-sharp rocky mountain that is self confidence.

In the back of my mind is perhaps the biggest question of all: how can I have faith in anything if I can't believe in myself?

When you figure out the answer to that one, someone please let me know...

Keeping up.

I know I've mentioned my life-long goal of running a full, 26.2-mile marathon either before or while I'm 30. Maybe I've even noted that I registered for one right down the road scheduled for September 26. But other than that, I've tried to be quiet about my training, and more specifically, my failures and successes along the way.

But after this last weekend, I feel like sharing:

I've been staying pretty true to my training schedule and I do feel stronger. In fact, Saturday I participated in my first Adventure Race. It was a combination scavenger hunt, trail run, trail/road biking and paddle boarding. I wasn't really nervous but very excited to see how my marathoner-in-training body would handle it. Needless to say, I felt great. And it felt awesome to sweat that much. I mean, I was drenched. In some strange way, it was pretty empowering. This was the first time in years that I really felt like an athlete, not just a wannabe.

After an uncomfortable ride (bike seats really should be more comfortable) to visit my parents who had been watching my kids, I began thinking about the 12 miles that loomed in front of me Sunday morning. I dwelled on getting up once again, at 5 am...what happened to sleeping in?!...and just tried to convince myself that I wouldn't be sore and could handle it. (Someone once told me that running is all a matter of making your head believe that your body is as strong as it is. Physically you can be in perfect shape, but if you're not equally as strong mentally, failure is evident.)

I did wake up the next morning at 5. But it was dark and I was on a farm. So I waited 30 minutes before heading out, pepper spray in hand. I ran the 2.25 miles into the nearest town on a railroad dirt path along the tracks, which happens to be some of the best land to run on. Crossing into town, I felt pretty strong. There was a nice breeze and the sky was various shades of blue, trying to decide if it needed to shower a little that morning or just get hot and sticky.

I made my way, looping three times around the small community. Not one person was out. Just a few dogs noticed my presence. Legs felt pretty good. Head was clear. By the time I returned to the railroad path, I was beginning to think about the orange juice waiting for me back home. And while I was ready to be done, it still felt great to get so many miles in before my kids woke up.

What made it even better was knowing that I had worked out for nearly three hours the day before; ran two hours on Sunday morning and still had the strength to help my parents lay irrigation pipe for four hours. My body may be getting older but it's so refreshing to know that it's no weaker than it was several years and two kids earlier. Maybe this weekend is what I needed to remind myself that 26.2 miles may be a long way, but anybody, even a mom with bad knees, weak hips and little sleep can scratch if off her bucket list at the age of 30...

Losing spirit.

I was raised Lutheran, although we weren't always frequent church-goers. I joined the Catholic faith after my husband and were married...after much studying and debate. And while we used to frequent weekly mass, the last two years have really been sporadic.

I think about it often. And every Sunday, I have a sense of guilt that lasts most of the day. The other morning while I was running past the church, I had been reflecting on the pages from Eat, Pray, Love that I had read the night before (much of the intro is about faith and meditation), and I had revelation.

While I do believe in God, I realized that those forty-five minutes we were spending each week at mass did much more than remind us to keep God in our lives...it was time that I used to clear my head. Meditate. Apologize. Clear the slate. And while there is no guarantee that it will get me closer to Heaven, that time does give my heart and soul a therapy session. I can honestly say that I feel meaner, more judgmental...colder...when I skip that special time.

Call it the devil, or just human nature's jealous self soaking into my soul but I believe that quite possibly, not taking time to reflect on our behaviors or consciously remind ourselves of the type of person we're striving to be, that we do slowly become bad people.

Doesn't matter if you need a church, a yoga class or a quite corner in your house, we all need some spiritual cleaning...perhaps even on a weekly basis.

Wisdom comes out of necessity.

I finally discovered the answer to one of my deepest issues: how to get red wine out of white clothing. What is it...the Clorox Bleach Pen. Seriously.

This discovery led me to look back at all of the tiny bits of wisdom I've gained through the last few years as an adult. No, I haven't been paid for any of this. But I am truly loyal to all of the following lifesavers:

1. Bleach pen. My crisp, white and extremely expensive bridesmaid dress from my sister's Vegas wedding in April. Had a great time. A bottle or more of wine. And realized the next day that it must be possible to smear the stuff all over. Nearly two months later, I dabbed this stuff on, wiped it off and bye-bye wine. Guess it's ready for her at-home reception (bring on the Pinot Noir)!

2. Shout. My mother-in-law turned me onto this handy cleaner. I don't even use it on my clothes anymore. Just to 'shampoo' the carpet in my car. Works like a dream. My vehicle is five years old and the carpet looks like new...and with two children 4 and 20 months, there are plenty of spills and splatters.

3. Clorox Wipes. I stash a container of these in about every room in the house. When I'm getting ready for work, I can wipe down my bathroom counter. Wipe up any spills on the floor. These belong in any diaper bag.

4. Swiffer...anything they make. I'm currently just using the WetJet because I sweep every day and am trying to save the Earth from my excessive use of sheets. The WetJet is great because there's no prep time. My kids run outside, I run for the WetJet and start mopping like crazy. By the time they come in for a drink or a band-aid, the floor's clean and dry.

5. Scrubbing Bubbles Shower Cleaner. This thing may go through batteries pretty quickly but it's fast and it works. When my husband and I got married and realized he would essentially have his own bathroom, I knew I needed some 'hands-off' cleaning solution. The only problem is that I have to ask if he's out of solution or batteries and generally he's been out of one or both for awhile...

I'm sure there are more but this is a little peek at my cleaning secrets. No, it doesn't mean I have the cleanest house in town but it sure makes me feel better about my kids eating off the floor.

Taking the plunge

I finally did it. Last week I registered (aka: paid for) a full marathon. And I have about 17 weeks to prepare myself. I've been talking about doing it for so long that it's hard to believe I'm actually going to attempt it. But as I've been reflecting on running and this race and crossing another goal off of my '30' list, I've also been reminded of my first attempts at running.

I read an article today recounting a runner's first experience on the pavement. It was beautiful, but unfortunately, I can't remember my very first experience. Being active in athletics in the small high school I attended, I would imagine it was quite a long time ago...way before I could appreciate it.

But I do remember my first steps after having my son. I was overweight by upwards of 50 pounds. I was ashamed to put on my lycra running pants. Even more when I stepped outside and took the first few steps. I could feel the extra tire or two around my waist. Bouncing with me as I trudged down our main street. It was the first time I realized that you could actually feel your fat responding to physical activity. The entire midsection of my body seemed to working a half step behind me. It was up when my foot came down and vise versa. I just hoped that what I was feeling couldn't be seen by passersby.

I'm not sure I completed a mile at a time back then. But I do remember getting home, stripping down and realizing that my arms had been rubbed raw by my extra-large, post-baby chest. It was all the motivation I needed to get up the next day and face my body fat that seemed to be taunting me. Reminding me that it was fighting like hell to stay there, weighing me down both emotionally and physically.

Just a few weeks later, I had invited my parents up to my first road race. I wore all black. And I struggled through the 5k. I'm ashamed to see those pictures even today, but they were proud and my husband was excited for me. And what followed was a series of road races. Each a testament to my dedication and desire to look and feel better the older I become.

Four years and another child later, I'm still running. Sure, I'm still chasing that goal weight but today it's more about staying healthy and instilling an appreciation for physical activity in my children.

Let's just hope I'm still feeling this way on Mile 24 in September...

Honesty comes with a price.

Earlier this week a good friend of mine brought up the idea of game changers. The idea that at certain times in our lives, we should make a decision that changes the course of our lives in some way, it can be major or seemingly small but a change none the less. At the time, I took it with a grain of salt but the conversation's been haunting me for the last several days.

The conversation led me to discovering a journal, my first journal (1993). I skimmed the pages and like my other journals, much of the content was about who I was dating or trying to date...adolescence is so crazy. Ultimately, that find led me to re-discovering a Dr. Phil workbook I had purchased during college. It was something about helping to realize how the decisions you've made and the people in your life have helped you get to this point in your life. And of course, how to unravel the mess and clear your plate.

I quickly realized that I had only gotten through two or three of the exercises before jumping ship. But one gem, the first exercise, caught my eye. It was my life history in a story format. In it, I discussed how I always felt like my father was never proud of me. He always wanted more, expected more and was always disappointed. And I had felt like the decisions I made in my life, the person I was trying to become, was solely to make him proud-and earn his unconditional love.

The strange part is that in a list-making journal I wrote in a year or so after that Dr. Phil thing, I had made a list about things I love about my dad. The first was that he's forgiving and loves me regardless of my downfalls.

So which entry was honest? I've been trying to figure that out all day and I've got to admit, I'm pretty perplexed. But I do wonder if I've always used my relationships with boys and men as a cover. A way to avoid having to confront the feelings I had/have for my father. Or as a way to try and find whatever sort of approval and acceptance I was so desperately trying to gain.

Because in all honesty, I feel myself craving and striving for approval and acceptance from my spouse. So the big question here is: as we grow and mature, do we ever fully grow out of who we were as a child?

I'm becoming more and more doubtful.

The results are in...

Just to follow up with my previous post: the race was awesome. The weather was perfect. I was in the zone. My hips and knees seemed to understand that I was on a mission and they were in full compliance. While I didn't break any world records, I did break my own personal record and felt great afterward (which makes me wonder if I pushed myself hard enough)...












Wouldn't quite classify myself as a real runner yet but I'm re-energized and feeling ready to take the plunge and give 26.2 a shot.

For the time being, my stress level is low and I'm just waiting for things to overload again.

Self-imposed stress...created here daily.

I'd like to claim that I'm a laid back, hip mom. Truth is, my stomach's in knots more often than not. I can tell myself all day every day to relax and take things as they come but honestly, that's just a lot of mumbo jumbo happening in my head all day. It's amazing I ever accomplish anything.

Of course there's the constant balance of being a mom, wife, employee, banker, housekeeper, etc. And then there are the 'me' items on my list, and one in particular is staring me down this week.

The half-marathon. (insert deep, painful sigh)

My third, you'd think I'd be over it. I trained okay. I'm in less pain then last year. And I know how much I love the atmosphere. But at the end of the day, it's still 13.1 miles. It's still this battle between my body then and my body now. The decent athlete turned mom with weak knees and hips.

I want so badly to be a runner. To know what it's like to be so passionate and dedicated to the sport that if I miss a run, I feel terrible about it all day and run extra long to make up for it the next. To be apart of this strange and fun group of people who do things a little differently. Who spend more money on their running gear than professional wardrobe.

I'm not there yet but hopefully one of these days I'll find a good balance. Whether that's a solid three miles or six, I should just be thankful that my body's still going. There are so many reasons I should be thankful for the opportunity to run a half marathon and yet my heads got me all worked up and worried about beating a time or looking strong or not walking.

Just another example of us being our own worst enemies.

What's your brand?

I've been in advertising for awhile now. And I think I have a pretty good handle on what branding is and isn't. I've also been hearing and reading a lot about personal branding. That maybe we should each examine ourselves as a brand. But then there are those who believe there should be separation between who you are as a professional vs. who you are as an individual. I have to admit, I've been on the fence.

As a writer...advertising or not...I believe that bits and pieces of me are brought out in my writing. I think what we write and how we write it says a lot about who we are, period. And I'm beginning to cherish that. I have a friend who has told me time and again that it doesn't really matter if you're wrong, just believe and do something all the way and stick to your guns. Because it's so much better to have a stance than to not have one at all.

Phase I for me and branding myself is in the works. I will be launching a website for myself that brings my personal and professional life together. Because I'm just about as passionate about what I do from 8-5 as I am for life during the other hours of each day. My profession is also very personal to me. So I'm going to let it all hang out...love me or hate me for it...or just ignore it. It's your choice but my hope is that it'll help me open the door to those goals I've been reluctant to pursue.

Stay tuned.

Defining 'til death'

As I've mentioned before, my husband and I have been married for five years. The first year was super-rocky for several reasons. First, we didn't live together before we got married. And, surprise, I got pregnant in our third month of marriage. I became a step mom. Oh, and did I mention that we bought a house three weeks before our wedding? Anyway, it was rough.

I've always told my friends and family that I believed the first year would be our hardest. And in many ways it was. I had a lot of growing up to do that year. I had to re-assign my priorities. And I had to learn how to truly share.

Today, we still have that house. We've added another baby to the family. My step-daughter is nearing 17 and seeing her is almost impossible. I've added a few side jobs to my resume. And my husband has finally decided to figure out what it is he's supposed to be doing with his life. Needless to say, our fifth year is turning out to be pretty darn challenging.

The good news is that when we sit down and finally focus on us, there's still that youthful, genuine love for one another. If I look hard enough, I can see those two people we were five years ago. And sometimes it's exactly what I need to remind myself that all of this is worth it. That this little life we've created is our own version of the American Dream. And I'm suddenly re-energized to fight like hell to hold on to it.

Age is haunting me.

I finally got down to business and signed up for the Lincoln Half Marathon. Everything was going smoothly until I got to the 'age the day of the race' portion. To be completely honest, I had a hard time writing 3-0. I don't feel what I expect 30 to feel like. Well, except maybe for the wrinkles that keep appearing and the dark circles and the overall lack of energy I have...but really, I'm 22 max.

Seriously though, I'm not all that concerned with how I look as I get older. It's more the goals or dreams I've had. Brief thoughts or bygone resolutions. I always feel a little disappointed in myself when I realize that in my 30 glorious years, there are things I feel I should have accomplished already.

I'm sure it's something everyone goes through. I just hope I'm not too scared to pursue them now. It's not my kids, my job...my age...or my geography. It's all me. The world's biggest roadblock.

Maybe my road past 30 can include being confident. Or finding the confidence to pursue, 100%, some of the things I've put on the sidelines.

Failure is after all, just a learning experience, right?!

Relax...seriously

My husband and I just returned from our five-years belated honeymoon in Jamaica. My expectations going in were that we'd find all this time to talk and really re-connect and become those two people we were before we got married. I thought I'd catch up on all this sleep; start my book; etc.

The reality was completely different, but as good if not better. I had no idea that I'd be able to shut my mind off from work, my freelance stuff, my teaching gig, my domestic responsibilities...and I did. I honestly only thought about where we would choose to hang out on the beach or where we would eat at the next meal. (and the regular re-application of sun screen)

While my kids mean the world to me, I felt myself not really missing them but experiencing things I knew they would appreciate if they had been there. I was sad to leave knowing that my mind needed to shift back to our day-to-day life. But two days into our 'old' life, I still have a little Jamaica in me. I still feel calmer and a little less jumpy. I feel good about our life but one truth became very obvious: we do it to ourselves.

Seriously, the stress and this feeling that I have to accomplish so much by a certain age and please so many people. It's crazy. It's unrealistic. And it's definitely not satisfying. I'm not saying that I'm going to care less and work less but I think when the time comes I may be more willing to let go; I may be more easily persuaded to let people help (or even ask for help); and I may feel less alone. One thing is for certain, I'm going to fight like hell to remind myself of this little life lesson and hope that it makes a permanent difference in my life.

The finish line.

I seem to have gotten off track of what my primary mission was when creating this blog. I've shared some stories of awareness, lessons learned, etc. but I haven't really given myself a reality check with the goals I had set a little over a year ago.

I do feel like I become a better mom every day. Sure, I stumble from time to time and there are days I'd say I'm a terrible mother but for the most part, I'm proud of who I am as a mother...this of course is on-going as my children get older and new challenges come about.

I have failed miserably in terms of strengthening my faith. I remember a conversation I had with our former priest while I was deciding whether or not to become Catholic and he had said that raising my family to be avid church-goers was ultimately up to me. And over the past year, I have neglected to enforce my own feelings and beliefs regarding where God should be in my life. So this is a goal that continues and I hope I can make a positive change.

My career...that's a tough one. I love my job. I love the industry I work in. I hate recessions. I hate limited budgets. And I have felt the negativity rise and fall and rise and fall...you get the picture. I feel that I can always work on being positive and improving my craft. So, while I feel that I am fighting the good fight, I just need to work on doing it in a more positive light.

Fitness is another biggie. I had set a goal for myself to run a full marathon. 26.2 miles. I don't want to be a competitor, I just want the opportunity to say that I did it. I feel like I let an injury keep me from accomplishing this goal last year and while I've lost the baby weight and then some, I still feel that I could be more fit. I could be more passionate about running. And I have to achieve this goal this year before I hit the 31 mark.

And lastly, my novel. I have high hopes. I have ideas roughed out on little pieces of paper. And I have this vision that while I'm sunning myself in Jamaica this winter, I'll have seven days of brilliance to get the foundation set for a best seller. We'll see...now if only I could get myself a fancy little netbook :)

There are more, but this is where I'm at with those closest to my heart. I of course have goals of improving my marriage and my friendships and those will be on-going as well. So I guess stay tuned and if you have any advice on how I can improve myself...aside from liposuction, botox and designer fashions...I'm always open.