Sometimes, we forget…

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Sometimes, we forget to have patience.

We forget to have patience with our children. They are young and slow and unable to perform simple tasks. Maybe we need to get somewhere on time, and—as is typical of children—they are not in a hurry. Or perhaps they are not yet adept at the task at hand. Ever watch a young child tie a shoe? It can take f-o-r-e-v-e-r! We grow impatient, and we rush them, yell, or yank them out the door. Or maybe we are trying to teach them something or help with homework. They are not getting it, and we grow frustrated. We give up and let them struggle on their own, perhaps crying as they do so. Children are young and inexperienced with the ways of the world. With what they are learning… so many things And they need parents and caregivers to be patient so they can learn, feel nurtured, and grow their independence and confidence.

Sometimes, we forget to have patience with our coworkers, friends, and family members. Perhaps we asked someone to do something and they didn’t do it. We might have even reminded them. Or maybe they did it, but they didn’t do it the way we wanted them to. So we grow frustrated. We might know someone who has different views than we have. Rather than ask them about their views and the ideas and experiences they have had that have led them to their conclusions, we lash out, call them names, and “school” them in why they are wrong. We don’t engage and we definitely don’t compromise. We are right and they are wrong, and we don’t have the time to mess around in finding some mushy middle ground.

Sometimes, we forget to have patience with strangers. Someone cuts us off when we are driving, and we immediately honk our horn, flip the driver the bird, or get right on his bumper to teach him a lesson. If someone is too slow in the grocery line, even if it is the fault of the cashier or the manager, we stand in line and shift our weight, roll our eyes, and sigh or groan loudly.  When our restaurant order doesn’t come out fast enough, or the server forgets something, we are not nice. And if someone cold calls our phone with a promotional offer from a service we already use—or don’t—we hang up on them rather than politely declining.

Sometimes, we forget to have patience with ourselves. We think we should know something, but we have forgotten. We put something in that ever-elusive “safe place,” and now we can’t find it. We are taking too long to find something on the Internet or it takes us too long to get ready to leave the house. We forgot to do something. We forgot to call the doctor to make an appointment or write down which spice it was that we ran out of last Tuesday when we were cooking dinner. We grit our teeth and think we should know better.

Impatience is all around us. Sometimes, we forget that people make mistakes, that people have feelings, and that every situation offers us an opportunity to decide how to respond. We can be patient, or we can be impatient. The problem is, by being impatient, we miss out on an opportunity to connect with another person—family, friend, or stranger. Patience requires connection. It requires understanding. And it requires us to experience life in the present moment.

So be present. Make the connection. Have patience. It may take a little extra time, but it will be worth it.

Before the World Got Warm

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Back before the world got warm, someone made up this idea that robins return from migration in the spring, and their return is a sure sign that winter is over. As the harsh winter thawed into the muds of March, we would anxiously await our first robin sighting. This, we knew, meant spring had finally beat out winter and the weather would finally warm up. If the snow fell once the robins returned, we would find foods these picky little worm-eaters would eat—raisins, raw ground beef (um…?), cooked spaghetti—and we would toss it outside in hopes the robins would eat it. They seldom did because really… cooked spaghetti??

Back before the world got warm, the snow would begin to fall in December—occasionally even November—and stay on the ground, piling up to amazing heights (we were little, so our perspective was different) until February or March or April. There would be no sign of bare ground for all those months, and the ongoing snow cover would help to keep the insect population down. The snow would bury all of our shortcuts across fields and around the neighborhood houses, making our paths impassable. We would be forced to add extra time to our journey to travel the long way ‘round on plowed sidewalks lest we lose a boot in the deep snow.

Back before the world got warm, winters were cold and sharp and jagged. The snowflakes would pummel our faces with their sharp edges and pointy lines. The ice and snow would crunch under our feet everywhere we walked. Lakes and ponds would freeze over, sealing all of the fish and frogs and turtles deep inside. Perhaps that would be claustrophobic for the fish—a smaller pond with no access to the open air. I saw a picture on social media the other day of someone skating on a ice that was obviously too thin. Thankfully, they were in a shallow spot, and hopefully they stayed there. But back before the world got warm, the ice on ponds and lakes was most definitely thick enough to skate by the end of January.

Back before the world got warm, it would snow regularly, but we seldom had hugely hyped “snowstorms.” And when we did, they usually lasted long enough and dumped enough snow that school would be cancelled for two days. Back then, snowstorms were not named like tropical storms and hurricanes, as if they were something to be feared. When it snowed several inches at a time, it wasn’t something big—it simply was. Nowadays, “snowstorms” come frequently, dropping 3, 4, 5 inches of snow; the warm world feels somewhat wimpy in its overly dramatic approach to snow.  

It’s the end of January, and on this morning’s walk, I passed a flock of robins feasting on the rotting berries of a crabapple tree. It is not spring. Nor is spring even close. But now that the world is warm, the birds don’t migrate. This weekend, a heron stood in our not completely frozen pond, fishing for his dinner. Somedays, I long for the world before it got warm—the snow cover that keeps the tick population down; the frozen ground, hard like pavement with each step; the spring grass, so bright it hurts your eyes after a winter of no sun.

Sometimes, I think I might have dreamt the world before it got warm. Maybe we had robins all winter then, but we weren’t really looking. Maybe the ice didn’t freeze as completely as I remember—at least not every single winter. Maybe time has warped my memories and the winters are not much different than they were back before the world got warm.

Moments

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Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash

I have been moving along this road I am on. Day by day. Hour by hour. Moment by moment. I seem to respond to the moments most deeply because they tend to surprise me the most. For example, the moment, a week or so ago, that I noticed the great blue heron standing in the shallow water flowing from the stream into our pond.

The heron always catches me by surprise. You might think that after living here for 20 years, I would expect to see him. But I never do. Often, he is camouflaged in the reeds and grasses, his stick-like legs resembling the straight tan stems of the cattails. His body is the color of dull water reflecting the overcast winter. I’ll be walking along the path by the pond, minding my own business, and suddenly, he appears in my periphery. And I turn to look, surprised that I hadn’t noticed him sooner. Sometimes, I slow my pace or even stop altogether. And when I stop, he sometimes flies, annoyed by my insistence that I see him—even stop to take a picture like a gawking tourist—rather than pass by unobtrusively.

Sometimes, his shape rises out of the evening dusk as he stands in wait for a tasty dinner. One time, it was so dark that I only felt his presence. And when I shone my flashlight into the darkness, it illuminated his angles and lines, once again startling me, and I quickly flipped the light to the footpath before I disturbed him. I’m sure it was too late, that disturbance is, in his mind, my middle name.

But last week, when I noticed him standing in the frigid, half-frozen waters of winter, I was stunned. Last week, moments before the temperatures dipped below frigid. Last week, after snowstorms had blanketed the region with inches of snow. Mid-January, it would seem, would be well past time to fly a bit further south than New Hampshire. To someplace where the tendrils of ice and frost have a more delicate grasp. And yet, here he was, crouched close to the water. Pulled in and fluffed up against the cold.

The moments. Brief encounters with the world that cause me to pause and reflect and wonder. The moments push me to ask questions—Do herons migrate? And they spur me to notice the wonders of the world around me. The moments bring me back from my thoughts, my stresses, my worries, and my plans and they ground me firmly in the present. The here and now.

As you walk your own path down the road day by day, hour by hour, don’t let the moments pass you by.

This Is It

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So often we sit around waiting for life to happen—to us, through us, around us. We wait. We expect life to come. A new perfect job will come along. Fate will lead us to our destiny, whatever that means. Opportunities or people will cross our path. And so, we wait.

But this is all very passive. This is about all the things that will happen to us while we sit around doing nothing. Waiting for life.

This is not the way life is supposed to work. As we wait, we are not taking advantage of all that life has to offer. In fact, we are likely blindly scrolling the internet or binge-watching some mind-numbing show on one streaming service or another. If we look around us at any given moment, our life doesn’t look like what we are expecting life to look like. Therefore, the here-and-now, the this-is-it doesn’t get our full attention. We stay on the couch, bored and restless.

And yet, this is what is—the present moment. This is the best we’ve got right now. And it just may be that this is it. So… I have decided to approach 2024 with a This Is It attitude. Since this is what I’ve got right here and right now, there is no sense in waiting for what might come. I mean let’s face it… we all have a plan for what we will do if we win the lottery. But you’ve got to play to win, and I don’t play, so there’s that.

A life without lottery winnings is pretty much what I’ve got. This Is It. I have the moments and the opportunities that present themselves. That, a little bit of luck, and a positive attitude. I’m pretty sure I can fly with that. And so, I will examine the moments and the opportunities that present themselves. I will dig deep into the here and now and the challenges I must overcome. And I will recognize that if I seize the moment—and I do it well—I could be facing a completely different reality as this year comes to a close, from This Is It to This Is Amazing!

If you were to take your This Is It and run with it, how would you move forward?

Grace

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This week was a challenging one for me. I am in that weird in-between time in my new job where I feel like I should know everything by now, and yet, I seem to know nothing. Well, not nothing really, but nearly nothing. It has been many years since I’ve started a new job. I worked in the same field with the same overall expectations for my entire career. And I was in the same institution for nearly the past two decades.

I’ve been in my new job in three months. Only three months… one of which included the end-of-year slow period when all the people I was trying to reach were too holidayed out to pay attention to what was going on at work.

And yet, I expect perfection. Of myself. I expect that I will be at full capacity and up to par with my colleagues. Or I am disappointed in myself.

So this week, amidst curve balls and strike-outs, canceled plans and overall impatience, I have decided to give myself some grace. I know that I am learning. I know that learning takes time. And I know that I’ll get there. I am working on the foundation, and if the foundation is solid, I can build from there.

The truth is, I would never expect anyone I work with, anyone I hired, or anyone I managed to be perfect at their job in three months. To know everything in three months. That would be a ridiculous expectation. But here we are…. Me with my impossible expectations of myself.

Examining how I would treat others is how I know I deserve grace. This is how I know I should be patient. This is how I know I should watch my self-talk. If I wouldn’t put this much pressure on someone else, I shouldn’t do it to myself.

Because I am learning. And learning is a process. I will reflect on my tasks and edit and adjust and try again. I will be willing to take risks and go out on a limb and try a different approach. I will recognize that building—or rebuilding—a program takes time and persistence. It requires forging relationships and tapping into resources. These three months have been a great beginning—but they are just that: the beginning.

Next week, and the week after that, I will give myself grace. And maybe with time, grace will become my normal.

Blame

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The other day, as we were getting ready to sit down to dinner, my son found “blame” on the floor. Apparently, someone (or something) had found it necessary to place blame on the floor after our recent game of Ransom Notes. Now, if you haven’t played Ransom Notes, it is a fun and creative game in which you use word magnets to respond to the prompt cards. Typically, the sentences are not full sentences, and grammar isn’t a thing. The best response of each round wins.

Luckily, I hadn’t vacuumed since we played, or blame would have been misplaced. Permanently. And no one would have been the wiser.

But back to blame…. In truth, placing blame on the floor seems a bit unfair. To the floor, at least. How can a floor be to blame? It couldn’t have acted alone. But come to think of it, the floor might have been in cahoots with gravity in which case I might have to adjust my thinking. Perhaps the floor should shoulder some blame after all.

Then again, gravity might have had a hand in placing blame on the floor to begin with. In that case, gravity is likely the more guilty party. The mystery remains, however, what exactly is the act for which blame is being placed? All of these questions simply because we found “blame” on the floor.

A Virtual Coffee Date for the New Year

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If we were having coffee, we would catch up on the year that just was in our lives and fill each other in on our plans for the year to come. Life is never a smooth ride, and 2023 was no exception… at least for me. Life is best when it is a series of highs and lows that push us to grow and expand. The best of life, I’ve learned, is what happens in the in-between times.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that 2023 brought a bit of upheaval to my life. In a move I wasn’t fully expecting, I was reorganized out of an institution where I had worked for 18 years. But if I’m being completely honest, I would tell you I had been looking for a new opportunity for over a year before this news hit. I started looking the day my then-boss threatened me over his mistake twisted to look like mine. In that year plus, I hadn’t fully focused my energies, but this news helped me to realign my goals, do some self-reflection, and put the previous 18 years in perspective. It helped me to better see the reality of my job situation.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that finding a job at the waning end of one’s career can be a challenge. Applications are ignored, resumes are tossed aside unread, and you begin to think there might be nothing out there for you. Older job seekers tend toward invisibility. But the fact is that we still have much to offer. “Mature” workers have valuable experienced and can bring much to the workplace. Employers might take a moment to at least consider their applications and have a conversation with these individuals.

And speaking of invisibility, if we were having coffee, I would tell you that middle-aged women hit a point at which they become invisible. It happens so slowly as we age that we tend not to notice. And suddenly, we walk down the street and no one looks our way. No one turns, no one waves, and no one cares what we are doing. Now, on the one hand, this is a sad state of affairs. It is pretty much a universal experience faced by aging women. But on the other hand, invisibility is a superpower. If no one notices what we are doing, we can do whatever we want. We can dress how we want. We can do things we could never do before. We are free to stretch and become the women we have always wanted to be. Invisibility is most freeing and something to be enjoyed rather than dismissed. Reframe invisibility as the superpower it is.

If we were having coffee, I might tell you that in 2023, I started reading fiction for fun for the first time in decades. I used to read all the time as an escape when I was a young girl, and I’m not saying I haven’t read in decades. But my reading has been for work, for the many and various classes I taught over the years, and to keep myself informed of the latest trends in this or that. But in 2023, I started reading for enjoyment and relaxation again. I set myself a manageable goal of 12 books—one a month—because manageable goals are my forte. I ended up reading 13 fiction books and several nonfiction books. My favorite, hands down, was Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus. But there were others that are worth a mention: Flying Solo by Linda Holmes, The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman, and How the Light Gets In by Louise Penny. I have already begun 2024’s reading challenge, and my daughter has directed me to join Goodreads. You can find me there—I need reading friends!

If we were having coffee, I would let you know that 2023 brought many lessons. Most importantly, I learned that I am resilient in the face of adversity. Resilience is what got me through. Well, resilience, a little grace, and a lot of prayer. I learned that there will always be obstacles to overcome. And I learned that sometimes, the most challenging experiences bring about the biggest rewards. 2023 was a tough year, but I am better for it. I am opening myself up to the new experiences that will come in 2024. And I am welcoming magic, love, kindness, and amazing experiences. Join me as I step into 2024 with expectations for what might happen but no idea what this year will actually bring.

2024

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As I walk into 2024, I feel like my hair is on fire and I have no plan for how to extinguish the flame. There is no fire extinguisher or water readily available, and the fire has gotten out of control. Clearly, the remnants of 2023 are following me into the new year, which—I suppose—is to be expected, though it’s not exactly welcome news. I was hoping to put the past year far behind me and move cleanly into 2024.

The fire started as a slow burn at some point early in the year. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment in time, but I know it was early. Sparks flickering in the darkness ignited a tiny flame. And the “best-way-to-cook-a-frog” thing became my life. The tiny little flame was warm at first, and I could hold my hands out to warm them. My toes too. But then slowly, the heat started to rise and all hell broke loose.

Now I’m going to say, I typically use writing to help me figure out my life and maintain balance. But in 2023, I wasn’t able to write much. Attempts at writing were derailed by a brain that couldn’t shut out the noise of the world long enough to slip into the silence necessary for creative thought to flow. Reports for work, a focus on health, and an unexpected need to transition to a new position all held the foreground as wars, political bickering, and the world’s intense focus on destruction rather than civil discourse, conversation, and compromise held a constant roar in the background. It was a tough year for creatives and anyone who leans toward sensitivity. And anyone concerned about humanity. I am leaving the year feeling battered and bruised and somewhat worse for wear. I’m concerned about the future and happy to team up with anyone who’s feeling the same. Maybe we can create a support network—to talk, to coach each other, and to cry together if that’s what it takes.

This year, at least initially, my focus will be on calm—calm energy, calm activities, calm people. It will be a good change—call it the calm after the storm. I need to tap into the calm that allows for creativity and writing and thinking and growth. I need to focus on both inner and outer peace. I have a plan in place to start me out in the right direction, though we all know how plans go. Sometimes smoothly, most often awry. But it’s a start.

And so, I’ll work on finally putting out last year’s fire so I can move forward. I’ll build the structure necessary to keep writing and to stay on track. Hopefully this year, I won’t be derailed.

Untangling

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It is the season of untangling.

For many people, this season is punctuated by the frustration involved in untangling the mess of lights they took off the Christmas tree or unwound from the porch railing or removed from around the windows. This ball of tangled wire is why I always wrap my string-lights around a piece of cardboard as I remove them from the tree. That way, the following year I can plug them in to make sure they work then easily wrap them around the tree.

But this particular string of lights is one I found while I was sorting through all the stuff that has found its way into my house and taken up permanent residence. It was not with the Christmas decorations. In fact, the last time these lights were used was on my deck, outlining the umbrella that keeps the summer sun off my outdoor table.

When I found them, I thought I might put them around my front window for the holiday season, a season which would, no doubt, stretch out to the entirety of winter.  So yesterday morning, I plugged them in to see if they worked and to make sure they are “warm” light rather than “cool.” And for some reason, I left them in a puddle on the floor still plugged in.

It’s kind of pretty the way the one string cascades off the kitchen counter into this puddle of lights on the floor. And I quickly recognized that these lights, this tangled pile, is a metaphor for the year I have just had. I was a tangled mess of uncertainty and self-doubt. I had stayed too long at an institution where I was overworked and treated with deep disrespect. It was a year in which I realized what happens when we remain with people who need to make others feel small in order to boost their own self-importance.

And so, I am untangling. It is a process that will take time. There is work to be done to build myself up, to regain confidence in who I am, and to recognize that my worth does not rest in how many hours I work each week, but in the value of the contribution I make. I need to find a new direction. In recent weeks, I have taken steps to move forward. I have surrounded myself with people who are positive and supportive, and I am beginning to feel a new me emerging.

For now, I may leave these lights exactly as they are. Perhaps I will move them off the floor and instead, place them in my front window as I initially intended. But now, my intention is to put them in the window still tangled in a ball because these lights represent the process I am undertaking.

They represent my untangling.

2023_BlogPrompt #38 – Roles

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There are stories we tell ourselves about who we are. This blog post will reflect on the roles we take upon ourselves… and those we are given. What are some of the roles you fill? What is a role you have rejected? If you take up the challenge and want to share, please add a pingback to this prompt.

Photo by Jacky Zhao on Unsplash 

From the moment we are born, we begin to accept the roles people hand to us. Son, daughter, sister, brother… these are some of the early roles that are part of who we become in life. And they work their way into the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Throughout our lives, we create these “roles” for the people we come in contact with: he is a nerd; she is a jock. When we are young—especially when we are in school and still living with our parents—these roles are reinforced daily, and we naturally accept them and come to believe they define us. We settle into these roles and all their limits as if we don’t have a choice.

Eventually, the roles we are given may become tight and constricting as we strain to grow to our full potential. Maybe we have discovered something new about ourselves that doesn’t quite fit with one of the roles we carry. Or maybe we want to strike out in a new direction, defying the limits of our role.

There are, of course, always choices. We can stay within the confines and comfort of the roles we’ve always lived; we can remain small and compact. Or we can expand our limits and our roles by trying new things and adding those to who we are. Adding allows us to become more than our original role but avoids the certain risk undertaken in fully breaking out of a role. And breaking out is the third option. We can reject our former roles entirely when they start to cramp our style. I imagine the Incredible Hulk growing beyond the capacity of his shirt, and it rips to shreds as his body morphs into a mass of green muscles. That is how you break out of your role, my friends! You make it memorable.

And so this is what I’m working towards. What and who I am matters to me and only to me. If I am not fitting into what others have come to believe I am, they will adjust and adapt. Over my lifetime, I have seen this happen time and time again. Those around me adapt to the changes and the growth that I undertake, just as I adapt to their growth. If they can’t (or won’t) adapt, they will find someone else who fills the role they once needed me to fill.

Those who keep you small are only filling their own needs, and they need to move on. Those who truly love you will welcome your changes. They will encourage your growth.

So if you are ready to change your roles, to move on, I encourage you to break out! Make it both memorable and worthwhile!