Tag Archives: Love

Las Vegas, NV

We’re All Just Stories in the End

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Several times this week I’ve found myself thinking “If only others could read this blog I’m writing in my head, they’d be inspired!” So here I am, taking myself back to the blog to take things out of my head, and maybe… just maybe… inspire others.

The Strip, Las Vegas, NV

When I last left you I was telling the story of my wandering across Spain on the Camino de Santiago, almost 2 years ago. A lot has happened in that time. I now find myself in Las Vegas, a place I would’ve preferred to never return. It brings back the week after my miscarriage, drunken and grieving on the very steps I’m sitting on now, 8 years ago. This time I’m here for growth, for learning, for connecting.

I’m attending a conference where the courses I’m taking focus on leadership, team building, and strategy. I’m still a wanderer, but now I wander the stories of those in close proximity to me. I wander the lives of those struggling to survive, hoping to impart wisdom and able to impart financial assistance. It’s a role that empowers my inner wild woman, while simultaneously being wrought with struggle and anxiety. This is the culmination of years of wandering and hearing the stories of others.

We are, after all, just stories in the end. A series of short stories, chaotic chapters, and lengthy novels. The journey to wander is the longest inside us.

1 of 14 Life Labyrith “Seek”

We are, inside each of us, a winding labyrinth that continues to move through ourselves over and over, developing the next step. If you’ve been lucky enough to buy one of this series you know that you’re endlessly connected to the others, known and unknown, who have also purchased one of these pieces.

People watching is almost as interesting as hearing their stories. So here I sit in vegas, wondering about all of the many stories I watch walk past. The Indian gal who picked up a diaper from the path to throw it away. The couples dressed to the nines, gorgeous and grand. The families and couples. The mother and daughter signing words to each other. So many stories untold to me, but lived every day.

I want to put up a sign that says “Tell me a story” and see who stops. On the Camino we were always telling our stories to each other. As a leader I hear the stories of my team and of the households they help. I have my own story, so often untold, until a kindred spirit insisted. I’m a human body full of so many stories, my own and others. Many get locked deep in a chest to respect and honor the storyteller. Many I get to pass on in tidbits of wisdom shared by others. Many are stories of how I’ve encountered my own wisdom.

This conference has such a focus on taking time to hear the stories of those in our agencies. They talk about development, about GROWTH, and how that means we can’t one-size fits all our leadership. It may seem easier to project my own motivations, desires, and needs on others… but easier is not connective, healing, “agape” love.

So I’ve wandered into a new space of introspection and extrospection. I watch people in the world around me a little closer. I make eye contact with love in my eyes and if I’m lucky enough to have someone impart their story on me… well I try my hardest to love them, see them, and honor them.

After all, we’re all just stories in the end, and stories are beautiful.

Camino de Santiago Frances, Spain

Finding New Life

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I’m struggling on this journey with habits and patterns that I have created at home to manage myself and my PTSD.
If I were home right now I would be sleeping, because it’s still morning. I might go out to work at Starbucks today. I may spend time painting or drawing. I would likely sit outside at the picnic table, enjoying the last days of summer with Janelle before she goes back to work. I’d have made a coffee, and then another, and likely a third. I wouldn’t have eaten anything yet. I’d likely spend a lot of time indoors, binging Netflix or reading a novel. Possibly, I would do some household chores and rearrange the living room for the millionth time. Tomorrow I would do the same, just as this is what I did yesterday. Life became stale. I was complacent in my maximum isolation. So full of thoughts, and hopes, and desires, but not moving towards anything, just talking it in circles and writing down ideas.
This morning I had one cafe con leche and a ham and cheese sandwich. I packed my bag and I hit the road. I greeted others in kindness and compassion for our mutual journey and struggles up hills. I drank lots of water. I stopped and meditated in my surroundings, not concerned with those going past at faster speeds than I. I drank more water and ate a small muffin. I heard music and I stopped to sing along as the Guitarist played Stand By Me (Ben E. King). I encouraged myself to keep moving on the hills, but to stop, look around, and look up. I discovered that what I thought were dates were actually almonds. Who knew they grew on trees in green pods? I didn’t, nor did the three French women who showed it to me, explaining in French. I don’t speak French, but we understood each other all the same.
I found an old cistern on the top of a hill and I stopped to meditate again. Maybe someone took my picture, or they were just catching the view. Someone walked by and told me “Namaste”. I continued to meditate and breathe. When I opened my eyes everything was brighter, my sight was clearer. Even the ants on my bag didn’t ruin my day. I wondered why it is that I avoid meditating regularly. Is lack of peace such a comfortable place?
I arrived at my destination and felt as if I had not come far enough today, but I’m learning I must make myself pause, even when my body insists it can go further. I fed, cleaned, and embraced my body for its strength and resilience. I interact with others through smile and greeting, feeling akin. This is a life one cannot find binging netflix in the living room. I do believe this is a life we can find by stepping out our front door. There is no need to travel, though I highly encourage it. Seeing and experiencing other cultures gives us perspectives to grow and love better. I hope and believe that everyone can take their own journey and not only finds new ways to embrace life, but like I have on this trail, find that life is embracing you back.

Camino de Santiago Frances, Spain

Buen Camino, Good Afternoon – Day 2

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I don’t think there will be enough pages in this journal to tell my whole story. Apparently on paper I am as wordy as in person, maybe to make up for the lack of human interaction yesterday. At dinner last night no one spoke enough English, it just added to my exhaustion.

So today I didn’t make myself get up early. I set my alarm for 7:00 a.m. and when it went off I was the only one left. I took my time getting ready, repacking, eating breakfast, and doing foot care. I was going 15 km (11ish miles) and was fine talking all day. I hit the trail and met with Rosa and Empara again. They had stayed in Roncesvalles and received a blessing at mass. They passed it on to me through a hug. My feet were feeling a bit better thanks to my panaway oil. I was moving slow though, so they went on head of me. I was walking and enjoying the last coolness of the day when I heard an Australian accent behind me, it was Alice. I had met her the previous day, but then forgotten in my exhaustion. She was chatting with an American from California, Jack. Allen, Canadian, and Izzy, British, came along shortly and we made an interesting group of native English speakers. The fun thing about traveling in a group of many strangers is that at different points we would fall into different walking groups. The trail didn’t really allow for us to walk side by side all the time. It allowed us to have individual conversations and get to know each other based on mutual interests. It’s a good reminder that not everyone will always be interested in ever topic, and that is okay! It was interesting conversation within the group. It was interesting to get to know more about the respective locations they each live in. We all came from different backgrounds, but still felt connected because of our mutual desire to walk the Camino.

Back home, Jack, had worked for a poitician as an aid. Allen drives a Ferry Boat in Vancouver. Izzy was working for an NGO. Alice is currently in between positions. It is interesting the diverse work backgrounds we come from, in addition to the diverse countries and cultures. We discussed all kinds of life situations. I shared about my time in the military. So far I hadn’t mentioned my veteran status to anyone on the trail. I also hadn’t interacted at any length with too many people. I felt awkward and like it was inappropriate to identify myself as a veteran. This sensation came from my uncertainty about the response that individuals around the world have towards veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan War. Through discussing NGO’s, I brought up Team Rubicon and how it is in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, and continuing to grow. This led to identifying as a veteran which led to discussion about my time during the wars and in the military. They were sensitive to how I felt discussing it, but I told them what I most often say. “It’s never easy, but I feel it’s valuable to discuss it in order to destigmatize it.” Most often when I say this I mean it. This time though, something inside of me felt like a robot. I think the nature of this pilgrimage has had me on edge. The emotions are moving to the surface. Eventually the subject changed naturally and I was glad to move on. Also at one point I literaly found 20 Euro.

Despite the physical pain from yesterdays walk, I made great time. It helps to walk with other people because my stride just naturally matched theirs. They were moving quite fast, but as long as we were talking I didn’t feel it. When we reached the bridge that crossed into Zubiri we all sat down, exhausted. I took my shoes and socks off and was so blissful to be barefoot. Only a portion of the group planned to stop in Zubiri. At that point we kind of parted ways, because I was not yet ready to stand up and go look for the room I had booked. The others hadn’t booked ahead like me, so they went off to search for their own bed in an Albergue that wasn’t full yet. It was still early in the afternoon, about 1pm, so there was a lot of time to fill our days. The day had grown quite hot, typical for early August in Spain. Upon crossing the old roman bridge that led into the town the evidence of an ongoing festival laid before me. Many of the establighments were closed not only because it’s Sunday, but also because of the festival. The square had families with children, just lounging. The kids were wearing these human size puppet costumes and running around. The costumes reminded me of a life sized Punch and Judy show.

The Albergue I stayed at was a small space for eight people in four bunk beds, located just off the square called Albergue Zaldiko. Today was the first day of laundry, seeing as I only have two changes of clothes. I thought I would use the washer in my Albergue, but it was 6 Euro for the wash and no dryer. Lots of people were coming into the Albergue and I had yet to each lunch, so I made my escape from the crowded space. Just down the block was an open bar that appeared filled with Pilgrims. I figured that was as good a shot and I didn’t have to hunt another option down. Upon entering the bar I ran into the French girl I met yesterday coming down the mountain. You remember, the one I yelled “Because I’m Dumb!” at? Well she didn’t hold my outburst against me and invited me to sit down with her and eat lunch. We had great conversation over mediocre food serve with french fries. She had started her Camino further back in France on one of the French routes to Saint Jean. For her this was a very religious experience and important to her spiritual well being. It was really delightful to hear her perspective of the Camino and what it was like on the trail in France. The trails before Saint Jean do not have the solid infrastructure available on the “official” path that we are currently walking. She had to be more clever and connect with the churches to find places to stay.

She was not planning to stay in Zubiri, but continue on that night. However, by the time we finished eating it was 3pm and she decided that maybe she would look for a room. We checked at my Albergue, but they were full up except for a more expensive private room. She opted to search for a more affordable option. Most Pilgrims are on a very strict budget, so ideally a bet can be booked for 10 Euro or less. We agreed to meet in an hour and go to the river together. During our lunch I had mentioned that I needed to do laundry and wondered if she wanted to go in on the machine together. She told me about how the “Pilgrims Way” is to wash the clothing by hand in the sink and hang it to dry. I know how to do this, but I worry that I won’t get my clothes clean. After she went to find a bed for the night and wash her own laundry. I saw other people washing their clothes in the sink and decided to try my best and see how it went. I got water everywhere, but the clothes got washed (or at least a solid rinse). While I was doing laundry there was a giant parade outside to go along with the town festivities.

By the time I had finished my laundry everything had calmed back down. I opted to go sit in the shade and pluck on the Ukelele I brought with me. I don’t often get shy about things, but with the Ukelele I was very shy. I don’t have a good grasp on it, and so my nerves go up when I try playing around others. The street wasn’t busy, so I figured this was a good time to try it out. I lost myself in playing, just like I had by the river in Bayonne. There is just something about strumming the ukelele that calms my soul. A Camino cyclist came by and smiled at me playing, his smile touched his eyes. It made me glad I had decided to play. His kindness gave me courage. I had really debated bringing this extra weight with me, but today Iam grateful for the extra weight.

Alice came by and chatted with me while I was waiting for the French Girl. She said she had seen her at the other albergue washing laundry. Alice invited me to the river, but I said we would catch up and I would wait for the French Girl. Despite an hour long lunch together, I do not yet know the French Girls name, which is why I keep calling her “the French Girl.” Maybe I had learned it and forgotten it. It’s only been two days, but I feel like I have been on the trail for forever. I was determined to suck up any potential embarassment and ask her name. I knew I was likely going to have to do this a lot on the trail, so I my as well start now.

Her name is Cecilia, Ceci. We went to the river, but couldn’t find Alice. We did find some rocks we could sit in with our feet in the water. Even though today was much shorter than yesterday, my feet were still beaten and hurting. The water was an elixir of life for my poor feet. Ceci and I sat there, soaking our feet, and talked about all kinds of things. The political struggle, negative beliefs of our respective societies on others, religion, how we each experience the world, and she taught me some French things about Love. She said that I am right in thinking that the French are experts in love. She encouraged me to play my ukelele for a while and while this was happening, and young spanish boy came up and started to squirt me with his water gun. He didn’t speak english, but he did speak French. So between my spanish and Ceci’s French we had a fun conversation with him. We followed our river time up with an early dinner at 6pm. I mean early by European standards. It was an enjoyable evening and now I shall go to sleep, feeling connected.

This ends Day 2 on the trail, 13.5 miles per my phone and 15km per my guide.

Kansas City, MO

My Flawed Existence

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To be human is to be flawed and to succeed by simply the act of continuing to try again. I am great at counting my flaws and I struggle some days to keep trying. I find though that I have had to stop trying to be perfect. The idea of perfection still creeps into my thoughts and I have to do the hard work to not allow it to take control. For the most part, I am glad to say, I am not trying to be perfect. I am most simply these days just trying to be, to exist with the world around me. Through all of this I am just trying to understand my own nature further, and the nature of other humans around me.

I feel that humanity hides itself under the cover of owning things, gaining power/perfection, and trying to hide our flaws. I find deep gratitude when others I interact with are also working on seeing who they are underneath the covers that mask our true selves. In our modern era, full of information and toys, we struggle harder to simply enjoy our lives. I have read various research which discusses how there are too many choices available to us, and this overwhelms our capacity to be happy.

With a world so full of so many things we often makes things more difficult than they need to be. I know that I do. I am constantly speaking with my therapist about getting in the way of my own healing. I set barriers in my life that restrict me from fully embracing the world around me. These are flaws that I have to come to terms with. They are fall-backs that when I am hungry, angry, lonely, tired, or all of the above I will likely revert to.

I have some beautiful friends that I often get to speak with by phone or enjoy over a coffee. I have a flaw of not always remembering to be grateful for them. I have the flaw of being afraid of their judgement or dislike of who I am. I worry that trying to be a simple writer/artist/barista/aspiring bohemian woman seems silly to them. I also worry that in doing so I will fail myself. The truth though is in the words I said at the start of this, and have said many times to individuals I have supported through healing. If you are trying you are succeeding. It seems too simple to be true. It seems like not a big deal and gets pushed to the side by the habits we have learned through our society.

We have to clear out all the many choices and the multitude of things that get in the way. We have to return to the simple self, who are we when everything no longer exists in our life? The biblical figure Job is a good example. The book of Job is about God proving to Satan that when Job has nothing left he still has God. I have in my life been asked in various different settings who I am when I take away the volunteering, the working for others, the trauma story, the activities I do, and the things I call myself. Through one program, You School, I was asked a number of questions that helped me dive into who I am.

Through that exercise I found a key Greek term that I have known for years, Agape (ἀγάπη, agapē). This word is found in the original Greek portions of the Bible and is one of several Greek words which translated to the word “Love” in the English language. This specific Greek word denotes the love which God gives to humanity without expectation of return. It is a benevolent love, one full of good will. When I look at my life and the world around me I find that I often focus on the trauma and the pain. It some days appears that there is not good in the world. I had the Greek Agape tattooed on my forearm as a reminder of why I exist in the world. If I have no other reason to be here, at least I can love unconditionally others.

Part of me hopes what I give to others will be returned to me by others, but ultimately it is a term that I must apply to my relationship with myself. The thing about developing myself and being aware of the world around me is that I cannot care for others if I am not first caring for myself adequately. One of the flaws I hear of a lot from different individuals is that serving others is what gives us meaning in life. I know many people who don’t face their own flaws in the mirror because they are too busy helping with their neighbors crisis or flaw. It goes back to balance, which is a common theme on my journey. Helping others can give me perspective but at the end of the day, am I helping myself?

How can we truly be human, accept ourselves, and in turn accept others, if we are so busy ignoring our own humanity? If we are so busy building walls to protect ourselves from the unknown, the dangerous, the risky, the scary? If we build the walls to keep out those things which we have learned to dislike the most we are also building walls to the joy, the happiness, the love, the true connection and relationship we could have with other people.

So here I am being all smart, right? In fact, I am saying this as much for me as anyone else. I struggle to move past the knowledge bombs I like to drop on myself, to the place where I am actually experiencing life. For so long I have watched the world around me, I have been a spectator full of criticism and judgement as I have gone along. I have failed to accept my own flaws and really embrace them. Though it may not seem like it sometimes, I am trying.

This is why I am a wanderer though, because I do not know what this looks like in the end. I wish I did, I wish I knew the outcome for myself, what I can achieve, what I will look back on at the end of my life. Often it feels like life is just happening to me, so I wander along, trying to just experience it. When I have tried to plan it often fails or doesn’t turn out how I desire. The thing about it all is that I have to find unconditional love for myself. I have to dig in roots here, I have to accept my flaws and my story.

The thing is, I keep digging, sometimes I hit rocks, sometimes its’ an easy passage, and sometimes the roots stick. That’s the funny thing about wandering, the roots start to grow in different places, but they don’t hold you back, they support you to grow more, gain more nourishment, and discover what can bloom on your tree of life. There are knotty parts on the tree, some broken roots, some storm damage, and many flaws. All of this together makes you stronger. So yes, I have a flawed existence, and that is okay, I’ll keep trying. And in trying, I will be succeeding.

Kansas City, MO

I don’t know you, but I love you.

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I don’t know you, but I love you.

Last year a friend of mine suicided. Honestly, we were not that close but we shared this passion and this purpose that draws me close to so many people. I attended his funeral and grieved with my friends for the red-bearded giant who loved pumpkin spice lattes in the morning and Jamison to cap the day off. More than his favorite drinks he loved serving others and having a purpose. I didn’t know him well, but loved him nonetheless.

In the last 18 months I have in some way been connected to more individuals than I can count on my hands, who have taken that last resort, that last ditch option that it’s hard to back out of except on accident. When James’ suicide took my community by storm there was an outcry on social media from so many people who were struggling with thoughts and behaviors of suicide. I moved from post to post offering my support as a trained ASIST caregiver, my friendship, and most importantly my love. Some rejected my statements or thought me foolish, one girl challenged how I could love her without knowing her. Nonetheless , I love each of them. I want to tell you why I can love each of you, without ever having met you.

This is a hard time of year for me, because it is the anniversary of how in the darkest of days in my life I was able to love someone that I didn’t even know and in the end will never truly know. I lost my baby in my first trimester. It’s statistically probable and so relatively insignificant that it occurred, in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t a cookie cutter planned pregnancy, but none the less I found myself with child. Something I wanted my whole life. I had no idea who this life was inside me. What a good man he could be. What glass ceilings she might shatter. I didn’t need to know a thing about my baby, who I called Sharkbait, after Nemo. Just like Nemo, my baby would start out with disadvantages, but I believed he was strong, that she could conquer all. I believed that just by being I could love Sharkbait so much that it would never end.

I remember my devastation, after two weeks of hearing a heartbeat while suffering complications, to birth my almost 10 week old fetus in the dark of my room and realized I’d never hear the sound of his heart again. Sharkbait was gone and I loved him no less and maybe even so much more for the wasted potential.

When someone suicides, or simply doesn’t try in life to succeed, I find that I love them nonetheless and also so much more. Knowing this, having experienced what I have, I try each day to love every person I encounter more and more. I’m not always perfect, but I damn sure try, and no one is less off for my love.

I recall very vaguely the few days following my miscarriage where my mum flew me to where she was in Vegas at a conference, so I could be near her. It was a blaze of booze, cigarettes, and a roulette table. It was late nights sitting on a pillow in the bathroom so she wouldn’t be awoken by my sobs.

I thought I would die. I wished for it. It was a shit year full of mental health crisis from my undiagnosed PTSD (at the time) that I couldn’t acknowledge because of stigma. The same stigma that makes people not talk about suicide or miscarriage. The things that make us appear so vulnerable in its’ honesty, so we bottle them up like they don’t exist… until they boil over in the dark of night… at bar closing when we’ve had too much to drink… in whispered circles with intimate friends… in the awkward pause when someone says that I don’t know the pain of childbirth without remembering they know my hidden shame.

When I lost him I told myself the sympathetic response that we’re now taught not to say… “At least you can have more kids one day”… “ At least you’re free now from being tied down”… and the list goes on. No one told me those things, they were mine to say. Mostly other people would stutter, at a loss for words, often they still do. The empathic response I’ve been told are the ones that helped me pick up the pieces and change my own mindset. “I understand.” “Me too.” “I love you.” “I’m here for you.” The most valued response was the love I was given.

Through my own ongoing struggles with suicide post-Iraq, my miscarriage almost broke the camels back. The next year around this time I became even worse than before with my thoughts and behaviors of suicide. In the interim I’d connected to an organization that provided me the opportunity to live and serve others, I did so as a promise to the lost potential from my miscarriage. I felt I had to take on and be the potential, make my life something of value.

It wasn’t enough. The one year anniversary came and I was a mess. There were people who didn’t know my full story, and still won’t unless they read this blog. It didn’t stop those people from loving me regardless of their knowledge of me. They saved me, helped me carry what felt like an impossible burden. I still could not speak of it. Nonetheless, I was loved beyond measure.

Through multiple programs, therapies, medications, struggles with binge drinking, and not always making good decisions I have been loved regardless of how well others know me. You don’t even know what you don’t know about another person. So you have to go on faith that you love things about them you couldn’t even imagine.

We all have secret pains. We all suffer shame and guilt. We all let society and it’s stigma hold us back from the edge of living our true lives and being our true selves.

If you’ve suffered a miscarriage, have a mental health diagnosis, struggle with suicide or addiction, or even feel as if your life is happy and easy, whatever you are, whatever you do… I love you, I really do, even though I likely don’t even know you. You can take faith knowing that you are loved. You are not alone. I look for you in the street, so we can share a smile and be connected a little more. even if only for a second… because nonetheless I will always love you, the same way as after 4 years I still love my Sharkbait that never got to live, but somehow helped me find a life worth living.

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, MO

2am and Sober

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Sometimes I like it here, in the deep of the night. The 2am without alcohol. The alone-ness of my apartment. Everything around me is silent, except the fan on my ceiling and the low hum of the refrigerator. If I sit quiet enough it becomes like I don’t exist. Slowly without thought drinking cold water from a glass. I can feel my muscles tense and move in my shoulders as I lift the glass to my lips. The silence is almost deafening.

The small sounds are present like white noise in a mothers womb. It is as if I am encapsulated in a bubble that is safe, serene, and without emotion. My mind clears itself to match the silence outside my body. It begins to drift, not to anything in particular, just to drift. My mind samples this thought and that, but has no attachment to any of them. I consider going to bed, but I can’t, because in this moment I just am. I won’t go to sleep yet, because I want to hold on to this peace for as long as I can.

It is in this moment of peace that I plan for tomorrow. I plan to be tired in the morning, but recall this moment where I just was. I will recall how I felt a part of everything and nothing all at once. I will recall how this moment is different than the 2am’s where I drank till I couldn’t remember what time it was. How this moment is different than other 2am’s sober. This is a different moment, where I am not haunted by the dark. Where I cannot be scared by visions of my past, present, or future. It is a place where I can know that the dark is not always to be feared and full of enemies.

I think of the quote that I keep saying over and over, “Be so full that even if they take and take and take you can still be overflowing.” (Alison Malee)

It comes to me in this moment of silence, at the end of the night, when I should have been in bed hours ago. It makes me think of how just at this 2am moment I am in a place that I can refill my cup. I don’t want to be anything but a giver, and so I must continuously learn to find new ways to stay overflowing. In the moments where my vehicle won’t move in traffic and I see the shadow of the clouds shift on the trees around me. In the moments where I take a break to walk or just stand and stretch during a conversation. It is the 2am moments where I feel that I am a part of the whole big world, but nothing in it at all.

I have seen many 2am’s where it’s all hazy and exhausting and often forgotten or needed to be pieced back together. I don’t know who really enjoys that kind of 2am. I could be found crouching somewhere crying or would have disappeared all together. My feet always hurt and often my face was tight from the make-up and the cigarettes. I would drive home hoping to not get pulled over or hit anyone and it was a miracle when it never happened. I hardly felt safe, never serene, and always filled with too many emotions. It is amazing I survived those roller coaster nights. It is amazing that I was too drunk to suicide, though often the thought crossed my mind. I would pass out before I could do anything else. It is amazing I am giving that up, no matter how hard it is to not drown my sorrows.

A character in a television show was asked why he did drugs and drank. His response “I suppose it was because I did not like myself very much.” That stuck with me. I like myself very much now and I work very hard to love myself as well. There are a million reasons to run from having to like and love myself, but they are merely excuses. So when I sit here at 2am and am Sober, I know that I am breaking down my own barriers to being overflowing in my life. With this serenity and fullness comes happiness, joy, and prosperity in my life. The person that I did not like very much is not really here anymore. I don’t want to forget it, I won’t let myself, and so I write to record the person who I am becoming.

The person you are at 1:59am is not the person you are at 2am. I hope that in the change of a moment you grow and do not whither. That you find hope and not fear. That you find peace and not conflict. So stop at any moment, and pause, look around you, take a deep breathe, listen to what you can and cannot hear. Search in the moment of silence for the sensation of how you are a part of everything and at the same time nothing in this world. Just be.

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, MO

Take Heart, So Dear and Brave

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Dear, brave, heart, the world is not what you expect of it.

Expectations, are not what you believe of them. They are things which are made up. Expectations are living creatures that creep up on you from the shadows and lay out a specific path for you to follow. These creatures crawl around on many legs, with many forms, and many virtues. They strive to control the person you desire to be. Expectations as they live and breathe are movable things, they are fluid, and they can be rejected. Their master is those who create them, and their slave is those who follow them. For the person who understands what in their life they can control, they will be both master and slave. They will create the creature that lays their path.

Sometimes, people yell at you, when you do not deserve to be yelled at. These are the moments when others force their expectations upon you, and they feel you fail to deliver on their creations. They desire to be the master and the expectation their muse. As master and muse they crave a slave and creation. They desire a puppet that cowers to tone and volume of their yell. All the while, they do not realize what it is they are a slave to themselves. For not a single master is not also a slave to expectations. So stay brave, dear heart. For if you know what you control, then they cannot enslave you.

Sometimes, you take a step too far past the line of respect. No matter how brave a heart may be or how much they try a heart may fail with the best of intentions. Life is a progress, not a perfection. However, there are hearts that are not as brave and loving as you are, dear one. There are hearts full of shadows, scratching claws, and gnashing teeth. They wear masks and try to fool us. They do not have the best of intentions. They walk the line of respect looking for a foothold, for a thinning of the line, where they might cross. We must be wary and watchful for hearts such as these that shed not love and instead seek to lessen us. For a heart so brave and true, you know what you can control.

Sometimes, you cannot go back on your actions. This is a thing you can control dear one. However, you can choose new ones. You can choose to change how your body moves and if it hurts or heals yourself and others. Hindsight is often known to be the clearest form of sight, but it is not a vision which can be undone. You must find strength to make new choices on your actions. Promote a world where you can be who you are, and where others expectations are not your master. So no, you cannot change the past, but you can improve the future. By choosing the way in which you reach out and touch the world you can become even braver dear heart, this you can control.

Sometimes, an attitude gets in the way. Attitudes are controllable when we are paying attention to ourselves, dear one. Emotions and thoughts can spin us around like a top on a table which falls off the edge and clatters to the floor. They affect our actions. They affect our attitudes. We feel so spun up and out of control and wrapped in our own yo-yo yarn that we forget the way in which we can control our lives. Believe in something that you struggle to see, dear heart, your own ability. Allow that to untangle you. You choose how to show what is going on inside of you. You can determine what others see in you. Shine with vulnerability, honesty, and compassion. Let your attitude be not one of division, but one of humanity and equality. Let it be an attitude of love for yourself and others. Dear heart, this will be hard, but you are brave.

Sometimes, they love you when you do not deserve to be loved. What an odd thought, dear one. That you would think yourself unworthy of being loved by another, perchance for no other reason than because it is good and right to do so. Love is a sparrow that flies across the sky to the destination which it most desires. It is difficult for us to control the flight of a wild sparrow in search of its’ chosen destination. Being loved is not up to us, if we are loved, then we deserve to be loved. It is not a gift which once given can be given back. Though, there are times that you take love back. We control our own sparrows so full of love and the destination in which we desire them to land. Do not shy away from the multitude of sparrows in your heart waiting to soar to the farthest reaches or the coldest shores. For loving is about giving unto others, for no other reason than you desire to. Dear, brave, heart, I hope you soar.

Always, you should set your own expectation to move forward. You should look for what you truly control in your life, and that which you cannot. You should follow your dreams, dear heart. You should take to the sky and continue going until your life becomes one in which you know you are safe and loved. A bird in a storm does not give up, but takes shelter for the moment. Emotions come and go, so do people. Both can be equally overpowering. Dear heart, you know what you can control. The strength in your being with each beat of your muscles continues without thought. This is why you move forward, why you keep learning, and why you can make choices in your life.

The world can be cruel and will most definitely throw wrenches into the gears of your life. Sometimes, you may wonder how to end these wrenches in life that tear you up and sometimes stop your functions. You can’t my dear, brave, heart, you just cannot. It is as much a fact as gravity on earth. There are things in life which you can control, and this is just not one of those things. These other things which you can control will be the difference between a life where you are whole and overflowing or a life where you are less than you might desire because the wrenches took control. A life of greatness awaits you, my dear, brave, heart.

In all the things that you control, just remember the basic rules. Always, if it hurts you or another, stop, turn back, reject that direction. Otherwise be you, and expect others to be them, my dear, brave, heart. Go now, walk on, take flight, and soar. Take Heart, so dear and brave.

Kansas City, MO

Be Human, Not a Box Checker

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Often in my daily life I hear a request for quantitative metrics to support actions I am doing or suggesting they take at work. When looking at metrics that is compiled there are two main types, quantitative and qualitative. Quantitative metrics is about numbers. These metrics can be easily compiled into a pie chart, a bar graph, or any number of tools available that give a simple picture of a situation. It allows a person or company to look at specific information and compare it to each other to better understand the service or product. I appreciate quantitative metrics, it gives me a good picture of what is going on. Despite the popularity of quantitative metrics, I love qualitative metrics even more so.

Qualitative metrics, or data, is descriptive in nature. It is harder to organize qualitative data into a nice clean pretty graphic that can be understood by the masses. To me qualitative data tells a story. I am a storyteller. Stories are about life, and life is hardly ever only nice, clean, and pretty. The more I hear pressure to ensure that I can have quantitative metrics, the more I begin to wonder what these metrics can really tell us. Sometimes it seems like it becomes so much pressure to have good metrics that the reason behind why we do things changes or maybe doesn’t even exist anymore.

I have coined the term “Be Human, don’t check boxes.” I seem to say it a lot in explanation for why I want to do things differently than those around me. Though I see the good of quantitative metrics I more resoundingly hear the stories of quality. This doesn’t mean that we should stop measuring the numbers and making pretty little graphics. What I mean is I believe in my life that if you are human then the boxes will check themselves.

What does being human look like?

Being human is the essence of knowing your story, listening to someone else’s story, and processing what that means. If we only ever look at numbers then we miss the real picture. We miss the things that are between the numbers. Being human is about being focused on listening. It is doing the right thing because it is for the good of another person or even just for the good of yourself. When you put the qualitative data, the human story, before the numbers you have the ability to ask questions. You ask open, Socratic, questions that allow an individual to dig deeper within themselves to find the answers that best fit their life. This is where you will learn the really important things about those around you. Just don’t expect them to fit into your nice little boxes like you may desire.

If someone took the time to listen to you and help you process information and seek your own answers, what do you suppose the survey results might look like? In my world, when someone listens, respects, and honors my decisions I attempt to ensure that they receive accolades for a job well done. If you are human and treat me as human then I will respond in kind fulfilling your need for metrics. Consider those around you that you interact with. The ones that you are drawn back to, that you become friends with, are typically the ones who listen to you and respect you. We all have issues in our lives, and some of us are trying to get over listening to the negative voices and allowing people to treat us poorly. If you don’t think that you are surrounded by people who listen, support, and respect then get out. Be human for yourself!

Being human is about kindness, caring, and compassion. Being human is about being vulnerable and building deep relationships that help you through hard times. Struggles will always come, but the more human we are with one another, the easier we can make the struggle. This is our reality, not a pie chart or a movable bubble graph, but the real heart of life that is seen through the stories we tell. We see the pain and the anguish that occurs in life and through the actions of being human we are able provide comfort. We see the joys and achievements which allow us to celebrate together.

This is why when I schedule one hour for a person, if they need two, I take it, and I work hard to ensure I value that time given to me. I slow my own life down enough to listen to what another person is saying to me. Communication is more than just the words we say, it is the words we don’t say, the way we say them, and how we act when we do this. It is the stepping stone that has built us into this monolithic society which often can overpower the human aspects of our lives. The thing which built us is most easily forgotten in the rush and the pressure of our day to day lives.

I challenge you

I challenge you to ask yourself if you are being human or if you are merely trying to check boxes? Do you slow yourself down long enough to give your child the time they so deserve and desire? Do you pause and look up to give a smile to a stranger on the street? Do you stop to consider what else is going on in a persons life when they are struggling at work? Do you give yourself time to find internal value and provide the self-care that is so important to who you are? Find questions like these to ask yourself and then ask: what would make me more human?

On an occasion I sit down with a person and I just hold space. I reserve the need to provide a response to what they are sharing. Eventually when I break the hold I ask reflective questions based on what they just told me. This allows for the individual to seek their own answers and know I was listening to them. I support them in what they are doing. On occasion those individuals dive even deeper into their story than they originally intended to go. I do not do this to cause distress, I do this because being human comes with emotions. I work to hold space for my friends and those I interact with to feel their emotions and take the time to think over what they are sharing. This is just one way in which I work to be human, instead of checking boxes.

In a society where we all work remotely and the internet is sometimes our best friend and confidant I want to reconnect with those around me. I want to develop myself and those I interact with in a way that is so normal to human nature that it creates a safe space for both of us. Not every person has intentions to be vulnerable, emotional, or even really dig deep. As part of being human I respect their right to reveal what they desire to reveal. I just want to ensure they know I am here for them, and I support them.

In this same mode I have to be human to myself. This is self-care. As I work on a project that looks to understand self-care better a friend asked me “and self-care?” I went off prattling on about the topic I am researching only to have him correct me and say, “no, your self-care?” I laughed in amusement as I responded that what kind of time do I have for my own self-care when I am so busy trying to understand how to help others with their self-care. He just chuckled back and waited for my response. If I want to be human to other people I have to be human to myself. We are actually such fragile creatures, feel free to disagree, but I believe we are. We build up these walls around us and focus on other things. No emotions for me! Though the reality is that if you numb one emotion, you numb them all. So they are all still there, you just decide which ones to let out, while the others just build up. In my needing to be human for myself I feel every single wonderful and horrible emotion that comes with the title of being human. I find ways to care for myself through this roller coaster of life, like writing.

I dare you to evade it forever, for it will find you. It will creep up in the night and you will find some sort of substance or task to build a wall right over that emotion. If you practice self-care and embrace the human that you are, then the walls won’t be as necessary. We won’t try fitting people into boxes anymore. Though quantitative metrics will still be alive and well… Though there are people who will continue to count the beans… we won’t need to focus on checking the boxes, because by being human they will already have been checked.

So today I dare you, how will you be more human?

Kansas City, MO

I’m Okay, but I’m Not Okay

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Lately I keep saying to myself, ‘I’m not okay, but I’m okay.” Everywhere I go people ask “how are you doing?” This is not because they read my blog or social media posts about my struggles. This is merely because as a society we have been taught that this is how you open a conversation, by showing you want to know about the other persons well-being. It is hard for me because I know if I say I am not okay, or I am shitty, that they will most likely not only want to know more but then also offer advice and ideas. My pain and struggle is really exhausting and so often it seems easier to be alone in order to not get asked this question. I always wonder if the person asking is sincere or not. I hate to tell people I am fine, or okay when in reality I am not.

Much like this Gingerbread, I wonder if they see the real me.

This is why I decided that when people ask me how I am doing I am going to tell them the positive side of things. Or, if I feel really crummy at that moment, I can simply say “I am not okay, but I am okay.” I want to be truthful. I want to be sincere in my answers and my interactions. I also do not want to be a burden on people who are just trying to be polite but not get wrapped in to the situation.

This holiday season I have taken a new spin on treatment for what ails me and have been working to find weird interesting ways to make me more okay than not. Often when people are struggling in life they wear a mask to hide the pain they are feeling. This can be in many forms. For me, it came out in costume.

Elf on the Shelf for a Day

It started when my team decided to “Elf” our supervisor. If you have never been “Elfed” this means that you basically got a Christmas Prank… often dealing with wrapping an entire cubical on paper as well as everything on the desk inside the cubical. When we ran to the store for decorations and paper I saw the elf hat in this photo and just had to have it. Little did I know by the time we were done wrapping the supervisors desk I would have a plan in place to dress like an elf for the big reveal. The problem is that my back has been really bad lately and keeps me from work sometimes, so I missed the big reveal. I didn’t want to skip the outfit even though I was going in late to work. I wanted to feel joyful and silly. So I showed up in costume.

I wish I could live in this outfit!

What may have been a single day thing became a hot topic around the office and my team for what other costumes would be a good idea. This was just a step up from the Unicorn “onesie” (One-piece pajama) I wore on Halloween. While popping in to my local target for a red sweater (for a different costume) I found a pair of red and green striped “onesie” that had a long john look to them. I knew I had to have them for a different elf costume. My one regret is they didn’t have a butt flap like the old school ones. It was super comfortable and I never wanted to take it off. When I got home my original thought was to just wear them at my parents house for Christmas. That was before I realized I needed to get dressed for my teams Christmas party. Sometimes picking the right outfit is so hard, especially that every day since Thanksgiving my pain level has increased. So I threw on this outfit and showed up to surprise my team. They got a huge kick out of it, and it helped me forget the pain in my back, even if just for a little while.

I think some people would say it has turned in to an obsession and I may be spiraling out of control. I don’t think so though. I think this is giving me an opportunity to be the unique positive fun-spirited person I am, instead of the broken sad little girl I feel like a lot these days. You would think that I would stop there, many probably hoped, but I kept going. Monday I wore a green dress with white dots that was last years Christmas dress. I told people I was a Christmas Tree. If I had planned better I would have gotten a star for my head and maybe some garland to wrap around me. That one wasn’t special enough to take a photo in. It was more about my mindset, rather than the reactions of others.

I spent the last few weeks preparing gifts for everyone in my office. I figured I would sneak in early or late and just put a little stocking full of goodies on each desk. Then they asked me to do morning inspiration. Tuesday was supposed to be the day, so I began prepping a Santa costume (hence the red sweater from earlier). Unfortunately my pain got so back Monday night that I visited the local VA ER for assistance and swapped days for inspiration. Even though I was still in pain and feeling really crummy this outfit helped me find a new attitude so I could go to work and not just lay in bed all day. I showed up around lunch time and immediately took my Santa bag from desk to desk saying “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” then handed them each a stocking and tried to quickly disappear. It was quite a surprise and delight for everyone, myself included.

I thought I was done, that was the last costume of the season, and I would go back to the normal day to day clothes. As I was driving home that night my pain increased again and I felt very sick. I began to worry about what the holidays would look like for me if I hurt this much. I did not want to revisit the ER, I just want to feel better. As I worked to get my mind to not spiral in the pain I started thinking about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I have always thought it would be cool to do Cindy Lou Who hair, and have the outfit. So I went straight to the store and started hunting for the right items.

I decided that I would save Cindy for Thursday, so what would I do for Wednesday. I thought long and hard about what Christmas character I had not yet done but would be simple to pull off with normal clothes. I found my answer in reindeer antlers. Not to mention I put together a super cute chocolate brown outfit that I was very comfy in and can wear again. There is just something special about being in the season that has helped me move through the days. The funny thing is that unlike most years, I had to really hunt for reindeer antlers, finally finding them at Walgreens. That was my fifth stop. Just the shopping for the outfits was really therapeutic for me though, so I really enjoyed the challenge and the hunt.

I honestly thought that my Santa outfit was going to be shining glory, the perfect piece. Then I outshone my own ridiculousness with Cindy Lou Who.

I spent more time and effort on building this outfit than the the other five put together. I spent hours sewing the cape and time practicing the hair. It was all worth it. I woke up early this morning, which I hate, and I got ready and hit the road. I was almost late for the morning meeting I was leading and presenting my inspiration at. It would not have been okay, but I would have been okay. I wow’d the office and people on the street with my outfit bringing smiles to so many which lifted me up as well.

Dressed as Cindy Lou Who was the perfect outfit to inspire those in my workplace to choose love not hate. To inspire them to love themselves for they can better love others and begin a spiral effect of everyone loving everyone. It can make the world a better place. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Cindy Lou Who was able to show him love and patience while teaching him about community and celebrating. In the end his heart grew three sizes. The Grinch learned to love and Cindy Lou discovered the meaning of Christmas again. The world continues to turn and it is important to not let our emotions or struggles hold us back. This holiday season I have been reminded that life can be light and silly. That I can create my own motivations and treatments based on who I am as a person.

I got to spend a lot of time these last few weeks just really being me and working to feel accepted by who I am within my conservative “adult” community. I brought so many smiles and a lot of joy to people that I encountered, so not only was this tale of how the to help myself heal, but also to help heal other people. Be who you want to be, and nothing more. I know that though I am not okay physically right now, I am still okay. It’s about not giving up, giving in, or surrendering to the darkness.

Merry Christmas!

Original Post on Medium.

Kansas City, MO

The Words I Don’t Speak

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I am a woman. A woman who has lived in a mans world for my whole life. When I matured to adulthood I went straight into a field of work that did not have a long history of allowing women, and was still restricted for women in many areas. I sometimes find myself giving the military full credit for the fact that as a woman I feel that I am often under qualified, potentially less than in a crowd of people, and do not speak these words. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I need to give our society at large credit, including the military, for the words that I don’t speak.

I dare not tell you these words, because you will likely call me sensitive. I dare not speak these words because then I will be labeled a drama queen. I dare not share these words for fear of being considered a bitch.

I find that as I reconnect with my wild woman intuition, and find the me that I want to be, I still do not speak these words enough. My words are spoken in small huddles of people, mostly women, that I am close to. They are women who nod their heads, eager to also say the words that they do not speak. We look at stories from our lives to try and understand why we do not speak these words out loud in a group. Even in groups where everything else is safe to say, we do not speak these words.

Fear grips us when we think about the need to shift around a subject or a person for fear of needing to speak the words we do not speak. We speak individually of these things with men who have a special place for us, but we still have fear in our hearts that they will still label or reject us, because it happens. We also do not select just any woman to speak these words with, for as women we have been taught the danger of other women as well. It is difficult because we also know for those we are close with, that their love knows no bounds, but they have also been raised in a society that does not desire us to speak these words and so does not understand us.

I want to tell you these words that I do not speak, but I feel I need to let you in on some other things before you hear the words. I want you to understand that the words I don’t speak should be spoken. That when they are spoken, it is not meant to demean anyone, myself or the person I say them to. It is not meant to offend, cause harm, or cause emotional pain. It does not mean that I don’t like you, love you, or care for you. If it does, then you need to process it, and not put that back on me. Just as we work to teach our children boundaries, I am working to teach myself boundaries. These are words that should be said without hesitation or fear.

Before I tell you these words think back to elementary school days. I recall (and many of you may also) not being allowed to bring birthday party invitations to class, unless I was inviting everyone. I think about this story and I think about what doing that potentially teaches our children. That in group environments, everyone is expected to be just as involved as everyone else or it doesn’t happen. In group environments I am not supposed to set my boundaries with those that I am not close to, for fear of hurting their feelings. In group environments it is better to keep the waters calm, rather than speak the words I need to speak.

So there are words that I do not speak for fear of many things.

I don’t want to be touched right now. No hugs today. No hugs for you. Do not step that close to me. I do not want to talk. Stop. No. I am not interested. I do not want to sit by you. I need space. I need to be alone. I need to slow down for a minute. I need to not rush into things. I want to slow down. I want to not rush things. I know what I need. I am not fine, but I will be okay. Stop. No. I don’t want to. I am not going to. I want space. Leave me alone. I know what I am talking about. Listen to me.

There are many reasons for speaking these words and mostly they have to do with me and my boundaries. I should not fear using these words to set my boundaries. I should not fear social criticism for saying No or don’t touch me. I should not wait until I finally explode with emotion and say these words. No one, male or female, should ever have to live in fear of saying these words in a group or alone. It is not okay. I am not interested in excuses. It does not matter who the person is I am saying them to. What matters is that I am saying them, and the words I say should be honored. I may not say them to everyone in a group, but I shouldn’t be forced to treat everyone with the same level of intimacy that I treat those I am close to.

If I behave in a way that describes these words, then that should also be honored. I should not be forced to say many of these words. A lot of this has to do with not assuming things about a person. It is about respecting them. The saying is not “do unto others as you wish done unto yourself” it is “do unto others as THEY wish done unto themselves.” It is okay to ask permission before touching a person, to have direct conversations about if something is okay or not, if it makes them comfortable or not. Maybe I don’t want to be hugged today even if you hug me every other time, but I should feel that telling you that is not going to damage our relationship. The next step is to let it be, accept the answer, stop asking the questions over and over. I trust you will tell me if you need something, give the same trust to me.

There are many things I have been taught about being a woman, and though I see signs that our society is changing, I am still struggling to change. Many of these are a habit for me. A habit from living in a world where I am expected and told to have a thicker skin or not cry. A habit formed from being called a bitch instead of a leader. A habit formed from being called a prude instead of someone with good boundaries. A habit formed from being taught that kindness and smiling meant I was a whore. From a young age I was taught some things about how to act in society, but they were solidified while in the service.

It’s time we make it normal to speak the words that we do not speak. It is time for those we speak them to, to encourage our actions, and to accept the words we say without excuses. These are the words I don’t easily speak, but I am working to say them because I am important and so are my boundaries. I am not going to stay quiet anymore and I will not allow anyone to call me names. Help me stop making these words so easy to not speak.

Original Post on Medium.