Martha Lives Here

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Actually, she does...

Actually, she does…

Maeby (listening to Pandora): “Mama, what’s the name of this song?”
Kate: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”
Maeby: “I know!!! But what’s the name of this song?”

by Maeby

by Maeby

My granddaughter, Maeby, is a riot. She says the funniest things without meaning to. I really need to start documenting them, and when I find the right illustrator who can capture her essence, I plan to put together a priceless collection that will entertain my descendants in years to come. In the meantime, let me tell you what happened yesterday.

Our extended family is quite small, and thus news spreads quickly. Besides those of us who were affected by the snow storm last weekend, there was the recent news that my nephew and his girlfriend were getting an apartment together.

Last night I got this text from my daughter: image

And, soon this: image

 

Of course, I just had to tell my sister-in-law (my nephew’s mother)… image
We chuckled at how this episode so easily reminded us of my deceased mother, Martha, Maeby’s great-grandmother, who had very certain opinions of how other people should live–and who was not afraid to voice them. Maeby’s that way, and because she is a pure and innocent seven-year-old little girl, it’s her Truth: marriage before cohabitation. I think her point of reference are her current favorite movies, “High School Musical” and “High School Musical 2,” and the characters Troy and Gabriella. There is a certain order to life. Martha was not at all diplomatic and Maeby is to-the-point–two peas in a pod, when you think about it.

In spite of my not-so-great relationship with my mother, I’m grateful that her name comes up in conversation from time to time. And if truth be known, I don’t think it’s so bad that her great-granddaughter takes after her a little bit. I tend to think that’s a form of eternal life: living on in the thoughts and minds of others. I hope to be so lucky.

Snow Day!

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imageThe winter storm named Jonas came roaring through our town a couple of days ago with a vengeance. Estimates of snowfall in Hopkinsville ranged from 8-11″, and that was on top of a rather substantial layer of ice. A state of emergency was declared by our governor–it was that bad or worse–just about everywhere in the state. But now that my grandkids live down the street, I am getting to view snow from their perspective. It’s FUN!

By the time I walked down to their house with the still-warm brownies I had baked for their parents (who had shoveled our sidewalk and driveway earlier in the day), the Girls (my granddaughter and her two friends, who are sisters) were putting the finishing touches on their fortress (which resembled an igloo.) Sixty or more blocks of packed snow, firmly molded with a plastic container, formed their shield against the dreaded Boys, my grandson and his friend (the sisters’ sibling).image The fortress harbored a stash of snowballs roughly 4″ in diameter, made with a plastic contraption my daughter had bought at Target a couple of months ago. There must have been at least a dozen of them. The Girls were ready. It was just a matter of time.image

It came soon enough when one of the sisters, now positioned as the lookout, spotted the Boys rounding the corner. The Boys were not oblivious to the possible trap awaiting them as they approached, and it was the Girls who threw the first snowball, launching the attack! The Girls were fired up and confident, and the Boys scrambled to keep up. The already-made snowballs ensured that the initial assault was relatively lengthy, and for awhile, the Girls seemed to be winning even though the Boys pummeled the fortress little by little. Their screams and laughter could be heard from inside the house.

I couldn’t help but smile and laugh as I watched kids being kids. Pure joy was embodied in that fragment of time when all was well with the world and the snowball fight was friendly. Eventually, the pre-mades ran out and the playing field was leveled. Both sides were trying to keep up with throwing snowballs until all of a sudden, one of my grandkids got physical, and suddenly they were wrestling in the snow like a couple of puppies! They were having a grand old time until one of the other girls decided to ‘help’ and slammed a double handful of snow in my grandson’s face. In a split second, he was up, his face red with what looked like rage. But it wasn’t. It was bitterly cold skin reacting to a lot of snow being thrown at it!

The saying, “It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt,” is so true. Bobby raced into the house, livid and in pain. I felt so bad for him, and I watched my daughter comfort him as best she could while not saying much. After she helped him with his snow-encrusted boots, coat, snow pants, and gloves, Bobby just sat. I mean, just sat. My daughter even mentioned that he looked as though he was shell shocked. I wonder what was going through his mind. Meanwhile, my son-in-law gave the word to the others that it was time to break it up for the day, and called my granddaughter–who didn’t know what had happened so abruptly so as to end the wrestling match–inside.

Everything had happened so fast, and it’s really only now–a day later–that I myself am processing the whole, short episode where things had gone from great to crap in an instant. I began to see it from a 10-year-old girl’s perspective: her friend needed her help, so she reacted! What seemed like a good idea at the time had turned out very badly. How many times do we ourselves do that? I know I do or say things without giving them any thought, and I regret my behavior afterwards. I think we all do that sometimes. Sometimes many times.

Today is Sunday, and we have family dinner together every week. Today it’s at our house. I think it might be a good idea for all of us to talk about what happened yesterday. The friend has since texted her apology, but I’m not sure Bobby’s forgiven her. This just might open the door to a good discussion topic: Forgiveness. Simply letting go. It isn’t saying that something is ok…it’s just letting it go. It frees up our minds to think about other things besides the wrong we think has been done to us. After all, ‘things’ are neither good nor bad; they just are.

Grand-parenting is almost like a second chance to do ‘parenting’ the right away, only it’s actually guidance this time around. And, among the many things I’ve learned as I meander on my journey through Life is that resentments are apt to eat us alive. Best to let it go and move on. Today’s another day!

To err is human; to forgive, divine. Alexander Pope

All Set for a Great Year!

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Just a hint of what's to come

Just a hint of what’s to come

The new year is still very young, and already some very auspicious things are happening in my world. My kids’ crowd-funding campaign exceeded its goal by nearly $5,000 (and it was our community’s first-ever successful Kickstarter program!), so their dream of establishing the premier microbrewery in Hopkinsville is coming to fruition. Over the holidays and for nearly three weeks I got to be a “winter Texan,” which stoked both my passion for travel and my dream to be a snowbird every winter. And my resolve to call at least one person a day is snowballing in ways I could not have imagined. So, if the first three weeks of the year are any indication of what is to come, I’m in for a wild ride!

Our reservations at the RV resort in Rockport, Texas began on December 20th so we left home on the 17th, well before holiday travel started in earnest. The timing could not have been better. The kids’ nerve-wracking 30-day Kickstarter campaign began immediately after Thanksgiving dinner (they had just purchased the building the day before) and ended around four o’clock in the afternoon on Christmas Day. Imagine the holiday season at their house! Suffice it to say that I empathized with my grandkids, who had to live with two adults who were on a daily roller coaster ride of emotions, one day certain that everything was going great, and the next day certain that things were going to hell in a hand-basket.

Removing ourselves from their immediate world (five houses separate us) left us feeling a tiny (very tiny) bit guilty, but it all worked out. Sometimes the kids stayed by themselves (they’re 9 and 7, so it’s time they learned to do that) and sometimes either Kate or Steve had to tend to business matters without the other. The bottom line is that all of them worked together as a team, missed us greatly, and seem to appreciate us a little more than they did previously, which already was quite a lot.

Seeing them doing what they’re doing makes me very proud. The community has embraced them, and they’ve even received several ‘thank you’ messages from people they don’t know who are grateful for what they’re bringing to Hopkinsville, a city that’s been in need of reasons to make people want to live and raise their families here–especially those who’ve gone away to school and experienced trendy college towns. It certainly seems like a win-win situation, and those are always the best. Watch them grow! http://hopkinsvillebrewingcompany.com

HBC - The Vision

HBC – The Vision

Our home-away-from-home was Rockport, Texas, with which we were slightly acquainted. We had lived in a marina in nearby Port Aransas when Dave worked at Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. But that was in 1994, and a lot can change in 20+ years. It sure did in Port A, where we visited one day. Actually, we didn’t visit; save for poking around in a couple of shops in search of postcards, we drove through. It had been built up so much, the waterfront especially, though not opulently like Destin or Perdido Key. It still borders on quaint. Surprisingly, the A&P was still the only grocery store on the island. Driving past it triggered a flashback of a woman I had seen there so long ago, slowly pushing her shopping cart, lit cigarette dangling out of her mouth. I had not seen anything quite like that before, or since, thank God.

There are 2 ways to get to Port Aransas by car...the ferry is one.

There are 2 ways to get to Port Aransas by car…the ferry is one.

We circled back to Rockport by way of Mustang Island, South Padre Island, and Corpus Christi and didn’t leave Rockport again until it was time to head back north. The population is less than 9,000, and very laid back. Both the residents and the business owners were really friendly and seemed genuinely appreciative of the winter Texans, probably because of the uptick in the local economy that followed them. It was a welcome relief from some winter havens that would prefer that the snowbirds never come. I never could understand that attitude, especially as a waitress in Key West in 1980. Tourists were my bread and butter!

And they mean it, too!

And they mean it, too!

We took in as much of Rockport as we could in the time we were there, using the “51 Things To Do In Rockport” guide we’d gotten at the Visitor Information Center. Many of the attractions in Rockport are natural and therefore free: hiking trails, fishing, birding, and of course, the beach. But one day we splurged and went on a three-hour bird watching tour by boat ($80/per person) where we got up close to the winter breeding grounds of one of the rarest animal species in North America: whooping cranes.

The whooping crane is the tallest North American bird, averaging 4.9 feet. Photo taken at Bay Education Center.

The whooping crane is the tallest North American bird, averaging 4.9 feet. Photo taken at Bay Education Center.

Roseate spoonbills, cormorants, herons, egrets, pelicans and other coastal birds mingled and perched wherever they could: in marshes, on sandbars, in trees, on islands, on wooden pilings. The boat captain was competent at boat handling in the shallow water as well as birding, and that made the trip a good one.

Most days were filled exploring, and we even made progress on the never-ending RV to-do list. All in all, it was a very informative reconnaissance trip. We’ve been dreaming of heading south EVERY winter, and we think we might have found the ideal destination.

Something I get a kick out of is how PASSIONATE Texans are about Texas! It’s really kind of cool to see the clever ways in which the state’s shape is weaved into daily sights.

When it came time to go home, we didn’t want to. That’s always the sign of a good trip. We took our time, ate as much Cajun food for as long as we could, and even took a little side trip on the way home, New Orleans. We’ve been to the French Quarter a few times, but never on a Saturday when streets are blocked off and street performers of every sort hawk their talents in the hopes of earning money or even better, being discovered!

My experiment of calling at least one person every day (which I blogged about previously) is getting easier and easier and is yielding some very unexpected bonuses! I’m getting over the fear of making small talk, strengthening old relationships, discovering commonalities with acquaintances, and learning so much about my friends! I have even received a few “Hey, how you doing?” calls myself, and it’s a great feeling to know someone cared enough about me to call and inquire.

As irritating as it is to see people glued to their cell phones, I have faith in humanity and trust that we aren’t destined to become a world of techno-jerks ridiculously tethered to electronic devices. I am inclined to think that my experiment in communication is going to evolve into much more than just idle chitchat. It’s going to be beneficial somehow…and to think that it all started with the casual comment, “People just don’t talk anymore.” Whatever direction this journey takes will be interesting, and I’m open to however it unfolds since I’ve placed myself smack dab in the middle of it all. Yup…it’s going to be quite a ride!

Sunrise over Rockport

Sunrise over Rockport

My Plan for the New Year

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Over dinner a few weeks ago, our daughter and son-in-law commiserated about having to replace his cell phone which had been accidentally dropped and had broken as a result. It wasn’t so much the cost of a replacement that bothered them as much as its size; it was too big to fit into a back pocket. Why, I questioned, and was told that ‘people just don’t talk anymore,’ and connect by text or social media instead.

That’s crazy, I thought. But I really shouldn’t be surprised. After all, writing letters or thank you notes is all but a lost art. Heck, so is cursive handwriting, for that matter. I remember when an entire class was dedicated to penmanship, or at least it was in Catholic grade schools. And as a writer and editor, I cannot even begin to adequately express my disgust and disappointment about how texting has desecrated the English language, what with its acronyms and initialisms (i.e. LOL and BTW, respectively) and total disregard for spelling and correct grammar. Our world has become “all thumbs,” which literally does not bode well for the future.

But my point is not to go off on a tirade, not at all! The difference between me now at 61 and the me I was when I was younger is that I’ve finally realized that, try as I might, I cannot change people and I cannot change the world. It is what it is. But I can still do something that will make a difference, somehow, someway.

So, I’ve decided to call one person every day in 2016 and have a good, old-fashioned telephone conversation. I’ll document who I call and the gist of the conversation. It sounds like a simple exercise and it is, but it won’t be easy, and therefore I’m viewing it as more of a challenge. Previously I’ve challenged my self to things like half-marathons (which isn’t easy for someone who doesn’t run) and daily writing challenges, so I know there will be hurdles and slumps. Challenges stretch me out of my comfort zone, and even though I always go through a period of regret for having taken it on, eventually I accomplish the task…usually, anyway…and feel all the better for it.

The holiday season a couple of years ago was somewhat of a downer, so to pry my self off of the pity pot, I forced my self every day to take a photo of something for which I was grateful and ‘pin’ it on a Pinterest board I named, “365 days of gratitude, one day at a time.” Some were grand…like a breath-taking sunset. Others were ordinary…like discovering a roll of toilet paper underneath the sink when it was needed the most. In retrospect, I’m really glad for that experience; I discovered that I became so much more aware of the world around me.

At the very least, a phone call might make someone’s day. Even bigger, I think this experience will render insight into others that is unable to be had electronically. Time will tell.

Picture this…

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In order to carry a positive action we must develop here a positive vision. -Dalai Lama

Today is Day 13 of a 90-day experiment with my life wherein I choose to create my experiences by design rather than default. I can’t remember how I initially found out about Mary Morrissey’s Dream Builders program, but I’m so grateful I learned about it at this particular moment in time. I fully subscribe to the Law of Attraction, and the Infinite, God, my Higher Power, and the Universe knew the time was right to make it available. On the surface, the timing couldn’t be worse, what with my kids’ Hopkinsville Brewery Company in its early stages, combined with the holiday season and all its natural stress. But then again, maybe that is what makes the timing perfect.

After almost two years of dreaming, planning, writing a business plan, working the numbers, and doing lots of research, our daughter and son-in-law bought a building to house the brewery at 3:00 p.m. the day before Thanksgiving and, with fingers crossed, kicked off their one-month long Kickstarter crowd-funding project. Before the day even ended, my daughter’s anxiety was on the verge of reaching critical mass. All of a sudden, it seemed like their goal of $35,000 was too much, though every bit of it was needed for the brewery to open by whatever date they had in mind. The thoughts running through her mind were completely out of control.

What’s a mother to do?

Part of my 90-day experiment is trying to learn to re-frame my perception of situations, remembering that how I think of something can either empower me or, if I choose, disempower me. Two sides of the coin. So I decided to make a Vision Board for them to help them focus on the prize. Their goal. Their Brewery.

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I have been into the likes of Napoleon Hill, Tony Robbins, Jack Canfield and other teachers for more than thirty years, and Kate knows this. But I suspected that Steve would think that the vision board was all just a bunch of woo-woo. It didn’t matter. They needed help. Stat. I delivered it to them that very evening just as they were putting the kids to bed, and told them to prop it up where they’d see it all the time.

In a week’s time, they were showered with abundance in publicity (their story was featured on the front page of Monday’s Kentucky New Era, physical labor (friends who’ve offered to help them with gutting the interior of the building), AND 40% of their Kickstarter goal has been reached, with three full weeks yet to go. That would, by most measures, indicate that something was working and working pretty well. Go figure.

It takes awareness and effort, but challenging times can be viewed as a signal of growth, which is great! Asking ourselves ‘what steps can I take towards my goal’ (instead of ‘I’ll never reach my goal’) completely changes the energy from negative to positive, and all kinds of ideas can be created to help chase away the worry, doubt and fear that would probably prevail otherwise. Visual aids, like a vision board, can help us stay focused on our dreams. Try it. Try making this little shift in your thinking every day, and see where YOU are in a week’s time!

 

Help! Please please me.

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image“If you can’t explain it to a six year old, you don’t understand it yourself.” – Albert Einstein

Just when I thought I had a pretty good handle on this adventure called The Golden Years, I hit a snag. It appeared in the form of a Christmas present my husband received from our daughter ten years ago. I remember this, because Christmas 2005 happened just four months after we were wiped out by Katrina, a rather unforgettable personal milestone. She wanted to give him something special, something she knew he’d love: the 17-disc, boxed set collection, The Beatles.

I found it in the closet this past weekend, and it was like Christmas all over again! It was a dreary, dank day, perfect for cleaning the house, and I was excited at the discovery of these awesome tunes which would most certainly make doing the chores a lot more fun. But then the awful reality hit me: I had no way of playing these CDs!!! My enthusiasm skidded into a disappointing dead end.

In this era of iTunes-everything, the simple pleasure of listening to music has become so complicated. Our home’s audio-video set-up confounds me, and therefore is my husband’s realm. He vainly attempted to explain how I could listen to the CDs (if I really wanted to), but I didn’t want to “stream” anything through the computer. I just wanted to pop in a CD and enjoy The Beatles. How is it that we are surrounded by so many conveniences, and yet be stymied by the desire to do something so simple?

It was almost frightening how quickly I became a woman possessed. I was bound and determined to play these CDs even if I had to resort to playing them on my grandchildren’s boom box, which was upstairs in their room. When I couldn’t locate the power cord, the point of frustration hit its peak. As is my modus operandi, I had to remove myself from the situation (ok, escape) and decided to make a run to the grocery store for a few things. When I returned a short while later, I entered our home and heard the undeniable sound of the Fab Four, and profusely thanked my husband for making me so happy and ensuring his own sanity in the process. The saying, “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” is an absolute fact of life in our house.

Now that I’ve had a couple of days to reflect, I realize just how much I appreciate simple. Technology, of course, is wonderful, but at my age, I’m satisfied with knowing just enough to get by. Besides, I know I’ll get by with a little help from my friends. ?

It came to pass.

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Lately I’ve found myself in a cheerleader-sort-of-position with certain family members and at least three very close friends. They all are going through some very challenging times. They all are experiencing growth in one form or another. And they’re all stressed to the max.

I just feel so blessed that I can be of service.

For many years I’ve subscribed to a variety of daily emails that are empowering and really uplifting, and reading them every morning is how I start my day. It’s how I feed my head. Some people choose to start their day by reading the “news,” and knowledge of current events is fine. But one needs to know when to turn off CNN–constantly negative news. It’s a matter of choice: feed your head with positive thoughts, or feed it with negative thoughts. It really does matter.

Everyone knows what it’s like to go down the Internet rabbit hole, when curiousity leads to clicks on hyperlinks that takes us who-knows-where. Many times we learn about things that really resonate with us, justifying our ideas and attitudes and encouraging their growth all the more. That’s how my arsenal of resources has compounded over the years. The more I seek, the more I learn.

One of my most favorite resources is a weekly podcast called, “The Funniest Thing,” that I sometimes listen to when I walk my pups. It’s hosted by a couple of regular guys, Darrell and Ed, who share stories of how surrendering to divine order always leads to better than expected outcomes–like the cartoon character, Mister Magoo, who blindly steps from one swinging girder to another, always meeting with uncanny streams of luck. Last week’s episode mentioned a line often repeated in the Bible, “It came to pass,” in a way that was new to me: problems or situations or challenges do not come to stay. They come to teach an important lesson, and then they eventually pass. What a concept. What a relief!

Even if my friends and family members don’t believe that they’ll surmount their current challenge, I believe that they will. They all have what it takes to rise to the occasion. I know that inside each one of them is the potential of something absolutely wonderful ready to happen. And it will.

They’ll eventually figure it all out. After all, they’ll have to! And when they do, they will know the sweet satisfaction of getting past what seemed to be a huge, looming obstacle and the sense of accomplishment that comes with it. And I’ll be there on the sidelines, cheering them all along the way! I’m so excited for them all!

 

 

 

 

A lesson in letting go

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imageOne of the greatest discoveries a man makes…is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn’t do. -Henry Ford

As Biscuit and I walked along the greenway on Saturday, I unexpectedly confronted one of my biggest fears. It began with a chance encounter with a friendly, energetic, playful pug named Lucille and her human, a man named Troy. After a little small talk about the impending cold front and the rain it would bring later that day, Troy remarked, “Biscuit looks like she wants to play with Lucille,” and then suggested, “Why don’t you take off her leash?”

I froze.

Let my dog off the leash? That was a crazy idea. I couldn’t imagine Biscuit sticking around, but rather bolting, never to be seen again. I wondered if I’d ever catch up to her. What would I tell Dave? How could I explain that a complete stranger had convinced me to take off Biscuit’s leash? He loves that dog. My mind was off to the races, fabricating wild scenarios that all ended badly.

I could literally feel my anxiety level uncomfortably rise as I struggled with the idea of setting my pup free. I noticed, but couldn’t believe, how quickly this feeling was taking hold of me. The logic of fear actually being ‘false evidence appearing real’ completely eluded me.

As though he could sense my fear, Troy calmly stated, “She’s your dog. She’s not gonna leave you.” I knew in my heart he was right; we had rescued Biscuit more than seven years ago and I’d always heard that rescued dogs were eternally grateful and loyal.

With a lot of reservation and second-guessing myself all the way, I unclipped the leash from Biscuit’s collar. It was just as I suspected. She bolted, but not to the Never Never Land imagined in my mind. Instead, she raced after Lucille, doing that thing that dogs do, having a ball.

Before long, the wind picked up and the sky began to darken, signaling that it was time for Biscuit and me to start making our way back home. The initial excitement that fueled their play had waned a bit, and each was wandering around nearby, busily following her nose from one enticing scent to another. Troy said he’d walk with us a little way, and I was glad because he clearly had control of Lucille and I blindly trusted that Biscuit would follow her.

We ended up walking together for almost a mile, Biscuit off-leash until there was a street to cross. Several bicyclists rode past us on the trail, nearly all of them acknowledging both Lucille and Troy by name, confirming my gut feeling that this stranger was an OK-guy. Small talk had morphed into deeper conversation, and by the time we parted ways, I knew that this meeting was divinely appointed.

Since then, I’ve thought a lot about the tremendous lesson Troy taught me, and what happened when I just simply let go. The pure joy of freedom that naturally followed, both for Biscuit and me. The pride and satisfaction of clearing what had been a major hurdle between me and my dog. And the sincere gratitude I felt for someone who helped me face a real fear.

It’s truly amazing how much better things can be just one step outside our comfort zones. I have to remember that the next time fear tries to stop me.

Worth noticing.

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Photo by Maeby

Photo by Maeby

Your inner state is what matters. The circumstances will pass. Be filled with an attitude of gratitude. -Mary Morrissey

A big part of my daily routine that I absolutely love and anticipate is taking my pups for a morning walk. We–meaning Victor, the 10-pound chihuahua with an attitude, and Biscuit, the 50-pound, happy-go-lucky mutt and I–walk downtown and back nearly every day either on nice, wide sidewalks or the relatively new greenway. It’s a blessing to have two safe options. Either way, it’s a round-trip distance of about three miles.

Usually we’re accompanied by my daughter and her beagle, Peanut, and our conversation fills up the time, but they didn’t go yesterday. The little bit of “morning rush hour” traffic that there is in Hopkinsville had already died down by the time the pups and I started out shortly after 8 a.m. I had my phone and could have listened to a podcast or tunes, but I chose to walk in the relative silence. Something I’m working towards improving is ‘paying attention.’ Or mindfulness. Or awareness. Or being present. Whatever it is, it’s a rather ambitious undertaking for someone who has always had ADHD.

For some reason along the way, the lyrics to the Beatles’ song, Help! leaped into my head.  It was so pronounced, almost startling. I hadn’t been thinking about the Beatles, or really anything in particular. So for the lyrics to jump right out at me whilst walking along Main Street was more than just a little noticeable.  As a recovering alcoholic, the simplicity of the words that were delicately woven into an utter cry for help hit me hard. I could so relate.

The seeming randomness of this doesn’t surprise me. After all, the Universe naturally supports our efforts, whether they’re noble or not, whether they’re voiced or not. And when I gave it some thought, I realized that helping others really had been a predominant theme in my life for the past few weeks.

What’s really amazing and almost unbelievable are the number of quality, supportive resources that have begun to flow my way lately in the form of long phone conversations and uplifting emails from friends, as well as videos, e-books, and webinars–mostly free with the only costs being time and commitment. It’s as though all kinds of Help! are flowing my way at just the right time.

As good as helping and giving to others makes me feel, I need to remember the importance of being able to recognize when my self needs help, and then asking for it. We “givers” have a tendency to give to others with generous abandon–not realizing that our own self needs nourishment from time to time. I am forever grateful for this wake-up call. Has reading this been one for you?

 

 

Live and learn.

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 Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received.–1 Peter 4:10

 Anyone who really knows me is probably stunned that I’d choose a verse from holy scripture to blog about, and honestly, I am, too. After all, we Catholics grow up reading the church bulletin, not the Bible. Upon awakening at what has become the norm–anywhere between 3:50 -4:45 a.m.–I haven’t a clue as to what I’ll write about that day; I just know that something will present itself. And so, when I read this quote at the end of one of my morning readings, I felt as though I’d just experienced one of the greatest ah-ha moments in my life. And I’m not being over-dramatic; I’m being sincere.

One thing for which I’m really grateful is the relationship I have with my one and only nephew. The bond is remarkable, given the fact that we have always lived far apart from each other. By the time he was born in 1980, I had already made my exit from St. Louis, where my mother’s family has deep roots, and he left there soon after graduating from college. We are two of the few outliers, since the majority of the Stolarski-side side of the family still lives in St. Louis and always will. 

I credit my father for the adventurous spirit my nephew and I not only share, but embrace. Orphaned by the age of five and raised by various and sundry family members, my dad became an unlikely world traveler. As a pre-teen in the 1920’s, he tagged along with his brother and cousin from his home in the Philippines to Hawaii, and when he was old enough, he joined the Merchant Marines. He went to faraway places like Auckland, New Zealand–a place I only dream of visiting someday–and had an album full of photographs taken with “friends” that always made me consider my dad quite the ladies’ man. Before mom, of course.

So it’s this clash of values–the need for security, versus the need for change–that can create uncomfortable challenges in an outlier’s world from time to time. I sensed this when my nephew and I spoke yesterday. He is at that age–mid-30’s–where he’s going through one of life’s biggest growth spurts…the desire to do something different, yet not knowing what that might be. Having a passion to do one thing but having to consider things like health insurance and retirement in the mix.  

His dreams include experiencing what’s like to live on the beach, as well as a small town, both of which are worlds apart from Brooklyn. When he told me that, I thought to myself, “Hmm. That’s interesting. I’ve done that.” I’ve lived in Newton, Alabama (population 1,500) as well as Pensacola Beach and each happened as a result of a tiny thought. It really is true that whatever we dream, we can achieve. Something we outliers cannot do–and must not do–is “settle.” That’s just not in our nature. I could sense him trying hard to construct a bridge from what he’s able to do (that the college degree says he can) to his dreams. He’ll eventually figure out ‘the how,’ but until then, his journey will include finding out a whole lot about himself. But that’s how growth happens. 

Most people settle for a less than thrilling life, not realzing that a happy and fulfilled one is possible; if only they’d listen to their hearts. Our hearts truly do sing with joy when we’re doing what comes naturally! Heaven knows the torture we’ve put ourselves through, taking on tasks/jobs that we thought we should do or ought to do that just didn’t fit. And, though he probably didn’t want to hear it, I felt obliged to tell my nephew that he’ll have this growth spurt again and again as he goes through life. We just have to pay attention, and like the Bible verse instructs, serve with whatever gifts we’ve received. Naturally. Without regret.