Heart of a Honey Badger

Posted on May 7, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

half marathon

A few years ago, I was running 40-50 miles a week, had several race bibs, and even placed first in my age division in a 5K (total fluke–there were literally only 2 other women in my age group); And yet I still didn’t consider myself a runner. I thought I was too slow. I thought I had poor form. I thought I didn’t train properly. I thought I didn’t run long enough distances. I didn’t have the right lingo or clothes and gear. “Oh no, I’m not a runner,” I’d say when asked, “I try to run but I’m not very good and I’m very slow.”

I would minimize a part of who I was. Until the moment when I woke to a beeping noise after a colonoscopy. The nurse asked, “Are you a runner?” I was groggy and had no idea where I was as I woke from sedation, so I just answered, “Yeah, I run. Why?”

She explained that my heart rate was lower than the threshold the machine is set at, so it beeps an alarm to notify the nusres as they monitor the patients. She reassured me I had nothing to worry about, as athletes’ resting heart rates tend to be lower than the general population. Then she assured me I said absolutely nothing embarrassing while sedated. I actually wasn’t worried about it until that very moment.

But wait, I had other concerns at that very moment! She said Athlete! Runner! This was measurable! My heart rate demonstrated I was a bona fide runner!! I was so proud, I was so happy. A stupid beep is what it took for me to believe I was a real runner, and that I wasn’t just playing one on TV. After that, I felt I had the right to self-identify as a runner.

Then my slew of injuries hit, and I couldn’t run for almost an entire year. Once at the doctor’s office, they told me I had a resting heart rate in the 90s. I walked away so depressed. I had lost my superhuman strength, my superpower was gone. I was a mere mortal again. I was no longer a runner. No matter that I was still physically the same size and still fairly healthy. I had already struggled with the void that not running left in my life. I was already forced to find other ways to relieve stress and meditate. Now, they took my heart rate away from me.

Fast forward to a slow return to running. I’m nowhere close to the speed and mileage I used to be at. But I’m so grateful to be out there at all. I had my annual physical. And my heart rate–wait for it, wait for it–is 54. I’ve regained my superpower!

I trained carefully for my unwise series of half marathons. I was hell-bent on completing these for no reason other than I could, and because I have the heart of a runner. These would be my F*ck You’s to the brain injury, to the arthritic knees, to the pinched nerve and dessicating discs in my lower back. (Plus there was a shiny pink medal to be had. I can be so easily distracted. And bought off.) I was prepared physically, finally! And then God showed me his wicked sense of humor. I got the flu days before the first race. Kicked my ass, that flu did. And this was Life’s lesson of resting and taking care of myself instead of powering through to work and all my other obligations. And I listened to this lesson, because I was not going to miss these races again. I was going to run them no matter what.

Because I know I have the heart of a runner. I am resilient, focused, strong, fierce, determined. And I believe in myself. I have the heart of a runner regardless of what my resting heart rate is. This is a superpower that cannot be taken away from me. Look in your heart–do you have the heart of a runner? Even if you don’t actually run –are you resilient, strong, fierce? If not, and you want to be, you can train your heart. Like you would train for a race, I promise you, you can train your heart to be resilient and strong, train yourself to believe in yourself. What superpower is in your heart?

So you know, my other superpower of Delusion was ripped from my grasp when I saw the photographs from the races. I could have sworn I have the stride and grace of a gazelle. Apparently I’m more like a grumpy honey badger. Well, this honey badger don’t care.

 

Posted in Empowerment, Health Issues, Running | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

An Ode to Glennon

Posted on May 5, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

Glennon Doyle Melton

Last night I went to a presentation and book signing with an author I greatly admire, Glennon Doyle Melton. She created Momastery and Love Revolutions, and I signed on to be a Monkee years ago before she really hit it big with her book Carry On, Warrior. I started reading her work at a time when I was working on my shame and vulnerability–sort of like a middle-aged puberty/coming of age where I was learning to be an adult, act like an adult. When I say adult, I mean making decisions that were beneficial and kind and responsible for me. I have never been known for my wise decisions or self-care. She came into my life when I was doing the hard work of getting to really know myself, and learning to really like myself.

So when I finally met her, I made her take a picture with me before I said a word to her, because I knew I would cry and I’ll be damned if I look bad in a picture with her. She obliged, because she’s a kind woman and does not travel with a security contingency. And when I began to talk to her, to tell her how she’s impacted my life, to tell her how I feel about her, I did it again. I squealed. Out loud. I can’t even remember the string of words I put together. She did say she would always remember what I told her. I swooned. And squealed again.

Glennon Doyle Melton

This is when she told me she would always remember this conversation. In retrospect, I realize she is just horrified her life has come down to this moment.

It was only after I walked away that I realized I said nothing coherent and she must have thought I was drunk, and that was the likely reason she would never forget me. I told her I participated in her My Messy Beautiful blogging project, but she looked at me quizically. There is no way she would have recognized my verbal gibberish with what I’ve ever written. Not because I write eloquently, but because I can write in complete sentences without squealing.

So Glennon, this is really what I meant to say to you. I’m the crazy Asian woman who said I loved your God, and I wanted to make your God my God; your unconditional love and mercy helped me rediscover religion and allowed me to explore spirituality on a deeper level. I’m the woman who tried to say Thank You for supporting my courage to write and share my True Self to the world. I am able to keep writing and putting myself out there not because the risk has gotten easier through time, but because I remind myself We Do Hard Things.

I wanted to Thank You for the safe places you’ve created in this world that allowed for such a powerful evening of Love in that sanctuary last night. I cried for most of the evening. Not because of the losses and stories that you, and the women and men shared. But because there was so much Courage and Love and Beauty in that room. Thinking about it today still makes me cry. That Love is so powerful.

I am the woman who accosted Sister and your parents, Bubba and Tisha, thanking them for their work, for their love, for all that all of you do. I am the woman who gushed that you’ve all changed the world in such drastic ways. Please tell them I’m sorry I scared them. I’m the woman who is the hugger and the crier and the squealer. I am the woman who was so honored to have had the opportunity to help assemble Zach Attack Mothers’ Day Love Offerings and grab a box to the post office. I am the woman who was humbled by so much strength and kindness in that room. I am also the woman who ate too many of your grapes. Sorry about that too.

So I really just wanted to say Thank You. Thank You for helping me find my Brave, for helping me keep my Brave, for helping me teach my kids Brave. Thank you for teaching me and reminding me that We All Belong to Each Other, so that I can offer kindness and love to the world. Thank you for making the world a better, more loving place. Thank you for creating and holding this space for me, for all of us. Thank you for showing mercy and kindness when I squealed and assaulted you.

Glennon Doyle Melton

And this is Glennon trying desperately to bat away the Crazy Asian who would not let go of her. Sadly, this is one of my more graceful moments in life.

Posted in Empowerment, Mindfulness, spirituality | Tagged , , | 20 Comments

Shhh!!!

Posted on May 1, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

images

I have officially become the crazy old lady who barks at strangers. I used to be the crazy young woman who yelled at passers-by, but that was when I was a College Student at Happy Hour. I’m surprised the “old lady” version has occurred so early in my life–I figured I’d be 80 before I started to wave my cane at strangers. Today I didn’t have a cane, but I had a stern talking-to with four young men in the library. I may or may not have even wagged a finger.

The young men were middle-school aged boys, probably in the 6th grade. One was clearly the ring leader, one was his deputy, and the other two were clear followers. They were hanging out in the library after school before their parents came home from work, trying so desperately to look cool. They rough-housed and wrestled a bit, joked loudly about name brand sneakers and photos friends were texting. They started sprinkling in gold old-fashioned curse words into their banter as they got louder. Then they asked an Asian librarian to come over, and they joked with her, then joked at her. And after she left, they made the requisite racist jokes about sushi, fried rice, the ching-chong sounds, etc. These were boys of a minority race. These were boys of the 21st century. These were boys of mothers. Mothers whom I am sure would not wholeheartedly approve of any of this behavior.

None of the other library patrons said a word to them. None of the library staff said anything to them. They got louder and bolder and more obnoxious. Of course, they kept testing their limits, and the world in that library at that moment kept condoning their behavior because no one stopped them; and such silence gives them the message that is it acceptable behavior. But it is not.

I debated whether or not to say something. I debated what behaviors I would address if I did. Was it my place to say anything? And I realized yes, it was. If not me, then who? Obviously no one else. I realized we all have an obligation and responsibility to stop poor behavior and promote appropriate behavior. If I teach my children to be mindful of others and to make things right in the world, I had to practice what I preach. I have no right to complain about how disrespectful younger generations are nowadays if I didn’t do anything about it.

So I stood up and walked up to four very bewildered young men who were none too happy to see me. They snarked and copped an attitude and rolled their eyes and talked back. And I calmly pointed out that I’m pretty sure their mothers would be horrified if they witnessed such behaviors–to which they admitted they would. I pointed out that if I made racist jokes about stereotyping their food or culture, they’d be rightly pissed off, to which they agreed. I pointed out their unkind behaviors, and that even if people don’t say anything to them, they know they’re acting untowardly. And they need to begin to make choices that mirror their character and who they want to be, not to just posture and seem cool or to fit in. I acknowledged they’ll likely make fun of me and dismiss me when I walk away, but urged them to think about what kinds of young men they want to be, and act accordingly. I urged them to make the right choices because it’s the right thing to do, not for fear of getting caught. Honestly though, when I say “urged,” I mean lectured.

I know they tore me apart to each other after I left, but I saw the look in their eyes as they softened when I spoke. I know a part of what I said is somewhere in each of them. It’s up to them if they take heed of those words again. But I did my part for this village who raises all our children. And I told my kids what happened when I got home. About how it’s important that if they were there, they felt empowered to say something. No one should denigrate any race or culture or difference. No one should loudly and rudely interrupt public space where children are around, in the attempts of making a statement that he is cool. Kindness and consideration trump coolness, thank you very much.

Was their behavior really a big deal? No, there’s much worse. Were they just being adolescent boys? Yes. But I also want to teach my kids that it’s got to start somewhere, and being a teenager is not a free pass for poor behaviors. I want to teach them we must never be silent. We must never be indifferent. We must not tolerate nor condone negative behaviors–and ignoring them is giving tacit permission. We must be mindful to always take great care of each other. Someone must say something, and we cannot and should not rely on someone else to do it.

You may consider renewing your library books online to avoid the ranting crazy lady. I can sneak up on you like a ninja.

Posted in Mindfulness, Parenting, Relationships | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Habit of Despair

Posted on April 26, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

 

2014-04-18 14.13.29

Old habits die hard, and new ones are just as hard to create. There used to be a universally accepted myth that it took 21 days to form a new habit–Floss daily! Stop smoking! Make your bed! No one really knows where or how or when this magical 21 days took root, but it’s a bunch of hooey, baloney, hogwash. It can actually take hundreds of days, or as little as 18 days. As with most things in life, it depends on the person. Research now shows it takes an average of 66 days. (Keep up those workouts!!)

These numbers don’t really matter. The bottom line is: Decide to make a change. Do it. Keep doing it. Do it some more. Keep going. The end.

As with most things in life, pretty simple. Simple doesn’t mean easy. It can be difficult AND simple. It does mean it’s pretty straightforward. Identify what you want to start doing, or stop doing. Then do it. “There’s a difference between interest and commitment. When you’re interested in doing something, you do it only when it’s convenient. When you’re committed to something, you accept no excuses; only results.” – Kenneth Blanchard

People complain about feeling stuck in their lives. Whether it’s feeling stuck in a career, or being surrounded by toxic or mean friends, or feeling like you should have had a more realized life, or feeling bored with life in general, or not being able to find a romantic interest. We find what we seek. If you find you’re not being challenged or supported by your friends in positive ways, chances are good you aren’t. If you tell yourself that you’re always surrounded by a certain type of personality, chances are good you are. Because you’ve sought that out and continue to remain in that space with them, physically and mentally. Perhaps these are unmotivated people, or drama queens, or people you can’t trust or don’t respect. Keep hanging out with the usual suspects, and you’ll always round up your usual suspects. Hang out in the same bars, network with the same people, do the same thing every weekend: your view remains the same because you’re standing in the same place, literally and metaphorically.

These behavioral habits create a worldview. People get into a habit of despair. By surrounding oneself with the same dynamics, it perpetuates a self-fulfilling prophecy, and the results are always the same. The world is hard and cold. People are untrustworthy. People are always out to get me or they play me. Life is not fair. Well, we get what we look for. If you gravitate to the same types of people, or surround yourself with the same circle of people, chances are good every time you turn around, you’ll bump into drama, or disappointment, or mean people, or unfair circumstances. If you want something more in life, if you want something to be different, stop fishing in the same pond.

It may not feel comfortable to change your habits, to stop your automatic and reflexive thoughts, to find another pond. But are you enjoying your habit of despair? Creating a habit of peace and joy and awe and wonder and gratitude is hard, and actually not so peaceful at times–can be kinda painful at times. But isn’t that the case with any new habit? Growing pains. Familiarity breeds comfort, but does it breed happiness? You have to decide if you still enjoy the view from the same old pond, or if it’s worth it to go find another one. Happy fishing. You’ll find what you’re searching for.

 

Posted in Empowerment, Mindfulness | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Good-bye, Mr. Mike

Posted on April 22, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

Michael Jefferson, Jr.

The world lost a bright light on Easter Sunday. Mr. Michael Jefferson, Jr., was murdered. His light first shone in my world five years ago. He was the director of the before and after-care program at my son’s school. He smiled there for 21 years. He touched countless lives. He loved countless souls.

The community is speechless. This occurred months after a shooting at the mall two miles away. Friends and family and his charges and their families are murmuring how senseless and tragic this is. The discussion is centering around gun control and access to weapons. The discussion is swirling around the mentally ill, and how the shooter, a neighbor, was “just not quite right.”

I dare say anyone who kills a man in a townhouse at a dinner table isn’t quite right, whether or not he is afflicted with a mental illness or holds a gun. I will leave the political discussion of access to weapons and adequate provision of health care to others. I’ve already discussed how I believe the root of violence in this country rests in our failure to teach people to cope with negative feelings of anger, disappointment, frustration. 

I want to do my small part in keeping Mr. Mike from being only a statistic. I want the world to understand what happens when we snuff a light out prematurely. We are so far removed from the consequences of our behaviors as we’re connecting virtually, and for fun, we kill and destroy through animation.

Everyone remembers Mr. Mike as the kindest, gentlest giant with the widest, brightest smile. He never raised his voice and he was always fair and patient and kind. He was a saint–he treated all the children and their parents this way. I can’t even treat my own children or my own parents this way. You could feel this was more than a job to him. He loved those children. He respected those children. He knew those children. He was so important in my children’s lives, and in mine. Even after we left his care, we would say hello enthusiastically when we saw each other around town. We shared mutual friends and I was always excited to hear about him and send him our greetings.

The saddest part of all of this, for me, is knowing he likely suffered in his last moments as he knew his fate. As he knew he deserved better. As he knew there was nothing he could do about his destiny. He was shot multiple times. I will spare you the details, but from accounts from his friends and the police, he was apparently trying to get help as he walked out his front door where he collapsed.

I imagine the fear coursing through his veins as he realized what had happened, and how ludicrous this situation was. I imagine the piercing, shooting pain of a gun shot wound in his face and other parts of his body. I imagine him gasping for breath as his life decisions and relationships flash before him. I imagine him wondering what will happen to the father he cares for, to his sibling, to his girlfriend, to his friends. I wonder if he ever received a moment of peace or resignation before his final breath. I wonder if he fought death to the very last moment. My heart aches at the thought of his pain, his fear, his realization. My tears run for a life cut so short, for the lives he will never touch, for the holes in the lives he leaves behind.

If we all thought of these fears and pain that those dying inevitably go through, would it be so easy to resort to violence to solve problems and cope with negative feelings? If we imagined our child or parent or spouse slowly living through those moments of sheer terror and piercing pain–would it be so easy to lash out at others to right a wrong?

Good-bye, Mr. Mike. I’m so very, very sorry the world did not treat you as kindly and as graciously as you treated others. We love you so, and carry you in our hearts and lives. We know your light shines from above. The world mourns the loss of your light on this earth, and what a loss it is.

 

 

 

 

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Practice Does Not Make Perfect

Posted on April 22, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

2014-04-14 23.29.01

“Practice makes perfect,” La Chica says as I tell her we need to practice her math facts like her teacher suggests.

“No,” I tell her, “Practice is practice. There is no perfect.”

She wonders why she needs to practice then. Why am I always asking her to practice her drums, her math facts, her writing, her patience, her bike riding, using kind words, adjusting her attitude? She asks why we bother if we’re not trying to get to Perfect?

Because there is no perfect, honey. We have all been taught to chase that carrot–reach perfection. Practice makes perfect, adults smugly told us. Keep trying until you nail it. The sonata on the piano, the gymnastics floor routine, the graduation speech. We grow up chasing the illusion of perfection in every role. The ultimate host, the healthy yet delicious cook, the wise yogi, the CEO. We work out chasing Kelly Ripa’s arms, we work 80 hours chasing Partner at the firm, we spend too much at Whole Foods to raise the healthiest children since the rise of the agrarian period.

Who else is tired? I know I am. Let’s practice for the sake of practicing. For the process of knowing we’re resilient. For the experience of doing hard things. For gaining fun and joyful experiences. For being brave. For obtaining new skills because they’re interesting.

When we “fail” at what we’re practicing, we tend to beat ourselves up over it. It’s a natural reaction for so many of us, because we had been practicing! We should know better! But practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes improvement. Practice makes peace. We need to teach our kids this, because we need them to remember this when they’re adults. We need to remember this ourselves as adults.

A friend is having a difficult time with a lot of stressors, and feeling anxious about it all. She’s feeling like she’s pulled in so many directions, has so many obligations to fulfill, roles to play. And she doesn’t want to let anyone down. At the core of it, she doesn’t want people to think she’s not competent or good enough. She doesn’t want to be seen as a slacker or bad mother or thoughtless host or careless friend or unloving wife or distracted sister. She’s mired in not feeling Enough. The shame creeps in and paralyzes her.

Then she spirals deeper into shame when she compares herself to others, and feels that others’ problems are more serious–terminal illnesses, financial difficulties, housing issues. How dare she feel overwhelmed when so many others with “real” problems struggle through life?

Compare, compare, compare. Judgments, judgments, judgments. I talk with her about the need for self-talk, being kind to yourself, identifying the fears, tapping into your Enough, stopping the comparisons and judgments. She gets it intellectually. But she feels stuck in this stress of feeling like she’s not filling any of her roles adequately.

And here’s the thing. Conceptually, getting unstuck is actually very simple. Simple doesn’t mean easy–this can hurt a bit, but it’s not a complex or mysterious concept. Stop those automatic thoughts of feeling inadequate as they arise. Examine them for truth and reality. Change those thoughts. Do this again, and again, and again. Practice, practice, practice. Is it easy? No, not at first. But you will improve. It will get easier.

Because practice does not make you the perfect person who can cope fabulously with a job and family and social life and household and aging parents and bills, without breaking a sweat or being late. Practice lets you off the hook for sweating, for dropping balls, for being late, for saying no to people. Practice understands. Practice forgives. Practice says, “Thanks for showing up. Glad you made it. Thanks so much for trying. You are Enough.” Practice opens space for kindness and compassion. This is the space where peace lives.

Posted in Empowerment, Mindfulness, Parenting | Tagged , , , | 13 Comments

Love Wins

Posted on April 18, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

love wins

I may not have a lasting relationship to show for this, so you may not believe I am an authority on this when I say this, but I know Glennon Doyle Melton is right when she says Love Wins. Because each relationship that I’ve been in that I have allowed myself to love, I won. I still win. Having felt such joy and giving and kindness and respect while it lasted–I win! Being able to remember such joy and happiness, and know how it’s changed me–I still win!

I didn’t used to think this way. I used to think love ought to be tied to an outcome, to have the partner or something tangible to show for it. I used to think that love wins if it lasted. Failed Relationship=Not Winning. And when relationships ended, I would despair, get angry, get indignant. But I gave you love! I deserved more! I deserved better! Ah, but now I see deserving more and better has nothing to do with giving love, with being love. I see now that I win because I had the opportunity to feel such love, and to be love. I win because I was brave and chose to be vulnerable enough to give love. Giving unconditional love with no strings attached can be remarkably hard. Because you will get hurt. There will be times it is not reciprocated.

It took me a long time to realize this, and an even longer time to be comfortable accepting this risk. I am embarrassed to admit that I was one of those friends, years ago, that expected the same level of reciprocity from all my “real” friends. I believed my “true” friends would and should and must go to the ends of the earth for me, drop everything for me, as I would for them. And generally speaking, of course there is a place for loyalty and love. However, in real life, demanding this does not allow for other obligations and responsibilities in the other person’s lives. It doesn’t take into account good intentions and flaws and well, real life. Maintaining a conditional relationship like that is heavy and burdensome and unrealistic. It’s not compassionate. At some point, you will be disappointed. After all, life happens. He or she can still be a very good friend, a good person, and not meet all your expectations. If we truly cared for the person, we must offer unconditional love. Otherwise, we love the conditions, not the person.

I was explaining to the kids that we do kind and loving things, and we love people unconditionally, just because. We should not expect an outcome. I do not open doors for people expecting a pat on my back. I do not help our neighbors shovel their driveways for the expectation that they’ll bake pies for me. I do not do favors for friends for the expectation that they buy me drinks. I’d be grateful and happy for any of those responses, but I do not act out of love for those conditions or expectations.

Acting out of love makes the world a better place and connects us all and allows me to know myself more intimately. And it allows me to know you authentically. And I really like who I am, and who you are too then. Love totally wins.

The Boy is skeptical. He’d like to know why people bill us for services rendered. Wouldn’t it be kinder to offer one’s services for free? He wonders where you draw the line–so that you’re not taken advantage of by a friend by giving too much, or how to make a living but still being kind and giving and fair and loving. He doesn’t like that I don’t have concrete answers for him. The answer changes with each person and each circumstance as you honor your own boundaries. I think we each need to do what feels right and fair, and if you err on kindness and unconditional giving of yourself, everything will be alright.  Go above and beyond when you can. Start with an open and kind heart. Don’t let fear of pain or hurts dictate your behaviors or restrict your offerings in life. Be love. This kind of love is lasting love. It’s in me, so I win. Love wins.

Posted in Meditation, Mindfulness, Relationships | Tagged , | 15 Comments

Stay in Your Own Lane

Posted on April 15, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

2014-04-10 17.58.49

La Chica runs over to me to tattle on her brother. She has deemed his table manners to be atrocious and is so offended by them, she insists I take immediate action. The Boy mutters, “Stay in your own lane.”

To which she screams, “Stop saying that! I’m not even on swim team!”

I have to give the points to the Boy on this one. I’ve been teaching the kids to Stay In Your Own Lane. Swimming lessons are for later this season. It’s time for Life Lessons right now. I am always barking at the kids that, “Words have meaning. Choose and use them wisely.” They are so tired of hearing me say this. But I feel the need to drill this into them. We must learn to use our words effectively if we are to have a remote chance of having our needs met. We must learn to express ourselves–who we are, and what we want, and what we need. Otherwise, you’re not effective in your life and work. Otherwise, your needs aren’t met. And the results of both are frustration and sadness.

When I was little, we were told to “Mind your own business,” which is a similar intent. But not quite the same. I don’t want to teach my kids to mind their own business. I want to teach them to mind everyone, and to care for everyone. We should pay attention to who is struggling, who might need help, who is marginalized, who is ostracized. We shouldn’t ignore those who need help, because one day it will be me or you who needs help. I promise you, this is true.

We should also pay attention to those who are effective in their boundaries and honoring who they are. We should pay attention to people who embody grace and mercy and kindness. Because we want to learn from those people. What are they choosing to say? What are they choosing to do, or to decline doing? How–in what tone? In what instances are they reaching out? In what instances are they reaching in?

I don’t want my kids to mind their own business. I want them to pay close attention to each and every one of us: to learn from each other; to seek fairness and justice and kindness, and when its lacking, to fill that void.

I do want them to stay in their own lane though. I don’t want them to see what someone is doing, and compare him or herself to that. I don’t want them to look at someone else’s life and cast judgments. I don’t want them to look over and criticize someone. I want them to focus on doing his or her own personal best. I want them to follow their own paths down their own lanes, to focus on that. Do their personal best, and let others be. Even if his table manners preclude any future dinner invitations.

Posted in Meditation, Mindfulness, Parenting, Relationships | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

The Family That Bikes Together, Falls Together

Posted on April 10, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

bike lesson

I’ve done it again. I’ve done yet another thing I swore PK (Pre-Kids) that I would nevereverEVER do. I promise you, you will roll your eyes, and you will definitely lose respect for me if you ever had any in the first place.

Let me preface my confession with a pre-emptive defensive explanation. I’m a firm believer in doing things myself even if it’s not something I want to do. I am terrified of heights but climb onto my roof to clean the gutters. I’ve powerwashed lots of stuff. Put together raised garden beds. Conquered downed trees. Fixed retaining walls. I can show household problems who’s boss! Did I want to do these things? No, but I technically can, so I did, despite being a delicate soul. I hate outsourcing jobs if I can figure it out myself, as unpleasant as they may be. Plus I’m cheap.

Yet I’m outsourcing not only a job, but a rite of passage for my child. I’ve retained a hired gun to teach La Chica how to ride her bike. Yes, I’m well aware it’s like outsourcing potty training. I’ve tried teaching her. I really have. For years. I don’t want what should be a positive memory to turn into a battle of wills that leads to a trail of resentment. And at some point, she really needs to learn to ride her bike. Because I said so. And it’s because I said so that is precisely the problem.

We have a dynamic, she and I. She wants to be just like me, she tries to dress as “twinsies” and replicate my outfits and habits. But when it’s my idea to do something, she refuses. She needs to decide to do things on her own terms and timetable. In her quest to be just like me, she has no idea she already is. I do not like be told what to do. I run in pouring rain, snow, sleet, ice, below-zero temps, in the dark, in 100+degree temps, in every conceivable environment because I can. Because I refuse to let Mother Nature tell me what I can or cannot do. It’s my big F*ck You to her. I shout a lot of metaphorical F*ck You’s to the world at large, because I can. Is it mature? No. It’s also oftentimes neither effective nor helpful, but that’s for another post. It just is. So La Chica gives me her metaphorical F*ck You every chance she gets. She most certainly does not like being told what to do.

I understand also the need to actually parent a child. Provide guidance and parameters and rules and expectations. Those who know me would say I’m actually a pretty strict and conservative parent in most things. But here’s where I’m starting to experiment. I need her to understand her No means No. I need her to understand her feelings and beliefs need to be honored even if I don’t agree with them, even if others don’t agree with them. I need her to believe all of her thoughts and viewpoints are valid. She may not be right, and she may not get her way, but she needs to know that she’s heard.

Otherwise, she soaks in society’s messages of what is proper for a lady, what is beauty for a female, what milestones she should achieve to be deemed a success. Otherwise, she won’t learn that her No really means No, and she’ll be more apt to be pressured into doing things she doesn’t really want to. I want to support her innate ability to assert her self and her being and her needs to the world. The trick is teaching her to do this in appropriate and kind ways.

I don’t agree with her point of view most of the time. In fact, I don’t understand her most of the time. I don’t like her preferences and abhor many of her passions (princesses, make-up, more princesses, the color pink, Katy Perry). But these are the things that resonate with her, make her heart sing. So I need to honor these in ways that are appropriate for her, and acceptable to me.

So what does all this have to do with riding a bike, you ask? You’re wondering if I over-think things, aren’t you? Only when I’m not impulsive. Here’s the thing–she’s consistently refused to take my direction with learning to ride a bike. It doesn’t matter why–it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t trust me, if she’s just digging her heels in to be oppositional, it just doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s said no–she will have no part in learning how to ride a bike with me. So I have to honor that. Yet realistically, La Chica learning to ride a bike would make family bike rides so much more entertaining and mobile–forward movement is helpful with bike riding. So I have to figure out how to do this while honoring her decision. I knew I had to bring in a neutral third party to be the buffer. She is remarkable with teachers and other parents. And she was actually really excited for her lesson. Until it actually began.

But I tell you, it was a marvel to witness. I saw so much of myself in her. Every time she fell, she got back up, and she cried and screamed and kicked the bike. But she refused to give up. There was defiance in her posture, scrappiness in her picking the bike back up, fierceness in her face as she stared the teacher down. She has no idea we are indeed “twinsies.” We both love our metaphorical F*ck Yous.

The morning exhausted her. Being pissed off for 90 minutes takes something out of you. So I was surprised she let me take her out to practice some more in the afternoon. We talked about how she never gave up, and how in life we all fall down. We talked about how the important thing is how we get up. We talked about how we all get hurt, and that’s OK to live through that pain. We talked about how proud we are of ourselves when we are on the other side of the pain. We talked about how we do hard things. She got back on her bike, took some deep breaths, and said softly, “I’m scared. I can do this.” And off she went coasting down the hill.

She still can’t ride her bike yet. She’s still learning. And she’s still feisty: she said to me, “At least I didn’t get kicked out of class like you did when you fell off the motorcycle.” I may or may not have “helped” her down the hill then.

Posted in Empowerment, Parenting | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Throwing Up My MEssiness–My Messy Beautiful

Posted on April 7, 2014 by bonnevivantelife

My MEssy BEautiful Carry On Warrior Glennon Doyle Melton

There are very few things I am good at. When I say “few,” I mean 5. I am a good baker. I am very good at yelling at my kids. I excel at injuring myself on a regular basis (traumatic brain injuries, staples in the head, motorcycle spills, and detached retinas to name a few). I’ve been told I’m frequently inappropriate even whilst sober, so I’m good at embarrassing myself and those around me.

My most useful talent though is that I’m a good writer. I can be poignant, I can be clever, I can be funny, I can even be modest. I finally pursued my passion of writing in 2011 after committing myself to a journey of living a life of loving kindness, compassion, authenticity and vulnerability. Of putting my shame and feelings of inadequacy down, of learning to be brave and scared simultaneously. Of doing hard things. Of tapping into the courage and strength that has always been deep inside me, but that I did not always honor. So I’ve shared my MEssy parts–my own naughty bits if you will, of body image issues, rape, parenting struggles, broken hearts, longing, spirituality, health issues, divorce, and inadequacies among other MEssy things. I write to connect through vulnerability and authenticity. To show others we’re all in this together. To connect with each other, because connections require being vulnerable and authentic, and that has always been hard for me. So when this project came up, it resonated with me in so many ways and is in line with how I live my life and why I write. I knew I had to do this.

What is this project you ask? Glennon Doyle Melton’s book “Carry On, Warrior” is a way of living; celebrating our messy, beautiful lives instead of trying to clean up our lives and ourselves: “Parenthood and marriage and faith and friendship and healing and writing- they are all messy. And so we want to hear from you ABOUT THAT. We want your real story. Truthful and authentic and hopeful and encouraging, too. Stories that make us believe we’re in this together- that life is hard but good, and it is really possible to Carry On, Warrior.”

But I have now discovered I am also good at writing and vomiting simultaneously. I don’t think she wanted to hear ABOUT THAT. I have also discovered I am good at “writing” without generating a word when my brain freezes and I panic, and the only words I’m actually writing are “Help” and “Fuuuckk…” See, I choke when it matters. When it was my small, comfortable blog, I wrote when it felt right, and the words flowed easily and eloquently and smartly. But I’m choking now, when this matters, when you might read this. I am good at choking. Taking risks, apparently not so much. Story of my life. Humorous case in point:

A moment with my “boyfriend”–his name is Bradley Cooper, you may know him: When I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet him, I froze. He smiled kindly and said hi. I squealed. Out loud. He laughed at me, and since a one-sided conversation goes nowhere, he walked away. Choke.

So why is this My Messy Beautiful project such a big deal when I write every day? I’m afraid I’m not MEssy enough. I’m afraid I’m too MEssy. I’m afraid people will wonder why I think I’m good enough as a writer, good enough as a human being, to participate in this project. I’m afraid I’m not unique enough so people will wonder why I’m wasting their time reading this. I’m afraid my readers will wonder why I keep repeating myself and offer nothing new. I’m afraid this won’t resonate with anyone. I’m afraid no one will like it. I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid the one thing I love to do, the one thing I think I’m good at, will be thrown back in my face in rejection. I’m afraid I’ll have understood the assignment all wrong. I am terrified of not being Enough in any and every way that matters in this very moment.

I want to be a MEssy, Beautiful Warrior. I am afraid I am not Beautiful in my MEssy. I’m afraid I’m just MEssy in a tilting of the head, cocking of the eyebrow, and walking away way. When it comes down to it, I’m afraid of not being seen, and of not being validated. I’m afraid of being dismissed and diminished. Because I wasn’t Enough.  Good Enough, Smart Enough, Witty Enough, Messy Enough, Beautiful Enough. Me Enough.

Today I don’t know how to share my story, all my mess in one short essay, despite having shared my story publicly for three years. Today I don’t know what to write about. I just know I really, really want to vomit. I keep writing though, I’m going to finish this. Even while I vomit. Even though I know this is not one of my better essays. I continue to practice being brave and scared and doing hard things. Because I know this to be true–I know once you know, you can’t un-know: And I know I am brave, even when I choke. I know I am just MEssy enough to be dangerous. I know the tears from not trying will taste so much more bitter than the tears of failure. I know the joy and peace that comes with being vulnerable and authentic, even when it hurts.

And I know I’m right when I fear I’m not unique. I know we’re all in this together. I can feel this truth when I write. If I can be brave and scared and do hard things, you can too. We all can. I know this to be true. I also know I am more apt to clean the toilets frequently when I’m prone to vomit often. These are my truths, and this is my story. And this is ME in my MEssy Beautiful.

Carry On Warrior Glennon Doyle Melton

 

Posted in Empowerment, Meditation, Mindfulness | Tagged , , | 38 Comments