You, My Dear Girl, Are Not Alone

This weekend I went to the Hope*Writers workshop in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was inspiring and intellectually disruptive in the right kind of way, and it gave me a chance to spend some serious time thinking about my writing. But one of the best parts of the weekend was getting to connect with some really amazing women.

On the last day of the workshop, as is typical at this sort of event, there was a call to action. We each wrote down one actionable goal in regards to our writing that we committed to accomplish in the next six weeks. Then the facilitators made a similar commitment to mail us our goal, and asked each of us to walk to the front of the auditorium and drop our envelopes in a basket.

The act had all the personal impact you would expect- I felt the commitment solidifying in my heart as I physically stood up and moved my body through the motions of decision. And it felt really good.

Then I sat back down and watched the rest of the women around me stand up and do the same. Hundreds of lovely, remarkable women making decisions to create change in their own individual worlds, through the power of their writing.

In that moment, I saw the lightbulb in my head, and I realized this- if every single woman here follows through on her goal, that's a lot of serious change. There is limitless power in this room. We really can make a difference.

A lot of this life journey feels almost unbearably solitary at times, each one of us a lone pilgrim treading the uneven terrain in quiet, desperate pursuit of our dreams. We sew the seeds of our plans in the quiet stillness of night, and pray for the strength to till the soil with devotion in the morning.

We don't often get to witness the compound effect of our choices, to see ourselves in a larger context. We don't see how we are one of many, a thread in a tapestry, woven in among countless other peacemakers toiling towards redemption. We are an army, and we are not alone.

I saw all of this in that one moment, and I felt an indescribable sense of hope. We do have power. We are power, and we are harnessing that power to make a positive difference in our world.

What a beautiful thing.

So, my dear fly girls, know this today. You are not alone. You are an army, and there are many others like you, with you, and rooting for you today from afar.

Your choices, decisions, and commitments matter. They hold weight, purpose, and promise. If I will keep my promises and you will keep yours, then together we will do some seriously great things.

We are in this together, and we will make a difference- together.

Cheers to you, all of my dear sisters. May grace and peace find you on your journey today.

She Is Not The Enemy

A little while back, I saw an old coworker at an exercise class. Back in the day, we worked in separate departments of a large company, and I don’t remember if I ever even knew her name.

It’s been quite a few years, and she didn’t recognize me, which didn’t surprise me. But I knew who she was for one very petty reason. I didn’t really like her.

This, of course, is completely ridiculous, because I didn’t even know her. She was just one of those girls towards whom I always felt a weird competitiveness. It’s so ridiculous, in fact, that it’s hard for me to admit to it now.

I honestly can’t tell you why I felt this adversarial response to her. She seemed like she was good at her job. She was pretty and kind, and I got the impression that she had a good sense of humor. But in spite of these lovely attributes, something just kind of irked me.

And sure enough, when I saw her all these years later, the same petty feelings festered to the surface.

I saw her again at another class a few months later, after my miscarriage. This time she was clearly pregnant, looking to be about as far along as I would have been.

And the first thought that came into my head was, She would be pregnant at a time like this. It’s just like her, to be succeeding at this whole pregnancy thing right when I failed.

It was just like clockwork- same trigger, same negative response.

Only this second time, another thought also occurred to me, miraculously appearing through the fog of my internal dysfunction.

What if she’s not the enemy?

I let this new thought roll around in my head, as I watched her in that class. She was all doe-eyed and smiling, awkwardly waddling around and handling her physical discomforts with aplomb. Her whole demeanor was so endearing that it jolted me out of my fog.

It finally occurred to me that this insidious competitiveness doesn’t fit for me. And it made me wonder- Who or what on earth ever taught me to view someone like her as an enemy? As if there’s some massive competition between us? Some invisible race to consume a scarcity of resources?

In the remaining sweaty moments of class, I felt an enormous sense of relief. An actual physical, palpable sensation of release. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to fuel my energy into competing with this girl.

We’re on the same team.

So this is something new I’m learning. When I’m out and about, I’m practicing mental kindness. I’m letting go of competition and embracing spiritual advocacy. When I’m in line at the grocery store, I give that pretty girl in front of me a generous smile, and I say to her in my heart, “I’m rooting for you.”

She doesn’t hear me saying the words, but I silently tell her in my head, “I’ve got your back, and I think you’re a rock star. I want you to have every brave and beautiful thing your heart desires.”

I’m not sure if my mental shift makes all that much of a difference in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, but I like to think that it does. I like to think that change can begin with the smallest step. That a tiny seed of kindness can grow into something big.

Today, this is me saying to all you beautiful girls out there-

I’m rooting for you. I think you’re a rock star. So fly girl fly.

The Desire to be Seen

The other morning, I spent some time in the garden with my daughter. After toddling around the vegetables for a few minutes, she took to building little towers of firewood around the fire pit. And as she made each little creation, she would turn to me and say, “Look mama, I’m making castles. Come see.”

It was so darling, watching her tiny hands make the majestic things she saw inside her head, and I wondered what greatness she saw in her mind’s eye.

I related to her so much in that moment- to her imagination, her desire to create, and her industry. But more than all this, I related to her need to be seen. It wasn’t enough for her to create in a vacuum. The act somehow needed to be witnessed to be made real.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, living in our world so dominated by social media. It’s an interesting time for my daughter to be growing up in, when fame and significance are quantified in such an unprecedented manner. Social media has a way of bringing people together and creating remarkable connections, but it can also leave a person feeling painfully, inconsequentially small.

The propensity towards significance is timeless. The desire to be known is innately human, and I think everyone has the question deep in their heart- Am I seen? And if I am not, do I still matter?

Like my daughter who says, “Mama, come see,” we each want to say to the world, “Look at what I have done. Please bear witness to my offering of greatness.”

I want to believe that each one of us matters, regardless of how many views or likes or shares we receive in the virtual universe. We matter in the same way that hummingbirds matter and fuzzy bees and fluffy dandelions. Our value and worth are innate and immutable because we’re here, because we exist, because God saw fit to bring us into being.

But there is something beautiful and honorable and kind about bearing witness to one another’s greatness, however big or small. We all need to be seen, to have ourselves born witness to. Especially in the moments of deliberation, in those great expanses of loneliness and doubt. And it doesn’t take much for me to say to my daughter, “Yes baby, I see you, and your castles are beautiful.”

The other day, I saw a quote by Buddha that said, “The trouble is, you think you have time.” It really struck me, and it makes me wonder, in the precious time we have, if we could turn to one another and say, “I see you building your castles, and they are beautiful.”

This act feels small, but the truth is that we are sharing our lives together. We are each other’s witnesses, and when we bear witness to one another in an honorable way, the act becomes nothing short of revolutionary.

Here’s to bearing witness to one another’s greatness today.

Cheers!

The Power of Thoughts

I’d like to be able to say that I’m strong and mighty today, that I’m a ferocious gale of vibrant female power. But the truth is that I’m in my pj’s again, sitting in my favorite chair, getting over a head cold.

Some seasons of life are like this, where I want to be a productive powerhouse, but I catch every little pesky bug that comes my way. It’s a season of restfulness and expectation, and it can be a hard place to be.

I used to be really good at this- at giving myself permission to unplug and be in a state of rest. But lately that good ol’ anxious perfectionism has been rearing its ugly head, and I find it really hard to relax.

I am discovering that when you don’t feel good and you sit for long spaces of time, the nature of your thoughts becomes very important.

Right now, my thoughts feel like the only thing I can really control. If I focus on the bad, then I feel bad. And lo and behold, if I focus on the good, then I feel good.

This is so simple and cliché, I almost hesitate to write it. But it’s a truth that never gets old or loses its power, so here it is:

I commit my thoughts to the things that I love.

Here’s to a week filled with thoughts of pumpkins and cups of tea and cold, starry nights. May you find the rest you need, and may your head be filled with magic.

Cheers! 

Taking the Plunge, One Toe at a Time

This week I get the pleasure of sharing the thoughts and wisdom of my dear friend, Danielle Owens, a blogger and world traveler. Here she talks about the challenges of making big decisions, and some tips she's learned along the way.

My apologies to our friends, family and cornered guests at dinner parties for conversations had between 2008 and 2014, because it’s highly likely my husband and I talked your ear off about wanting to live abroad. Or quit our jobs and travel for a year. Or volunteer long-term with a foreign NGO. We bounced myriad scenarios off anyone who would listen, without actually doing anything about it.

Fast forward a couple of years and Cody and I have finished a two year work assignment in Bogotá, Colombia. This summer was spent on a temporary contract in Madrid, Spain, and we’re about to embark out on another long term work related adventure.

The weeks leading up to that first move are a blur, but the moment we took the first step remains crystal clear. I wish I could tell you about the courage and decisiveness we had in regards to our decision to move abroad. Instead, it was more of an exasperated dare on my part.

One weekend afternoon when conversation drifted to our theoretical future, I said we had to take some sort of action or put the whole idea of travel/living abroad to bed for awhile. So, we put a date on our dream. Three months later, on the exact agreed upon deadline, was the first baby step: Cody told his boss he wanted to throw his hat in the ring for an international opportunity with his company. We were living in Colombia less than six months later.

The idea of making big decisions hasn’t exactly become less daunting—we’re still the same people who talk scenarios to death and take our time inching toward action. But, I have learned a few things that give me confidence when my toes are curling over the edge of the pool.

1. I believe that God gives us each unique desires and prods us toward them. Our wish to travel and be abroad kept bubbling up inside us for a reason—God was prodding us in the direction we were meant to go. As soon as we stepped forward, He rushed in to meet us.
2. It’s ok if it’s hard. I struggled to adjust during our first few months of living abroad. I struggled to adjust again this summer in Madrid. Stepping outside of your comfort zone feels awkward, but that isn’t necessarily a sign to turn back. Even through the challenges I could find brightness, because I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
3. Everyone does it differently. Living all over the world has allowed us to see that there are as many different dreams and life paths and versions of success as there are people. There’s no one way toward your goal. It’s ok to dive right in, but don’t beat yourself up if you’d rather dip your toes first.

So whether your preference is leans toward tip-toeing or taking giant leaps, here’s to moving closer to where we’re meant to be.

Danielle is the creator of NoLongerNative.com, a blog dedicated to the many challenges, perks, and pitfalls of expat life.

Be Here and Breathe

Last week I had this perfect plan. One that involved a perfect meal plan, a perfect workout schedule, and even a perfect day devoted entirely to writing with my friends Jody and Audi.

Seriously perfect.

And after a particularly perfect day that ended with an awesome cardio barre class, I was feeling pretty darn good about myself.

I lasted about three days on this plan when I got hit with a weird, unexpected stomach bug. And while the acute symptoms of this little sickness lasted all of ten hours, it left my perfect little self completely derailed.

Instead of ending the week in fervent productivity, I spent the better part of four days in my pj's, eating apple sauce and listening to cheesy romance novels on my phone. My worn out body couldn’t muster the strength to do much more.

After bemoaning the loss of time, though, there was this one moment when I was lying on the couch with my daughter curled up next to me. There was no agenda and nowhere we had to be. So we ate cheerios together and looked into each other’s eyes, sharing little inside jokes without saying much of a word.

For a few sweet seconds, I took her in, with all of her precious and dainty charm, and marvelled at the miraculous gift of her presence.

It was this tiny piece of magic in the midst of an otherwise miserable couple of days. Something I didn’t plan for at all. Something I experienced because I had no other choice but to be present.

I had nothing else to offer life in that moment but just me.

These are the moments when life gets my attention with its own beauty and grace, reminding me that, while I am an active participant in this journey, sometimes I am also meant to be a witness.

Sometimes I am meant to put down the pen, turn off the phone, and step away from the grind, in order to bear witness. Sometimes life has gifts of its own gifts to bestow that require nothing other than my own undivided attention.

Sometimes I’m here on this earth to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

And these are the moments when I finally feel myself letting go. When each little cell in my body releases the tension and pressure and exhausting expectations I carry with me all the time. When letting go means I can start breathing again.

So here’s my affirmation for this week:

Be here, and breathe.

That’s it. This is a week of being present. Of letting go, taking deep breaths, and bearing witness to the beauty of life all around me.

I’m sending thoughts of pumpkins, sunsets and starry nights to you this week, hoping you breathe deeply and drink it in.

Cheers!

Worthy of Love

The other morning I went for a walk in our neighborhood. It was really early, just as the sun began to peak over the mountains, and the world was stirring to life around me.

We live in a pretty rural area, so I saw wild turkeys and heard roosters crowing- I even had a peacock cross my path. It was gorgeous.

But you wanna know something? I was miserable. And why, you might ask? Because while the beauty swirled all around me, I was engaged in an inner battle with the negative voices inside my head. It was like this nagging, vociferous chatter storming between my ears, and I couldn’t get out from under the heavy wave of self-criticism.

Totally sad, huh?

It took about two-thirds of the walk for me to catch my breath and push the pause button long enough to consider what was going on. And here’s the first thing that came to my mind: this kind and compassionate voice emerged from the cackling and posed a question, which went something like this.

“How can you expect others to be transformed by the message of your writing if you don’t allow yourself to be transformed by it first?”

This stopped me in my tracks, and then the sweet voice added, “You, my dear, are worthy of love.”

As you can imagine, these words were a soothing balm to my weary mind, and it occurred to me that I might need to start taking my own advice. I need to find ways to let freedom reign inside my head.

My first conclusion was that I could make a New Year’s resolution to practice using positive affirmations throughout the day. You know, like three or four months from now.

As in, later. Not now. Maybe some other time.

But the persistent voice urged me on, “You need this now, mydear. You don’t need to go another day without the restorative power of love in your life.”

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m making a commitment to speak back to the negative voices in my head with a message of love. And I invite you to do the same. I’ll share my affirmations with you for the rest of this fantastic year, so that we can be transformed by the healing power of love together.

Now, before we close our time together, I want you to do something. It will take all of six seconds, so there’s no excuse not to.

I want you to take a nice, deep breath, and repeat after me:

            I am worthy of love.

            I am worthy of love.

            I am worthy of love.

Super simple, right? Take it with you this week, and repeat it every time the negative voices rear their ugly heads.

You matter, and you are worthy of love.

Cheers to all of you, my sparkling, magnanimous fly girls. Go out there and soar this week.

Tuesday Milestones

Today I dropped my daughter off at daycare for the very first time. It’s only one morning a week, just a few hours on Tuesdays. But I might as well have abandoned her on an iceberg in the Arctic, for how much she (and I) cried when I left.

After I moved through the shock and fog of absolute despair, I found myself home alone for the first time in what feels like years. No one needing me. No one requiring anything of me. And I didn’t even have to get the stomach flu to be here.

Just me and the big, quiet, empty house.

I walked around all the rooms, soaking in the silence, and I looked at myself for a moment in the mirror. My face stared back at me as if to say, “Hi there, I haven’t seen you in a while. Welcome back.”

And honestly, it feels nice. Apart from the sadness of separation, I have this surprising feeling of accomplishment. I did it. I made it this far. I got her to this milestone.

Of course, I am one of many beautiful people in her life who has supported and nurtured her to this place. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention it. But as a mom- her mom- it also feels like something special that belongs to me. A success. One of the first of what I hope to be many successes to come.

She’s a happy, beautiful, healthy kid. She’s made it this far, and I feel really good about that.

Today is a little victory for me. It’s an acknowledging of the accomplishment of getting this far, and it’s a real blessing. But I kind of wonder if the greatest accomplishment of all is actually slowing down long enough to experience it.

If I could give you a gift today, I would push the pause button and bring you a cup of tea. I’d let you sit in my favorite chair by the window so you can see the giant eucalyptus trees swaying in the cool, breezy morning air. I’d play my favorite Pandora station for you, and bring you a soft, warm blanket.

I’d share this moment with you, and I’d ask you about your own milestones. I’d tell you that today might be an ordinary Tuesday, but it holds its own victories. Battles won or battle lines held steady. Leagues and miles of space and time covered with the grace of all your best efforts and humanity.

I’m sending you this gift right now, and I hope it reaches you. I hope you find that moment of pause. I hope peace finds you there, and gives your body a chance to breathe.

Life is a beautiful thing, and you’ve made it. This far, to this day. To this Tuesday milestone. God bless you today on your journey.