#YearofNBS: Not what I thought it would be...

The Year of No Bullsh!t is two months in, and like many of my named years, it is not really turning out as I expected. It shouldn't really be that surprising. 

The original name of my year was the Year of No Guilt, No Excuses. It was born of an exhaustion of making excuses for why I couldn't get my life together. The kids were too little, I was too tired, the days were too short, money was too tight... 

I geared up for my year with much planning and anticipation, working hard to research and focus in on what I really wanted to accomplish. But what I didn't anticipate was that the guilt side of the no-guilt-no-excuses year weighed far heavier than I thought it did. I was making excuses, not as a way to avoid entering into the hard work of making the life I wanted, but as a way to curb all the guilt I felt for not already living the life I wanted. 

I dove mightily into the beginning of a year that was to contain physical fitness, practical tidiness, budget mindfulness, meal planning...all the shit that I hadn't been focusing on due to all the excuses that I had been making for the last 18 months. And after a few weeks, I realized that these weren't magical fixes to my hot-mess life. In fact, some of the efforts were making me miserable. I was guilting myself into things instead of actually being motivated to do them, and it was just making things worse. 

So I stopped. I stopped working out. I stopped forcing meal planning. I stopped the dream of room-by-room tidiness overhaul. And I started looking at all the guilt. Why do I feel guilty for not working out? Is this expectation practical? Is it possible all of the time? Is it meaningful to me in some way? Right now? No. It's just a thing I said I'd do. But what if... What if I didn't workout AND didn't feel guilty about it? What would that even look like? 

It's been a process, friends. A real working out of emotions and priorities. One that I should have maybe started with back in October. But the evaluation is slowing working. I'm recognizing (re-recognizing?) that I am highly motivated by meaning. And if there's no meaning, there's very little motivation, but there's still a whole lot of guilt and shoulda-coulda-woulda's lingering about. 

So, with the new calendar year upon us, a time of year I rarely capitalize on for focus, goals, or motivation, I'm contemplating a mulligan to my year. Because in order to truly have a year with neither guilt nor excuses to living the life I want, I need to understand why I might experience guilt and why I might craft excuses first. And that requires a much deeper look at what is truly meaningful to me. 

In the end, I think some of the things I started with this year will eventually be back on as priorities, but they will not be obligations to fulfill. They will be meaningful contributions to crafting a meaningful life. 

#YearofNBS: Phase One: The Gear Up

Preparations for the Year of No Bullsh!t (NBS) are well underway, people. It's kind of a funny thing to spend so much time to prepare for a life change, but I suppose it's all actually just a part of the change itself. With four weeks to go before the year officially begins, I've at least begun my preparations, and here's what the plan looks like so far. 

Healthy Time
One of the first areas I needed to tackle was rearranging some of my time to help better fit in the priorities that I feel are actually important. Healthy time requires me to understand first how my time is spent. 

Done: 

• I put a timer app on my phone called Space, that reminds me when I've spent too much time on my screen or have unlocked it way too many times for the day. 
• I'm using a planning tool called Trello to help me organize priorities in general. It's sort of like a multi-layered checklist that I've categorized to include a lot of the areas of my life that need a hand in organizing and thinking about. 
• I requested an extra hour a day for my kids at daycare. Instead of trying to pick them up immediately after work at 3:45 pm, I'll aim to pick them up between 4:30 and 4:45. 
• I selected an 8 week workout program that offers daily 15 minute workouts. This is an accomplishable amount of time to start with while I am also doing some running and yoga. And it will be fun to try something new.

Considering:

• I am contemplating removing Facebook from my phone. I waste so much time on it as the thing that I mindlessly do when I don't want to do anything else. But sometimes I end up in rabbit holes that take up way too much time. 
• I'm thinking about doing a one-week time study where I record what I do every 15 minutes of the day for all of my waking hours to basically prove to myself that I waste copious amounts of time on stupid crap. Anyone want to join me in trying this challenge? 
• I'm pondering the idea of paying someone to wrangle some of my technology messes. I've got some accounts I'd like to consolidate and some issues with my tablet that I don't want to dink with anymore. Sometimes, exchanging time for money is an important and necessary thing. 

Healthy Home
As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm a total hot-mess-mom that you should never just drop in on because, I promise, I'm not ready. Figuring out how to not be a total domestic failure is a significant priority. 

Done: 

• Hubs and I tore apart our bedroom recently bagging up clothing and shoes we don't wear to get it out of the house. It's a major contributor to clutter. Instead of trying to be sustainable and donate the items to Goodwill or another entity (a process that usually looks like a garbage bag of clothes on the back porch for 6 months), we just threw.it.away. 
• I have been desperately trying to keep up with wiping down the kitchen table and floor. Seems dumb, I know, but of all the things I try to accomplish before I drop for the night, the eating area is my least favorite. So much kid food smeared about. Sometimes habits are only formed by repetition.

Considering: 

• I need to make a longer-term clutter tackling plan to includes some deadlines. It is a perpetual effort that cannot be done once and then ignored. Junk enters our house daily, so it needs to find a way to exit our house daily. 
• We continue to cycle out some toys in areas that are filled with too many toys. We're planning to watch how the kids play with the toys and remove the ones that remain untouched. 

Healthy Food
This is the category that I've spent the least amount of time one, but it might actually be the most critical to our family well being. Overall, I'm happier when there is less thought and choice involved in what we're eating. Plus, as a bonus, we save money and waste less food when we thoughtfully plan our choices. 

So that's it. That's my progress so far. I'll check in in another week or so with more progress! 

The Year of No-Guilt-No-Excuses

I need to be frank for a few minutes. Because for the last nearly 15 months, I have not really been forthcoming at all. I've been pretty sneaky. Pretty clever. But not really all that honest.

Shortly after the twins were born, I slouched, sank, and eventually spiraled pretty hard into postpartum depression and anxiety. And I worked my ass off to hide it from everyone. And I never got the help that, looking back, I really needed. All a saga for another day. 

But now, as we approach the twins turning 15 months, summer quickly fading into shorter, cooler days of fall, I am struggling to shift gears into a healthier, happier version of life that I expected to find by now. Some aspects of life have improved significantly. The mobility and food-freedoms of growing toddlers have alleviated many of the stresses of earlier life all-consumed with nursing/pumping schedules and baby carrying/wearing/strollering options. And sleep, while certainly not perfect, has settled into a mostly viable routine for all of us. So much of life in our current state is so much fun. New skills, words, and daily discoveries are exciting and make my heart smile.

But at this point, I have some desires bubbling up that are remaining largely unfulfilled. Because, let's be honest, it's just damn hard! All of it. Working, parenting, living...it's just hard. But there's got to be alternatives to my current situation which looks like morning-rush-no-lunch-evening-rush-bedtime-routine-facebook-zombie-do-it-all-again-tomorrow, sprinkled with hefty amounts of never-finished-laundry-sticky-surfaces-and-pee-or-diapers-everywhere. 

So alternatives. I've considered them all. And I mostly greet them with excuses. I'll speak on my desire to workout first. Alternative: workout over lunch. Excuse: I don't usually take lunch so I can get home earlier to be with the kids, a chaotic exercise in survival until bedtime. Alternative: keep kids in school for an extra hour a day to workout after work. Excuse: mom guilt piles on big time because I do really want to see my kids during their waking hours, even if it's not always fun. And let's talk about meal and grocery planning. Because our current method of pantry scrambling and fast food aren't exactly always delicious or nutritious. Alternative: spend one hour a week making a plan, a list, and running to the store. Excuse: Okay, but like when? (Ya'll did see my facebook-zombie mention earlier, right? Clearly not every moment of my life is occupied well.) Alternative: once a month meal planning. We've even done this before, and it was hugely successful. Excuse: I'd have to send the kids away for a weekend a month to make it happen. One more. Let's talk about the state of my house. I never really envisioned myself as the hot-mess-mom type until I had three kids within two years, but let me tell you - I am indeed, a fully hot-mess-mom. Like, seriously. Don't come to my house unannounced. I'm not ready. Ever. Alternative: facebook-zombie time needs to go. That's enough time for a full load of laundry and a kitchen scrubdown before bedtime. Excuse: I'm too tired/don't want to think/exert effort/do anymore today. 

But today, I just can't with it all anymore. I can't keep gazing longingly at my alternatives as if they weren't really possible, piling excuse after excuse on top of them. Not anymore. It's time to gear up for a real change. A life change. Not because my kids need it, or even my family unit as a whole needs it. Not for my husband or outward appearances (even though I do appreciate at least appearing within socially acceptable ranges of normal cleanliness and functionality).

I need this. I need to be healthy. I need to be motivated and functional and honest and real. I need to get out of the spiral-sink-slouch of the last 15 months and take pride in my life, the daily doings that make up the very core of who I am. It's gear up time. Gearing up for the next phase. The phase of life that will make me a better wife, a better mother, because I make me a better me. 

So, six weeks in advance of my birthday, I dedicate my upcoming year to No-Guilt-No-Excuses. A year for me to right myself, to take pride in something, to shake the last shreds of depression, anxiety, and burden that I have carried for too long. It will require fight, tenacity, and effort, but it will also require grace, acceptance, and humility. And, for fun and accountability, I'll take you along with me. 

Phase One will be drafting a plan. I tend to be highly motivated by plans, goals, visuals (sticker charts, anyone?), and progress. Over the next six weeks, I hope to prepare the strategy that will carry my no-guilt-no-excuses life changes. I do this all the time in my professional life, with an excellent track record. Why it hasn't transferred into my personal life, I do not understand. But this year, it will. It must. For my well being, for my children, for my spouse, but most importantly, just for me.

Sneaking back from Leave

A very fast ten weeks have past of my maternity leave. A blur of feeding, pumping, diaper changing and washing and assembling. Lather, rinse, repeat. I'm very thankful for the time to home with my boys, as the blur has been exactly what they need - food, comfort, a present mama trying her best. But with one looming project left half complete upon departure, I sneak away from my leave and into my office, just a few hours at a time, when no one else is around. And it is weird. 

In my absence, my biggest program came and went. And while it wasn't perfect (they never are), students arrived, moved in, were oriented toward their new campus experience, and got their start in classes. I stayed far away during this program's happenings, knowing that my presence would intimidate and shake those around me, and I'd be far too tempted to meddle in the details. But my first sneak back into the office after that program this weekend was were things got weird. 

I pulled into my usual old parking space, walked up to my office using the usual back elevator, but the scene I had left ten weeks ago was not the scene I returned to. Despite not seeing a single moment of my usual orientation programming with flocks of excited and anxious new students surrounding my every moment, there were indeed students around. The cafe was full of loungers and diners, the sidewalks carried noisy clusters of students to their destinations. Campus was full and buzzing. Compared to the relative quiet of summer months, it was a stark contrast that I, perhaps, wasn't mentally ready to see.

But here I am, plugging away at those promises I made before I left. And at this point, I don't feel quite the load of guilt that I carried as I left. I did what I could. And I can finish the rest even as the rest of campus is already rolling on without me. I'll keep quietly working behind the scenes, where I prefer to be, finishing what I started before I start back up again on the next round of projects and promises in December. 

Emotionality of an Impending End

As the weeks wear on in my pregnancy, I find my emotions running a little deeper than usual. Usually, this would be more of a first trimester occurrence, but the emotions I feel now aren't the hormone packed rush of illogical, sudden, and unpredictable extremes. No, these are far more sensical and ordered. 

I have a little countdown chain on my bulletin board above my computer in my office. As of today, it holds only thirty one little metal paperclips. That's the maximum number of working days I might have in the office if I make it to the end of this pregnancy. And in twin pregnancies, the odds are not necessarily in my favor that I'll cruise through all of those days before two tiny humans decide to make their grand entrance into the world. Thirty one days. 

The gravity of that ever shrinking number has been weighing heavier with each paperclip that gets taken down. I promised a lot of things this academic year. I promised I could accomplish enough to make my biggest programs happen without a hitch. I promised that I'd have solid notes prepared and systems set up. I promised that I'd meet with all my teams and walk them through everything they'd need to know. I even promised myself that I could do it all, and do it with an attitude of personal challenge not personal overworkedness and overstress. After all, I have a pretty good track record of upholding my promises even when I've got little to stand them on. I've kickstarted many firsts here - Homecoming parades, new scheduling models, giant "pilots" of courses with the entire first-year class at once. I've pulled off nearly miraculous J-term experiences, held to impossible budgets, won some folks over to some new concepts that seemed completely insurmountable. So I thought surely, surely I could keep one more string of promises, even with no foundation under them. I could do my job, the busiest most chaotic six months of my job, before I'd need to leave, and expect results similar to my being present. 

And staring down thirty one days or less of possibilities, I realize now that my word might perhaps fall short this time. It's too many projects. It's too many details, that I usually rely on years of experience to just make up on the fly, needing to be figured out and cataloged and advanced in excess. 

Perhaps the most emotional part of all of this for me is that as the years go on, I am realizing the value of making oneself dispensable in their professional roles. I spent probably the first half of my career working hard to make myself indispensable. I'd take on the really hard stuff, I'd make promises and work my ass off to keep them, I'd try new things, things so complex that I knew from the start that they maybe weren't all that sustainable. But I also knew I could do them. So I forged on. 

Somewhere in the middle of my years here, and maybe more recently than I care to admit, I began to realize that my commitment to being the only one who could do what I do was flawed. It forced me to work harder than I had to to create successful programs that relied solely on my experience, skills, and talents, and while that was totally working for me, it wouldn't work forever. What if I disappeared someday? What if I quit? What would become of all of that work, all of the layers of complexity that were designed by and for me? 

Transitioning next door to your former professional life taught me a few hard lessons. When you choose, for whatever reason, to let go of everything you've built and worked and fought for, it immediately becomes someone else's. And that someone else is going to take all the impossible, just-for-you stuff and chuck it. I watched it happen. And it nearly crushed me. But I took a valuable lesson away from it - I need to work toward dispensability. 

The only problem with that lesson is that it came too late. And now, the what if has turned into a guarantee. I will be gone. I will disappear. I will not be the one to execute all of the just-for-me complexities I created. And as much as I want to weasel away from it all, shrink into a corner and let someone else take over, I am still managing systems that are designed for me, not just anyone. And I'm working toward my leave by accomplishing things so ridiculously challenging that I'm convinced I'm one of few here that could actually get them accomplished. While I know that's not really true, I also know that it's still trickier than it needs to be, more complicated than it should be. And that really grinds at me these days. 

As the impending end of my days in the office draws nearer, I so desperately wanted to leave on a high note, walking away knowing I did what I said I would do and did it well. The reality is that I'll be leaving a complicated mess in my wake, one that will burden colleagues, one that will leave many promises broken. I fight battles in my mind, fight back the emotions of failure and defeat, knowing I really did work my ass off, I really did try to make the best of things. I couldn't have done any more. So I waffle between desperately desiring to just escape now, to give up and go home knowing I was bested by my circumstances this time and clinging to some ludicrous hope that I've got one more indispensable miracle in me before I go.

Biggest Professional Challenge

I am about to embark on quite possibly the most significant professional challenge of my career.

A number of months ago, my husband and I decided we were ready to start trying for baby number two. Well, I was maybe more ready than him, but after some discussion, we really were ready to try. Not having tried at all for our first, we weren't really sure what to expect. After a few months of dutifully tracking my fertility and timing things out, nothing. We thought it would be easy and instant like the first time, but it wasn't.

I had already done the math in my head. Certain months are far better for being pregnant and taking an extended leave than others in my line of work. For me, August through October is my busy season with little time off and little forgiveness when it comes to tasks that need completing with near perfection.

At first, we were trying for an April or May baby. Then we were trying for a June baby. Then as the calendar wore on, I got anxious and knew we'd need to make an intentional choice: Stop trying for three or so months to ensure we'd avoid the busy season...or take our chances not knowing how long it might take us to see success. As dedicated as I am to my career, I am also dedicated to being the best mom and wife I can be. So to me, knowing that pregnancy wasn't going to be instantaneous, it made sense to keep trying and take any accompanying risks to my professional life.

We're pregnant. Due in July. I will miss my entire busy season, not just part of it.

But I'm choosing, with an obvious nervous quake in my voice, to see this as a professional opportunity. A challenge, if you will. Can I professionally ensure that my many tasks, events, and trainings are as successful with me away as they would be with me there? Can I really pull it off?

I've spent much of my career stepping into new challenges and roles without a lot of preparation or knowledge of the terrain. I've looked so many of my colleagues in the eye and said, "Trust me," and I meant it. I've had no proof of my abilities to accomplish what I say I will other than the results that I produce after the fact. In a few weeks, I will step into my boss's office, I will look him in the eye, and I will as him to trust me as I step away from my role and responsibilities during a critical time. I will have no way to ensure near perfection of the tasks and events that I need to pull off. I will have no guarantee of success. But I do have a track record. I have a record of success that I'll stand by, and hopefully by boss will to.

Yes, this will be the greatest professional challenge of my life. If I can do this, I know I can do anything.

Year of Intention: Do it now or later

One of the biggest struggles in my life and frankly a catalyst for this year's theme, is that I tend to delay non-gratifying projects. A prime example of this is our current method of laundry completion. It looks something like this: 

1) Let the laundry pile up for several days until we start to run out of things to wear.
2) Line up several laundry baskets and begin washing and drying one after another. 
3) Put clean and dry laundry into baskets.
4) Place baskets in random places throughout our living space.
5) Dig through baskets for several days to find what preferred clothing and wear it wrinkly.
6) When baskets are nearly empty, bring them to bedrooms, toss onto dresser top, and gather the next succession of dirty laundry waiting to be washed.

Now, for those with their laundry routine under control, I'm sure you're asking why in the world one would want to do laundry like that. The clothes is always wrinkled, always in view, and never in a home of its own like a closet or drawer. It is frustrating, to be sure, to have to hunt through several rooms of the house to find the cardigan I had intended to wear each morning. Was it in the clean pile on the dryer? Is it in the basket of darks on the couch? Maybe it's on top of my dresser? Ridiculous. 

If I'm honest with myself, I really don't like doing laundry. Not at all. So I delay it. As long as possible. I try to do as little as possible in the laundry department that still allows me to be a somewhat functioning human being. But the fact remains that it still needs to be done. So is it better to delay and do as little as possible and endure the frustration of having laundry in many places unfolded, or do I try to change my habit and deal with laundry daily in an attempt to get it cleaned, folded, and put away in order to avoid the added frustrations? 

This is a tougher decision than one would think. It's a conscious choice of enduring something either way. I either have to endure doing something I don't like to do in order to be satisfied at having done it after the fact or I have to endure the things that are frustrating about my current habits of delay and not worry about the fact that I'm rarely satisfied at all. 

For me, it's also question of motivation and available resources. I really am motivated to change my habits because as part of this year's quest, I want to develop a tidier home. A tidy home does not have laundry strewn about in three rooms, unfolded, and a short sleeve away from falling behind the dryer. A tidy home doesn't have visible laundry anywhere. And this vision of tidiness would give me satisfaction. But it comes at a cost, the cost of doing something I don't like every single day. Can the motivation change my view of this disliked task? Could it eventually be something that I don't dislike at all because of the satisfaction that completion brings? And then those available resources, like time. Does a system get thrown off if I'm gone three days in a week? Can I uphold a change in behavior if resources are scarce making it harder to accomplish? The question of available resources, especially time, are always on my mind. 

And let's not pretend that I only engage in this now-or-later battle over the laundry. This is actually so many things. It's the now of throwing away junk mail daily or the later of stacking it up and tossing it once a week. It's the now of putting away all of the work, lunch, daycare bags and containers as soon as we get into the house or the latter of tossing it all inside the back door and clean up the piles at the end of the week. It's the now of wiping up the spilled toddler dinner off the table and floor as soon as dinner is over or the later of getting to it after he goes to bed or the next morning when I step in the remnants. 

Getting this picture? The now is always something I don't like to do coupled with the satisfaction of having it done immediately, and the later is the satisfaction of not having to do it right away coupled with the frustration of leaving it undone. Add to this the pressure of feeling like it all needs to be done whether or not I have the available time or energy to do it, and you've got one conflicted flailing woman. 

But this Year of Intention was not meant to overwhelm or send me into a spiral of despair and strife. It was selected as such to create points of clarity and purpose, meaning and motivation. My habits to date are mostly just defaults in a busy world. It seems easier, albeit less pleasant, to delay doing things I don't like, but does that match the vision of the life I want? Well, that would require me to a have a pretty clear vision of the life I want. So I'll be starting there. Stay tuned as I work to craft this vision.

The Year of Intention

A few years back, I started what has since become quite the tradition. I decided on my birthday to give the year ahead a name. I wanted to focus on a theme of sorts, something to keep me moving forward when I struggled, something to give me focus when I lacked it, perhaps something to blame when I wanted to cast blame. I'm not sure exactly. But this tradition has evolved into a self-fulfilling prophesy of sorts, not by some cosmic mystical accident, but because perhaps I want it to be so. 

My first dedicated year was the Year of Go. Leading up to this year, I was becoming envious of my adventuresome friends as I felt like a hesitant, almost shy, sidelines participant in life. I needed to give myself permission to move ahead confidently, knowing that I could embark on new adventures, deepen relationships, and cast of inhibitions that were holding me back. And from what I recall of that year, I did. A casual acquaintance invites me over for coffee. Let's go! A colleague asks me to try out a new project with them. Go! It was a life-changing year of experiencing depths that I just hadn't ever allowed myself to experience before. 

The years that followed were the Year of Celebration and the Year of Enough. Seeming opposites, and for good reason. The Year of Celebration brought into my life a marriage built on commitment, love, difference, and adventure; the completion of a hard-earned terminal degree through the defense of a dissertation I was proud of; and the growing of a new life inside me for the first time, an unexpected miracle that was the biggest celebration of all. I also spent the year centering myself by celebrating the small things in life, the daily gratitudes that welled my heart full. The Year of Enough allowed me to be okay with myself as I was. And while I still struggle with my enoughness, I have learned that it's a daily process coming to terms with your own limitations and being okay with them. 

And so this year, I move ahead, wanting to move from acknowledging my limitations to pursuing both my weaknesses and my strengths with purpose. I hope it to be a season of evaluation, of reflection, and of making meaning of the things I do each day. And for those things I can make no meaning of, this year will be a process of eliminating them, clearing a path for those things that do have value and importance in my life. 

It sounds so easy, you know, living with intention. But when I begin to think of all of the things I do without intention, without aim or purpose or goal, the task seems overwhelming. But these assigned annual titles are more than stand alone ideas. Luckily, they build on each other, making me a more whole person than I was the year before. So I will take the lessons learned from the Year of Yes, the Year of Celebration, the Year of Enough, and I will add those beautiful life lessons into my Year of Intention. I will move ahead fearlessly and without inhibitions. I will approach each day with a heart of gratitude for the opportunities that lie ahead. I will acknowledge the imperfection of my pursuits and my limits as a human, knowing that no process, no intention, no concept of wholeness or integrity is or can be perfect. And with all of that, I will pursue purpose and meaning and intention. 

One last note about the Year of Intention. Upon looking up the definition of the word intention, I discovered a use for the word I did not know existed. In the medical field, intention means the healing process for a wound. I find this new discovering to be a very profound way to approach this year. While I know that I certainly have wounds of my own that need daily attention and evaluation and care, I also acknowledge the great many wounds that surround me in those that I love, in those I encounter, in those within my reach. And maybe this Year of Intention is less about the healing of my own wounds and more about the purposeful pursuit of the opportunities to aid in the healing of the great many wounds around me. And maybe, just maybe, those processes are really one in the same.

Encounters with the Risen Christ

I was asked to share a brief message with my church this past Sunday, a reflection of my encounters with the risen Christ as an extension of celebration this Easter season. I shared the following message that had been on my heart for a while.
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I have been a parent for 389 days. 389 days of seemingly endless diaper changes, tears, tantrums, giggles, spit ups, wiping up, and so many firsts. In 389 days, I feel like I've learned more about the heart of Christ than perhaps any other time in my life.

After the longest days, the days that I'm not sure I can make it through, the days that rub me raw and edgy, the days that Kip pushes my every button, even on these days, there's this moment. This quiet moment where I lay my child down to sleep in his crib, and I pause and just look at him. And my heart wells up like it could explode, and this little voice whispers, "I love you so much I could die."

That's a really funny response when you stop and think about it. I love you so much I could sing and shout! I love you so much I could squeeze you for days! I love you so much that I want to give you the world. But die? I love you so much I could die? That's downright illogical. There's only one place a response like that could come from. Jesus looking lovingly at his people must have whispered, "I love you so much I could die." My heart is only a small reflection of his level of love.

But I'm supposed to be here talking about my encounters with the living Christ, the Jesus who beat death and lives in our world today. In 389 days of parenting, I have learned that the living Christ is woven deeply into my son. Kip was born with a heart built for joy and love. As he has grown and developed, he has found ways to express this joy and love through his daily existence. He wakes up eager to throw his arms around the neck of anyone he sees. He finds delight in the littlest things, a shared smile or giggle, reading books, knocking down block towers, experiencing the wind and sun of nature. He brings joy to those around him, playing peek-a-boo with strangers at Target, waving bye-bye to anyone who seems to be leaving, flashing his toothy grin.

Before Jesus left earth, he promised his followers that the Spirit would be in their hearts. It is this very Spirit that builds our hearts full of joy and love. And we are reminded in Romans that where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom…freedom that my 13 month old son seems far more familiar with than I.

Kip's heart is profoundly free. He merely exists and makes an impact on the world. He does not worry if he's happy enough, if he shared enough, if he loved enough, if he's served enough people with his gift of joy. He doesn't count up his mistakes each day, those times he doesn't want to listen to his mama or climbs the stairs even though he knows full well he's not supposed to. He never wonders if his heart is good or bad. He just lives in joy and love and freedom. And I can't help but wonder if this is the sort of freedom we're all supposed to be dwelling in. The freedom of knowing we have the Spirit within us, that we will make mistakes and learn from them, and that we, just by merely existing, by freely and fully dwelling in joy and love, have an immense impact on God's world.

In Transition

Lately, my life has been filled with comments like, "You're the happiest I've ever seen you," or "You just seem so relaxed," and "Something has changed about you." Especially for those that haven't seen me in a while, the change seems almost sudden, as if a light switch has been flipped in my life. But for those I see daily and weekly, the change has been much more of a transition over time, changes being made over months and years in nearly indistinguishable differences. But the scope of those changes collectively have been far from indistinguishable. It is apparent that I am a woman in transition. 

There are many possible reason for such a transition. Maybe I'm just getting older, and maybe this is just what happens when a person gets older. Maybe the years of experiences start to add up to an equation that looks much different than the equation of youth. Maybe it's my influences. Marrying one of the calmest people on earth tends to have an effect on one's daily living after all. Maybe a new professional position has the possibility of altering one's entire life. Maybe. 

I think the most significant change however, the one with the most impact on a personhood transition of such magnitude, is nothing more than a shift in perspective, a tip in the scale of priorities and how one views such priorities. And after a little contemplation yesterday, I think I am finally able to put words to it.

You see, much of our lives are spent striving. Measuring. Learning how to be the best, or in some cases, just managing to feel good enough. Children are taught that they can be anything they want to be, that they can have it all. But when we grow up and somehow achieve it all (or much of it, anyway), suddenly we look around and realize our own inadequacies. We have the big house but can't keep it clean. We have the good job, but someone else in the office is better at it than we are, and we're all after our boss's job anyway. We got into the grad program but can't live up to the expectations of the rest of the group. Heck, some days, even keeping my inbox or voicemail box clean is too much for me to bear. As a society, we've been taught that the only way to be happy in life is to be enough, to meet the benchmarks, to beat the competition. 

And this kind of measuring, toiling, competing life is, in a word, exhausting. It is not uplifting, not energizing, not joy creating. Sure there are moments of exhilaration, successes on projects, promotions or raises, that give us a glimmer that all the measuring against some standard was somehow worth it. But in the end, the perspective drains and destroys us. Why? Because we never can be good enough in all of our areas of measurement all of the time. We just can't. But every missed mark, no matter how small, begins to pick away at us, eat away at our very souls until we are captured in a blanket of disappointments that we've knit around ourselves. 

I've spent much of my life pursing the ruler, attempting to always be better than mark on the wall. I am naturally competitive and set my sights high on the professional ladder, the sports ladder, heck, any ladder I could find, I was looking at the top rungs only. It was the central focus of my being for much of my young adult life. And frankly, it's made me miserable. Uptight, combative, jealous, and sad. 

There's nothing wrong with being competitive, per se. Nothing wrong with desiring successes, promotions, being good at something. The problem comes when it is our sole aim in life. When the blinders are up and that's all we see - measuring up. Because no matter how driven or focused or competitive we are, we are still, indeed, human. And that humanity limits our abilities to be enough. But do you know what it doesn't limit? Our capacity for joy. 

Enter, the new perspective. 

When I changed my central focus from being enough to just being, but being with joy, everything, and I do mean everything, looks different. When you can just be, for the sake of joy, you allow yourself the option to not always measure up perfectly, with the realization that that is completely okay. It gives you permission to not feel like a horrible person when the dishes don't get done. It gives you the allowance to enjoy what you are doing without your only focus being the prize at the end. It takes away the gnawing, nagging, pick-away-at-your-soul-ness that the measuring marks do to us because the measuring marks are secondary. Joy is primary. 

Right now, life is filled with joy. My husband and I have a comfortable home that is sometimes messy and sometimes clean. We have a baby on the way this spring with not a single product picked out or purchased yet. My job is enjoyable and flexible, and I work with fantastic people to provide some amazing topics to some wonderful young adults. Some days, I screw up the grade book. Some days, I forget announcements I should have made. Some days, I'm late to meetings or miss deadlines. It's part of the journey. Sometimes I succeed on the journey. Sometimes I fail. Either way, I learn on that journey. Either way, the focus is not my ability to get the higher paycheck or the bigger programs (though I still work toward some of those goals). The focus is joy first. And things like serving others, being kind, working with instructors, and managing the details bring me joy regardless of their less than perfect execution. 

Eckhart Tolle says, "Life isn't as serious as the mind makes it out to be." This is a profound statement, especially when you learn to apply it. There's nothing forcing you to climb the measurement ladder if there's no joy in the journey toward the top. There's nothing telling you that you must measure up or that you absolutely cannot fail. And there's nothing stealing joy from your life except the way that you perceive life. Joy first. Everything else will follow.

Shrinking World

With just a few weeks to go before the wedding (really?!), Derrick and I find ourselves in conversations about what the future will look like more often than ever before. Most of it is just talk and daydreams and slivers of possibility. What happens next? When the dissertation is finished? When the next academic year is over? Where will we go? What will we do and be? 

All this talk has had me thinking and rethinking about not only my own immediate world, but really the whole world. It's a big place, but not as big as I once thought. 

Growing up in a small town, I only new one perspective. Small towns were safe, secure, quiet. Kids could run and play all day, ride their bikes down the middle of the street, play in any backyard they wanted. It was a most amazing way to spend a childhood. But with that perspective came a certain perspective of the "other" existence. Cities. As a kid, and even on my way to college as an 18-year-old, I truly believed that if small towns were heaven-like, cities must be hell. Danger, predators, noise, fences, stop lights, traffic...all of it was bad and scary and wrong. Similarly, when growing up within a 15-minute drive of all of the cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, I assumed that's just how the world worked. Everyone got together with their whole giant crazy family for every holiday, every Sunday lunch. And thus, as my logic would tell me, the "other", being away, was most certainly wrong. 

But there was a strange contradiction building inside me. One that began to challenge these assumptions and perspectives. Something urging me to look beyond the confines of the known and just glimpse the "other." As an 18-year-old high school graduate, I excitedly embarked on a journey that took me, gasp, out of state. I crossed the Wisconsin border (all of 25 miles into the southwest corner of the state), and set up my new home in the big city of Platteville (pop. 8,500 or so). There were stoplights, a Wal-Mart, gas stations and grocery stores. And I was terrified. A brief adjustment period later, I found that I really loved that town...if only it were...bigger. 

Bigger? But what about the evil of the city? What about that scary "other"? Some slow stretching of my boundaries was apparently redefining my perspective. 

Fast forward to now. As Derrick and I set the table for dinner and cook side by side, our conversation once again meanders to the possibilities of the future. How do you feel about Canada? he says. There's a lot going on in Sweden, he suggests. Madison and Boulder are still just about the perfect cities, I think aloud. 

At this point in my life, the world no longer feels like it's so big. Not quite as scary. There's less and less that seems so "other" to me now. If I adapted from a town of a few hundred people to a college town to a small city, surely I can adapt to wherever we go. There's still that contradiction inside me, that urging to go and do and try and learn. My family is so valuable to me, but maybe the experience of dwelling and growing up with all of the cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents just manifests itself differently when you don't live down the street from them. And maybe that's not so scary, just different. 

As the world continues to shrink and my perspective continues to grow, I am more and more excited to take a leap. To experience the "other." To allow myself to truly believe that the "other" can be good. Maybe that little urge that's always been in me has really been preparing me my whole life for what is yet to come. It caused me to tiptoe out of state, then jump into a small city, then....? Well, who knows. But I sure will be excited to be there.

Fear and the Wall

Realizing there are less than six weeks to go before Derrick and I jet off to our mysterymoon has pushed me back into frequent workout mode. You may have noticed the last few posts focusing on this more than other topics, and with good reason. 

I have dearly missed running and working hard. I hit the treadmill this winter irregularly at best and started the spring off with a yellow fever vaccination that took over nearly four weeks of my life leaving me with no energy to do anything at all. And now, here we are. Just six short weeks from one of the biggest adventures of our lives, and I find myself needing to confess: I'm not ready. 

As I ramp up the run mileage, and the additional workouts, and hopefully soon some swim miles, I am made fully aware daily of my own human limitations. I feel frustrated. I feel defeated. I feel afraid. 

In the running world, there is an analogy that nearly all runners know and know well: the wall. In an endurance race, it is the point at which you feel like you can't go on, like you want to quit. The point at which you are frustrated, defeated, and yes, afraid. I have met the wall. But I wasn't really aware that the wall was more than just a point in a race. For me, it has become a point in my training. As I work to make up the deficit of all that was lost this winter and spring, which after counting the costs so far, was A LOT, I have come to a point in my ramp up where I have been left to face a mighty wall. Right now, training is not fun. It is not enjoyable in any way. It hurts. I'm frustrated. And I want to quit. 

The mighty wall is decorated with nothing except ribbons of my own fear. They cover nearly the entire surface of the wall, with just enough room for pain, frustration, and defeat to show through. But if I am honest, it's the fear that I see. 

Now, this might sound like crazy talk to some, and I accept that for what it is, but I have dreams. Dreams of becoming a serious athlete. Maybe I'll never be a Chrissy Wellington (my personal IronMan superwoman inspiration), but I believe that I could be a competitive age grouper, that maybe I could even win some races. But I also know that standing between the current me and the competitive athlete me is not just the wall I stare at today, but many, MANY walls, each laced with fears, anxieties, pain, frustration, and defeat. 

Why in the world would I want to put myself through this again and again? It sounds downright torturous. And maybe, to some extent, it will be. But I am learning why I might want to face these walls, even this one now. Courage. The only way to knock down the wall of fear in front of me is to face it head on with courage. How does one acquire more courage? By taking down more walls of fear. And where do walls of fear come from? Doing the hard things that cause the walls to show up in the first place. 

Walls remind us of our humanity. Our own weaknesses and limitations. Those things exist. People facing walls have two choices - stop when they arrive at the wall, acknowledge their weaknesses and limitations and accept them as fact OR breathe courage deep into their lungs, refuse to accept the weaknesses and limitations as truth, and hulk-smash the wall into a pile of rubble, stronger and more courageous than before.

Today, I choose the hulk-smash. Today I choose to breathe deep the courage required to keep going. I will not believe that what I have done today is all I can do. There is so much more in store for me, and it's waiting just on the other side of this wall.

The why behind being strong

After posting my last post, and spending another two weeks continuing to struggle with consistency and mental toughness in workouts, I find myself with the serious question of why I want to work so hard and be so strong...because frankly, it would be far easier and far less frustrating to opt to sit on the couch every night of the week than convincing my body to try hard things with the soreness and sweating that accompany it. What exactly is my motivation? Especially when it comes to racing and endurance sports. Some days I seem to come up against a pity party so strong and so illogical, that it almost makes me want to give up. After all, I have lots of friends who never work out, and they have so much free time to do, well, anything else. Whine, complain, boo hoo...enough. Let's get the facts straight right now in order to refocus energy in a useful direction. 

1. I really actually, truly do want to be healthy in every way. 

We only get one body and one life. And although some may be able to get by just fine (or perhaps convince themselves they're fine) without a day of working out in their lives, I can't. I want to live to a ripe old age and not end up in a state of decrepitude at any point on my way there. I want to be mentally sharp and physically able all the days of my life. If I really want that, I have to work hard for it. 

2. I need the space and time.

If given the opportunity, I think I would work myself to death. I would sit at my computer for hours, endlessly plugging away at all there may be to do. And when I run out of things to do, I make more things to do. Physically working hard, as counter intuitive as it may sound, gives me space in my life to do something else, something that is fulfilling and good and good for me. Workouts give me time to wrestle, think, pray, fight, laugh... I need these things in my life to keep me sane and happy. Some days workouts are hard. Some days they don't feel like an increase of time or space, but more like a constriction of both. But I have never once come to the end of a workout and looked back at it with regret. Not once. 

3. It's mine. It's God's.

Sometimes I think that I need something that is just for me. Just mine. I used to think that running was that thing. But then I discovered that run time and prayer time together. And suddenly, this workout thing wasn't mine at all. It was clearly God's. It was God's gift to me, a multipurpose time designed for me and Him to spend some time together and for me to get stronger, get this, for His glory. Though it can be hard to remember in the tougher, more frustrating workouts, every time I spend time working out and praying, dwelling on scripture, or even just clearing some of the frustration from the day, I am honoring the gifts God has given me, the gifts of my body, my strength, my joy. This is, perhaps the most motivating thing I need to remember. I work hard for me AND God.

Sometimes I just need a good solid press of a reset button. Today's workout reminded me that I needed to seek out the why of choosing to be strong and work hard. No more pity parties, just good hard work from here on out.

The body lies.

After a slow few days following a yellow fever vaccination that resulted in a few days of a sore arm, a low grade fever, and some flu-like symptoms, I thought I'd try to take a little run. It had been a week since my last outing, and I was itching for a good stride. Due to some nasty winds and some impending rain, I opted for a nice cozy treadmill rather than being blown into traffic at the top of some hill. 

A half mile in, I knew it was going to be a tough run, so I chose some shorter burst speed drills rather than going for distance, which at least gave my lungs some reprieve between sets. But the experience got me to thinking about how I ever got to be any sort of athlete at all. Three years ago, I couldn't run two minutes at a time. I couldn't really swim more than a length of the pool. I didn't own a bike or a good pair of running shoes. Sure I've been a long-time on-again, off-again yogi, but I didn't focus nearly any time on conditioning my body, just when it happenstancically fit into my work schedule. 

I think there are lies that we tell ourselves when we aren't good to our bodies. Things that somehow justify our behaviors and leave us in our places. Thinking of these lies bring me back not only to a few years ago, but to my first days as a college recruiter, where road time, sitting in high schools, and running through the McDonald's drive-thru were my normal activities. Scary to think how fast my work clothes didn't fit and I started feeling pretty terrible. A few months really. But anyway, back to the lies. 

Lie #1: Really, I'm fine.

Really? That's where we want to start? Yeah, keep telling yourself you're fine as you struggle mightily to get up the stairs. As your joints complain and show signs of wear. Keep up the lie that you're fine and unaffected as you gain weight and lose muscle and flexibility and range of motion. 

How about instead, you take a good honest status check of what your body is really saying. That McDonald's food isn't satisfying, neither is the third helping of anything. Your knees might be wearing out. You know that once they're gone, they're gone right? Your lungs are crying out for assistance. You, my friend, are not fine. This is a lie developed by the side of you that is more content lying on the couch than going to the effort of stretching or moving. The side of you who would just as soon find an elevator. The side of you that believes that your knees or hips or back won't ever really wear out completely. But here's the thing - our bodies only know how to deteriorate when left to their own devices. (More on this in a bit.) You're not fine. Find what isn't fine in you. Recognize it and be ready to work to make it right. 

Lie #2: I don't have time. 

Funny thing about time, it's always somehow full. We make choices everyday about how we will spend our time. And there is a side of you, the same side that believes the lie that you're fine, that believes that there is nothing you can do to find time to work for the benefit of your body. Sure, that hour long phone conversation was important. And on, my favorite movie is on tv tonight! And isn't it just nice to come home from work and just be home for the night? Ooh, Facebook drama...cat videos...new baby photos! There is always something lurking in the shadows that wants your time. 

But you do have a choice. You have choices everyday to make your body better or to make it worse. I, for instance, have nearly completely given up watching tv. Why? Because it takes up time, it's generally not good for me in any way, and it's not even all that gratifying to watch! But yet, we watch. For hours. Sometimes I give up sleeping in an extra half hour. Sometimes I sacrifice a little quality snuggle on the couch. Something always has to give when you make a new choice about how to spend your time. But time is always there for you to decide what to do with. Trust me, you do have the time. 

Lie #3: My body can't do that. 

Do you think that I got to where I am today (or will get to where I will be in the future) by believing the lie that my body just can't or won't do something? There is a force far more powerful than your body. It's your heart (or for extremely mental athletes, your brain...I'll talk about both here). Your body will always believe only in its limitations. As I said before, our bodies were born knowing only how to decay. They were, indeed born to die. But our hearts and brains are constantly learning, growing, shifting, changing, developing... And their strength is incredible! 

And let's have an honest moment about working out hard. It hurts! I mean really! My body will always tell me no. It believes it can't. It tries to convince me it won't. But then my heart kicks in, and it gives my body its marching orders, because, well, I really want to be well, to be strong. I do. My body doesn't. So I push it. I force the issue. I quiet the lie that tells me I can't with a might and ferocious, "I CAN." And then I do my very best. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes, like tonight, I struggle. But after a few years of pushing and forcing and encouraging and believing in my heart that my body is wrong, it turns out, it is. 

Look, I don't really know who this pep talk was meant for. Maybe just for me. I don't want to settle for believing I'm fine. I want to take the time to work hard and sweat and get stronger, and I know that I can expect my brain and heart to push my body well beyond the limits it believes it has. 

I am 30. I have every intention of not allowing my body to decay and deteriorate. I will fight death with life, with deep breaths, with strong muscles, with fast runs, long swims, impossibly hilly bikes. I will get stronger because I can. Won't you join me? Save that deteriorating body with an invigorated soul, with new goals and with no lies about what is possible standing in your way.

Authenticity?

In a recent lecture that I sat in on on the topic of leadership, the idea of authenticity, or as it was defined, being true to one's self, was brought up in almost every type of leadership. But I found myself getting hung up on the word, or perhaps the definition. 

What if deep down, in my truest core, I'm an emotional wreck. I mean just a real disaster? What if my heart yearned to shed tears at nearly every situation or experience? As a leader, is that the authentic self I should rely on? I think we can all agree that basket cases don't make great leaders. And what if my truest self was angry at the world? That doesn't seem like a healthy place to lean on. What if my true self wanted to always make others happy to the point that I couldn't tell them the truth if it was painful?

So what are we really talking about here? What is authenticity all about? Are we really just talking about the positive elements of our true selves? Our true good selves? Why don't we just say that then? Are we really talking about something beyond ourselves? Something of greater magnitude? If so, why do we consider it being true to self rather than being true to whatever it is?

I think some serious examination is in order to try to discover what this authenticity world is all about. Because, to be honest, sometimes I don't really like what I see when I look deep within myself. I don't like how I react to things sometimes or even how I choose to lead sometimes. If I don't like all the things that make up myself, then given the definition, I can't say I really want to be authentic all the time. And where do words like consistency, judgement, rationality, emotional stability, empathy...all those other words that we associate with good leaders land in the realm of authenticity? How are they connected?

Some days, I open a blank blog post and start typing in hopes that answers to my questions come flowing through the keys, as if by some godly channel that produces wisdom beyond my own. Some days, it shows up. Today, it's just questions, so I'll need to seek my answers elsewhere.

Trust & Fear

I must start this post with a confession. I am not the fearless wonder woman I project myself to be. Now, don't get me wrong. I want to be a fearless wonder woman. I strive to be a fearless wonder woman. But I've got fears. Oh, boy, do I have fears. 

I'm afraid of bugs, spiders mostly. I'm afraid of forgetting important things. I have fears of doing things wrong. Of being incapable of doing what I want. Germs, especially of the raw meat variety. Winter driving. Running in the dark. Being careless with money. Saying stupid or embarrassing things. Grates in sidewalks. Public restroom surfaces. Trying new experiences for the first time. 

I spend a lot of time masking these fears, pretending to be a fearless wonder woman. But last night, some of the fears started leak out of me. And it quickly snowballed. It was mostly mysterymoon related. For the past three months, I have been beyond exciting to have Derrick plan a secret trip for us, leaving me totally in the dark about all of it. I desperately wanted to be able to let go of control and allow him to plan it all. I wanted a grand adventure.

Or so I thought. 

But then, I started to get scared. What if he didn't think of everything? What if we get stuck wherever we're going and can't get home? What if we don't have the right equipment. What if I'm not strong enough? What if, what if, what if... And this incredible sense of guilt began to wash over me because, as I started spewing me fears in Derrick's general direction, it sounded a lot like I didn't trust him to plan this trip. 

But that's just not true. I trust the man with me life. I trust his skills and abilities and research. I trust his instruction and his instinct. It cannot be then that I do not somehow trust him with some vacation plans. 

But, the more I think about this, the more I begin to think that perhaps fear and trust are not so related. I mean, I trust my dad when we're climbing big mountains, but I still fear crossing rushing streams on rotting logs or slippery stretches of path near the summit. I trust that my co-workers are working hard, but I still fear that collaborative programs might fail. I trust God's plan in the world, but I fear for the lives of future generations. 

It seems like trust and fear should be more related. If I really trust, do I have reason to be afraid? The logical answer here is no, of course. And yet... I think perhaps where my fears live is a different habitat all together than where my trust lives. I think trust lives deep in the heart and forms a line that somehow supersedes reality. No matter the circumstances, I can still choose to trust. But my fears create a scatter plot of all of the many external forces, the unknowables, the slim chances, the what if's that live around reality. Fears live in all of the other possible realities that exist all around us. Trust is on a different plane all together. To trust, I make a decision to trust, to follow that line above basic reality. To not fear, I have to shut out a whole lot of dots on a scatter plot. A whole lot.

I think the only effective way to become a fearless wonder woman is two fold. I need to keep on trusting. Trust can and will help me to continue to rise above fears. And I need to go and do many scary things. Kill spiders, rely on my memory, test my capabilities, cook, drive in the snow, run with a head lamp, stick to a budget, speak up, walk over the grates on the sidewalks, use public restrooms, and try everything at least once. I fully trust my love to send us on a once-in-a-lifetime mysterymoon trip, and I'm scared out of my mind. But without hesitation, I will go. And just maybe come back a little bit more of a fearless wonder woman. 

Just call me Jonah.

I was just about to finish up the self-appointed task of reading and annotating the entire new textbook anthology we're using for one of the classes that I work with on campus, and pretty pleased to be nearly complete, when I flipped the page and came across the biblical story of Jonah. (The whole anthology is different perspectives on what it means to lead a life that matters.) 

I didn't even have to read the story to hear the message loud and clear. 

Now, pretty much everyone knows the story of Jonah. It's one of the first feltboard stories you see as a little kid in Sunday school class. Jonah gets a pretty clear directive from God. Go. To. Nineveh. Jonah, being sort of a brat, is like, Um....No. He gets in a boat that's headed the exact opposite way of Nineveh, climbs down below, and takes a smug and satisfied little nap. The guys on board experience a huge storm and assume that one of them had clearly done something wrong, so they wake Jonah up to see if it happens to be him. And you know Jonah is already like, Craaaaaapppppp. It's totally me. So he tells them to toss him overboard, and they do, and the storm disappears. Eerie. Even more eerie is the fact that a big ol' fish is waiting for Jonah in the water, swallows him up, and spits him out a few days later on dry land. (It's here I always have the image of that scene from Pinocchio where they build a fire in the whale's belly to escape...and that, by the way, is the wrong story...) God once again reminds Jonah of his mission. He goes, probably with a series of big overblown sighs and frustrated grunts, does his job in Nineveh, and God saves the city. Jonah gets mad about that, but that's another post for another day. 

So, like I was saying, I didn't even have to read the story to know the message. For a while, God has been calling me to a certain something, a Nineveh of my own. I don't really want the job. It's not a fun job. It comes with a fair amount of risk. It is going to be hard to do. I will probably be there for a while, or forever. And I've been trying to ignore this job for a while. But I really have known for a while. And just seeing the title of the book of Jonah on the page this week was enough to tip the scale. 

I'm not dumb. I can take a hint and learn a lesson. And frankly, one guy being tossed overboard into a raging storm and then a whale's belly is quite enough. I don't need to throw myself overboard with him. I don't even need to be in the boat. Tonight I told Derrick for the first time that I was told to go to Nineveh, so to speak. And he just chuckled and told me that my confession made a lot of sense. And then he said, Welcome to my life, a series of frustrated but grateful groans to God about being in the places I am told to be. All. The. Time. At least we get to gratefully groan together from now on?

I'm not really sure why God does this, sends us to places we don't want to go, on missions we don't want to do. I wish I had some really insightful thing to write right here. I guess I just choose to see the silver lining when I can. Otherwise, I'd probably just end up perpetually mad at God. There was a reason Jonah was to go to Nineveh. There must be reasons for me to face my own Ninevites. Some growth or learning or development or maturity. Even if I stomp my feet and scrunch my face the whole time. God knows better than I why he called me to this task. He knows why it needs to be me and them and how it will all turn out in the end. It might not be the way I anticipate. I might even be mad at the result in the end, but that doesn't change the fact that God is God, and I am who he wants to use. I don't get it. I'm a tad frustrated by it, but I know in the end that there will be gratitude and growth in there somewhere, somehow.

At least the fleeting thought of getting in the opposite-way boat is out of my head. Jonah already learned that lesson for me. Wish me luck in Nineveh, folks. I'm going to be there a while.

Pre-Digital Footprint

In one of my roles at work, I serve as a mentor to a group of students that are challenged to think about issues of character. This semester's focus is on technology and character, with a close eye on social media. This week, students were asked two questions:

1. What is your digital footprint? In other words, where have you left significant digital traces online?
2. What picture would this paint of you? Do you feel this would be an accurate representation of your "self"?

Although I usually don't respond to these online, these provoked the following response. 
-----

I have this box in my house. It's filled with hundreds of old black and white photos from my grandparents, some as far back as their newlywed days. I've flipped through the photos more times than I can count. These discussion questions of digital footprint have my thoughts drifting back to when they were young. What footprint did they leave behind?

If I went digging, and I mean really intensely digging, I bet I could find published, public records of these two grandparents. Their birth, marriage, death records. Major purchases. Their number listed in the phone book. Their address in the church directory. Perhaps my papa's business got some local press in the paper. They were not invisible. Their existence left a footprint in the world.

And that box of photos is filled with the happiest of memories. Their first house together. Dinner parties. A new baby. Vacations. All with perfect hair and clean rooms and pretty dresses and happy people. The documented portions of their lives were by no means accurate representation of the lives they lived. They had to have had bad hair days and naughty kids and years where the money didn't allow them to take trips.

So what's the difference? Sure, the medium is different. I couldn't really Google them, per se, like you could Google me. My photos, looking just as put together and accomplished and well traveled as theirs did, aren't in a box. They're in a cloud. My records aren't buried on microfiche. They're floating about it bits and bites online.

The most significant difference as far as I can tell is how the information is transmitted. How and how far. The photos in the box only get seen by the people I show them to. My photos get seen by anyone with adequate Googling ability. Their address was in the church directory. Mine can be found on whitepages.com. When one of them needed to call their second cousin's husband Morty, who picked up Grandma's scarf at a family reunion, they simply asked their sister, who called her cousin, who looked in a notebook, and found Morty's number. If my second cousin Amber picks up my scarf at a reunion, I simply search her name and town to come up with her number. If an employer wanted to know what Grandma was really like before giving her the job at the meat processing plant where she once worked, he called a reference, and that's all he knew. Unless she was in the paper that week for reckless driving. Now, employers, like everyone else, Googles us, finds us on Facebook, looks for our tweets. 

Papa could have published an opinion piece in the paper every week if he wanted to. He could have showed their family photos to everyone who would have stopped to see them. He could have chosen an unlisted phone number or opt out of the church directory. They controlled the footprint that they left. And so do we. But for us, the options are far greater. The reach, much farther. The access, much easier. But we still control it.

I'm not opting out of Facebook anytime soon. My blog and other public displays of my existence on this earth will not be shut down either. These records I'm leaving behind aren't really bad or scary or dangerous. They're just new forms of old footprints. And just as I relish those happy black and white photos of my grandparents, I hope that the footprint I leave behind for my grandchildren brings them joy too. I don't want to be invisible in the world. I leave my footprint for the next generations. And in our world, that footprint just happens to be digital. Who knows what it will be for them.

On the Freedom of Facebook

I will preface this post by saying that I fully realize that by posting my opinions here, on a public blog, I am acting with a fair level of hypocrisy. This is not a holier-than-thou message, but it is a judgement of sorts, a judgement of appropriate versus inappropriate behavior online because it seems to me that we have lost the ability to tell the difference. 

I find myself wondering lately what goes through people's minds when they post things to Facebook. What goes through my mind? As a rarer than most poster, I feel like what I post is about as random as my life in general. A quick perusal of this year's posts so far, my posts have included a few photos of random happenings in life (coffee, an event or two, engagement photo) and some random updates about workouts, weather, work, a few birthday messages to friends. And sometimes I wonder if even that has been too much. It's not overly exciting. They don't mean much. To me, this is sort of the equivalent of making small talk with someone you haven't seen in a while because for the most part, it is indeed small talk with people I nearly never see. 

Recently, I have been witnessing more and more Facebook freakouts. Many of the posts I read are not small talk with acquaintances but rather deeply personal and directed updates about breakups or family members, not so subtle passive aggressive messages, and even intensely personal medical procedures/updates. There are hurtful, uncomfortable, painful things being published out there for all to see, and to what end? 

Now, we need to pause here again to note that I realize that this blog is not so different from a Facebook status update. And if you dig through its pages, you will find deep hurts revealed amidst various reflections and personal details of my life. So I get it. It feels good to get things out of your brain, off your chest, and into the universe. 

But there is a level of responsibility that comes with public domains like Facebook, like this blog, that is being forgotten and perhaps eliminated completely. And the deterioration of this responsibility is being considered, I think, something it is absolutely not: freedom. There is no more freedom in Facebook than there is standing face-to-face with your dearest loved one, a random stranger, your grandmother. In fact, I would argue that there is actually much less freedom in these virtual lands of limitless reach because what you share is not being shared in the closeness of friendships, the personalness of family, the trust of your grandmother. It's not just going out to one person or an elevator full of people you'll never see again. You're sharing irreversible, unerasable information with an endless list of friends, acquaintances, family, strangers, friends of friends... 

Facebook's repercussions are not just about what you're saying about yourself out there to the world. Certainly there are many avenues of self expression that are just as public as a Facebook status. Facebook's repercussions are about those that your messages are reaching. Words have power, and in a medium like Facebook, the reach of that power is extreme and unfathomable. Harsh or cruel words for loved ones, embarrassing moments of good friends, passive aggression, words of hate, rumors...there is simply no room for this level of irresponsibility. Not behind closed doors, not on a street corner, not on Facebook. Take responsibility. Man or woman up. Problems with people should be dealt with with people. Not with the public. Please stop using Facebook as a medium of harm and turn it into something beautiful. Use Facebook for good, for uplifting those around you, for making the world a little better place. It's your responsibility.

Engagement Treasures

There's something to be said for treasuring every phase of your life to the extent that one can, but let's be honest that some phases of life are more treasurable than others. For instance, I'm not so sure that I will look back and be able to state with certainty that I treasured my dissertation writing phase of life. I hopefully can at least say I survived it, I muddled through it, I, um, accomplished it. I doubt I will say I treasured it. 

And hearing of and even in some cases witnessing horror stories of engagements, I'm not so sure that three months ago I would have put being engaged on the to-be-treasured list. However, half way through this business, I must say I am having far too much fun. 

There are just certain things that one only EVER gets to do while engaged. I had never really thought of this before, but lately, this is becoming really apparent. Beside the obvious fact of getting to plan a wedding and all the details that come with it, there are tons of other things I feel like I am experiencing, discussing, and learning in this special period of life. 

I get to experience the excitement of getting engaged over and over each time someone finds out. New girlish squeals abound, and we all dance around and hug and smile. This also sometimes happens between Derrick and I when we realize how many days or weeks we have left to go before life together begins (okay, so he doesn't squeal and dance about, but I usually do). I have been able to discuss many things I did not expect to discuss with anyone. Amongst my closest friends, topics of, ahem, marital bliss have come up more times in the last two weeks than my entire life previous. It's strange and delightful. And enlightening. And I feel like I have learned so much about myself, my impending wifehood (wifery? wifeishness?), us, our strengths and gifts and how those somehow come together in one house and one life together. 

I am so very glad for the choices we have made. I would not have wanted a longer engagement than six months no matter how wonderful this treasured time is because, let's be honest, the real treasure awaits me after the engagement - my husband. But I am so glad that I get the gift of a cherished, treasured engagement that is sure to be followed by a cherished, treasured marriage.