Advent began with me hitting a full-on second-trimester-of-pregnancy-nesting season. [No - we are not expecting - it's just an analogy] Funny, it seems to happen every year - the decorations come out and I want to polish up our everyday so it matches those scenes on Christmas cards and in movies. This year was no different - unless you consider the depth to which the nesting reached. I mean, I CLEANED OUT THE REFRIGERATOR. Make no mistake - I'm pretty good about keeping our refrigerator free of stored science projects (I need the storage containers too often to let mold get too firm a hold) - but I pulled out the drawers and shelves and gave everything a proper scrub (as if I had nothing better to do). It sparkled and so did the trees - until everyone got home on the rainy Wednesday said cleaning took place and brought with them the remnants of decaying leaves, lunchbox crud and clothing that only my children seem to consider 'decorative' as they toss it around all avant garde on the floor. I actually felt myself getting wound up about it - as if the after school normal was suddenly an affront to my Norman Rockwell real life.
Funny really - how I pressurize this sense of anticipation that accompanies Advent - and though anticipation during this season is part and parcel to my own personal faith beliefs, I'm pretty certain the shining up of 'normal' kind of misses the point. In truth, the acknowledgement of how we really function and acceptance of our everyday reality explains why we so eagerly live in an Advent world and THAT is what I should be wallowing in instead of trying to tiptoe around with feigned perfection. I've realized that I'm really bad at being present - I'm always looking forward to what's next - and it's taken until now (with my almost 40 big girl pants on) to realize and admit that I've probably missed out on a whole lot of what life has served up before me. I've missed it because I've been too busy looking to the 'what's next'.
This year, our Christmas season has been wonderful - we played in Whistler in new snow, the hubs got a promotion at work, we laughed, we looked at gingerbread houses and Christmas trees galore, we helped make Christmas brighter for a couple of folks, we basked in lovely friendships all around us. And that's just the stuff I danced around - probably missing some serendipitous pieces in my 'looking forward' state. Today I find myself on a plane heading for my other home - South Carolina. While I can't wait to see my mama, daddy, sister, brother-in-law and nephews, I'm flat out heartsick to miss these last few days of the four of us at home together. It was a weepy goodbye at the airport for me - with hugs and kisses from my kids and repeated, "I'm gonna miss you-s", and it took an earthquake (yep - for real - 4.8 last night as we lay in bed) and my being 37,000 feet in the air to put words on the prickly tears. I wanted to stay right where I was because I've finally figured out that intentionally being present is where my heart gets full. Our son is almost ELEVEN - in seven short years he'll be out and about in the world in a new way. I want that for him and I'm excited for him - I want him to become, explore and grow. But I also want to drink in every minute between now and then. Likewise, our daughter who was born five minutes ago is EIGHT! Philip and I have been parents longer than we've known each other yet somehow it feels like we never really knew each other til this parenting thing happened to us.
Normally I don't make New Year's Resolutions - they often feel empty to me. However, as 2016 closes in, my resolution is to try to stop wanting to know all the answers about what's next. My resolution is to try my darnedest, in spite of myself, to be fully present in what each day presents me and to soak up what life sets before me lest I miss it. And my hope, my prayer, is that I'll ring in 2017 with the three I love most at my side, along with those who raised me to this point and those who've shaped me along the journey. 2015 has made me keenly aware of the gift of good people in my life; people who know me in various shapes and forms and have taught me what it is to try to make the most of this living thing by teaching me more about who I am. Cheers to you - family, friends and those who we've yet to meet - may we understand our connections more deeply and celebrate them readily in the year to come. Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, December 4, 2015
Open letter to media outlets re: responsibility
Dear major televised "news" outlets:
I'm looking at you NBC, ABC, CBS, Fox & CNN. It is safe to assume every American agrees that more than one mass shooting per day is beyond reprehensible. We can all probably even agree that laws about guns should be up for discussion - even if we fall on different sides of how we think they should read. I trust that those conversations can and will happen. But, as crafters of our collective conscience, I look to you to not allow guns to be the only focus of discussion. I expect you as purveyors of news to understand that some degree of culpability lies at your feet. I implore you to beg your leadership to look beyond the profit/loss statement of your network and focus on the the impact you're making on humanity. For when you speak, people listen. When you repeat video, people watch. When you offer up conjecture, people get scared. And, at this point you cease to be news reporters and morph into news creators. This stoking of the fear fire does nothing to help nourish caring for our neighbors and it's time for you to stop.
Consider this - I can see the image of a young man being gunned down without wondering what it looks like for a person to be shot mid stride because I've seen it no less than ten times on various channels. And you claim it a source of pride that you're not showing the 'repeated' shooting that followed. Seriously? You make your business advertising death and terror and pain. These are important stories - I agree. However, what honor do you bring to slain victims of terror when you focus on the perpetrators more than the lives that were prematurely snuffed? You lead every newscast with highly detailed accounts that include some facts and a lot of speculation about how many were killed by a mentally ill attacker and close your broadcast with a 30-second human interest story.
I'm a parent of two children - my husband and I seek to raise them as responsible global citizens but we cannot allow them to watch what you broadcast because your broadcasts do nothing to encourage them to fulfill the dreams we have for them and what the world needs of them. Your broadcasts make them scared to grow up because you spend all of your time focused on tragedy and offer no opportunity for them to see hope and good in the world they're going to be called to lead in a few short years. I believe that many of you are parents too. Do you allow your children to watch the broadcasts you are paid handsomely to create? Do you take pride in consistently lifting up the lowest common denominator of human beings as the norm?
What if...what if you lead with human interest and hope? What if you closed with a thirty second report of tragedy in the world? What if your network chose to turn broadcasting upside down and become a network of humanity versus a network of profit? It seems a bit odd to think that news has become a for-profit business anyway when you think about it. Every morning my husband and I ask one another if there's anything going on in the world. On the rare day that the answer is "nothing major" we exhale with relief and feel a bit lighter because we aren't going to have to shield our children from images that even adults have trouble processing.
Please, please consider what role you play in fostering copycats and perpetuating a culture of fear. Wouldn't it feel great for you to go to bed at night knowing that the focus of your newscast might inspire people to engage in healthy dialogue with people different from them instead? Or, what if your broadcast spent more than 30-45 seconds covering the heroes of the world who step in to help when tragedy strikes? Our children have the opportunity to be in your presence more than our own as you are available 24 hours per day - even when they're at school. You are powerful. You are loud. You can do better. I would love to have you as our partner in growing young people ready to inherit the responsibility of living in a global society. Please join us - we need to be in this together.
I'm looking at you NBC, ABC, CBS, Fox & CNN. It is safe to assume every American agrees that more than one mass shooting per day is beyond reprehensible. We can all probably even agree that laws about guns should be up for discussion - even if we fall on different sides of how we think they should read. I trust that those conversations can and will happen. But, as crafters of our collective conscience, I look to you to not allow guns to be the only focus of discussion. I expect you as purveyors of news to understand that some degree of culpability lies at your feet. I implore you to beg your leadership to look beyond the profit/loss statement of your network and focus on the the impact you're making on humanity. For when you speak, people listen. When you repeat video, people watch. When you offer up conjecture, people get scared. And, at this point you cease to be news reporters and morph into news creators. This stoking of the fear fire does nothing to help nourish caring for our neighbors and it's time for you to stop.
Consider this - I can see the image of a young man being gunned down without wondering what it looks like for a person to be shot mid stride because I've seen it no less than ten times on various channels. And you claim it a source of pride that you're not showing the 'repeated' shooting that followed. Seriously? You make your business advertising death and terror and pain. These are important stories - I agree. However, what honor do you bring to slain victims of terror when you focus on the perpetrators more than the lives that were prematurely snuffed? You lead every newscast with highly detailed accounts that include some facts and a lot of speculation about how many were killed by a mentally ill attacker and close your broadcast with a 30-second human interest story.
I'm a parent of two children - my husband and I seek to raise them as responsible global citizens but we cannot allow them to watch what you broadcast because your broadcasts do nothing to encourage them to fulfill the dreams we have for them and what the world needs of them. Your broadcasts make them scared to grow up because you spend all of your time focused on tragedy and offer no opportunity for them to see hope and good in the world they're going to be called to lead in a few short years. I believe that many of you are parents too. Do you allow your children to watch the broadcasts you are paid handsomely to create? Do you take pride in consistently lifting up the lowest common denominator of human beings as the norm?
What if...what if you lead with human interest and hope? What if you closed with a thirty second report of tragedy in the world? What if your network chose to turn broadcasting upside down and become a network of humanity versus a network of profit? It seems a bit odd to think that news has become a for-profit business anyway when you think about it. Every morning my husband and I ask one another if there's anything going on in the world. On the rare day that the answer is "nothing major" we exhale with relief and feel a bit lighter because we aren't going to have to shield our children from images that even adults have trouble processing.
Please, please consider what role you play in fostering copycats and perpetuating a culture of fear. Wouldn't it feel great for you to go to bed at night knowing that the focus of your newscast might inspire people to engage in healthy dialogue with people different from them instead? Or, what if your broadcast spent more than 30-45 seconds covering the heroes of the world who step in to help when tragedy strikes? Our children have the opportunity to be in your presence more than our own as you are available 24 hours per day - even when they're at school. You are powerful. You are loud. You can do better. I would love to have you as our partner in growing young people ready to inherit the responsibility of living in a global society. Please join us - we need to be in this together.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Football Era
This kid. He's dreamed of tackle football from his earliest days. At the ripe age of 2 he ran around our backyard, shoulders hiked up to his ears as his shoulder pads, insisting we sing the Notre Dame fight song while he pretended to be Rudy. And here we are - twice a week practices, Sunday games and daily bruise counts. He's euphoric. I, however, am working on feigning cool when my baby hits the ground and is slow to get up. Suffice it to say, our son plays hard. His coach loves him for it and we're proud that he personifies giving your team 100%. We've had fun watching him be a leader and pump up his teammates. We've blown through stain remover, learned the need of a post-practice snack (that often looks like a small meal) and gotten accustomed to helmet and shoulder pads in the living room. It's hard to believe that we're at this stage and it's wonderful to see him so excited. Today, it seems only fitting to celebrate this new era in our family - as our former little Rudy has grown into a Lion and was dubbed the MVP of his game this past rainy Sunday. Toddler and preteen have collided with the Clemson defeat of Notre Dame a couple of weeks ago, and even in Canada we get to sport Clemson orange - tho we cheer for a different big cat, the Lion. I see these photos and wonder how on earth we got to this place in our family's story so quickly. And I'm deeply, deeply grateful for the opportunity to see our firstborn live into one of his lifelong dreams.
The "Rudy" years - Lydia was on her way and this little guy and I were cheering on the Tigers in Clemson. This was a baseball game, but was the closest I could find to the Rudy era - on the hunt for his 'shoulder pads' shot...methinks it's in storage (with half of our life ^>^) LOOK AT THAT FACE!
Henry, today I celebrate you and hope that I don't embarrass you when I check on you during your games. Love you, buddy!
The "Rudy" years - Lydia was on her way and this little guy and I were cheering on the Tigers in Clemson. This was a baseball game, but was the closest I could find to the Rudy era - on the hunt for his 'shoulder pads' shot...methinks it's in storage (with half of our life ^>^) LOOK AT THAT FACE!
Grade 1 - when he was Walter Payton on Famous American Day
My favorite #54! Plays offense and defense and his coach says he's always 'full throttle'
Two peas in a pod
Lydia helping mark yardage with her daddy
At the BC Lions Game on Saturday - incidentally, they were playing the Winnipeg Blue Bombers and former Clemson Tiger, Tajh Boyd, just signed on with the - how cool is that? Small world, indeed.
Meeting two of the BC Lions players last week
Outside BC Place on Terry Fox Plaza before the game...
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Whales & Water
Yesterday I set out with a singular goal - spotting the whale that's been playing in the waters of English Bay - our backyard. Several friends had seen her and I have a list of wildlife that I must see before our family moves away from Canada. Whales are on the list. The stars aligned such that I had prepared Tuesday night's dinner on Monday, I had a meeting at the school just after lunch and Philip was out of town. I already knew the laundry would wait patiently, so I, along with my children, proceeded to pack backpacks in preparation for a day out. My Parent Advisory Council notebook and the bylaws needing editing went with me, as did Jamie Tworkowski's book If You Feel Too Much. As soon as I dropped the children at their classrooms, I headed to McDonald's - I know, not the healthiest of choices, but it was quick, easy and on the way. It seemed I had forgotten to eat breakfast - I was that excited. I took my Egg McMuffin down to the benches at English Bay and quickly retreated to the 'laughing guy' statues when the geese and seagulls were as interested in my breakfast as was I. With my stomach satiated and my trash safely stowed, I headed back to the beach with anticipation similar to a child's on Christmas Eve.
As I pondered which bench to choose, I saw a gentleman with binoculars surveying the water and I asked him if there was any sign of the whale. He smiled knowingly but said, "Not yet." A gentleman on the bench beside him commented, "He (though I've decided the whale's a girl) was here yesterday between 9 & 10." It was 9:38AM and I was glad I hadn't missed the main attraction. I chose my perch and began busying myself with the business of waiting. Hear me say - I'm categorically horrible at waiting. I called my parents to check in, double checked the phone for any emails and promptly pulled out my trusty notebook and the bylaws beckoning edits. As it turns out, this 'daunting' task took all of 17 minutes, and the whale hadn't visited. Restlessness began to creep in and I decided to find a new perch. The sun was peeking through dappled clouds and I walked to the inukshuk and found a bench on the tip of the man-made peninsula that sticks into the bay. The sun was warm on my back, the water calm and glassy, the container ships seemingly standing guard in the distance. I chose to relax into the waiting, to give myself permission to let my mind wander while the sun relaxed my shoulders and soothed my soul.
The water was calm and glassy indeed - gentle waves lapping the shore like a kitten first learning to drink from a bowl. The water was rhythmic and comforting - it was everything water hasn't been for my home state of South Carolina this past week. It was odd to sit in that tension. Water is powerful - powerful in its ability to cripple roads and bridges and tear houses apart; powerful in its gentleness as balm for a weary soul; powerful in the opportunity it presents for new life to those wanting to escape brutalities in the places they've only known as home. Seeing power in so many forms is overwhelming and I got restless again. It was time to find a new perch.
I meandered over the beach to the sitting logs - notebook stowed, book at the ready. Before opening my book I scanned the water carefully, hopefully - just knowing the whale was coming. Nothing. It was 11:39AM. I began reading - Jamie's words are poetic, his sentiments affirming, his message encouraging. His book reads as if you're thumbing through a series of songs that put lyrics to the ebb and flow of all our lives. Reading it on the beach amplified the experience. After a few pages I scanned the water and there it was - a muted "pffft" and a spray of water just above the surface of the bay. Wonder dripped through me and I said aloud to no one in particular, "There it is," and I started walking toward the drifting spray. I found myself walking more quickly, disregarding the sand I had tried to keep out of my shoes earlier. The moment was urgent - I couldn't miss it! Once I got onto the seawall, I dodged folks who didn't seem aware of the miracle that was right before us and I found a perfect watching spot.
She surfaced irregularly - on her on timeline - each time reminding the water of her own power and giving us a glimpse of her grace and enormity. She'd dive to forage for food and we waited eagerly for her next breath - she didn't disappoint. I snapped a few photos, texted my family to let them know she'd arrived and then I just watched. For twenty or more minutes, I just watched. Awe. Her power was so comfortable to her; she moved confidently with gentle regard for the life around her. It was reverently quiet along the seawall despite the growing numbers of people gathering to watch her dining ritual. Those who talked loudly received looks that quieted them instantly. We were in the midst of a mystical, surreal moment.
Then, I left. Goal achieved. Ushered to my meeting by her gentle "pffft" as I walked away. My soul richer for the almost three hours I sat on the beach. It sounds so decadent - three hours sitting on the beach, but I found that those three hours were the most actively I've waited since anticipating the birth of my children. Those three hours were far more productive than any tangible tasks I could have accomplished in our apartment - the laundry did, in fact, wait. So did the vacuuming and the dusting. In their place a myriad of prayers for my people in South Carolina. In their place, active grieving over the physical distance separating our little family from the rest of our family. In their place, permission to be present and seek wonder even in our broken world. In their place, reclamation of the importance of continuing to live my own story.
"We live a thousand different stories, you and i. We live so many different seasons and who can say when winter or victory or spring? Perhaps all we can do is go together, win and lose together, because we deserve a people and a place...and a team." [from If You Feel Too Much p. 61]
Today is a new day. Our stories continue. Some will be stories of physical rebuilding, some will be of resting from labours, some will be of celebrating what life has put before us, some will feel like slogging through peanut butter. Whatever the case may be, my hope is we all find a glimpse, even if very small, of wonder, hope and awe. And I hope there are people in our lives who remind us of the wonder, hope and awe inside each one of us when our lenses get cloudy and the way seems laborious.
The Laughing Guys - a friendly place for a picnic breakfast
As I pondered which bench to choose, I saw a gentleman with binoculars surveying the water and I asked him if there was any sign of the whale. He smiled knowingly but said, "Not yet." A gentleman on the bench beside him commented, "He (though I've decided the whale's a girl) was here yesterday between 9 & 10." It was 9:38AM and I was glad I hadn't missed the main attraction. I chose my perch and began busying myself with the business of waiting. Hear me say - I'm categorically horrible at waiting. I called my parents to check in, double checked the phone for any emails and promptly pulled out my trusty notebook and the bylaws beckoning edits. As it turns out, this 'daunting' task took all of 17 minutes, and the whale hadn't visited. Restlessness began to creep in and I decided to find a new perch. The sun was peeking through dappled clouds and I walked to the inukshuk and found a bench on the tip of the man-made peninsula that sticks into the bay. The sun was warm on my back, the water calm and glassy, the container ships seemingly standing guard in the distance. I chose to relax into the waiting, to give myself permission to let my mind wander while the sun relaxed my shoulders and soothed my soul.
The inukshuk
The view from my peninsular perch
The water was calm and glassy indeed - gentle waves lapping the shore like a kitten first learning to drink from a bowl. The water was rhythmic and comforting - it was everything water hasn't been for my home state of South Carolina this past week. It was odd to sit in that tension. Water is powerful - powerful in its ability to cripple roads and bridges and tear houses apart; powerful in its gentleness as balm for a weary soul; powerful in the opportunity it presents for new life to those wanting to escape brutalities in the places they've only known as home. Seeing power in so many forms is overwhelming and I got restless again. It was time to find a new perch.
I meandered over the beach to the sitting logs - notebook stowed, book at the ready. Before opening my book I scanned the water carefully, hopefully - just knowing the whale was coming. Nothing. It was 11:39AM. I began reading - Jamie's words are poetic, his sentiments affirming, his message encouraging. His book reads as if you're thumbing through a series of songs that put lyrics to the ebb and flow of all our lives. Reading it on the beach amplified the experience. After a few pages I scanned the water and there it was - a muted "pffft" and a spray of water just above the surface of the bay. Wonder dripped through me and I said aloud to no one in particular, "There it is," and I started walking toward the drifting spray. I found myself walking more quickly, disregarding the sand I had tried to keep out of my shoes earlier. The moment was urgent - I couldn't miss it! Once I got onto the seawall, I dodged folks who didn't seem aware of the miracle that was right before us and I found a perfect watching spot.
The sitting logs - our backyard's view doesn't disappoint either
Look closely - you can see the spray from her breath
She surfaced irregularly - on her on timeline - each time reminding the water of her own power and giving us a glimpse of her grace and enormity. She'd dive to forage for food and we waited eagerly for her next breath - she didn't disappoint. I snapped a few photos, texted my family to let them know she'd arrived and then I just watched. For twenty or more minutes, I just watched. Awe. Her power was so comfortable to her; she moved confidently with gentle regard for the life around her. It was reverently quiet along the seawall despite the growing numbers of people gathering to watch her dining ritual. Those who talked loudly received looks that quieted them instantly. We were in the midst of a mystical, surreal moment.
Then, I left. Goal achieved. Ushered to my meeting by her gentle "pffft" as I walked away. My soul richer for the almost three hours I sat on the beach. It sounds so decadent - three hours sitting on the beach, but I found that those three hours were the most actively I've waited since anticipating the birth of my children. Those three hours were far more productive than any tangible tasks I could have accomplished in our apartment - the laundry did, in fact, wait. So did the vacuuming and the dusting. In their place a myriad of prayers for my people in South Carolina. In their place, active grieving over the physical distance separating our little family from the rest of our family. In their place, permission to be present and seek wonder even in our broken world. In their place, reclamation of the importance of continuing to live my own story.
"We live a thousand different stories, you and i. We live so many different seasons and who can say when winter or victory or spring? Perhaps all we can do is go together, win and lose together, because we deserve a people and a place...and a team." [from If You Feel Too Much p. 61]
Today is a new day. Our stories continue. Some will be stories of physical rebuilding, some will be of resting from labours, some will be of celebrating what life has put before us, some will feel like slogging through peanut butter. Whatever the case may be, my hope is we all find a glimpse, even if very small, of wonder, hope and awe. And I hope there are people in our lives who remind us of the wonder, hope and awe inside each one of us when our lenses get cloudy and the way seems laborious.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Broken Promise
The past month has seen me visiting with old friends Self Doubt and Insecurity quite a lot. As I last wrote, I've been in the market for a part-time job because I'm ready for an outlet that's just mine. Turns out, the process is akin to holding your breath waiting on your crush to ask you to the school dance - only a tad more vulnerable. I've spent hours perusing craigslist and job listings and I've been choosy about what I've pursued and that, admittedly, is an enviable luxury. I get it. But - I haven't been out on a first date in nearly 15 years and I haven't interviewed with complete and total strangers in about as long. Funny enough, I think myself fairly confident, but the notion has been challenged as of late. Many a resume hasn't even been acknowledged and while I've gotten a few interviews nothing has materialized that is a good fit. I got one job offer and almost accepted it - simply out of my own need to feel affirmed. Thankfully, my almost 40 self (and my wise husband), reminded me that questions are good. So I asked questions. Turns out the answers awakened me to my own ego and that giving up our only definite family time was unwise. It helped that, at the moment, I had interviewed for quite possibly the most-perfect-job-ever for me. The interview had taken place over Skype, for which I was thankful because I was convinced my red, splotchy neck (which betrays my cool, calm facade in such circumstances) wasn't as noticeable. It was a good interview, almost great even, and I promptly mailed a handwritten thank you note - because I'm old school like that. I felt really good about it, but those good vibes waned as I waited and waited for a response. The waiting opened the door for Self Doubt to visit - should I have taken the other position that gave me little to no spark of excitement? Am I too old to relate to young business people in Vancouver? Is my resume too riddled with church work to make me appealing in a business environment? Is the universe trying to tell me not to work because I'll single-handedly bring about the demise of our family?
"STOP!" Self Talk came in shouting at Self Doubt and in one fell swoop sent Self Doubt cowering into a corner. Self Doubt didn't leave, mind you, but Self Talk had wielded her power and helped open the door for the reclamation of sanity until Insecurity invited herself in via an email, "Thank you for your interest but we have chosen to go with another candidate." Ugh. But it was perfect! How could they not tell? Self Talk had to muster all of her energy and call me out on my betrayal of myself. She reminded me that I had promised myself I'd write every single day - regardless of length or subject matter. She reminded me that what I really wanted was to write, and then she had to wake me up a little with the notion that my ego and desire for affirmation just might be clouding my judgment of myself.
And here we are. Today, I'm writing. I'll tend to resume distribution tomorrow. I'll enjoy Henry's football practices. I will read other people's words. I will celebrate the patience of laundry and ironing - they wait so nicely. Today, I'm reveling in the time I get to spend with my family walking to school or the grocery. But, most importantly, I'm keeping the promise I made to myself to write. And I'm remembering that life is about grace - with ourselves and with others.
"STOP!" Self Talk came in shouting at Self Doubt and in one fell swoop sent Self Doubt cowering into a corner. Self Doubt didn't leave, mind you, but Self Talk had wielded her power and helped open the door for the reclamation of sanity until Insecurity invited herself in via an email, "Thank you for your interest but we have chosen to go with another candidate." Ugh. But it was perfect! How could they not tell? Self Talk had to muster all of her energy and call me out on my betrayal of myself. She reminded me that I had promised myself I'd write every single day - regardless of length or subject matter. She reminded me that what I really wanted was to write, and then she had to wake me up a little with the notion that my ego and desire for affirmation just might be clouding my judgment of myself.
And here we are. Today, I'm writing. I'll tend to resume distribution tomorrow. I'll enjoy Henry's football practices. I will read other people's words. I will celebrate the patience of laundry and ironing - they wait so nicely. Today, I'm reveling in the time I get to spend with my family walking to school or the grocery. But, most importantly, I'm keeping the promise I made to myself to write. And I'm remembering that life is about grace - with ourselves and with others.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Life Change 2.0
Tomorrow marks exactly two years ago that we pulled out of Clemson and headed toward Vancouver, BC. It has been two years of learning, soaking in, stretching and trusting; our lives are richer for it. It's far different than August 26, 2013 - I'm starting the day thinking not only about myself and worrying for my family, but looking to find new ways to stretch ourselves since we've gotten comfortable here. We're counting down to the start of school - familiar with the building's layout, looking forward to reconnecting with friends. Philip's role at work has morphed into its next phase - he knows the ins and outs of the offices here and he's looking for new ways to grow professionally. I'm looking for a part-time job - ready for an outlet that plugs me into a world different from full-time mom and household CEO. In short, normal has come to the place that was foreign two years ago.
When we visited Clemson this summer, we were outsiders - not that people weren't wonderfully welcoming and not that we weren't thrilled to reconnect. But the landscape had changed. Our neighborhood, while very similar, was different. Restaurants had closed, landmarks had been modified, roads closed, new folks had moved into town whom we had never met. It felt very different than when we left because we'd not been present for the gradual shifts. And we brought with us a sense of home in a faraway land where we'd built life for two years - two years that have seen changes in us as individuals we couldn't articulate or print on a t-shirt. We're different - but not. Defining this phenomenon is like trying to bottle a cloud. It's a dizzying, ethereal, amorphous blob of personality + life with a generous helping of cultural and personal influences. And since we're in the midst of it, I don't know that we even fully understand - seems that hindsight will be the great illuminator of what these two years have done to and for us.
What I do know is this: today I'm really glad that Philip and I decided to live as tourists in our new hometown. This is one life hack we're going to carry with us no matter where the wind takes us next. We've managed to squeeze more living into these last two years than we did during all of our time in Clemson. It's bizarre to consider when we lived in Clemson for eight years and stayed busy for most of those years. The difference is we seek new experiences - looking for ways to broaden our library of participation. I never would have considered we'd be able to say we'd visited a cheese rolling competition or the Quidditch World Cup or the FIFA Women's World Cup or acres and acres of tulips. Two years into this living intentionally thing doesn't see us with great stores of financial wealth or a huge house or a fancy car - but we've got stories to tell - grand stories of adventure and pushing against the bounds of our comfort zones. We're eager to drink up more.
On this second anniversary of our leaving the South, I'm nostalgic. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes as I think of family and friends we left behind and grieve the waning of relationships I'd thought would be lifelong. But those same tears that prickle are also tears of wonder about how far we've come, gratitude for new relationships that have percolated, and celebration of the ties that bind it all together. What joy to live into the next two years with my best friend and confidant and our children! We've come a long way, baby, and I'm excited to see where the road takes us next.
When we visited Clemson this summer, we were outsiders - not that people weren't wonderfully welcoming and not that we weren't thrilled to reconnect. But the landscape had changed. Our neighborhood, while very similar, was different. Restaurants had closed, landmarks had been modified, roads closed, new folks had moved into town whom we had never met. It felt very different than when we left because we'd not been present for the gradual shifts. And we brought with us a sense of home in a faraway land where we'd built life for two years - two years that have seen changes in us as individuals we couldn't articulate or print on a t-shirt. We're different - but not. Defining this phenomenon is like trying to bottle a cloud. It's a dizzying, ethereal, amorphous blob of personality + life with a generous helping of cultural and personal influences. And since we're in the midst of it, I don't know that we even fully understand - seems that hindsight will be the great illuminator of what these two years have done to and for us.
What I do know is this: today I'm really glad that Philip and I decided to live as tourists in our new hometown. This is one life hack we're going to carry with us no matter where the wind takes us next. We've managed to squeeze more living into these last two years than we did during all of our time in Clemson. It's bizarre to consider when we lived in Clemson for eight years and stayed busy for most of those years. The difference is we seek new experiences - looking for ways to broaden our library of participation. I never would have considered we'd be able to say we'd visited a cheese rolling competition or the Quidditch World Cup or the FIFA Women's World Cup or acres and acres of tulips. Two years into this living intentionally thing doesn't see us with great stores of financial wealth or a huge house or a fancy car - but we've got stories to tell - grand stories of adventure and pushing against the bounds of our comfort zones. We're eager to drink up more.
On this second anniversary of our leaving the South, I'm nostalgic. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes as I think of family and friends we left behind and grieve the waning of relationships I'd thought would be lifelong. But those same tears that prickle are also tears of wonder about how far we've come, gratitude for new relationships that have percolated, and celebration of the ties that bind it all together. What joy to live into the next two years with my best friend and confidant and our children! We've come a long way, baby, and I'm excited to see where the road takes us next.
Year in Review
Butchart Gardens
Loved this haircut! What a difference a year makes!
Butchart Gardens - Japanese Garden - the kids' favorite place!
Coastal Victoria
Fall in Coal Harbor - beautiful
Pumpkin Patch fun
Tulip Festival
Home
Family Time Coast to Coast - Othello Tunnels
LOVED having mama and daddy and Aunt Rhonda visit
Uncle Paul came to town!
Dear friends
Some good time in the woods - hiking to the train wreck near Whistler
Catherine came to visit too!
Was GREAT to have cousins come out - and sport their Clemson gear
East Coast family time this summer - 2015
The Canada Trail - 2015
Looking ahead with grand anticipation to what's next...
Thursday, August 6, 2015
There's Something About a Beach
Carolina Moon
va·ca·tion
vāˈkāSH(ə)n,vəˈkāSH(ə)n/
noun
- 1.NORTH AMERICANan extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling."he took a vacation in the south of France"
synonyms: break, time off, recess, leave, leave of absence, furlough, sabbatical,spring break
- 2.the action of leaving something one previously occupied."his marriage was the reason for the vacation of his fellowship"
We've just returned from two weeks of vacation. I realize I've used the word vacation for my entire life without really asking its formal definition. I love words, and today I remedied my naivete and my imagination was sparkled by the clinical way in which Google defines va-ca-tion. The first definition above describes my head space for these near 40 years, but the second definition - it gets to the heart of these two weeks. Our "extended period of recreation...away from home...in traveling" worked out, in reality, to be a literal tour of homes - where we "actively left something [we] previously occupied". Upon leaving our Vancouver home, we traveled to the home of my teenage years, the second home of our marriage, Henry's childhood home, Lydia's birthplace, the current home of my parents and sister. We visited with Philip's parents and gave our roots space to stretch and dig deeper into the land of their planting. We traveled from Vancouver, our home in every way right now, and returned to family and all things familiar - greeting them in a new way. For the first time since our move I felt the chapter of our family's life in Clemson is tangibly closed - it's bittersweet. South Carolina is forever our home and there's no question of the firm foundation of our roots in that place, but I realize today that our roots have compelled us to test our wings and see where they may carry us. I'm grateful. I'm also aware of what the term 'has-been' feels like - that's what we are - life has moved on, as it should; while Clemson is part of our story and we'll always be part of its, we're old news. It's not a bad thing - we are living in our present, not confined to but shaped by our past. This notion of living in the moment is hard for me as I'm always planning toward what's next, robbing myself of the treasure of embracing the right now. In Vancouver, we don't know what's next - at all. And so I'm forced to focus on the right now; a cosmic reminder that I'm hard headed.
Boating with cousins/friends on Lake Hartwell with Clemson's Death Valley in the background
Loving on Nana
We left Clemson and traveled the familiar route to Charleston, South Carolina - the home of Philip's university experience, the home where we met, the first home of our marriage and Henry's birthplace. The roads were familiar, we visited old favorites, we reconnected with friends with whom we've stayed in touch since we lived there 15+ years ago. Our home for the week was the beach - Folly Beach [its very name forcing us to let go of our own seriousness]. There's something about a beach; its constant seabreeze has a way of muting cell phones, busy minds and the frenetic. Rhythmic waves create a conscious hypnosis while heavy salt air makes naps a necessity and makes anxieties disappear. Fine sand serves to exfoliate the soul - gently removing attachments to anything not life-giving and smoothing any edges that have become too sharp. We shared our week with people who mean the most to us - parents, siblings, cousins and longtime friends. Television lost its allure in comparison to the ocean, storytelling and game nights. Emails ceased to have a voice. Stars seemed brighter and the moon was full. Living was the focus.
We rode by the house where brought Henry home from the hospital and were happy to see that it still looked like a home. It's clearly loved. We went back to Philip's alma mater and he shared stories of his life before any of us had come into it. We explored downtown Charleston and listened as our stories there intermingled with stories of revolutionaries from eras past. We celebrated the gifts of forgiveness and grace born of recent tragedy as we paid our respects at the Mother Imanuel AME Church - our souls were nourished by voices we never personally heard. We reconnected with people whose voices are interwoven with our own. We woke up each morning in the presence of three generations - generations connecting families who had never previously intermingled until some serendipitous meeting led to marriages, children and a story being written still. Serendipity drove the agenda. Lydia reconnected with friends she'd had since birth - they played in the salty water and the sand, picking up where they'd left off two years ago. We sat under umbrellas eating fried shrimp and hushpuppies; laughing about common experiences and telling tales of times long past while toasting one another and our stories. It was holy communion at its finest.
Because who doesn't want to chat with a giant frog?
Signing the Declaration of Independence at The Old Exchange Building and Provost Dungeon
Saturday led us back to Clemson by another way - circuitously following two lane, country roads as the interstate transformed into a parking lot. Little southern towns beckoned us to stop in their rural gas stations and enjoy their boiled peanuts, their sweet tea. We obliged. And so began farewells - farewell to the beach where we'd sought refuge to let go so we could get a better hold. We said goodbye to Philip, sending him back to Vancouver. We enjoyed visits, tho they were all too brief, with dear friends from every piece of our lives. We caught up feverishly, feeling the pressure only time can exert. And then we said goodbye again. All too soon the time came for the kids and me to return to Vancouver - vacation coming to an end. On the 4.5 hour leg of the plane ride back I watched The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Maggie Smith's character captured my thoughts precisely, "There is no such thing as an ending; just a place where you leave the story". And it occurred to me we had our intent backwards all along. We had gone to the beach to temporarily let go so we could get a better hold on life, but in reality, we got a lot better hold through the act of letting go - allowing our story to turn the page without keeping our fingers in the pages we've already read/written. Our life as a family is richer in Vancouver because we've left the story in Charleston and Clemson, accepting that we now make guest appearances in those places. Home, as it turns out, is transient for our family - ripe with emotions, ripe with relationships. One day we will vacate the story of Vancouver for yet another home - our story richer for our time here among those whom we hold dear in this place.
Folly on Folly Beach
Visiting The Citadel
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Because who doesn't want to chat with a giant frog?
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| Old friends reconnecting on the beach |
Fun times with Daddy
Cooking dinner with Uncle Rich and Trey
Uno after Aunt Em curled her hair - ooh la la
Apples to Apples with Mimi
Poker - Papa taught us :)
Even being in a dungeon doesn't dim the smiles of being together
Signing the Declaration of Independence at The Old Exchange Building and Provost Dungeon
Last Night at the Beach - dinner at Bowen's Island
This girl LOVES her some boiled peanuts - a southern delicacy
Building with cousins (admitting they were building weapons somehow takes away from the nostalgia, but that's really what they were doing...)
Cousins no matter where we live
South Carolina sunset
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