Stephanie’s day

Happy birthday to Stephanie!

I’m a fortunate woman to know the joy of motherhood and the joy of adult children. And when I say “joy,” I mean just that.

It takes a while for the transition to occur…and I’ll speak for myself, and not the whole world of mothers here…for a long time I thought of myself in relation to my kids as “mom.” And of course that’s natural. That’s the beginning of the relationship, and for 18-plus years that was the defining role I experienced with them. And it continues, in the biological sense. Sometimes I slip into that mindset for a particular conversation or situation.

But mostly, now, I feel like we’re friends. And that’s a rich reservoir of emotion and experience.

And though I know that friendship between mother and children, mother and daughter, is not uncommon, it’s not a given. So I’m grateful it’s been given to me.

It’s an amazing thing to watch the flowering of adults, the only ones in the world that I’ve known so intimately since birth, and to be privileged to see their lives unfold, develop, mature…there’s an enduring bond that ties my heart to theirs.

Stephanie has been a gift to my life, the beginning of seeing the world through the eyes of a child, teaching me responsibility and forcing me to grow up in ways I couldn’t anticipate, until I found myself doing and stretching, learning because I was on the job and had to rise to the occasion, whatever the occasion might be.

She still teaches me, shares with me, makes me beam with pride.

She’s a daughter who is a mother, and a great one. She’s a daughter who is a friend, and a special one. She’s a daughter who is a woman, and an amazing one.

She’s my Stephanie, and a part of my heart that is walking around outside my body.

“Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. ”
― Elizabeth Stone

Stephanie's Birthday card

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Fall coffee

Fall leaves coffee

Bare necessities

I’m wandering around in the little apartment that is a temporary home, looking for things I know I brought over, wondering how anything could be lost in this small space.

There’s nothing like a move to put me in perpetual hide and seek mode. Why is it I can see exactly where the thing I want was stored in the house? And I have no idea where it landed when I unpacked boxes two weeks ago. But I knew to expect this…I’ve been through all the games before. My favorite is the one when I begin to question…could I have left something behind? Or did a box really get lost between the last address and the new one? Even though I did the last walk through the house and know there was nothing there, not one thing…still, inevitably, I’ll wonder.

You know the feeling when you’ve looked everywhere twice, and you know you put it in…some item that wasn’t even that important, until it’s nowhere to be found. And now it’s an obsession. Must.find.IT!

I once lost some little collectibles for about a decade, didn’t find them for two moves. They had been so carefully wrapped and stored in a little cedar chest that they lived, quite safe, but totally lost to me, until I was doing a sort for a third move. Well that was a mystery solved! I had long ago thought they fell off the moving truck and given up looking for them.

Another thing I find happens with a move…I almost immediately begin to forget what I own. Not the big stuff…I can certainly remember the big items. And some of the little things…sentimental stuff, or sometimes just random odds and ends. One good thing about storing most of the things from the house…it will feel like Christmas when I open the boxes.

I’m always surprised when it comes to unpacking, how out of sight is quickly out of mind. In some ways I feel good…maybe I’m not too attached to the stuff if I don’t carry a mental imprint around, waiting till I see the real things again. On the other hand…maybe I’m not as attentive as I like to think…if I could forget about half of what I own so easily, maybe I’m not paying enough attention to the details of life?

Well, that hardly seems right. In fact, sometimes I feel consumed by detail. That’s the effect of a move…I feel reduced to lists and to-dos, to the tedious chores of the day-to-day.

I’m ready to live simply for a while. Good thing, because it will be a while before I unpack the bulk of the boxes, make a new nest.

For now, I’m a minimalist, and I think I’m enjoying it.

This apartment is furnished with a hodge-podge of furniture…bits and pieces that are functional and practical, but not gathered into a cohesive look or style. The kitchen is basic too. With a variety of folks coming through to work at the clinic, and this apartment being one of the landing spots for the temporary help, the kitchen is outfitted to work camp standards but little more. There’s a crock pot, a toaster, a basic cook top and oven, a basic fridge and microwave. No dishwasher. The cookware is a combination of left-behinds and inexpensive non-stick pieces. The times I’ve been in this apartment in the past have been for a few days or a weekend here and there. No ongoing need to cook or make the kitchen functional beyond a few meals.

But since I may be here for months, I needed to do a little better than that. So I brought a few things.

I chose some favorite sheets and a quilt for the bed, and my own pillows. Nothing sleeps like good linens that are just the right weight. A few other homey touches made the list…scented candles for the coffee table, some favorite books, my Rowenta iron, some glasses and plates.

I brought a few of my cast iron pans to see me through.

The cast iron pieces, and my Kitchen Aid mixer…yes, I hauled it over, and it will drive out with me eventually. I brought favorite utensils, a couple of good knives, a sharpener, my coffee maker, a small blender. I brought my herbs and spices…well, what good would they do me to in storage? NO food items can go to storage.

I must admit, I likely won’t need a lot of them. But I figured I could leave those behind for someone else to use. (This is an apartment that benefits from past users’ leftovers, and I’ve been fortunate to find a just-opened bottle of olive oil or other pantry item I freely used because I didn’t have my own jar of whatever…a convenience of sharing a community space. The rules? If it’s yours, put your name on it. If you’re not coming back, or you don’t mind sharing, just leave it in a common space.)

Moving creates these crazy conversations in my head…keep or get rid of, what to do, what to do, what to do?!

So now I have a ton of spices on the shelf here, just in case I’m inspired to whip up anything exotic, and this week I had to buy a hook to hang on the bathroom door…one of the things that I can’t find, even though we had several at the house, and I thought they were in one of the boxes I hauled over.

Silly, really, but when I’m feeling a bit displaced, it’s the little things that begin to irritate…like not having an easy place in the bathroom to hang a robe, or drape a towel.

I hung my plastic hook on the door last night and put my morning robe on it, and felt a little better. It was a familiar sight, and that feels good. However small, a sight of home is still a sight of home.

In the past when we’ve stayed here, I’d fall back on a combination of soup and sandwich meals, simple warm-up dishes, even stocked up on some of the more upscale frozen pizzas. But now I’m doing my style of cooking, making real food that satisfies more than the quick and easy stuff of call weekends.

That’s not to say I’m whipping up gourmet fare. No, this kitchen isn’t inspiring heights of creativity. But a few familiar dishes, along with the other little touches that add comfort, and I find myself relaxing, de-stressing, catching my breath.

I find myself feeling grateful for an easy place to transition, never mind that the look won’t be featured on Pinterest.

It’s not a forever home. But even a temporary spot can be a shelter from the storm, and in the mornings, drinking hot coffee and wrapped in a cozy robe, I know it will do for the in-between time.

And maybe, before I’m done here, I’ll find what I’m looking for.

Containers

If you can’t win one way, you look for another path. So the house is available for lease now, as well as for sale…whichever comes first I’ll take. I talked to my realtor about leasing options a couple of weeks ago, but felt I had to wait on the outcome of the offer on the table at the time.

I don’t want to own a house in Alaska forever, but for now, if I lease it that will be sufficient. So another waiting game begins.

I’m ready to take the subject of house off the table for a while and focus on other things. In the long run, as this whole ordeal has reminded me, a house is a thing. It’s a big thing, an expensive thing, as things go. And certainly houses are also homes.

But the real meaning of home travels around in the bodies of the people I love, and isn’t housed within four walls. Any four walls. Walls are just containers, really, like the containers you put your flour or sugar in to store in your pantry. The containers come in different shapes, and are made of different materials. But when I recognize walls of a house for what they really are…just containers for the people who live inside…suddenly, those walls take on their proper perspective.

I’m not going to tell myself I don’t like beautiful homes, and lovely walls. I do. And I’m not going to say that the structure I live in has no meaning. Of course our life experiences are shaped by location and the physical surroundings of our day-to-day.

But those surroundings don’t have to define experience, our very lives. And though I’ve known that, this has reminded me, again: I am not the house I live in. I don’t have to let it control the major decisions of my life.

I’ve found a spark of rebellion, and a healthy one I think. I’m ready to pull out of my slump and come back to the positive side of life. I’ve been trying to do that for a while.

Today it seems doable.

Today I’m reminded there are so many people who have issues larger than mine. It’s not about comparing, but it is about perspective. I want to always, always, come back to recognizing how much I have to be grateful for.

Life, any life, has troubles. I have my share of those, sure enough, and my share of sorrows. But gratitude resets me, grounds me, and oddly enough, allows me to take the focus off myself.

Today I am grateful for the freedom I have to believe as I choose, to express myself, to travel, to live where I want, to make of life what I can. I’m grateful for the people who keep freedom for me, and all who live in this country.

Thank you, thank you, for all you do.

Now that’s the proper perspective.

~ Sheila

Hole in the soul

A few years ago I was struggling. I was going through a difficult time, feeling depressed, sad, empty, not myself at all. For a time I was miserable, but over a period of months I came to terms with some of the issues I’d been struggling with. And eventually life was better again; not perfect, but so much better.

Sometimes I remember those months, and what I learned from the experience.

Depression steals your energy. I remember feeling like I just wanted to sleep, to escape. Simple chores were overwhelming. The only thing that kept me somewhat normal was work. Work helped me put on the façade, gave me a reason to get up and get moving. Because I didn’t want to bring drama to my work place, I tried to minimize what I was going through, tried to hold myself together so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed with my co-workers.

Depression steals your appetite. At least that was what happened to me. I lost interest in cooking. I was alone a lot during those months, and it was easy to ignore meals when I wasn’t hungry, and too disinterested to cook. I lost 20 pounds in a few months. Best and worst diet experience I’ve ever had, the only “diet” that was effortless. In the past I’d put on pants or a favorite skirt and realized it was time to lose a few pounds. I’ve never before had to look through my closet for something to wear that wouldn’t fall off me.

Depression steals your interests. I would try to read to take my mind off the things that were bothering me. I couldn’t read. I would try to watch TV. I couldn’t stay engaged. I couldn’t settle myself long enough to accomplish much. I was restless and yet exhausted.

Depression steals your rest. I slept a lot when I wasn’t working. But often in the middle of the night I would wake up and my mind would race, going over and over the things that were troubling me. I was sleeping all the time, but not resting. My sleep cycle was broken by stress and worry, and somehow, the more I slept, the less I rested.

Once I was in the grocery store, walking around like a ghost, feeling the physical impact of depression. I felt like there was a hole in the middle of my body where my stomach should have been. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself with a gap between chest and hips…a hole that only allowed for the churning engine of stress that took the place of my belly…and even though I knew there was no hole, I remember thinking that the gaping emptiness seemed so real, I was surprised other shoppers weren’t staring at me, stopping to ask if I was alright. Because I had a hole in my middle. It was a surreal experience, and I wasn’t even on any medication. I was just feeling the drowning grip of sadness.

I walked around the store, filling my cart, looking normal on the outside, feeling lost and empty on the inside, and so aware of the gaping hole. As I walked around, I began to wonder who else was walking through the store with their own holes, invisible to me, but so real to them. Holes in souls.

That question took the focus off myself and allowed me to stand back and recognize that I probably pass people all the time who walk around with holes. I just don’t see what’s in front of my eyes. I try always to be kind, to be thoughtful. But even so, there are days that I’m wrapped up in my world. I pass people on automatic pilot: kind but remote, polite but disinterested, because I’m busy, and on the run, and don’t really look close enough to see the hole that’s devouring the person in front of me.

Living for a time with a hole in myself helped me realize, in a way I hadn’t before, that a lot of people walk around like that. Walking wounded. They put on the face, just like I did. They go through the motions of living, just like I did. Some get help, and some get relief from a change in the situation that’s causing the pain. That’s what happened to me. Circumstances changed, the skies cleared, my smile came back.

It wasn’t without some effort on my part. I did a lot of soul-searching, made some changes that were within my power to make.

It was a humbling experience. When you’ve always been hopeful, mostly happy, mostly sunny side up, it’s hard to recognize a self who’s drowning, who can’t snap out of it. You begin to look at people who struggle with depression and other forms of mental illness through a different lens. You find more compassion, more appreciation for the struggles that are invisible to the eye, but so real to the heart.

When I remember that time, now I can feel grateful. It taught me a lot about myself and helped me find strength I didn’t know I had. I learned the value of “wait and see.” I learned that the phrase “trust the process” isn’t just something you hear in corporate settings. I learned that life will often right itself, if you work with it.

I don’t want to tempt fate by thinking I’m invincible. I’m not, and the truth is, no one is. If there is a next time, I think I’ll manage my hole a little better. I think I’ll know to trust, I’ll find my smile a little faster, a little easier. The reward for weathering the hard times is being better prepared to face whatever comes, and knowing, knowing, that you’ll survive, and thrive, and grow above. Eventually, assuredly.

Once you’ve worked through a hole in your life, you’re never quite the same. You’re scarred, but you’re wiser.

I no longer have an engine of stress running in my stomach, or feel like there’s a hole in my body. But I can empathize with those who do. I don’t talk a lot about this experience…just doesn’t come up in normal conversation. But now and then I see an opportunity to speak up, to share, to encourage, to say, “I’ve been there.” It’s a powerful thing to look back at a challenge and know you’ve overcome. And it’s a powerful encouragement to someone else to hear a first-person story, to know someone else really gets it.

I don’t claim to have it all figured out now. I’m not even sure why I’m sharing this, except that I suddenly wanted to.

I’m not sharing to get sympathy. I’m sharing to give hope.

I started my blog during those months, started it to stake a claim to the positive person I knew was somewhere inside. I was determined to find my way to that self again. And I did. I had help from a few significant people who knew what was going on, and some of the conflict in my life subsided.

After the worst of it was behind me, I noticed I was singing again. I noticed I was interested in food again. I noticed I had a renewed sense of grace, of redemption, found a new sweetness to life that stays with me. I sometimes have small setbacks, and I sometimes feel discouraged. But I’ve never gone to the depths again. I’ve learned the signs to watch for, and the steps toward healing.

I think I’m a better person than I was, in part because of what I went through. It changed me, grew me. And though the details are not important now, I can share this much: to anyone reading this who is lost and despairing, don’t give up hope.

Do something to get yourself moving, literally. Get off the couch, do the smallest thing, and let that lead you to the next thing, and the next. Action inspires hope, and hope is the lifeline to healing. Reach out; there are probably more people than you could guess who understand at least some of what you’re experiencing. And give yourself time. Time can be your ally, and in time, you can look back and see that you’ve come a long way from your lowest point.

You’ll find your smile again. You’ll hear yourself singing again. You’ll sleep through the night again. And you’ll know you’re healed.

 

Wounds

 

Thanks to the Dads

To all the dads I know: may your day be wonderful and full of the good stuff: laughter, and words that touch the heart, hugs, and the moments that become snapshots in memory. The years fly by, but the good stuff somehow lasts, photos of the mind that take us back, connecting through time and distance.

I have those mental snapshots of my grandfathers, my dad, father-in-law, my husband, brothers, uncles, son-in-law. Watching these men over the years as they fathered…some in more traditional ways, others more hands on and involved…I’ve seen a breadth of styles and relationships. Above all, I appreciate their commitment and integrity.  Just like me as a young mom, I’m quite sure they were making it up on the fly, figuring out how to be a dad in the midst of all the other demands life was throwing. Does anyone have the luxury of learning to parent at leisure?

There are a lot of words of wisdom that fly around on these days, and anyone can learn from the example of others. But words fall away in the face of actions. It is the actions of these men that I reflect on today. Watching them interact, sometimes at the high points of life, others in the valleys, I see men who were able to connect with their kids, be there when it counted, when the going was rough. I see men who have been quiet heroes to their families, not perfect, but trying. I see men who stayed, fathers who lived up to the name.

I see dads, and I see kids…young ones, adults, and everything in between…who have relationships. And they’re good ones. Thank you to these men, the men of my family.

But more broadly, thanks to the men everywhere who are fathers, and who make a difference, not just in the lives of their children, but in the lives of all of us. Fathers doing a good job make all of us stronger, and better, and healthier.

Enjoy your day, and celebrate the good stuff. And feel proud: you’re doing your job, you’re making a difference. And we love you for it.

Image

PB and Riley

 

 

I get to…

Some days I need a re-set. Most of the time I’m on the up side of life, and I feel it. I have a smile, and a spring in my step. I see the positive, I hear the music.

But sometimes…just sometimes…I can’t remember. I can’t remember why I live this crazy life, bouncing around for work, and traveling, living a few days here and a few days there. How did I come to choose this way of living? Sometimes I lose sight of the water, so blue beneath the wings of the float plane. I don’t see the sunshine, making the waves sparkle. I don’t feel the romance of going to a small island and working in a beautiful little clinic, knowing that we, Rob and I, are living an amazing adventure. Sometimes my world is about have to.

When I have to, nothing feels right. I’m lost in frustration. Whatever I have, I don’t want. And I only want what I used to have, or hope to have, or should have. You know that game, don’t you? Of course; what human doesn’t? It’s part of the human condition, to feel all the negatives piling up, even when I can take those very same circumstances on a different day, a better day, and see everything that’s perfect.

I can’t always change it at will…I wish it was that easy! But here’s a little trick I’ve learned to use. Instead of saying “I have to…” I say “I get to…” I get to travel. I get to have a job. I get to make dinner. I get to, I get to, I get to….

When I find myself in the hole of wishing, and wondering why, I start listening to my words. I re-frame, and look for ways to say, “I get to.”

Unbelievable, how changing one little word can change my mood, change my outlook. It doesn’t change the circumstances I’m in, it changes me. Get to; have to.

Which will it be tomorrow?

Back among the living

Last week was a hard one. First there was my travel saga…not to make too much of that…it ended well. But the long trip home set me up for a rough couple of days. I was exhausted from the cross-country flying, and probably picked up a bug in the friendly skies…all the close quarters and shared air. By the time I got back to Ketchikan, all I really wanted to do was crawl in bed and sleep for a week. By the time I’d been there a couple of hours, I was feeling chilled and sick. Not a good homecoming at all.

On Wednesday I tried to get up three times. Finally I forced myself  to be upright long enough to see off our friends who had stayed in the house while we were gone for the holidays. If they hadn’t been retiring and moving out of state, I’m not sure I would have made the effort to rouse myself. But in the circumstances, it seemed right that I crawl out of the covers for a formal goodbye. I kept a safe distance…didn’t want to share a parting gift of germs with them…and as soon as they left, I dragged myself back to bed. I knew I had a few hours yet I could be horizontal. For the moment, it was my life goal: To. Be. Horizontal.

Rob was scheduled to get home that evening, so I set an alarm to make sure I’d wake up in time to pick him up. I revived enough to do that, but didn’t last long after we got home from the airport.

On Thursday I was supposed to go to Metlakatla. My alarm went off at 5:00 AM and I started playing the game. I reset it for 5:30, then 6:00. Then I finally turned it off. I couldn’t have gotten myself out the door if the house was on fire. I’ve rarely felt like every cell in my body was drained, but that was how I felt that morning.

I never sleep in, but after a couple of mid-morning attempts to get up, I gave up. I finally surfaced between noon and 1:00, and we ran a few errands. We had to make it over to Metlakatla Friday morning since Rob was covering call for the clinic over the weekend, and I needed to connect with some staff on Friday. So Thursday afternoon was my chance to pull myself together and get ready to be there for a few days. I managed it, but barely.

By Friday morning I was almost back to normal. And good thing too. I could not have walked out the door a day earlier. Maybe I just needed some time for my body to catch up with all the bouncing around I’d done in the past few weeks.

I mention all of this to say…wow!…what a hard thing it is to be sick. I’m so rarely under the weather that I’m sometimes guilty of forgetting that not everyone is so fortunate. It’s easy to take good health and energy for granted when that’s mostly all you’ve known.

I remember when my dad was going through chemo and radiation treatments. Even when he was not visibly ill, he was fatigued. He rarely had much energy, and he couldn’t eat normally. And of course so many things work as part of a vicious cycle for cancer patients. I would visit and try to encourage him to eat a little more. Or to be interested in something going on, or going for a ride, or anything. There were days that he could participate in life, and days he couldn’t.

It was frustrating, for someone filled with energy, to try to infuse someone else with life, with interest, with desire to do something, to do anything. Last week, lying in bed feeling like the world could disappear and I wouldn’t care, feeling like talking and even listening required more energy than I could muster, I thought about my dad. I remembered some of the times I tried to share my energy through encouragement, through optimism, through my hope for him.

It’s humbling to realize…I didn’t have cancer, or some other debilitating disease. I’m sure I just had a virus, and ibuprofen and some extra sleep were sufficient to get me back on my feet. But for people who have serious illness, or depression, or some life-crippling condition….a little sleep and a few over-the-counter pills are not going to cut it.

Last week was a reminder that I need to appreciate my own good health. But I also need to be understanding and patient with people who are struggling. I would never criticize anyone battling illness. But I’ll confess that it is sometimes frustrating to feel like you’re trying so hard for them. And they just don’t pick up the cues and perk up. It’s disheartening, when you have energy to burn, and you can’t ignite a spark.

Thinking about my dad, I know he understood that I was just trying to help, and that I was so longing for him to feel better, if only I could have done it for him. But I couldn’t grasp how much he was doing, just by sitting in his chair, by being dressed, by eating a little bit, by talking a little bit. I couldn’t grasp how that little effort was taking all the energy he could find, and all he could spare.

Well, I’ve been sick a few times in my life. Not for long, and never very seriously. But in recent years, when I’ve had days that knocked me flat, I’m reminded, again, that I need to be respectful of the boundaries. That I need to understand…when you don’t feel well, no one can feel well for you. No one can hope you into energy and strength and wellness.

I suppose this is on my mind because I was just flattened, and reminded. And because Rob was on call and saw a lot of sick elderly folks. Most of them probably had flu, and will likely recover. I hope so. But my 53-year-old self has bounced back, and recovery will likely be slower for the older ones.

I am pausing to reflect on this now, and to store it away for “some-day,” when I’m on the elderly side of life, or ill…I’ll be the one needing patience then, and kindness, and understanding that just wanting isn’t always enough.

It’s perspective, isn’t it?

Today I’m grateful

I’m up early, rolling little balls of sticky sausage and cheese for breakfast. Not the most pleasant kitchen task, but the little bites of savory are perfect with coffee on a cold November morning. More than that, these little bites are a traditional beginning to our winter holiday feasts. So I roll, getting the tray of uniform balls ready to bake, ready to serve when the group stirs.

As I roll I think, my mind free to wander as my hands are occupied with the sticky dough. And this day in November, my heart is full of thanks.

I’m thinking of all those people throughout the country who are working quietly, keeping things running, humming, even on a week day when most of us are off and home with family. The healthcare staff, the police, the crews working at airports, the military who’re on duty today, the folks keeping gas stations and convenience stores going for the benefit of travelers; I think of the lights that come on when I flip the switch, the oven that heats, the warm kitchen…I’m sure there are crews monitoring the utilities of our lives, making sure the turkey can roast and the cranberry salad stays chilled. And tomorrow, and on Saturday, crews will be out, making the rounds in trash and recycling trucks, taking away the remnants of the feasting, and the shopping, and the gathering.

I am a worker. But I don’t keep life stitched together. I’m essential only to a few souls on earth, and even that necessity is limited to a supporting role. And I recognize that. In one sense, none of us is essential. No one is irreplaceable. Life teaches us that, sooner or later.

But some people have chosen to take on life tasks that make them, for a time, essential. The odd thing is that many of those tasks also are invisible to the average person. Who sees, or knows, the names and faces of service workers? Other service workers, and their family members.

People contribute in many ways. We have a lot of teachers in my family. We have ministers, mothers and fathers, doctors, nurses, a truck driver, an undertaker, IRS agents, a cartographer, business owners and executives, writers, publishers, engineers, security guards, counselors, IT professionals, farmers…who have I left out? What a splendid array of professions, now that I see the list on my screen!

But just today, I’m thinking of the ones who cover call, whose jobs don’t take a break because the calendar says to…the folks who know that their turn will come, if not this holiday, then the next…it will be their turn to work when everyone else is off, and keep essential services up and running. To those people, I’m especially grateful. My lights came on, and I know if I have an emergency, someone will answer the call for help.

Thank you for being there, even when I’m too busy, in my holiday rush of list completion, to notice. And just now, with my hands covered in dough, my mind is still, calm for a moment, and I picture you, going about your routine, keeping us safe, keeping things humming, invisible but so necessary. Thank you for choosing hard jobs, and long hours, and for doing the (often) thankless and unglamorous tasks. Thank you for giving up your family time, and for making mine possible.

Sunday morning praise

Raining today…again…always this time of year it seems.

Rain drops keep falling

Rain drops keep falling

But instead of looking out the window at the raindrops and feeling the gloom seep in, here’s a better way to begin my day:

I hope the sun is shining wherever you are. But if not, maybe this song will inspire you to feel around in the nooks and crannies of your spirit and remember, or discover, what is well with your soul.

I have to do that…consciously, deliberately….think about, write out, contemplate the good in my life. It’s easier to acknowledge the bad, the disappointments, the frustrations. Because those things bubble up without effort, needing my attention, demanding time. Or at the very least, demanding worry and angst.

I write a list of my life’s good things, and I don’t have much to catalog that’s perfect. That list will be for another life, another life time. But I record the small victories, the abiding sweetness, and that’s what I celebrate today. I offset sadness with joy, fear with hope, and the paralysis of uncertainty with movement of action. Any positive action is better than sitting still, wondering what to do next.

  • A dear loved one is struggling with illness, likely to be in the grip of final struggles. I am grateful for the time we have to be family to each other.
  • My search for direction continues. I am grateful that each opportunity comes when I least expect it. I’m learning new skills and find new inspiration every day.
  • I wonder…are we fiddling while Rome burns? The government theater on stage is disheartening, discouraging, demeaning. How has it come to this? I remember that there are good people everywhere. You just have to open your eyes to see. Hope here! Integrity and gratitude grow out of character.
  • Just when I’m feeling discouraged about life in general…Stephanie calls to tell me that baby Jack has his sixth tooth! Children are renewal of life, and I have two precious little ones to celebrate every day. 

    The little guy

    The little guy

  • Relationships can be thorny and challenging. I’ve had my time in that hole. I find support every day from my husband and partner in life. We don’t always agree, but we’ve learned to hold fast to the good.

Holding fast requires daily investment. What am I feeding myself today? What words do I practice?

I write about this often because I need constant reminders. I’m a positive person, but I struggle against the battering ram of daily life. And isn’t that the common plight? We are all hope-seekers, longing for reassurance, for comfort, for the peace of knowing: it will be alright. Sooner or later, all will be well.

Holding fast is hard. But doable, one challenge at a time. And the key is having a grateful heart every day.

Gratitude turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity…it makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”     ~ Melody Beattie