What to do when your life as you knew it seems to be crumbling around you?

I don’t even watch the news anymore but the following is what I have picked up through media channels in the past few days just in passing:

• COVID numbers are going up, not down.

• A community less than two hours from me, Kenosha, Wisconsin, has made the national news with riots, protests and murder.

• Our local county has put so many restrictions on our schools, restaurants, bars and retail shops, my friends and community members are suffering financially and most importantly, mentally.

• There’s an “unsurvivable” hurricane about to touch down around the Gulf of Mexico.

• There’s litany of angry faces jumping out from the screens screaming for me to cast my vote for the lesser of two evils in an election that comes at the worst possible time ever.

• I’m about to home school my children.

That’s a short list of the massive one that’s likely out there in your world too.

Holy shit, man. Armageddon anyone?

It’s hard not to get swallowed up in it all. Really hard.

But as I sit here, on National Dog Day no less, staring out my window at three very content, happy (all be it very hot) Australian shepherds, I’m trying to take a lesson from them. They’re just happy waiting for one of us to acknowledge them, pet them and play with them.

That WOULD make everything better wouldn’t it? Pet me. Notice me. Play with me.

Could it be that easy? Let’s see if we can translate from dog to human. Bear with me, this metaphor might get ugly.

Pet me.

We need to start caring for ourselves.

“Pet me” can easily be translated in to caring for our physical senses. They are the window to the world we see. Over stimulation of the senses creates a fatigue that dulls our senses and therefore our view of the outside world in a way that prevents us to see what is truly there.

By taking in information through images and video, we are overstimulating our senses of sight and hearing. Our mind then is in overdrive trying to process and compartmentalize all the information by level of importance, urgency and intensity. It’s called sensory overload.

Good times.

Just for today, can we step back for a hot minute? Take enough time to reboot the computer? Turn off the television, podcast, YouTube video? Turn off the notifications on our phone? Skip the news for a day? A week? A month?

Of course we can; it’s will we? That’s the million dollar question.

Let’s try concentrating on our other senses: Can one of the kids brush your hair? Tickle your feet? Maybe your spouse can rub your back (not “that kind of” back rub, unless of course the mood strikes)? A snuggle with a pet and a good, fluffy book?

If petting isn’t your thing and you’ll just die if one more living, breathing being wants to crawl on your lap or hang around your neck, I get that. Try washing your face earlier than normal. Take a bath. Light a candle. Make some tea. Eat a piece of fruit. Paint your toenails. Lay on your yoga mat.

I know there’s so much going on and it feels like there’s a never-ending to-do list; I’m there too. But, that entire list WILL be there tomorrow and unless someone will get hurt or die if you don’t finish it, put it away.

Notice me.

This one is a tough one because we spend most of our lives trying to get other humans to notice us. But what if we just stood back for a second and noticed ourselves?

What would happen if we started to notice what is going on inside? What happens RIGHT BEFORE we reach for the glass of wine, the bag of chips, the next NEW thing in our social media feeds? (I am notoriously guilty of this and I just can’t seem to learn my lesson that a cozy sweatshirt on the FB model will come from China as a Barbie-sized XXL.)

This sentiment of “take a breath before you…” has always made me roll my eyes a little. I mean I get it but it just seems so simple, it just can’t work, right? Much like the progress over perfection thing, this is a tough anti-extreme thinking tactic which goes against my grain.

But, I’m ready to give it a shot. Here are some the tricks I’ve found to use:

1. Recognize the trigger.

   Notice any physical reactions in our bodies. Maybe it’s a racing heart, a pounding in our heads, that familiar knot in my stomach, or a gross sweaty palm. These are signs to activate our internal pause button.

2. Press pause.

   Mentally say, “pause,” or if you’re alone and pretty dedicated to breaking this habit, say “stop” out loud. In my case, since I’m from Wisconsin and our “excuse me” translates to “OPE”, I find myself saying “ope” when I’m reaching for the refrigerator door to stare blankly inside. It’s about my favorite phrase in the whole world and since we can’t even get close enough to people physically to garner the phrase these days, I’ll just use it here.
   It does actually seem to be working and it makes me chuckle to myself so smile bonus.

3. Take a deep breath.

   I know, this gets a little overused too, but it does work. I just asked the smart people over at Harvard Healthy:
   The ability to breathe so deeply and powerfully is not limited to a select few. This skill is inborn but often lies dormant. Reawakening it allows you to tap one of your body’s strongest self-healing mechanisms. Read More.

   Getting a quick hit of extra oxygen to the brain helps you compose your thoughts and brings you into the present moment.

   And ten thousand years of yogi wisdom can’t be wrong.

4. Observe.

   If we’re interacting with other humans, let’s just take a beat to listen. There’s no rule that we have to say anything immediately and no word quota for the day we have to meet.
   This last one is a tough one for me…I like to hear myself talk and man can I preach. But, I’m going to try to notice the squirrels up there running around and simply observe for a while. Wish me luck.

   To curb impulse eating or spending, return to the “why” around this kind of situation. If you’re trying to reach a goal or break a habit, there must be a why. If you haven’t found it yet, now is the time to dig a little deeper.

   Again, allow yourself to simply observe the thoughts that pass through your mind.

5. Press Play

   Now we’re ready to act. Mindfully.

   “This all sounds fine and dandy, Katy, but in the heat of the moment, I don’t have that kind of time!” 

   If you’re hard-wired, like me, to react immediately, it’s a case of reminding yourself it’s okay to pause. It’s the little things that make the big differences. Much easier said than done for me.

Play with me.

I lost the dog metaphor somewhere along the way here, but this is an easy one to return to.

Quite a while back, I considered myself a runner. I had trained and run both a half and full marathon in my late twenties with a sprinkling of some 5k and 10k races in there. I liked it but I didn’t love it. I felt like I HAD to do it in order to lose weight or be considered physically fit. Like it was the only way.

And in true all-or-nothing-Katy fashion, I’d start a training program and because it just wasn’t in line with my passions, I’d never finish it. And running was only one of those things; I’ve tried cycling, lifting, HIIT classes, personal training, etc. None of it I loved long enough to make a consistent, healthy habit out of. And most of it I used as a punishment for some failure story I made up in my head.

But I love to walk. I can listen to a book or I can just let my mind wander to all the light (and dark) places. Whatever isn’t serving me at the time I can just leave out there on the road. It’s not a punishment for an over-indulgence or a chore on my to-do list. It’s my escape, my freedom from too many things to do, to think, to feel as an early forties woman in 2020. I never feel guilty about it because it’s my time to regroup and I’m lighter for my family, friends and work when I return.

It’s my play.

What’s yours? It could absolutely be anything; it doesn’t have to be physical…I also need a creative outlet (ahem, here) so if it’s crafting, sewing, reading, writing, photography, playing music, making a meal…doesn’t matter.

Let’s not waste one more minute doing things we think we SHOULD be doing.

“I should…” is for weenies.

I’m giving all the credit to this very loaded question to my ride-or-die soul sister, Patty.

Our phone conversations literally need an appointment on our calendars. We’ve not been friends for that long, less than 5 years in fact, but we know each other well and neither one of us calls the other without a significant window of free time. A chat can easily turn in to a teleconference.

About a week ago, we were in a “meeting”, talking about drinking, sobriety and all the shit that goes along with that, and the question came up; “will I lose my sparkle?” [if I quit drinking].

At first, I didn’t realize the magnitude of this question. In so many ways, I’ve answered it for myself a number of times; in the first 90 days, then again and now again, again.

The answer is yes.

And absolutely not.

What is “sparkle”?

First, let’s figure out which sparkle we’re talking about here before we decide whether or not we’re going to lose it. I think we’re confused.

Because it wasn’t all that long ago, and I have more experience in this department than I care to admit, I could pinpoint with the exact moment the ‘sparkle’ we may be referring to sets in when I was drinking.

Picture it: I’ve walked in to a party, or a bar, or a friend’s house, or by myself in my own kitchen; location really doesn’t matter. A drink “appears” in front of me; likely a large glass of white wine, but could be a beer or cocktail. Within the first few gulps, probably within 30 minutes, I can feel the tingle, the buzz; the conversation comes easily, my smile widens, my eyes twinkle and I am acutely aware of my surroundings feeling supremely grateful for this life I live. #blessed I think they call it. I feel confident, happy, loved, easy-going and fun, i.e. the sparkle.

But that particular sparkle, for me, lasts about 15 minutes. As I continue to drink more throughout the night, desperate to hold on to the feelings of confidence and ease, it dulls and before I know it, the sparkle has vanished and I’m left with a morning of piecing my night together. The confidence, happiness, fun-loving, easy-going feelings of yesterday have been replaced by shame, guilt, anxiety and regret over what I might have said and done in the other three hours and forty-five minutes.

And because it was so fleeting, and so fun and easy and shiny and beautiful, I made it my part-time job to pursue it over and over again, day after day.

If you’re reading this, you are likley exploring your relationship with alcohol (or maybe you’re just curious and that’s ok too) so maybe you are keenly aware of this window of which I speak. And I get it man, who wouldn’t want all of that? The loss is a legitimate fear.

The real sparkle.

That up there is manufactured sparkle.

It’s like all the unicorns are standing on all the rainbows everywhere with their hooves to their horns, slapping their heads in frustration. 15 minutes of fleeting bliss? Not quite what they had in mind for us.

Unicorns are courageous, fierce, and wild while also being gentle, compassionate, harmonious, and full of grace. They’re passionate about their own talents and share in the happiness of everyone they meet; a symbol for standing out in all your uniqueness and being loved as your authentic self.

That’s sparkle. And it can never be lost, only found…again. And I know for sure, it has absolutely nothing to do with a colored liquid served in a fancy glass…even if it does have a cute umbrella in it.

Whatever your sparkle is, it lies in your authentic, true self.
In doing the things that make you most happy.
In sharing your talents with the world.
The things that bring you true joy.
In who you were meant to be.

Don’t know what that is? That’s ok…me neither . But I know that we can keep a clear head, unpack some of the shit that took our sparkle to begin with, we can find it again.

Need help finding your “Unicorn Sparkle”?

We could go real deep here, but since we’re talking about sparkly things, let’s keep it light! Here are a few things you can do today to help find your sparkle:

1. Spend time with an animal. Or several.

2. Engage in a creative activity. Something that feeds your soul; photography, painting, reading, writing.

3. Take a nap. There’s so many reasons for this.

4. Get outside. Take a hike. Or a walk. A bike ride.

5. Phone a friend. Someone who let’s you talk or who is easy to listen to. Stay away from energy vampires. You absolutely know who they are.

6. Watch the sunrise or sunset. Or both.

7. Give away something you love to someone who would appreciate it.

8. Lay on your back with your feet up the wall for 5 minutes. Heaven.

This is a short list…I could go on and on.

These are just the things you can DO. There’s a whole list of things to NOT do. But, that’s for another day.

I hate that acronym. Of all the acronyms I have had to remember in my life (considering I was in the military, it’s more than anyone should) this is my least favorite.

It makes me feel like a big baby, like, really, I’m scared of missing out?  When I say it out loud it sounds so dumb. I’m almost 42 years old, aren’t I a little long in the teeth to be worried about what the other girls my age are doing when I’m not around?

Yet, here I am, at 1:13 in the freaking morning stewing about what my girlfriends did without me tonight. 

We own a wine bar (I know, that’s a whole ‘nother truckload of baggage to unpack considering I grapple with not drinking). Normally, it’s not a source of temptation, on the contrary, in fact. But tonight, friends, and my husband, gathered together to party…without me.

The horror.

In my rational brain, this is the stupid, immature part. But my thirteen-year-old self felt left out.

Let me make a couple things clear. First, I am so thankful I was able to make the conscience decision to come home with Chicken Little. We got to spend some rare, quality girl time together doing ABC Yoga and meditating in our yoga studio.

Secondly, I won’t be hungover tomorrow and my 40ish-year-old self really just can’t handle a hangover anymore. I got some writing done, took a bath, washed my face and fell asleep. JOMO*

All things I wanted to do. And now, I can wake up tomorrow rested (minus the hour I am spending typing this in to the notes app on my phone), ready to tackle another day of healthy choices. 

But I can’t help but lay here pissed. And I just can’t quite pinpoint why, but I’ll give it a shot:

1. Rejection. Its my biggest insecuirty. Im terrified of being rejected and/or not included. 

2. Abandonment. I’m not fun anymore therefore I’ll be left alone. 

3. It’s not fair {insert foot stomp}.  If all these healthy choices I’m making are just going to leave me sad and alone, what’s the point?

Epiphany Time.

I could have stayed.
I chose not to.

So, when, between those two options, does the acceptance come?  How can I unpack these feelings of rejection and call them what they really are?  No more than old, ugly fears tempting me to return to a life of lack and fear and hangovers. 

I’m pretty sure this right here is what the self-help gurus refer to as the ego, or what I like to think of as an overprotective mother doing anything she can to keep her child from leaving the nest. “Just stay here with me forever. It’s warm and comfy.”

These are real feelings that I am not numbing with copious amounts of Pinot Grigio.

And, just to make things clear, let me tell you how easy it would have been to take a ride on that slippery slope:

I would have started drinking as soon as I got to work (at 3:00pm), continued through dinner, ignored the kids, drank all night with that group, said something inappropriate or offensive, driven home, poured myself in to bed, woken up tomorrow full of shame, guilt, anxiety, not to mention physically ill and hungover, trying to peice the night together.

And, because I would have felt so horrible, I would have done it all over again to numb the horrible feelings.

Good times.

And for what?  So I didn’t miss out?   I’ll take a quiet night of The Office with Chicken Little any day over the absolute mess I would have made out of my tomorrow.  (Update: according to the girls I ran in to the following day, all I missed out on was some late night pizza and a real bad hangover.)

It was a choice.

A simple one? Yes.
An easy one? Not yet.

But what I’ve learned, after many spankings in this department, is that if you want something you’ve never had you’ve got to do things you’ve never done. And in order to do those things, we have to make the choices that line up our goals over and over and over again.

Does that mean we’re going to miss out on some things our “old-selves” would love to do? Probably. But rather than wishing FOMO wasn’t real or wishing it would never happen at all, because we’re smarter than that, let’s find some ways to deal with it when it rears it’s ugly head.

1. Self-awareness is key. Could I have stayed and drank club soda with lime, laughed and chatted and still gone home, did all the things I wanted, all while not missing out? Absolutely. But I know myself. There will come a time when I feel okay with all that, but this wasn’t it. Choose your slippery slopes carefully, especially if you’re new to not drinking or making healthier choices. Give yourself a chance. Know thyself.

2. Find the why. The easiest way to know thyself is to start unpacking some shit. My two biggest insecurities, which sort of go hand-in-hand, are rejection and abadonment (we’ll leave the orgin of those for another day). It’s taken me a lot of therapy, journaling, meditation and many “what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me” questions to dig deep enough to find them. But now that I know what they are, I can trace almost every icky feeling back to them…including FOMO. When you know the why, you can find the way.

3. Be Present. Look around. Can you find anything that might be better than what you think you’re missing out on? Anything at all? The sun? The moon? The little girl that sounds like a hen while she sleeps in the bed next to you? Your feet that can walk your ass to the fridge? There’s something. Stop whining and find it.

4. You’re right. It’s not fair. If you’ve chosen a healthy option over a temptation, trust that you are making the right choice. Every. Single. Time. Even if it feels like it’s not fair. I would whine that it wasn’t fair that everyone else could go out and have this great time, drink and eat whatever they wanted, never gain a pound, never say anything stupid and never feel like an asshat the next day. First, this is not true….that superhuman does not actually exist. And two, events happen randomly. The universe has no conscience and is not aware of right/wrong, fair/unfair etc. Only the naive expect others and situations to be fair. You know better. Choose better.

5. Gratitude…that gateway drug. It’s pretty hard to think about what might be happening somewhere else when you’re only thinking about how glorious the warm bath you’re currently sitting in feels. Or the cozy bed you’re snuggled up in. FOMO pulls you out of the present moment and in to an anxiety spiral about the past or the future. If you want to avoid FOMO, be grateful for the moment you’re in. Period.

   Want to level up in this category…write it down. Pull out the notes app on your phone or a real paper journal and jot down all the things you’re thankful for in the exact moment. It will change your whole perspective…immediately.

   You can thank me in there too.

*Apparently there’s a new thing…JOMO…Joy of Missing Out. I’ll have to see if this doesn’t make me want to puke in my mouth as much.

Recently, my husband and I had a discussion about this very question.

The conversation reminded me of a commencement speech given by Jim Carey about those two very heavy words. It popped up in my Facebook feed like the Universe knew I needed to see it. You should watch, it’s definietly worth it. (If you don’t have a full 25 minutes, fast forward to 9:20)

He talks about doing something you don’t absolutely love for a living and masking it as practicality.

This is a foreign concept to me now, but I’ve certainly been here. I’ve worked lots of jobs; banking, bartending, customer service, soldier.

Luckily, I have had the opportunity to try many things without too much fear of failing. And I have never been accused of being practical.

I am not quite sure where my lack of fear comes from; it’s not like my parents were the ones saying “you can be anything you want to be.” They were more the type to say “the harder you work, the better person you’ll be.” That is certainly not a dig on either one of them but I also didn’t enter my adult life with stars in my eyes.

I have never wanted for a whole lot, but I have worked a job every single day of my life since I was 15 years old. I spent half of my high school upperclass days working as a bank teller. For a few years following, I did what seemed like the “right” thing, working my way up to a successful personal banker/mortgage lender.

That did NOT work out. Think round hole, square peg. I tried lots more things on, nothing seem to fit.

But, somewhere along the way I just stopped being afraid of doing what I loved. And, I remember the very moment.

I’ll take you back quite a few years. February 22, 2002 to be exact. In hindsight, the date had no significance, but 02.02.2002 will go down in my life history. For a numbers girl, it’s a pretty bad ass date.

My maternal grandfather, Imbert (Bert), had passed away a few months earlier. He was a Lt. Col. in the Army and a high school teacher, receiving two purple hearts during his service in WWII, among many other commendations in his military career. Whether it was his passing, the post-9/11 climate, my personal discontent or a little bit of all of it, I enlisted in the Army National Guard on that cold day in February.

And I didn’t tell a soul.

I took that $3,000 signing bonus which had me leaving town in 3 weeks, quit my job, packed my rucksack and started the first thing in my life I had ever truly done by myself. Before that day, I hardly went to the bathroom alone. For real. ENFP, right here.

I just got this bug up my ass to sign the papers. And, my friends, when you sign those Army papers there’s no changing your mind. You’re in it to win it. So off I went. My main objective was to keep my head down, shut my mouth and follow direction. (For those of you that have known me all of my life, this was really an unattainable goal. You can stop your laughing now.)

Army basic training.
South Carolina.
April.
Hot.
Humid.
Fire ants.
And a ditch.

In a ditch, doing push ups as punishment for God knows what. No one knew. We just knew we were being screamed at and there was no where else to go. There were some criers and some pukers and one very pissed off Wesconsin girl (that’s not a typo…southerners cannot say the Wis in Wisconsin).

Oh, man was I pissed. I was drenched and sweaty and tired and chafed and homesick. I will never forget it. In that moment, when I wanted to give up and cry and puke and quit and rebel and scream, something came over me.

This is not going to last forever.

My left brain started working, “They can’t keep us out here forever. They have to feed us. We have to sleep. Night will pass, morning will arrive. And, I will eventually go home.” All of the wisdom of my short 23 years taught me that, literally and figuratively, nothing lasts forever. Good, great, bad, fugly.

Nothing. Lasts. Forever.

In that moment, the word “forever” took on a new meaning. Forever is only as long as you need it to be to learn the lesson it provides. I followed the drill sergeant’s commands, did my pushups, sit ups, ran hills and whatever else was asked of me that night.

I stopped being pissed.

And sure enough, just like that, it stopped. We got back in to formation, went to the showers, crawled in our bunks and I fell into a deep, restful sleep.

In the many years since then, there are times I remember that day and other times I wallow in my own self-inflicted forever. I am human after all.

But what Jim Carey, of all people (in that silly robe and hat they made him wear) reminded me of today is that if you’re not afraid, and you are doing what you think you are meant to do, where is the actual risk? Who defines your failure but you?

I have been called a risk taker, among many other “colorful” things. I don’t see myself that way, but nonetheless, some people perceive me that way. I just know that whatever I am doing, if I don’t love it, I won’t do it. Period. I might try, but if my heart’s not in it, neither is my mind.

We can make just as much money doing something we love (probably more) than doing something we are like, “meh, it’s fine.” All we have to do is find the door. And then, of course, walk though it, but that’s for another day.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been afraid. Afraid of putting my physical and emotional self “out there”. Afraid of opinions, judgements, feedback. But I refuse to get stuck in that ditch again with someone barking orders at me.

On days like today, where the sun is shining, the bees are buzzing on flowers, the kids are bopping down the driveway off the bus, I find fear to be the last thing on my mind. I look around to cherish every sun ray stretched across the cornfields, the kittens slumbering peacefully on the warm patio blocks and two crazy dogs chasing each other around the yard.

For every yin there is a yang. Up and down. In and out. None of this is to say there aren’t challenges in the world and that everything is peaches and cream around here. But, just for today, choose love, not fear.

My experience with a yoga class starts days before I even go. I start thinking about a Monday morning class on Saturday. I find reasons not to go; I’m too fat, too out of shape, too tired, too busy, too whatever.

But then I catch myself and think, this isn’t very nice of me to say to myself. So, instead I move in to I am going to smell bad or what if an untimely bodily sound escapes me while I am in down dog, or what if I try a balance pose and then can’t do it, thereby falling in to my yogi neighbor? This little episode goes on for a few minutes until some other thought or task enters my mind.

Squirrel.

After what likely is a full weekend of drinking, Sunday night rolls around. I am closer to actually making the decision to go by registering for the class online, as a punishment for said-weekend. This is the part where I start thinking about all the other things I have to do INSTEAD of go to yoga tomorrow. Like the dishes, the laundry, the work emails, the kids’ schedules, pretty much anything else that will give me an out.

No. Stop it. I am going. (Because, let’s be real, those “instead of” things don’t get done anyway.)

Monday morning chaos ensues;

Me: Where’s your backpack?
Me: I didn’t wear your shoes last.
Me: Do you or do you not want chocolate chips on your pancakes?
Me: Yes, we will go to the library this afternoon. (Probably not.)
Me: Did anyone let the dogs out?
Me: Yes, you have basketball practice tonight.
Me: Yes, you have to brush your teeth.

Kiss, kiss, kiss.
Love you, love you, love you.

Sound familiar? Guessing it’s like every other All-American household at 7:15am on a Monday morning.

Now, here I am, standing alone in my messy house surveying the damage from the weekend; a pile of dirty dishes and a full, clean dishwasher (< the worst), loads of dirty and clean laundry, by now intermingled (<< also the worst) and a red, number-filled circle above the mail app on my phone (<< I hate the red circles).

But, lucky for me, I hate chores more than my excuses, so I 5-4-3-2-1 myself to put on my “workout” yoga pants (I have my “pajama” yoga pants on) and get my ass out the door.

Here’s where the shit gets real. I happen to work at this health club, so on my way in the door I see ten people I know that are most certainly thinking to themselves, “Oh my God, I haven’t seen her in forever.” Except this time, they actually do say it out loud and now I feel like a real loser because I HAVEN’T been here in forever. This little sentiment is only coupled with the fact that my staff pass has expired, which means I haven’t been to A class in over a year.

I get it Universe; we’ve established the fact that I haven’t been here in a long time. You can move on from this now.

I quickly take my coat and hat off, which in and of itself is an act of bravery because ever since I chopped all of my hair off, I am stuck in short hair purgatory; too short to pull up, too long to be cute when wet and sweaty. I wake up every morning looking like a goat has been licking my head all night long.

I run for the darkness of the studio and of course, expecting that MY spot, in the back corner by the stereo where no can see me, has been reserved for the past 12 months. But, no. It has been stolen right out from underneathe me.

I frantically scan the room looking for more corners, but they are all taken. Ok, here, in front of this pillar, this will work. I roll out my shitty Costco mat and lay down on my back. Phew. If you knew how much energy and self-loathing it took to get here, you’d consider this a major accomplishment too.

I try to relax and focus. Try to push my insecurities aside while I “breathe in to it.” Ha. Except I am so fucking worried that my tampon is going to shift around in down dog, I can’t help but do Kegels. (TMI?)

No…breathe.

Be grateful for the warmth of the heat lamps because it’s November and it’s freezing outside. Wait, did I turn my coat around when I hung it up so no one sees that it’s a size XXL?

Stop…just breathe.

The instructor turns up music and the lights (damn it) and I know we are about to get started. Too late to run for the door now. She asks us to set an intention for class, which has been the same one since I started practicing yoga 3 years ago; “don’t look at the clock”. Simple I know, but this is a serious problem for me. I can ruin a perfectly lovely class by seeing that it’s only 8:45am in an 8:30am class. But, today, I added on “let my self-judgement go”.

I pull my big girl pants up and start moving with the rest of the class, trying like hell not to worry about my cleavage or my stomach or my fat arms or my unruly hair or my red face or my slippery mat. And, right on cue about fifteen minutes in, I am already sweating and breathing so hard I can’t think of anything else anyway.

Mission accomplished.

I make it through the entire class (because what other choice did I have?) relatively unscathed to my favorite part: savasana. No squeakers, which of course was my biggest fear of all. Yes, my hair looks like shit, my face is beet red, my pants have fallen below my gut and I couldn’t hold my tree pose as long as the 65-year-old man next to me. But, I’m laying there, feeling my pulse against my bones, my bones against the earth, my breath moving in and out of my lungs and I am thankful I came.

And, here’s the kicker, I’m not thinking about what I look like. As a matter of fact, I start thinking how sad it was that I had all those fears that almost stopped me from coming. The thought crosses my mind about how much energy it took to think all of those things about myself.

Then, I go a little deeper.

So, I just spent all of this time worrying about how I look to everyone else…what if they are too? What if they woke up feeling insecure, or bloated, or hairy or stinky? It occurs to me I didn’t look around at one of my yogi neighbors in that class, which probably means they weren’t looking at me either. I couldn’t tell you who was there, what they were wearing, how their hair looked or if their pants had fallen below their belly.

And that’s just the superficial, surface crap.

What about all of the other things that take up the precious space in our minds; babies, baking, Barbies, college, camps, cravings, spouses, soccer, spaghetti, parents, pets, parties, pantries. The list could go on forever.

And, it does.

Sometimes I like to sit in my ivory tower and tell other people: “who gives a fuck what other people think of you?” And, here I was, freaking out about who gives a fuck about me.

Let’s flip this story on it’s head, shall we?

If I saw someone I hadn’t seen in a while, attending a class they used to come to, I’d probably say the same thing, “I haven’t seen you in forever”. And, just like those that said it to me, it would come from a place of good intention; it’s ACTUALLY good to see you. And, then I would probably go back in to my own world of endless chatter.

The truth is this, and this may be hard to hear: NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU AS YOU MUCH AS YOU THINK THEY DO. They just don’t. Everyone is so wrapped up in their own worlds, with overwhelming plates of things to do, say and give, they just don’t have the time or energy to worry about your belly.

But, how fucking awesome is that? We don’t need to worry about what other people worry about. We can just stay in our own lane, do the next healthy thing for ourselves.

So, what does this mean for you? It means find a place deep down to just get out the door. Get on your mat. Go for a run. Pick up a guitar. Write a paragraph. Sing a tune.
Try it.
You might hate it.
But you might not.

If it’s not yoga, find something you think you might, eventually, someday, maybe a long time from now, love. Something that might scare you just a little bit, and do it.

Something that you admire in someone else is a great place to start.

The insecurities and doubts and fear will be there. Push through them. I promise you will never regret the things you did, only the things you didn’t.

I know you think you can’t, but actually you can.

Ever feel like you need a vacation from your vacation?

I could have slept for hours today. But, instead like most women that bring their families back from a trip I did laundry, cleaned up the house, opened and responded to a week’s worth of mail and went to work.

Ta da!

My day was also consumed with an idea. I am an idea gal; a blessing and a curse. I have the ability to come up with great new perspectives however, rarely taking them through to the finish. And, when I get such an idea it consumes me; all the possibilities and opportunities have me daydreaming like I’m still on the beach. It’s actually sort of annoying. I couldn’t even set aside time in yoga this afternoon.

But as I was verbalizing my struggle to my husband this evening, it occurred to me that maybe that’s what I am supposed to do…just come up with new ideas and not necessarily see it to the finish? Leave that up to the detail people. That actually sounds like heaven.

The fortune cookie I opened as I was standing there stated, “You will soon find your hidden talent.” Um, ok. Wouldn’t it be great if my hidden talent was to start a whole bunch of shit and then be rewarded for not finishing it?

Outside of all of this, it was basically just a normal day, ending now with me, two kids, one husband and four dogs on our bed watching the new Grinch.

Pretty sure the dogs were sorta spoiled by Queen Ree while we were gone.

Must. Have. Faith.

This week has proven to be one of the most interesting in my 2 1/4 months. It has tested my patience, willpower, faith, trust and confidence. Not necessarily in that order.

It sounds dramatic…it’s not really. But “it” has allowed me to look at the big picture and make a conscience decision about what I want my life to look like, and how I want my kids to see me.

I can’t quite explain how this Universe works, but it just does. I have been able to look through clear lenses at how everything fits together…all the good, bad and ugly. I have asked for things over the past few months that while I didn’t know how they would come to fruition, I just knew they would. I had faith.

It’s so hard to feel stuck. And, fuck, was I stuck. Looking back I was completely content being miserable AND putting on a happy face everyday. In all honesty, I thought I was (mostly) happy. I was grateful for the health of my family, our successes and even a few lessons we learned the hard way. On the surface things looked real good and I could just not wrap my head around the fact that there was a better way.

It’s still the same life. I am still grateful, more now, for everything I have and accomplished. I still have the same dumb frustrations about laundry and dishes and chores and puking dogs and ice ripping off our gutters, I just don’t numb out. Because really, who needs to self-medicate over that shit? It doesn’t need medication, it needs a deep breath and a shoulder shrug.

There were times over the past week or so that absolutely called for a cocktail; a celebration, a stressful situation, a deserving moment after a long day, dinner with friends, a lonely evening. I could go on.

But to be very honest, in those times, it didn’t even cross my mind. I didn’t need it. I know that whatever I would have been trying to “enhance” would have been clouded with anxiety and shame the next day.

I also had an interesting run in with some old, deep seeded beliefs…mine and someone else’s. It was so enlightening to watch us work through it. It was like I was standing outside this situation watching it unfold like it never had before. Of all the revelations through the last 70 days, I think that was my favorite.

I found the following online this morning. It came at exactly the right time in exactly the right situation. Maybe it will resonate with you too.

The year before I turned the big 3-0, I signed up, ran and completed my first marathon.  Dale and I had been married a few years by then and since trying for kids was on the horizon, I figured the timing was right. I’ve always been a sucker for Mondays, meaningful months and milestone years so, when my third decade was coming to an end, I decided to set this lofty goal. 

I had never considered myself a “runner”.  I had run a couple of 5ks and ran in my military life but never considered myself anything more than someone that needed to run from the cops if I had to. 

I so badley wanted to be a runner though.  I read book after book about training, subscribed to Runner’s World magazine and bought a treadmill. I signed up for my first half-marathon and was diligent about following Hal Higdon’s plans.  [Ironically enough, Miles was named after an author in Runner’s World.  The column was named Ask Miles where the author, named Miles, would answer questions from readers about all things running.]

So, now with a “half” under my belt, I felt confident enough to register for Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth, MN.  We were living in Bayfield, WI at the time and it seemed like the obvious choice. 

I muscled my way through those first cold training days inMarch.  I ran through some of the most breathtaking countryside scenes and watched as Old Man Winter gave way to. Flora, the Sabine-derived goddess of flowers and Spring.  Some of my most pleasant memories are of those sunrises, the smell of the apple blossoms in the air and the peaceful sounds of nature.

 It gave me a way to clear my head and my heart and on June 29th, 2008, the sun rose again and I finished 26.2 miles.  I crossed that finish line and it was one of the proudest moments of my adult life. 

And while that sounds all awesome and amazing and sunshine and rainbows, fuck was it hard.  I chafed every day and probably went through more deodorant in between my legs than I did in my arm pits.  I burned holes in the crotch of all of my running pants on those long runs.  I cried while running, peed in the woods more than once and was so tired and sore some days I could hardly get out of bed. 

In the ten years that have passed since that marathon, I have run off and on.  I started a run club in my little town and helped a few others complete their first 5k with the Couch to 5K program.  I even ran a 10k with little to no training after my kiddos were born.  It was fine; I felt good, had fun, made some new friends.

In between all those start again, stop again moments of running, I was always walking.  Both of my kiddos were born in May (which if you have the ability to plan a pregnancy, try a lot in August and September.  It’s the bomb.  You can hibernate all winter and get the whole summer off) so I was able to get outside all the time. 

And, when you have a new baby, the first thing you do is walk with a stroller, right?  Well I did.  And I loved it.  Miles and I would sometimes go for two or three walks just to break up the monotony of the never-ending day.  I probably didn’t realize it then, but my love for walking was born.

As the kids got a little older, I found myself yearning to get out for a walk.  I’d wait until Dale got home from work, tie up my laces and hit the pavement, sometimes with the dog, sometimes not.  Often I would walk without headphones so I could hear all the sounds of our neighborhood, or the creek trickle, or say hi to our neighbors. 

Every so often, I would get this weird pang of shame or guilt that made me feel like I SHOULD be running. “There are so many benefits” and if “I can walk I can run” and if “I want to lose weight that’s the best way.”  It was exhausting.   

This is what I have learned since then:

• My head still clears. When I walk, I don’t think about my pace or the hurt. I can pay attention to nature’s sounds, think about and let go of the things I need to.

• Idea building. I consider walking to be part of my work day now. I have to take my phone with me most days because I get so many ideas I need to get them out of my head and in to my notes. Because walking is a relatively natural movement, I can allow my mind to wander, instead of thinking about whether or not my inner thighs are bleeding.

• Consistency.  When I ran, I would dread it until I warmed up, which for me took almost three miles sometimes.  When I walk, I just walk out the door.  I never want to turn around and quit.  If anything, I find myself going farther than thought I would.  I can get lost so easily in an audiobook now that I don’t think about the length or the miles or my speed. And, if I miss a day, I don’t beat myself up about it.  I just get up and walk the next day.  No biggie. 

• Chafe-free. If your thighs have never had the pleasure of meeting, you won’t know what I’m talking about, but I’ll do just about anything to avoid the chafe.

• Walking saves my life.  I know that sounds real dramatic, but stay with me.  I can get in my undies in a bundle real easy and when I sit idle too long, I can get in to some real mental health trouble.  I have walked with tears rolling down my cheeks, cursed people out loud and worked through issues that I know would eat me alive if I wasn’t able to get out and move.

So, here’s my unsolicited advice to you:

• If you don’t feel like running, don’t. If you do, run. Some days I start walking, run from one telephone pole to the next and then walk again. Some days the thought of running never enters my mind. I’m cool with all of it.

• If you start running and it turns in to a walk, fuck it. Don’t turn around. Don’t quit. Just walk the route you planned on running. It’s totally fine. Slow down, breathe, take in the sight of a tree you’ve never noticed before or the warm wind on your face.

• If you want to run a marathon, great.  Start walking.  No runner ever started without walking first.

It’s taken me years to remind myself, and actually believe, this one piece of fitness advice; just move.  It truly doesn’t matter how far, how fast or how long. Just keep moving.

And, you’ll be so much more likely to stick with something if you don’t hate it.

I haven’t completely given up the idea of running again.  I just refuse to feel bad about it anymore.

I hope you can too.

The most interesting of phrases (and a pretty iconic throwback title to my teenage years). Theres the time after “that” time and then the feeling that time repeats itself. Both are right and have separate meanings. I have been noticing recently how fast it seems to go though. My kids are growing like weeds, getting taller, lankier and sassier by the day. Growing in maturity too, which makes me nostalgic for those baby sounds and snuggles. I remember when they were really tiny how slow the hours ticked by, and here we are, years later in the blink of an eye. And its tricky navigating the emotions of a nine and six year old. One of the trickiest parenting skills for me thus far. 

One year ago, we said the last goodbye to our Dad, Father-in-Law, Grandpa, Husband, Brother, Uncle and Friend. It’s been a year of welcoming new life, literally and figuratively, great accomplishment and finding comfort in a new normal. Also three hundred and sixty-five days of not knowing which way is up. 

One year. I don’t know why “one year” to those that are grieving should be like some magic number. One minute, one hour, or one year really doesn’t matter when you’ve lost your dearly beloved for the remainder of your own lifetime. The one year anniversary does however, mark an important opportunity. To recognize how fast, fleeting and fickle time can really be. It’s the only thing in life that’s truly irreplaceable.  You can’t turn it back, wish it away or stop it for even a split second. It just keeps marching on. (And like a line from my favorite movie, “Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it’s marchin’ across your face.” Dolly Parton, Steel Magnolias)

I just know Al would be so proud of all of the things we’ve accomplished over this past year, just like he was up until his very last breath.  And while we all want to be able to turn back the hands of time, it’s been nothing short of miraculous to witness Al’s presence in almost everything we do or see or feel. 

Early on when Miles and Mads were struggling to make sense of this, I told them that cardinals are a sign that someone from heaven is watching over them. Through, what felt like 137 days of January this winter, and beyond, we had the brightest, most robust cardinal take up residence at our bird feeders, and he brought all his friends. It was amazing to see all the red against the winter white and dull gray. I hope they never stop thinking of him whenever they see those striking scarlet creatures. 

And the rainbows. In all of (my almost) 40 years of life, I have never experienced something quite as breathtaking and magical with the frequency and intensity as every rainbow we’ve witnessed.  Starting with the one he threw up over his own wake and funeral. Every single rainbow in the past year has stopped me in my tracks. I have run across the yard like a crazy person, camera in hand, yelling for the kids and Dale to “come see this!!”  Our entire family has become trained to be on the lookout moments after a rain shower. And I love that it’s another natural symbol of our beloved Mr. Middleton. 

I find myself praying to him for rain, or for the rain to let up, or for good dirt, or clarity in my head when things seem upside down. While I wish I could have asked for all of those things while he was here, I am not sure I would have.  And that’s something I personally struggle with.  

If the only thing ‘one year’ provides us is a not-so gentle reminder of, it’s to tell the people that you love, that you love them. Hug your kids and your parents a little tighter and a little longer. Go for a walk, read a book, work on your tractor, eat a piece of bread. Do what you love and do it forever. 

I’ll leave you with Cyndi Lauper:

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,

And think of you

Caught up in circles confusion–

Is nothing new

Flashback–warm nights–

Almost left behind

Suitcases of memories,

Time after–

Sometimes you picture me–

I’m walking too far ahead

You’re calling to me, I can’t hear

What you’ve said–

Then you say–go slow–

I fall behind–

The second hand unwinds

If you’re lost you can look–and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting 

Time after time

After my picture fades and darkness has 

Turned to gray

Watching through windows–you’re wondering

If I’m OK

Secrets stolen from deep inside

The drum beats out of time–

If you’re lost you can look–and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting 

Time after time

You said go slow–

I fall behind

The second hand unwinds–

If you’re lost you can look–and you will find me

Time after time

If you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting 

Time after time

Time after time…

Time after time…

Time after time…

Time after time…