Fathers and Forgiveness

Recently, I heard Ira Glass, who publishes This American Life on National Public Radio, speak at an auditorium in Fort Collins, Colorado. He talked about why the stories he tells are so compelling and move millions of people. In the Q-and-A portion at the end, a woman suggested a story on estranged parents. She estimated that half of the people in the room were currently or had been estranged from at least one parent and wanted to talk about why that was and how it could be remedied, if at all.

Her take was that she wanted to tell her dad what he had done to hurt her so much. Ira wasn't sure about the story, whether it would have enough of an element of surprise to make the cut. As Lacy spoke about her experience, I started to cry. It touched a soft spot, as I had just reconciled with my dad after nine years of silence.

My dad divorced my mom when I was 30 years old and my sister was 17. His inability to have a relationship with me after that, or so I interpreted his behavior, had huge ramifications on my own marriage and my ideas about men in general. I tried to create a new and different relationship with my dad, but it seemed I couldn't connect no matter what I tried. I gave up. He gave up. We stopped speaking.

My sister, who is one of my best friends, continued to have a relationship with my dad throughout the years, mostly through sheer force of will. Over time, she built a friendship not only with him, but with his second wife and my now four-year-old baby brother. I stayed in the loop that way, but was somehow comfortable with the idea that I would never see my dad again.

As my sister earned her Master's degree in psychology, she started to see things in my dad that neither she nor I had seen before. Good things. Great things, even: open-mindedness, kindness, vulnerability. He went through his own trials, including suffering with polymyalgia and losing his job. I could relate--I had dealt with my own health issues and had lost my job four years earlier. I listened to everything she had to say about him with rapt attention.

Last year, my husband left our 20-year partnership. Through several transformational events, including months of weekly psychotherapy, regular yoga practice, bicycling like mad, and meditation, I was born anew. In the difficult process of extracting my life from my husband's--physically, emotionally, intellectually, financially, and spiritually--I learned a beautiful, quiet kind of acceptance of my life and everything in it. I sold my house, moved to an apartment, and began a new career by enrolling in a non-denominational ministry program.

I went from control freak to live-and-let-live, from CPA and business consultant to energy healer. I started dating and was amazed by the big, big world out there. I even befriended my ex-husband. Life was flexible. Life was good. It was time to talk to my dad again.

One sunny Sunday morning this October, I called and asked if it was OK to go up to my dad's house in the mountains to see him and his family that day. On the drive up, I felt completely centered and at peace. I wasn't tied to any particular outcome and was content knowing that I was taking this step toward reconciliation.

Happily, the reunion was a success. I felt welcomed, loved, and loving. No one had any need to talk about blame or hurt or fault. We were all just so glad to see one another, and there were hugs all around. Champagne toasts, lots of catching up, and dinner followed. I gave my baby brother a goodnight hug. On the way home, I stopped at the top of the pass, in the complete darkness, to wonder at the sheer brilliance of millions of stars. I couldn't have been any happier at that moment.

So I wonder, how did holding on to that hurt and blame for all those years serve my highest and best good? How did my dad's fear of conflict serve him? Does it take tragedy in our own lives to learn compassion for others? Does the forgiveness process have to take years of our lives, or is there a spark that we can somehow use to light the flame in others' hearts that allows them to let go and love those who love them?

Thankful

The last few months have brought a lot of heartache and pain, and also wonderful gifts, learning, and personal growth. As the season changed to fall, I faced many new firsts in the year of firsts without my partner: my birthday, first rain, first snow, first bitter cold day, and of course, the first Thanksgiving. I wondered how I would feel on the holiday, and of course I welcomed back into my heart three of my friends: sadness, and joy, and gratitude.

If there's anything I've learned in the last five months, it's that nothing is black and white. Nothing happens when and how you think it will, so you might as well just relax, have fun, and go along for the ride. I am grateful for the people who have helped me learn those lessons, even when it hurt.

I am also grateful for:

CorePower Yoga and all of the teachers there, especially Maya, Amy Mc, Linda Lou, and Kate; without knowing it, you helped me get through a crisis and then made me a stronger person

My bike, which has taken me on hundreds of miles of paths this summer and given me an outlet for all of my grief and frustration, and also my joyful energy

My sister Lindsey, who will, when she rides with me, ring her bell in the tunnels and yell "Wheeeeee!" on the way down the hills just for the pure fun of it

Emily, who just gets me and is there for me no matter what; her strength and ability to give are bottomless

Heather, Jennifer, Linda, Pam, Erik, Kate, Dan P, Amy, Dru, Tammy, my mom, and Laurie for everything they did to get me this far along in this process, including laughing, packing, moving, unpacking, eating, hanging up stuff in the new place, listening, and talking

Jean Oliphant of Nostalgic Homes, who happens to be my aunt, for her patience during the sale of my house

My therapist Chris, who holds the mirror up without judgment and expertly guides me along this journey of self-exploration, constant change, and growth

The abundance of healthy food that has kept my body fueled

All of the music that has been my constant companion, from country to hip hop to classical to pop to indie rock; the long tail that makes so much music available to us so instantly has been a boon to me

The gift of meditation that led me to my first sustained meeting with a higher power

The executive director and board and committee members of Smart-Girl, who took up the slack when I couldn't be present

My mentee Consuelo, who is a beautiful spirit with a heart of gold and a smile that blinds me with its brilliance

An old car that's paid off and runs, most of the time, without a hitch

My apartment, which is cozy and inviting and doesn't require maintenance

There is more, but I'm thinking this is pretty darn good list. My friends--sadness, joy, and gratitude--think so, too.

Divorce FAQs: How to Talk to Your Friends Who Are Going Through a Breakup

I've had my fair share of loss: my job, my dog, three grandparents, two uncles, my dad in the process of his divorce from my mother, friends who didn't want to be friends anymore, and my money. Of course I've learned wondrous life lessons from all of it and have grown tremendously as a human being. Loss has made me more appreciative of what I do have, including an extensive support system of family and friends, a lovely home, and relative stability in tough economic times.

Divorce is by far the biggest loss of them all. I've lost my constant companion--the person who was my best friend for 20 years--and my money (again). I will lose the home and garden I lovingly created and tended for ten years. The list goes on.

Even in the midst of my pain and grief, though, I can see the beauty in life and my fellow travelers. And it is in this spirit that I offer a few words of loving advice to those who are watching a friend or family member go through a divorce or breakup. These are the divorce FAQs, and I hope they help you support that special person in your life who is suffering.

1. What should I say to someone going through a divorce? I don't know the right words.

For anyone who is suffering with grief and loss, the most appropriate words are some version of, "This must be so hard for you." Other options along the same vein:

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I can't understand what you're going through, but I know you must be hurting."

"I love you so much. I am here for you."

Really, these few little words mean the whole world to your friend. You don't need to say anything other than that.

2. How can I fix it? I feel like I need to offer solutions.

You can't fix it. No one can. If it was fixable, your friend would have fixed it. The person in pain has likely already thought through all of his or her options and must do what seems right in the moment. Support those choices; try your hardest not to question them. Your questions are probably more about you and your curiosity and your need to fix than about helping the person.

Some examples of questions and statements that may cause pain:

"Did you try going to counseling?"

"Did s/he have an affair?"

"You know, you really need to work to understand your part in this."

"You could keep the house/car/kids/furnishings if you would just..."

"Did you do everything you could to save the marriage?"

"I can't believe you can even talk to him/her."

"Why aren't you getting an attorney?"

Remember: even if you've been divorced, you have no idea what it's like to go through this divorce, so your questions and proclamations may sound more like judgments. And do the answers matter anyway? Will they make you love your friend any more or any less?

3. What can I do to make the person feel better? I need to do something.

The best way to help the person is to tell him/her exactly what you can do to help. Offers of any kind of help ("Just tell me what to do.") seem empty, and the person doesn't really know what to do with them. What's more helpful:

"I have a truck, and I'm willing to help you load it up and take things to charity or storage on the weekends."

"I can sit and keep you company for a couple of hours on Monday or Wednesday nights."

"I'd love to walk/ride bikes/go to Zumba class with you. Could we plan to do that every couple of weeks?"

"I'd like to bring you some healthy food you can heat up and eat for a few meals."

In other words, be specific, and be genuine. You may overwhelmed by your friend's grief and unable to offer help. That's OK, too. See FAQ #1.

If you're willing to help, keep offering. It's hard for people in our society to ask for or accept help, and it may take a few times for the person to feel comfortable taking you up on your offer. One-time offers may be forgotten or not taken seriously, so keep it up.

4. Why is s/he still sad? It's been a while since it happened.

"A while" is a relative term when someone is experiencing grief and loss. Grief is a nonlinear process, meaning it does not follow a certain path. Each person grieves in a different way, and for a different amount of time. And even when the person seems to be "over it," s/he may experience a sense of extreme loss months or years later. This may show up as sadness, or anger, or depression.

Your friend may be really happy one day and despondent the next. Be patient. Be kind. Be loving. This is a really hard thing for your friend to go through, and the process doesn't just end one day. Some words to use to help normalize your friend's feelings:

"Sometimes grief can really take you by surprise."

"I'm so sorry that day/season/experience/anniversary was a trigger for your grief. It's totally understandable."

Your friend needs your love and support right after the breakup and for the weeks and months that follow. S/he will be suffering in unpredictable ways for an unpredictable amount of time, so reach out when you can just to ask how things are going. You're busy with your own life, and your friend understands that, but when you check in by emailing, calling, or sending a card, it means more than you'll ever know.

In the Thick of Things

Seth Godin posted on his blog today about the world of possibilities in relation to a hiker called Wolf who carries 14 pounds of weight on his treks. For you non-hiking, non-camping people out there, 14 pounds is sort of like the four-minute mile: theoretically impossible, but somehow achievable by the elite few.

In the the story Godin referred to, the McDuffy couple was inspired by Wolf. Each time the McDuffy couple returned from their hikes, they gave away more of their stuff, including a boat, pickup, and windsurfer. Ultimately, they stopped paying for insurance on their home and belongings because they knew that they could live, "...in a much smaller house with drastically fewer possessions."

Having just renegotiated my homeowners' insurance and purchased an umbrella policy to further protect all of my things, this story struck a chord with me. Just how much stuff does one person need to survive? How much food, how much furniture, how many cars, how many toys? I probably spend more money on flowers to make my deck pretty each spring than some families spend on food in two months. Then I water those flowers three or four or five times a week, and they die at the end of the season.

In mouse type at the bottom of the article, it says that both of the McDuffys were killed in hit-and-run accidents (two separate accidents two years apart) while riding their bikes. It struck me how unjust that was--they were doing a fantastic job figuring out the whole life thing, and then they were taken from it. But then I realized that they had probably learned all they needed to in this world and were ready to move on to another plane of existence.

My umbrella insurance policy and I are nowhere near that plane, but I am inspired. I am thinking.

An Eye for an Eye

Driving through a neighborhood last week with my sister, not too far from my house, she pointed out a bumper sticker that says, "Hatred of homosexuals is a family value." I'd like to make a bumper sticker that says, "Hate is not one of my family values."

Talking with a neighbor a couple of months ago, I learned that some neighbors were very vocal about "those people" (Latinos) moving into a house down the street. "Those people" volunteered to help us move our mountain of mulch just to be nice, by the way.

In a meeting with a few faculty members at DU, one person talked about how she cried her way through her PhD program. It's where she experienced full-fledged "body hatred" by others (the PhD students in the program) for the first time.

I am in support of the first amendment. I acknowledge that everyone is at a different point on a continuum of experience and awareness. I try to meet people where they are, and I expect them to meet me where I am.

But where's the love, for cryin' out loud? Where's the understanding, the patience, and the caring? Where's our humanity? Are we so wrapped up in ourselves and our own problems that we have not an ounce of compassion left over for anyone else? I wonder how to stop the cycle, and two of Gandhi's teachings come to mind:

An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.

We must become the change we want to see in the world.

And to that I say YES!

The Power of Positive Thinking

A story called "Emotional Training Helps Kids Fight Depression" aired this morning on National Public Radio. The story opens with an adult man talking about how he's lived with negative self-talk his whole life. After years of cognitive behavioral therapy, he finally replaced the self-flagellation with talk of, "I'll be able to do it better next time."

The interviewer moves to a class full of 10-year-old kids, where the teacher is trying to teach them emotional resilience skills so that they don't spend a lifetime telling themselves they're not good enough. Good enough for what? For whom? Why do we kill the joy in children so early? Programs like Smart-Girl try to mitigate the effects of this social training, but how much permanent change can we effect when the problem is so big? Why, as a society, are we stuck in this endless loop of unfulfilled unhappiness?

Sometimes (and I wish there were more of those times), I feel so connected to the universal consciousness that I float free, blissfully unshackled from the tape in my head. In those moments, I see and know and feel everything and am at peace with it all. The moments don't last long, but I know from conversations with others that I'm lucky to have them at all. Oh, to capture the complex path of neural connections that happens in those moments and be able to repeat them, on command. Maybe scientists should focus on THAT task instead of curing all of the diseases we develop because of stress and constant worry.

But I do my part by being involved with Smart-Girl, curtailing my own recording, and demonstrating for my mentee Consuelo that setbacks are temporary and not to be taken personally. We shall overcome.

Tasty Humble Pie

Many different clients use my writing, editing, and business consulting services. There's one I correspond with solely via email, and she's a "get 'er done" person, just like me. We fire off opinions, questions, answers, and info without regard for niceties or a "How was your weekend?" and everything is just peachy. We get a lot done in a short amount of time, sometimes at midnight.

Another client requires quite a bit of finessing. I spend time choosing words carefully so as not to offend his sensibilities. Another client was a friend and colleague before she was ever a client, and I know that our relationship will survive any storm. It's nice to know that, with her, I can be completely me and never have to worry that I'm being judged harshly.

And there are others--all completely different from one another. The work is different, too, as are the lessons that the work and the clients teach me. I love it all! But there is one client... We don't do a lot of work together, and we haven't known each other all that long. Her belief system, her experiences, and her personality are quite different than mine, yet we are connected at a profoundly deep level. She was the first to call me a "writing coach." Not editor, not ghost writer, not teacher, but writing coach. She likes what I do because I preserve her voice rather than editing it all out to be perfectly correct and precise.

And then, in response to an email I sent with appreciation for the positive words she sends to her followers, she said, "I thank God for you." Now that's something you don't hear every day. I've had people say they pray for me, and believe me, I welcome their prayers. I welcome all positive energy put out into the universal consciousness on my behalf. But to have someone thank God for me? I'm humbled. I'm grateful. I'm in awe of the light and grace that flow from her.

There's a reason I've been in this "transition" period for a while. Oh, I could blame the economy. I could blame the flood of wonderful, qualified applicants I'm in competition with. But really, I think I was meant to learn these lessons. To know that I can connect with such vastly different people on a meaningful level. To know that my work means something in the wide world. To know that I have changed others' lives and they have changed mine. It just doesn't get any better than that.

Slice of Life

All kinds of people come into my mom's shop, On-The-Block Auction, where I work on Wednesdays. They want to know if my mom can sell their stuff on eBay and get them some cash: young people, old people, having-a-midlife-crisis people. Poor people scraping together a few bucks to pay bills or buy food, lots of people who have lost their jobs and are selling their treasures, and uber wealthy people who have closets or houses full of thousand-dollar luggage and handbags they've used three times. People of all colors and ethnicities, and people from other countries who have made their homes here. Hustlers and honest folk, and you never can tell who's who at first glance.

The cameo appearances these people make in my life can be enervating, amusing, invigorating, or haunting. I learn so much about them in the few minutes that our lives intersect. Sometimes they pour their hearts out as soon as they walk in; sometimes all it takes is a genuine, "How ya doin'?" and the words just come tumbling out. My mom often cries. She's got a big heart. "They all get to me," she says in response to my comment about her feeling sorry for someone in particular.

Yesterday a beautiful, tall man about my age walks in with two boxes of comic books that he and his dad collected over many years. He's selling everything that doesn't fit in a suitcase and moving to New York to start a new life. "What's in New York?" I ask, making conversation while I look up his comics, trying to get him to flash his lovely smile. "I'm going to do music there." "Cool," I say, "I bet that's freeing." "I feel free," he says. But he doesn't smile. He's still getting used to it, the free feeling. I'm a little jealous, but mostly just happy for him.

An older, short, stout lady comes in and asks about her collection of ugly porcelain birds that her son's wife's parents gave her. She hates them and is ready to sell them for some cash because she just lost her job as a hiring assistant at Macy's. "I'm 72. Who's going to hire me to do anything?" We commiserate about lost jobs and discrimination in hiring. I tell her to look into working for nonprofits and give her a lead on a job board. I'm sad for her, but I don't think about it for very long. My empathy for those who have lost their jobs is great, but I have to put a stopper on the sadness, or it would be endless.

While I'm helping someone else, a very petite young man comes in to pick up his check. He's been in before. I smile at him and greet him, and he gives me a big happy look. He always seems to be in a fabulous mood when he comes in, all chatty and smiles. But he's got a little problem. He calls the shop too much, sometimes five times in five minutes. That's when I shut the ringers off. OCD, I think. "Is he worth it?" I ask my mom. He brings in piles of new designer clothes that he's never worn, so yes. "You've got to find out what he does for a living," I say, being nosy. She gets the story: laid off from his job as an accountant at Denver Public Schools. How did he afford $1,000 jackets? "Family money," we agree.

Eddie the hustler comes in to pick up his check, and he talks to mom for quite a while about a pair of Leica binoculars he's brought in that could sell for $500. His little brother is tagging along, learning the business. "What other options do we give those kids?" mom asks after they leave. "Hustling is much better than dealing drugs," I say. She nods her head in agreement, and we let the moment pass.

I finish the photographs of 17 more batches of vintage paper dolls that a guy brought in a few weeks ago. His mom died, and he brought in her lifetime collection of stuff to sell. It holds absolutely no sentimental value for him and wants it o-u-t of the house.

A day at the shop. We are sad and happy, open and guarded, forgiving and judgmental. We must be careful with our hearts and theirs.

Trying to Be Zen

My friend Emily suggested that I don't have to be thoughtful and profound every time I write in my blog, that it's really more about letting people see a little slice of your life. So I thought I'd write about a typical day, because this is like no other time in my life. I have no office to go to, so I've made myself as much of a routine as possible:

Get up. Brush my teeth. Put on my most comfortable but still acceptable for being seen outside clothes (hmmm... are jammie pants OK?). Feed the dog. Make coffee. Take the dog out. I'm not really thinking about a whole lot at this point, as you know if you've ever seen me before 9:00 in the morning. I was up until 1:00 AM last night catching up on emails and doing some work. I am not a morning person. I have tried. It doesn't work. I am flying high long after most of you go to bed, so try not to judge.

Power up the computer, which I have now set up to automatically start Firefox and Pandora. Only the music I like starts playing: jazz (real jazz, not the smooth, Kenny G kind), classical, blues, a little Jimi Hendrix. Nice. Now, pick a beautiful mug. Pour coffee. Sip coffee. Aaaaaaaaahhhh. Starting to feel awake. Tomas settles into his place with me on my office chair. He has no shame.


Check emails to see if anything urgent needs to be attended to. Good, no craziness this morning. Take my time slogging through morning emails. You know, the ones everyone sent two hours ago. I hope they weren't expecting a response before now. Take the dog out.

If it's Wednesday, I start thinking about packing my lunch and the dog's accoutrement to take to work at my mom's shop. On other days, I might have a morning appointment or teleconference to prepare for, but generally not before 10:00. Learned that lesson the hard way.

Make calls or send emails to stay in touch with my network or generate leads for new business. Write correspondence. Do research for interviews or networking meetings. I'm in the groove now, and I'm thinking about how much work I can get done today and what my priorities are.

Lindsey might come over so we can walk together. Throw the dog's Dino Cuz ball a few hundred times to try and keep his mind occupied (aforementioned walk most definitely does NOT wear him out, no matter how far we go). Take him out. Shower. Spend the afternoon doing project work for clients. Make notes about the follow-up I need to do from phone calls or meetings from yesterday or this morning.

Take time out to deal with emails, teleconferences, and phone calls for Smart-Girl, my volunteer gig. Plan my next outing with Consuelo, my mentee--my other volunteer gig.


Take the dog out. Fix dinner, usually something simple and healthy involving meat and a green vegetable. Look forward to spending a little decompression time with my sweetie. In the evening, run errands, or once in a while watch a movie (no TV for over a year now). Gary takes over the dog duties for the evening. Settle in for another few hours of work. Tomas gets comfortable on Gary's chair. Did I mention that he has no shame?


Think about who I can call for a favor so that I've got an edge against the other hundred qualified candidates who applied for that job. Figure out how I can generate new business. Apply for jobs. Process evening emails. Plan ways to improve the class I teach at DU. Bid G goodnight when he goes to bed at about 11:00. At 12:30 or 1:00, take take the dog out, read for a half hour, and hit the hay.

On the weekends, throw in a few hours of working in the garden, listing jewelry on Etsy, making jewelry if I can squeeze it in, chores, once in a while dinner with friends, and errands.


Minimize the negative thoughts, worry, and fear. Meditate on how much I love my friends and family, and how beautiful the world is. Listen to the birds. Watch my garden grow. Admire how the light changes as the day wears on.


This is my life. It's both more simple and more chaotic than ever before. I choose to be happy.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

As my partner and I plot how to earn enough income to stay afloat, we've learned to tap into our network in new ways. I asked my cousin, who's a pretty big wig at a university here in town, to give me some advice about getting new teaching gigs. I'm awfully excited about the nonprofit financial management and intro to fundraising class I teach at DU, and I wanted to figure out how to approach others in the college and university system in a way that would at least get me in the door.

In the nicest way, he said that it was pretty much a fool's errand to go chasing after new teaching gigs. The curriculum is already jampacked, my class would have to be an elective and they wouldn't be likely to add it, etc. Being the pragmatist that I am, I moved on to other things--no sense in wasting energy where the payoff will be small or nonexistent.

At a Women'sVision Foundation event last week, I ran into someone who is working on her Master's thesis at the Women's College at DU. We chatted for a few minutes, I asked a couple of pointed questions, and she recommended that I contact the Women's College to see if they might be interested in my topic areas. The next day, I figured what the heck, what would it would cost me other than a few minutes of time? I emailed the dean, and within an hour I had a response from one of their reps, who scheduled a meeting to talk with me.

The moral of this story? I need to follow my own advice--the advice I give other women: If you don't ask, you don't get.

In Honor of Valentine's Day

"By day the blue will pale down into white where it touches the white of the land, after sunset it has a new circumference--orange, melting upwards into tenderest purple."
-E.M. Forster, A Passage to India

My heart beats faster when I read that sentence. But it wasn't always so. My personality style is ESTJ, which means my natural tendency is to think first and feel later, and to think about facts first and people second. But the stars aligned a few years ago and brought two women into my life who changed me forever: Elizabeth, who shared her art and her big heart with me, and Linda, who was forever asking me crazy-making questions like, "Do you think that will get you what you want?"

I dedicate this quote to you, because I don't know if I could have recognized the beauty in it without you. Though we don't work together anymore and see each other not nearly as often as I would like, you are in my thoughts and in my heart. Love to you and every one of my dear valentines...

Lessons in Collectivism

Mentoring someone from a different culture has been quite a lesson in humility. I thought I understood privilege, but I still get taken off guard when my assumptions come back to kick me in the teeth. I've noticed it the most with my ideas around giving and possessions. When I give someone a gift, I expect that it will remain the property of the person I gave it to and that the person will treasure it as a token of my esteem and affection. Not necessarily so.

Look, I understand regifting and giving stuff to the thrift store if you hate it, if you really hate it, or it doesn't fit or something. For years, my grandma gave me frou-frou sweaters that were two sizes too small for me. Wishful thinking on her part--that I liked teddy bears and sequins on my clothes and that I would somehow magically be thin. So those went to Goodwill. But having your sister or your mom or your grandma just take the gift that was given to you and do with it what she pleases is absolutely foreign to me.

And I guess that's the essence of cultural misunderstanding and privilege, isn't it? I judge that behavior, and I want to intervene. My big-sister protective gene kicks in. Who takes a little kid's stuff anyway?

My sister Lindsey, wise person and counselor-in-training that she is, says, "They're collectivists." Of COURSE! How did I miss this? Me, who believes that socialist medicine can peacefully co-exist with capitalism. But my training is so strong, and my individualism so carefully maintained, that I needed someone with a different perspective to point out the flaw in my thinking. My mentee's mom had hinted that I was spoiling her daughter--apparently taking her to free craft classes, giving her a pumpkin at Halloween, and going out for chicken at Boston Market is a big deal. And giving her things? I think somehow that doesn't fit with their idea of what a mentor should be and do.

So I'm adjusting my thinking. Gifts should be for the whole family. Everything is considered community property. The pumpkin was turned into food rather than the jack-o-lantern I expected. A necklace that little one made with my expensive vintage beads was broken on the first day, and the beads were lost. A birthday gift card was appropriated. And this family gave up a whole room for a relative and his kids to live in for several months until he can move back to his country of origin. They took in a third dog and fostered him until they could find him a home. They eat dinner together around a big table in the kitchen.

I have much to learn.

Change Has Come to America

As I write this, I am listening again to Barack Obama's presidential acceptance speech. And I am crying, again. This man moves me. He moved America. He represents hope--for Americans, but also for the rest of the world, which has been watching this race so closely and with bated breath.

But it's not just his philosophy of inclusion or his motivational way of speaking or his politics that move me to tears. I simply didn't think that America had grown up enough to see past skin color or gender, nor did I believe it would happen in my lifetime. But clearly this baby is moving out of the "terrible twos" and learning to say more than "No!"

I have never in my life been as happy to say that I was wrong. I am so proud of us I feel like my heart will burst.

People Do Change

(photo courtesy of www.freefoto.com)

Last year for our anniversary, I gave Gary a year's worth of quotes in a jar. I spent many hours looking for perfect quotes, printing them out in beautiful fonts, then making each one a unique piece of art using paper, stamps, pens, ribbon, and stickers. The quotes were by people Gary respected and admired, or words of wisdom I thought particularly apt given his circumstances.

Every week he pulled out a new quote and shared it with me. It was something we both looked forward to because it made us think. Finally, he reached the end of the quotes and, to my great delight, put them all back in the jar so that he could start over again.

Here's this week's quote, which comes at a time when I need to remember the beauty of the mysteries of my fellow man:

People do change,

and change comes like a little wind

that ruffles the curtains at dawn,

and it comes like the stealthy perfume

of wildflowers hidden in the grass.

~John Steinbeck

Life Is Good

I haven't had a full-time job in seven months. I pay a ridiculous amount of money every month for health insurance. I push myself outside my comfort zone every single day. I'm frustrated with the nonprofit community and its scarcity mentality. I struggle with balancing my time between maintaining contact with the people in my network, building new relationships, working for clients, seeking new clients, getting smarter by going to classes and conducting informational interviews, working as a volunteer, and looking for work. I'm o- u- t- out of money. I have never been busier in my life.

And I've never been happier.

I am true to my values. I'm having fun. I appreciate and admire my husband, family, friends (old and new), colleagues, and students. I'm lucky to live in a democratic country, as flawed as it seems sometimes. I drive a reliable car that's paid for, and I have a beautiful home surrounded by a garden that takes my breath away. I put my skills and experience to work in a meaningful way. I connect with people.

Life is good.

The Love of Her Life

I attended the memorial for my friend's husband, Jim, this week. A clear picture emerged of a man who worked hard, was loving and fiercely loyal to his family, enjoyed the good things in life (good food, beer, music, art), was incredibly well respected as a smart, stubborn, ethical attorney who did what was best for his clients even if it wasn't what was best for him, was a good friend to many, supported other people emotionally his whole life, was not interested in self-promotion or taking credit, and was a patient, caring father.

Sounds like a saint, right? But what I loved about this memorial was that many people who spoke also talked about the things Jim did that drove them crazy because they're what made him him. He played practical jokes and let people ruminate on it for days until he admitted it was a joke. He could be fastidious to the point of obsession. He worked too much and too hard. He separated his personal and professional lives into little compartments. He was a saint with flaws. He was real.

At the end, the family asked the audience to share memories. A young woman came up to the microphone and said that she'd been Jim's massage therapist for 11 years. She knew all about his family but had never met them. She said that she had lost a son and that she and Jim had connected over the heartbreak of losing a child. "I don't know if you know this," she said as she looked at Jim's grown children sitting in the front row, "but he gave me money to adopt a son after I lost my own." Afterward, she hugged each of them in turn like they were her long-lost siblings.

It's easy to see why my friend calls him the love of her life. She and Jim shared many values and qualities and were different enough that they could continuously learn from one another. He will be missed by the hundreds of people he touched with his humor, love, intelligence, and support.

Thankful

This week a friend's husband died, my mom's house caught on fire (house mostly intact; dogs and people all OK), and I found out that my dental hygienist, who is a really great person, got hit by a truck in October, and though she is recovering well, is not quite the same person as before.

I am thankful for my life and all of the good people in it.

The Jar of Love

My sister Lindsey and I agreed that we would make gifts for each other this year to save money and to put our respective talents to use. Lindsey made Gary a dee-licious pumpkin pie and some beautiful handmade cards that he can send for birthdays and other occasions. He was pumped! Lindsey made me some very cool handmade Christmas trading cards and three dozen peanut butter balls, which are my very favorite cookie/candy in this whole wide world. They freeze well, too, so I'll be rationing those out at least until Valentine's Day, when I can maybe beg for some more.

For Lindsey, I wrote up six of my favorite recipes, made two pairs of earrings, and thought up some great coupons (with Gary's help) that I put together in the coolest little coupon book. But the most fun present to make was the "jar of love."

Gary and I had a couple of marathon sessions where we talked out loud about everything we love about Lindsey. I typed up our thoughts and printed them out. Gary made them look good by mounting each separate thought on a piece of patterned paper. Then we put them all in a jar and labelled it "Reasons Why We Love You." One of them was: You always have a suggestion about how to improve a bad situation. Another was: You're insightful about how people relate to one another. You get the idea...

We were pretty proud of ourselves for making such a cool gift, and Lindsey cried when she opened it. (It runs in our family--my mom cried about one of her gifts, too.) I hope that my sister will open that jar any time she needs a boost or a positive thought or to feel loved. I hope that it makes her feel like the special person that she is.

But I got more out of that gift than she ever will--insight into why my love for her runs so deep. It's not just because I helped change her diapers and held her hand when she crossed the street and got up with her when she was sick sometimes. It's not just because I watched her grow from a baby into a woman. It's not just that we have a psychic link (no kidding--we're complete opposites on the Myers-Briggs scale and still routinely say exactly the same thing at the exactly the same time in exactly the same tone of voice!). I love her because she is funny and smart and loving and loyal. Even if she weren't my sister, I'd count myself lucky to be her friend.

The Many Faces of Dan

I have six friends named Dan. It's a common name, apparently, but my Dans are anything but common. Whether they know it or not, each of them has had a significant impact on my life. Lessons learned from the Dans:

Dan C.
Laugh often. Love much. Live life with gusto.

Danny H.
Do everything you do with passion.

Dan O.
Reading the paper and watching the sun rise in Deck World is proof that life is sweet.

Dan P.
Superman is real.

Dan S.

Even in a war zone, it's possible to be kind to animals and children.

Dan T.
Treat every friend as a best friend.

May you be lucky enough to have even one Dan in your life.

The People in Your Neighborhood

Paul lives a few doors down from us, next to the open fields that sometimes host cows, sometimes just coyotes, sometimes coyotes hunting cows. Paul was a in a car accident many years ago and suffered brain damage that impaired his short-term memory and we don't know what else. He works at King Soopers, eats dinner at his sister's house every night, doesn't drive, and spends pretty much all of his free time walking around the neighborhood talking and walking with the people who live here. He is one fit dude.

Paul is perpetually happy. He doesn't remember your name, but he remembers you and likes you. He likes everyone except people who don't stop at the stop sign at the intersection outside my house. "Did you see that guy? Didn't even stop. Unbelievable."

He loved Rachel, our furry companion of 14 years. He made friends with her when no one else would come close because she was such a ferocious protector of the yard and all things walking nearby. Every time he would stroll by, he would say, "Can I pet your dog?" We would say, "Well... she's not very nice to strangers." He didn't care. He persisted until he made friends with her. He would ignore her frantic barking, and eventually he won her over. When she saw Paul, she would immediately start wagging her tail. She loved Paul. He would always say, "She's such a beautiful dog." Who can resist anyone who thinks your little muttly, moody dog is beautiful?

Paul has a specific way of greeting you: "Hey, how ya doin'?" Then, "How ya been?" Then, "Did you work today?" That's usually how it goes with Paul, and the routine is comforting, and he always makes me feel like I belong here. He reminds me that life is simple and wonderful if you let it be.