Archive

Blog Posts from October 2018-February 2019

FEBRUARY UPDATE
2019 Goals:
-30 minute workout x 200 days
-200 Clancy walks (measured in blocks as we stroll about town).
-1820 laps swam (50 yards each) in the pool
-24 dates with Matthew
-Write 40 blog posts by Oct. 9 (52 blog posts in 52 weeks goal started on my 38th birthday)

Two months in…
Workouts–25 of 200
Clancy walks–9 of 200 (winter can end any time now…)
Swimming–102 of 1820 laps Dates–3 of 24
Writing: 8 of 40 posts

I’ll need to pick up my game on the swimming and the Clancy walks, but on no level do I feel like I am failing at any of these goals. Two months into the year, I feel just as motivated to keep striving.

NEW MONTH’S RESOLUTION
January–No bread (B+)
February–Vitamin/Supplement consistency (A)

I did eat a lot more bread in February than I had planned, which led me to decide that I no longer eat bread. This topic is for another day…

March–Make self-care a top priorityI’ve been feeling Stretched Thin as of late. So this month will be about reminding myself that nearly every situation is NOT an emergency; that I am surrounded with capable people who are willing to help me if I ask them; and that I cannot serve from an empty cup.

We’re only 59 days into this journey of 2019. We have so many brand new, sparkly days ahead of us. Let’s go.

Stretched Thin
February 26, 2019

Yesterday, after being on the road for a whirlwind 24 hour work trip, I stopped at the Y to get some laps in on my way home. (I remembered to bring ALL my gear this time.)

I was the only person there. It’s always strange when this happens. The water is so still. The pool is so quiet. And I’m the only person the lifeguard has to protect. I feel very conspicuous.

I put my new fins on for their third time in the pool and slipped my goggles on. A big breath and under the water. When I stood back up–SNAP!–the strap on my goggles snapped and was done for.

Last week when I was in the pool, I couldn’t get the right lens to seal correctly and kept getting water in that eye. This is painful and annoying, but not an undoing. The goggles had tried to warn me, I guess, that they were on their last leg. They’ve been working for me for two and a half years. That’s enough I suppose.

I’m grateful for their service.Yesterday’s fourteen laps were limited to back stroke and side stroke, though I did ATTEMPT an eyes-closed face in the water. Nope. This doesn’t work for me. It turns out I’m pretty reliant on the visual aspects of the pool to stay oriented.

I spent those fourteen laps thinking about my goggles and my work and being stretched to our limits.

I’m pausing in a work session on my six-part to-do list. I’ve crossed off quite a few items this morning, but I also added five or six more as I remembered other tasks that need to stay on the surface. There’s a lot right now. I’m striving to keep things from falling through the cracks. Back burner is okay as long a the pot doesn’t boil dry.

I’m feeling stretched thin. The one lens isn’t quite sealing correctly.At some point today I will rewrite the six-part to-do list to make it less overwhelming.
I’ll try to find items that can be delegated to…someone.
I mean, there must be someone.

I’ve been pushed to far greater limits in the past, and I’m still here.
I’ve been through some valleys in which I should have been buried, but I’m still here.

Feeling stretched thin?
Find a way to relieve the pressure.
Rest.
Be still.
Some things may just have to wait.
Or something’s gonna snap.

One of my ways to relieve the pressure is to swim.
So. TO DO: Buy new goggles.

Derailed.
February 15, 2019

I believe everything happens for a reason…that we face challenges and obstacles in order to overcome and grow…that delays and errors are there to redirect and guide. #recalculating

So what is the reason that on this snowy afternoon when I should be in the pool getting in some healing laps that I am instead sitting in my second coffee shop of the day?
I brought everything I needed for the pool and post-swim.
Everything, that is, except my swimsuit.
I have an appointment in an hour and a half, so I can’t just head home, and I’m too embarrassed by the ridiculousness of this error to return to the first (and preferred) shop. *Note: This coffee is FINE. It’s not magical.

*But what is the REASON?

I am pondering this feeling of being DERAILED.

There have been so many times I’ve really been derailed. Not in this minor, no-swimming-today way, but in major “I thought this was my life’s purpose, but I guess it’s not?!” ways.

When I was 13 or 14, I knew without question that musical theatre is where I belonged. I wanted to be Bernadette Peters when I grew up (though I was already taller than her at that point). I wanted to tell powerful stories through this, the greatest of mediums.
I went on in that focused mindset to get my bachelor’s degree in musical theatre and move to the Big City.
And I drowned in it.
Unsure on how to proceed.
How to get the work.
How to get work WORTH doing.
Derailed.

Then I tried again years later with a glorious summer of intensive actor training where I once again learned how little I knew and grew exponentially. I re-launched into the Big City.
And I drowned in it.
Unsure how to proceed.
How to get work worth doing.
How to overcome the lack of security and the uncertainty.
Derailed.

Time to reroute. I pursued and earned a teaching certificate and began teaching language arts and directing high school theatre, which allowed the opportunity for some playwriting and to share my deeply held love of theatre and the belief in the power of this medium to change the artist and the audience. I was in the classroom for six years, and there were many, many days that I thought, “THIS is what I was created to do!” (Great pedagogy and great theatre actually have a great deal in common.)
But I drowned in it.
Overcome by apathy in the system and a lot of the students.
Burned out from trying to carry more than what I was meant to burden. Derailed.

Here in my late thirties, I’m on a new track where all these previous routes converge into work that is in the theatre but also education. It’s scary and freeing and challenging. It allows freedom to go swimming in the middle of wintry afternoon if I so choose (and if I have my swimsuit). Decades of problem solving skills that came from previous routes give me the needed perspective with each new twist and turn.

I’m better now at all of it because I continue to grow and can look back at the spiraling map of tracks.

The growth through these and oh so many other devastating derailments supplies me with the empathy and faith needed to walk through the deep and dark with others.

Coffee this morning was with a friend facing derailment in career.
Another friend is facing the possibility of major derailment in her marriage. I have no doubt that you, dear reader, have faced derailment once or twice as well.

Derailment does not mean that we have to crash and burn.
Every time we go off track, we have the opportunity to choose the pieces we want to pick up and those we wish to leave behind.
Build a new train.
Try a new track.
Grow.
Improve.
Make better choices.
I’m on board with you.
Through the deep and dark tunnels and into the light.
Let’s ride.

The Body Remembers
February 12, 2019

“You do not have a soul. You ARE a soul. You have a body.” ~ CS Lewis…or someone. It’s debated, apparently.

“You ARE soul. You have a body.” I believe this to be true.

But the body that carries the soul through this life carries the life.
The body remembers.

Remembers falling down the stairs at age 12-a hairline fracture in the arch of my left foot. Falling on a slick stage at age 24-a hairline fracture across the top of my right foot. But beyond these physical memories-the scar tissue invisible, deep within the bones-the body remembers.

The bit of muscle above my right ear along my skull remembers the stress of rush hour traffic, of too-loud noises, and hurry. The tissues and tendons connecting my right shoulder blade and my neck carry not only the weight of my head, but the weight of disrespect and coming confrontation.

My blood crawls and crams its way through the compressed capillaries in my brain as my body holds on to the worry and argument, causing pain to shoot through my right temple.

These are short term memories.

When the massage therapist gets to my left arm and pulls the tension out through practiced pressure and reaches my hand, older memories arise. The painful squeeze between my thumb and palm brings tears and a flood of memories-a decade back, friends and tension and letting go.

I am here on this table but also hundreds of miles and many years away because my body holds that memory between the bones of my fingers.

#goals
February 3, 2019

When the new year arrived and the calendar turned over, I-like so many of us-set a number of goals for myself. Some for work, some for relationships, some for personal projects, and some, of course, for health.

In 2018, I set goals as well…things like “work out 3 times a week” and the like. The trouble with such a goal is that the first week when I only got in two workouts? FAILED. Done-zo.
So, for 2019, I set year-long health goals.
-30 minute workout x 200 days
-200 Clancy walks (measured in blocks as we stroll about town).
-1820 laps swam (50 yards each)

This first month of the year I feel pretty successful in the workouts, though not as much in the walks (ummm, it’s freeeeaking cold outside) and lap swimming (teaching full time + swim team/dive team taking over the pool made this difficult to schedule). BUT! My schedule is about to open up some making more flexibility to get to the pool in off-peak hours. And eventually it has to warm up. Right? RIGHT!?!

End-of-January Update:
30 minute workouts– 15 of 200
Clancy walks–6 of 200
Laps swam–50 of 1820

I’m also taking on New Month’s Resolutions.
January = No Bread
I give myself a B+.

Last Monday I ate a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup.
I ate a donut the other morning at school.
I ate pizza twice this month—not exactly under the no-bread rule, but it was these two nights that really showed me the difference in how I feel with this resolution.

I can’t say that on a regular basis I feel “so much better”, however on those two pizza nights, I spent the rest of the evening with a metaphorical elephant sitting on my chest. (I don’t think it’s a proverbial elephant, but perhaps if I keep using the saying, it will become proverbial one day. #goals).

A new month begins! Continuing NO BREAD.
Adding DAILY NUTRITION SUPPLEMENT. (as in remembering EVERY DAY).HERE WE GO!
#accountability

It is personal.
January 21, 2019

When I was studying Meisner in Chicago–I can’t remember now if it was when I was at The School at Steppenwolf or at what is now Black Box Acting studio– I was told a story about Amy Morton, arguably one of the greatest actors out there today and a renowned Meisner teacher:

When Amy was starring in Tracy Letts’s August: Osage County at Steppenwolf and then on Broadway, she would get several post-show massages during the week because, as she put it, “My body doesn’t know that my father didn’t actually die…eight times a week for more than a year.” Her body didn’t know. Her body grieved the loss night after night after night. It was personal, even if the circumstances were imaginary, and it took a toll.

There was a time, years ago now, when I was being berated with a stream of verbal abuse that, in truth, had very little to do with me and everything to do with the other person’s addiction and paranoia, but the WORDS were ALL ABOUT me. And I fell asleep–WHILE BEING SCREAMED AT–because my body could not handle the very personal attack.

This, of course, only fueled the fire, but I had no control over my body’s response in that moment. My mind knew the truth of the situation, but my body couldn’t participate any longer.

Today when I was told over and over again how awful I am at my job, how much I “suck”, how terrible I am…my mind knew that the opinion of this angry, mentally ill human in front of me is inconsequential to who I am. The words this person was hurling as daggers, aiming to wound, were lies, and my mind knew. I remained calm, responded as I should, and handled it.

But my body doesn’t know.
My heart pounds.
The adrenaline flows.
The headache takes hold.
The exhaustion seeps in.
My body doesn’t know the very personal attack actually has very little to do with me.
The blood in my veins didn’t know it wasn’t personal.

I can’t accurately cite how many times I’ve heard “don’t take it personal” in teacher trainings over the last several years.
I understand the sentiment.
The idea is not wrong.

But the hours of effort put into lesson planning, studying best practices and striving to bring content to life in ways that will reach all learners, creating content from scratch to make it engaging…

the time, the time, the time…
and the effort, the effort, the effort…
When that is met with
“GAWWWD, this is so stupid!”
“Can we just do nothing today?”
“This is a waste of my time”
“What is the point of any of this?”
“I already speak English. I don’t need this.”
“I’m never going to use any of this in my life.”
“You are a terrible teacher.”
“You suck.”
“Why are you even here?”

It is personal.
My actor training taught me to open my heart wide.
Vulnerability is key.

My poor heart is pretty bruised though.
I put myself out there. I poured myself into the work.
It’s personal.

The words spoken to me today were lies.
The truth is I am an excellent educator.
The time, effort, and passion poured in demonstrate this truth.
But the time, effort, and passion poured in leave me vulnerable to attack.
And I take it personally.
Because it is personal.
And tomorrow it will likely happen again.
But tomorrow I will walk into the room anyway. And I will open my heart wide.
Accepted or attacked, I will offer it anyway.
Because whatever else something is, it ought to begin by being personal.

Try Again Tomorrow
January 11, 2019

Sometimes when I am needing to put my efforts into one task (currently a busy time for Flatwater, and I’m teaching full time through the end of the month), I feel like my creative energies dry up before I’m out of creative tasks.

The desire for inspiration is strong, but my mind can’t let go of the “need to’s” and the “have to’s” when I have a moment for the “want to’s”.

But it’s snowing out, and it’s beautiful.

There’s music playing, and there are still Christmas lights and garlands of greenery bedecking the windows here at the Art Bar.

There’s an artist at another table creating something with an impressive collection of colored pencils.

A man reads a newspaper.
Another stares at his phone, close enough to concern any ophthalmologist.
And we all drink the coffee.
MMMM, the coffee.
And tomorrow is a new day.
Another chance to start fresh.
Mayhaps a fresh idea will come with the morning.

Cheers to 2019!
January 1, 2019

It turns out that I have the exact same number of hours in each day as Lin-Manuel Miranda
……………………Well, ain’t that a punch in the gut?
………………………………….I mean…What have I been doing with my time?

Alright, 2019.
Here we go!

My one-word theme for this sparkly new year is CREATE.

I wrote recently about being created to create, and this year CREATING will be my focus. On this year’s vision board, there are a few specific creative goals: 40 blog posts by October 9th; writing a first draft of a full-length play and having it read by actors; being part of a great ensemble in a well-directed theatre production.

Learning goals: I want to take at least two classes this year. I’ve done a couple through CreativeLive in the past few months, so I’m considering that, but also looking at Master Class as a way to expand my learning in 2019. I also aim to learn how to make some money through writing–taking these creative endeavors and making them more a part of my “living”.

Work: I have specific goals for myself for my work with Flatwater Shakespeare.

Relationship goals: regular date nights with my handsome husband and more family time. 2018 did greatly increase the time I spent with my parents, which was a great perk of the job change, but I still don’t see my nieces and nephews as much as I’d like.

The vision for 2019 also includes some travel: three days in Chicago to see friends and great theatre, and getting outside of these US borders and taking Matt abroad for the first time.

And I have set specific health goals for this year (as opposed to 2018’s vague “make time for” and “get healthier” aims).
Swimming: 52 miles in 2019–this breaks down to a mile a week (35 laps). Walking: 200 Clancy walks in this calendar year.
Cardio/Strength: 30 minutes/day x 200 days in this calendar year. (BeachBody workouts: 21 Day Fix, Cize, PiYo)
Weight/bulk loss: Lose 15 lbs and 15 inches by December 31st.

These are my GOALS, my aims, my vision, for 2019. These are not resolutions.

Regarding Resolutions: I read recently of the potential success of MONTHLY resolutions versus an ANNUAL resolution, and I’m opting for this in 2019.
First up for January: NO BREAD.
I love bread. Sigh.
I also know it makes me tired and is at least partially responsible for the current status of my body.

I ate very little bread in December, aiming for none with exceptions for holiday traditions (my family has made Native American Fry Bread for Christmas morning breakfast every year for as long as I can remember) and events, which means, of course, that the last week has been carb-heavy. Low-Bread December was a good warm up, though, for No-Bread-January.

The aim then, as the months progress, is to ADD TO improved behaviors and/or dropped habits. (It’s not No Bread January and Nothing But Bread February.)

The last week of each month I will make the resolution for the next and reflect on the successes and challenges of each month.

One important component of this kind of resolve is accountability. So, here we go world!
I’m putting my decisions out there.
In 2019
I will create!
I will swim, walk, and work out!
I will strive toward specific work goals!
I will go on regular date nights with my handsome husband!
I will write!
I will travel!
I will make monthly resolutions!
I will strive to live fully and use my time like Lin-Manuel. #nonstop

In 2019, may you make decisions that will improve your life in both subtle and drastic ways! May this new year be overflowing with blessings, laughter, the-good-kind-of-surprises, positive challenges and opportunities for growth (without all the pain), joy and love–OH! SO. MUCH. LOVE.

CHEERS TO 2019!

Thank you, 2018.
December 28, 2018

It’s that time between Christmas and New Year’s when I’m not certain what day it is, but I know the year is ending and another is waiting in the wings. It’s time to ask those questions: Am I living my best life? Am I using my time well? Am I where I’m meant to be?

In 2018, I did my first ever vision board for the year. I cut out pictures and quotes that I liked from a stack of magazines and printed a few off the internet. I pasted them all to a blue poster board and hung it up in my home office. I looked at it often.

Some of the visions came to fruition.
“Blank verse under a big sky” with the Shakespeare in the park image—in February I stepped in to fill some mighty big shoes as the new Executive Director of Flatwater Shakespeare Company in Lincoln, Ne. I wasn’t speaking the verse, but verse was spoken under a big sky and I was integral in making that happen. There were successes and major challenges. I learned a great deal.

“Dare Greatly” became my theme for the year. It’s tattooed on my left forearm. For many years I made all my decisions based on what was the most secure. Often times these safe choices were made unconsciously. Striving for security was that ingrained. Some of that developed in the more chaotic years of my recent past where I was desperate to be able to control any aspect of my life. Changing jobs was a daring choice. Not having built-in health insurance certainly wasn’t the secure option. Working for an arts non-profit comes with few guarantees beyond “you’ll get to be a part of making art!”
I dared.

“Time to Swim!” I made time to swim a lot over the summer and early fall, swimming 3-4 days a week, and increasing my endurance. I reached a new personal record of 18 laps. There are a few provisos with this PR: I learned that I much prefer to swim in the mornings and find it far easier than after a full day’s work. I also discovered swim fins. I had a brief moment where I thought this might be “cheating”. Then I realized…I’m competing against myself and no one else, therefore there is no cheating. There is only me. I swim because I love it. I like it more with the fins. I’m cool with this now. I’m working a bit too much to swim AS OFTEN, but still try to get in the water at least once a week.

“Pray faithfully, listen carefully.” In 2018 I joined the Daily Audio Bible family and listen every morning as I prepare for the day. There were a few days I missed and had to double up the next to stay on track. Sometimes I REALLY hear it and sometimes I realize my mind went somewhere else, missing a goodly chunk. Even with those days, I drastically increased my time in the Word and prayed for all the requests called in when I listened to that portion of the podcast. I know my days were improved by starting this way.

“Write every day.” Hmmm. Well. Not everything can be smashing success, right? However, in October for my 38th birthday, I committed to a weekly writing challenge. It’s been 12 weeks and this is my 12th piece of writing I’ve published out into the world. That does NOT mean I’ve actually written weekly, but it’s balanced out thus far.

“Read every day.” I read SOMETHING every day, but this was meant to be more of a dedicated amount of time. I’d give myself an 80% on this one. I didn’t set a specific goal and it was difficult to track how much I’d read. Sometimes stupid, mind-numbing games on my phone beat down my better angels. This is annoying. I WANT to read. So, why don’t I always? I WANT to write. So, why not do it?

As for the rest, it was all a bit too vague to really strive for. If I generally want to be healthier, maybe it will come to pass, but more than likely my best case scenario is maintaining. I did lose ten pounds this year, but most of that was over the summer when I wasn’t as time-pressured and I didn’t have to be really deliberate about making choices. From this I’ve learned: BE SPECIFIC!

My 2019 board is decidedly more deliberately designed. A one-word theme. Specific health goals. Specific work goals. Specific creative goals. More on that in the next piece of writing…

2018, you challenged me to dare and brought some big changes. I learned a great deal. I drank a lot more coffee. I swam a lot more. I worked in new ways. I’m sure I missed a lot of opportunities within you to dare, to strive, to create, and to learn. I regret those missed chances. I’m grateful for the ones I took. Thank you.

That’s Enough Now
December 24, 2018

Yesterday we had company at our house. Tonight and tomorrow more friends and loved ones will be stopping by. Which means that Saturday we frantically cleaned everything.

That’s not entirely true.
I had the bathroom cleaned on Friday.
And really, I dust for no man.

There are still plenty of dusty surfaces about the house. If you are judging my dusty surfaces, keep it to yourself or grab a rag and take care of it, friend. #priorities

The clean house brings a content sigh of relief. “Ahhhh. That’s better.”

This got me thinking about how much mess I tolerate when I’m the only one to see it and suffer through it.
An unacceptable level of mess.

Due to last year’s accident and the ensuing construction, there has been more mess than usual these last several months.

The substantial lawn that took me nearly two hours to mow has been now entirely stripped down to the dirt. Thanks to the wettest late summer/fall in Blue Hill history (anecdotal evidence only), all of that dirt is mud; mud that is carried consistently across my kitchen floor on Matt’s boots and Clancy’s paws.

Like raking leaves on a windy day, the battle feels futile.

We sweep pretty often to reduce the chunks of dried mud and dust, but mopping to actually clean it up? It’ll be muddy again by morning. I mean, why bother, right?

This week, I reminded friends that they do not need to tolerate the messiness of the family holiday gatherings, that self-care is important, that they are better than sitting in the muck and tolerating the mess.

The dirty floors may not wound my heart the way the judgment, rejection, and hurtful comments of a family member can cut so deep, but self-care remains important.

Why am I willing to clean up the mess that I hate for the sake of others but not for myself? Is “relaxing” in the muck really what I need in that moment after the long day at work? Would I not feel better if I vacuumed the living room before I copped a squat on the futon for the evening?
I would feel better.
There’s really no question.
So why is it that most days I don’t?

Part of it is that I do not live alone.
My husband and my dog are also making messes, piling things on the table, dragging in dirt.
So, for real change, everyone needs to be on board. Right?

Maybe not.
Maybe I should just worry about me and take care of what I can do.
Because at least THAT mess will be cleaned up.
At least THAT thing would be put away where it belongs.

As we celebrate Christmas, the arrival of Christ and the birth of hope for a renewed life, as we welcome in a shiny, sparkly new year, I think it is time to stop tolerating the mess and focus on caring for ourselves as much as we are willing to clean things up for others.

Is someone speaking harsh, hurtful words into your life?
That’s enough now.
I’m not saying quit/dump/leave that person, though that may become necessary for you; I’m saying stop tolerating that hurt. Speak up. “You know, when you say X, you may not have meant anything by it, but it hurts me….”

Is someone leaving a physical mess in your life?
That’s enough now.
“When you dump the clean laundry I folded on the floor, I feel really unappreciated and that you’re treating me the same way as the clothes….”

Is someone sucking away all your energy with their ego?
That’s enough now.
“You know, I’ve listened to you go on for quite a while now, and as you rarely ask me about how I am doing or what’s happening with me, I believe this is a one-sided relationship, and I am no longer willing to carry it….”

Whatever mess is building up in your heart, mind, soul, house…That’s enough now.
Time for renewal.
Might even be time to wipe down all those dusty surfaces…

And if a few months down the road you find the mess has begun to pile up again…clean house.
FOR YOU.
Do it for you.
For your heart.
For your health.
Not because company will be here in the morning.
You are worth the care.

Friends & Foes
December 20, 2018

This week I gave a vocabulary test where students needed to use the words in sentences that demonstrated their understanding of the meaning. One student wrote: “I am foes with my best friend.” I was going to count it wrong. Obviously this student misunderstood that foes = enemies. But then her second sentence referenced trying to find a way to not be around her “best friend.”

I called the student over and asked her whether she understood that foes = enemies. She told me that she did and that she’s not getting along with her “best friend”.These two young girls have a lot in common, but more than anything else, they found themselves in the same class of students in a small school in a small town.

School, in many ways, creates automatic friends (and sometimes automatic enemies). The struggles are amplified in small schools where the same 20 kids go through 13 years of school together, in the same class, all day every day.

My high school was full of cliques, it’s own problem, but at small schools, there aren’t enough people to have that option. It’s everyone together all the time. For better or worse. Good luck.

Out here on the two-decades-since-high-school-graduation side of things, I know that these students are unlikely to know each other let alone be friends (or enemies) a decade of life down the road. I did, at one point, tell seniors who were fighting over graduation flowers and class mottos that “truly, you will not remember any of this in ten years. It is not worth fighting over.”
They didn’t believe me.

I have often told junior high students that it makes complete sense that Shakespeare wrote Juliet as a 13-year-old girl and Romeo as a 17-year-old boy. At this junior high/high school phase of your life you believe you “will DIE” if you can’t have what you want. Out here in my thirties, I realize I’ll get over it (whatever IT is). I’ll overcome it. I’ll grow. I’ll survive. I’m not going to die because of IT.

Because humans are capable of far more than we can possibly realize.

We can suffer far more than we believe we can bear.

We can achieve far more than we believe is possible.

We can walk through the fire, suffer deep burns, and discover on the other side of the flames, that we’ve been refined.So, It’s okay to be foes with your friend, kid, but I hope you can let it go. Like it or not, you’re all sharing the same classroom for another handful of years. It’ll be easier to be in it together if you’re IN IT TOGETHER. You’ll need each other.

Eventually, you might reach a point where that is no longer true.
You won’t be friends anymore.
But you won’t be foes either.
It’s okay.
You’ll survive.
Be you.
You’ll find your people.
You’ll find your fit.

Anticipation
December 2, 2018

My anticipation is building.

This season, with its lights and bustle and music, is my favorite time of the year.

People argue about accuracy (pretty clear from historical records that Jesus was not born on December 25th) and paganism (blending of winter solstice traditions and Christian traditions over the centuries) and capitalism (money, money, money).

But the joy of the love of God permeates all of it for me.

I’ve stood atop skyscrapers looking out on the glorious lights of cities. And they’re beautiful and amazing. But they do not hold a candle to standing in my living room with only the lights of the tree and those on the mantle to light the room. This brings calm and comfort and joy because the love of God permeates all of it for me.

Including the gift giving.

Whether it’s because the Magi brought gifts to the Christ child or because it’s just tradition matters not to me. I wrap my heart up with each gift and love abounds.

Every year I choose a new roll of wrapping paper for Christmas and all gifts get wrapped in the same paper. I love this year’s green, leafy design picked up after-Christmas shopping a year ago.

I tend to shop throughout the year for gifts for people I love. Gift-giving is one of my all-time favorite things. Particularly, when I’m able to find the thing that jumps off the shelf and says, “Buy/make this for ______! It’s perfect for them!” Some of these gifts are of that genre. Some are more… “They’ll appreciate this” or “This will help ease the strain of X.”

I take particular joy in finding gifts for my eleven nieces and nephews. Some of these gifts are super fun, and I hope they love them.

Finding the perfect gift for Matt fills my heart. I sort of nailed it on his birthday with the weirdest find: a CASSETTE tape and set of 40 slides from NASA. We have neither a slide projector nor a cassette player anymore, but Matt’s love of NASA and all things space makes that fact moot. So, now I think his Christmas gift will be less of a slam dunk because he loved the NASA set so much. BUT! I can’t wait to give it to him. To watch him open it. To tell him I love him (for the umpteenth time that day).

Receiving gifts is lovely, and I’m so grateful, but giving them is an absolute delight.

And even if I couldn’t and there were no gifts to be had, I delight in the joy of being with the people I love, sharing our time, sharing stories, laughing, playing old games we’ve had for years and years, and being present.

May you find yourself present over these next weeks as we wrap up 2018. May you find yourself joyful in anticipation as we look to start a shiny, sparkly new year.
My anticipation is growing.
I cannot wait.

FIND YOUR TRIBE
November 27, 2018

For a while, my husband and I considered adding on to the south end of our house. We have one bathroom and would really like another (#firstworldproblems).

However, all of the utilities come into that end of the house, and we decided that it was complicated enough that we didn’t want to mess with it.
Then.
December 19, 2017

Matt was sick and went to bed early. Usually he would stay up until after midnight sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching TV, reading, thinking. Not that night. Good thing.

Just after midnight a very bigBOOM took us from fully asleep to standing and grasping to find my glasses in the dark in a split second.

I ran out the front door, turned back to Matt and yelled, “Call 911!”

A car had crashed into the southwest corner of our house.
We did not know if the driver was dead.
We knew the car was totaled.
We knew we needed help.

Where we live, the response time for first responders is approximately 20 minutes, because there is no local law enforcement. They’re coming from the town 20 miles south of us. So I also called my boss, Patrick, who lives nearby, and told him what happened and that we needed help NOW.

In times of crisis, time slows down. Or at least, our perception of time does. I’ve experienced it more than once, and NPR’s Radiolab explains it really well. Standing out in the cold yard that night, time stood still. I called Patrick again– “Are you almost here?!?” I learned the next day that THREE MINUTES had lapsed between my calls. TIME. STOOD. STILL.

A neighbor saw the whole thing–the driver sped past our house, flipped a u-turn at the end of the block, gunned it, left the road in the yard next to ours, hit our side yard, went airborn, hit the basketball post on the edge of our driveway [which launched like a missile through our living room wall and THROUGH OUR COUCH where Matt is normally sitting] and plowed into our house.

The driver was not dead.
Thank God.

The sheriff arrived, took statements, surveyed the scene. The volunteer fire department folks showed up and and stood in the yard talking about how insane it was.
There was a pole through my sofa in the middle of my living room.
There is damage throughout the house.
I cried a lot.

A lot of insurance dealings and months of planning later….we’re adding onto the south side of our house…Because we had to move all the utilities and dig there anyway to repair the damaged foundation.

It’s taking longer than we’d like and the weather has been a real challenge. It has rained a great deal here over the last few months. Oh the mud!

The mud.This last weekend, my family rearranged Thanksgiving plans to come to our house to get the sheeting done and house wrap on the walls ahead of an impending blizzard. Three of our friends came down too. Matt’s brother, Trent, was here to work on moving the electrical.

Sixteen people descended on our house on Saturday morning and jumped right in to helping Matt get the walls sheeted and protected from the weather.

My older sister and her daughters cleaned inside my house and entertained the younger kids.

After helping me pick up supplies and tie them to the roof of my vehicle (which I NEVER would have done if she hadn’t insisted it’d be fine) my mom helped me clean and prep food for all of the people. She even cleaned my oven which I’d managed to make a mess of the night before.

My dad, my younger sister, both of my brothers-in-law, and our three friends were out there helping with the construction. Trent was moving wires. Matt’s dad, Kenny, and Trent’s fiancé, Anneka, made some supply runs.

Matt steered the ship, guiding the crew throughout the day.

I made pot after pot after pot of coffee. We got everything cleaned up, house wrapped, and covered the deck with a heavy plastic to try to ward off the snow, and we sent everyone off to get ahead of the blizzard.

Trent and Anneka’s trip back to Denver was treacherous and took twice as long as usual. Scary.

It decided to rain for a few hours before the snow, which thwarted some of our efforts to protect the deck, but it was all still better than if we’d done nothing.

That snow-covered plastic was wicked slick.

We’re still trying to get it all dried out in order to get more done before it is predicted to rain again in a couple days.

Matt has worked insanely hard to make it good and correct and right.

The weather has worked against us.
But our tribe showed up.
This group of people, guided entirely by love, showed up to make it happen, to bless us with this day of hard work.

Find your tribe.
Show up.

For a while, my husband and I considered adding on to the south end of our house. We have one bathroom and would really like another (#firstworldproblems).

However, all of the utilities come into that end of the house, and we decided that it was complicated enough that we didn’t want to mess with it.
Then.
December 19, 2017

Matt was sick and went to bed early. Usually he would stay up until after midnight sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching TV, reading, thinking. Not that night. Good thing.

Just after midnight a very bigBOOM took us from fully asleep to standing and grasping to find my glasses in the dark in a split second.

I ran out the front door, turned back to Matt and yelled, “Call 911!”

A car had crashed into the southwest corner of our house.
We did not know if the driver was dead.
We knew the car was totaled.
We knew we needed help.

Where we live, the response time for first responders is approximately 20 minutes, because there is no local law enforcement. They’re coming from the town 20 miles south of us. So I also called my boss, Patrick, who lives nearby, and told him what happened and that we needed help NOW.

In times of crisis, time slows down. Or at least, our perception of time does. I’ve experienced it more than once, and NPR’s Radiolab explains it really well. Standing out in the cold yard that night, time stood still. I called Patrick again– “Are you almost here?!?” I learned the next day that THREE MINUTES had lapsed between my calls. TIME. STOOD. STILL.

A neighbor saw the whole thing–the driver sped past our house, flipped a u-turn at the end of the block, gunned it, left the road in the yard next to ours, hit our side yard, went airborn, hit the basketball post on the edge of our driveway [which launched like a missile through our living room wall and THROUGH OUR COUCH where Matt is normally sitting] and plowed into our house.

The driver was not dead.
Thank God.

The sheriff arrived, took statements, surveyed the scene. The volunteer fire department folks showed up and and stood in the yard talking about how insane it was.
There was a pole through my sofa in the middle of my living room.
There is damage throughout the house.
I cried a lot.

A lot of insurance dealings and months of planning later….we’re adding onto the south side of our house…Because we had to move all the utilities and dig there anyway to repair the damaged foundation.

It’s taking longer than we’d like and the weather has been a real challenge. It has rained a great deal here over the last few months. Oh the mud!

The mud.This last weekend, my family rearranged Thanksgiving plans to come to our house to get the sheeting done and house wrap on the walls ahead of an impending blizzard. Three of our friends came down too. Matt’s brother, Trent, was here to work on moving the electrical.

Sixteen people descended on our house on Saturday morning and jumped right in to helping Matt get the walls sheeted and protected from the weather.

My older sister and her daughters cleaned inside my house and entertained the younger kids.

After helping me pick up supplies and tie them to the roof of my vehicle (which I NEVER would have done if she hadn’t insisted it’d be fine) my mom helped me clean and prep food for all of the people. She even cleaned my oven which I’d managed to make a mess of the night before.

My dad, my younger sister, both of my brothers-in-law, and our three friends were out there helping with the construction. Trent was moving wires. Matt’s dad, Kenny, and Trent’s fiancé, Anneka, made some supply runs.

Matt steered the ship, guiding the crew throughout the day.

I made pot after pot after pot of coffee. We got everything cleaned up, house wrapped, and covered the deck with a heavy plastic to try to ward off the snow, and we sent everyone off to get ahead of the blizzard.

Trent and Anneka’s trip back to Denver was treacherous and took twice as long as usual. Scary.

It decided to rain for a few hours before the snow, which thwarted some of our efforts to protect the deck, but it was all still better than if we’d done nothing.

That snow-covered plastic was wicked slick.

We’re still trying to get it all dried out in order to get more done before it is predicted to rain again in a couple days.

Matt has worked insanely hard to make it good and correct and right.

The weather has worked against us.
But our tribe showed up.
This group of people, guided entirely by love, showed up to make it happen, to bless us with this day of hard work.

Find your tribe.
Show up.

Connections
November 16, 2018

**Photo Credit-Sean Allan Krill, The School at Steppenwolf Class of 2008, Viewpoints with Guy Adkins Remembered**

Two years ago I experienced overwhelming outpouring of love from friends and strangers alike who proved how incredibly small this enormous world is and how interwoven and interconnected we all are.

Directing a high school production of The Laramie Project led me to reach out to friends to come support the students. My friend Lauren shared the story with her friend Shawna, who shared the story with her community, which led to members of the Tectonic Theatre Project in New York City visiting my small town in south central Nebraska. There were more than a thousand emails sent and videos shared from some pretty famous members of the theatre community. Mind blowing.

Connections.

The next spring, I traveled to NYC with a group of colleagues and students, and Tectonic welcomed us into their offices to talk again. We were also invited to a pre-show conversation with Master Props Master, Jay Duckworth, at the Public Theatre. While there, Jay introduced us to another theatre artist, Addison Heeren, who had shared our story with Jay. Addison is from Juniata, Nebraska, about a half hour from our little town. At The Public we attended a performance of Joan of Arc, starring my old friend Sean Allan Krill from my time at The School at Steppenwolf in Chicago, who generously chatted with my students after the show and introduced us to the cast.

Connections.

Just last month, NPR’s Live From Here came to the Lied Center in Lincoln, and I was thinking about getting tickets. Then, while listening to the show, I heard the name of an old friend announced as a new cast member/writer. I shot him a text to congratulate him and ask if he’d be with the show in Lincoln. Listening to NPR in south central Nebraska led to reconnecting with my friend Greg Hess from Steppenwolf. He lined up tickets to the show, met us afterward backstage, and we got to catch up and chat with the show’s guests and some cast members, including his lovely and hilarious wife, who is ALSO on the show, Holly Laurent.

Connections.

Afterward, we grabbed Starbucks to caffeinate for the drive home, and on the sidewalk my husband Matt called out a greeting to an old theatre friend, Brad Buffum, of UNL and The Nebraska Repertory Theatre. After this serendipitous encounter, I reached out to Brad to connect me with some quality theatre technicians for my company, which led me to sitting in a sunny corner of Panera enjoying breakfast with Brad and seven University stage management students.

Connections.

The opportunity to talk with these students about their resumes and cover letters and what they are communicating (and failing to communicate) in their writing, was an absolute delight. Brad gifted me the time at the table and the students gifted me their listening ears and quality questions. I thought about it for the rest of the day…and clearly continue to do so. It was a shared learning experience. We were a small circle of people wishing nothing but the best for the others. And the sun was shining and there were croissants and coffee.

All of the moments and circumstances that orchestrated this coming together feel simple and miraculous.

I listen to the news. I know what the world is like out there.

Being vulnerable is risky and it takes courage, but when we open our hearts to the world, and allow ourselves to be seen, we can experience the simple and miraculous power of connection. Of love.

We’ll find miraculous moments we didn’t realize we needed.
Emails from strangers.
Reconnecting with old friends in unexpected places.
And coffee and croissants with college students.

Open your heart.
It’s worth the risk.

Created to Create
November 12, 2018

I am the “spittin’ image” of my mom, but if you see me and my dad, there is also no question that I am his daughter. My little sister, I think, looks more like my dad, but she also looks exactly like me. Noelle, Crystal, and I are clearly sisters: we look different but remarkably the same simultaneously.

In Genesis 1:27, it says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”

I do not believe this “image” is meant in the same way that I turned out looking like my parents.

I like the Contemporary English translation of this verse: “God created humans to be like himself.”

The creator created us to be like him: creators.

As an artist (actor, writer, director, sketcher, crafty-type), I feel a strong urge to create. Sometimes I get bogged down in all the pressure-filled must-do-ness of the world and forget that I was made to create. Instead I do the laundry, wash the dishes, go to work, do all the work things, think about the work things when I’m no longer at work, run the errands and all the business that we all get caught up in.

This last week I sat down with a fellow creator and talked about the desire to create, what makes the creation worthwhile, what impact we’re striving to have through the work we do and the art we make. (We also drank coffee, laughed at her youngest child’s antics, talked about the midterm elections and what they might mean, and many other tangents.) But the question is important: what do we want to contribute to this world? What work can we create for ourselves to fulfill our purpose?

This year I took a leap of faith, leaving my full-time-with-benefits teaching job to work part time as the Executive Director of the Flatwater Shakespeare Company. Within this new gig I am able to work more in the theatre, and a great deal of the work is administrative–planning, producing, fundraising, promoting–but I view this as an opportunity to create work for artists who can create work for an audience. We are creating.

This is not enough. I want to do more.
We were created to create!

Starting on my 38th birthday last month, I made a challenge for myself to put out at least one piece of writing into the world every week of this year of my life. It’s been five weeks and this is my fifth piece.

This is another way I am creating. I’m trying to stay vigilant to not miss the opportunities that may present themselves.

I don’t want to waste any more time or miss any more chances sitting back in fear or worrying about judgment or focusing on making “the secure choice”. I have faith in my Creator, faith God will provide, and faith that I am here for a purpose.

Time to leap.

I help. I’m a helper. I’m helping.
November 3, 2018

Recently while wandering a bookstore, like I do, I came across Tribe of Mentors by Tim Ferris, a 624 page tome of advice from over 130 of “the world’s top performers”–athletes, business gurus, artists, etc. I flipped through it, read a page or two, “hmmed”, set it back down, and wandered about the store. But like a magnet, Tribe drew me back to the display table. I read another page or two then wandered some more. The third time Tribe’s tractor beam drew me back, I picked it up and headed to the cashier.

I read one to five entries each night and try to remember the details that strike me, which includes product recommendations: Apparently there’s an alarm clock that exists that gradually lightens the room and wakes you with light instead of sound. I need this. There is swimming advice and recommendations of swim fins that I want to try. And OH SO MANY BOOK recommendations! Oh, the books! The books!
I highly recommend it.

In an entry I read last week, one of the top performers mentioned the Enneagram Test. I’ve heard of this peripherally, but hadn’t looked into it. It’s essentially a personality test, but this person found it life-changing to know his Enneagram Type.

So I went online and found a free Enneagram Test to check it out. It took a while to find one that didn’t require money or entering my email address, so who knows if this test is the “best” one or not.There are nine Enneagram Types: The Reformer, The Helper, The Achiever, The Individualist, The Investigator, The Loyalist, The Enthusiast, The Challenger, and The Peacemaker.

And within each of these, one can be at healthy levels, average levels, or unhealthy levels.

We each likely fit into more than one of these types as we are deep, interesting, multi-faceted humans, but there’s a dominant type (one ring to rule them all…something something…).

My test told me that I am The Helper. Of course I am.I frequently tell my husband this: “I help. I’m a helper. I’m helping.”(What About Bob? anyone???)

And I’m joking in these instances (mostly), but I do strive to be helpful and thoughtful and considerate. Giving (the right) gifts is one of my FAVORITE things! (Even though “gift giving” is not one of my top love languages. Don’t get me wrong, I like presents. You can give me presents if you are so inclined.) But I LOVE giving gifts, showing up with coffee, helping in general: with the dishes at holidays, with running errands, with whatever it is that needs done.

But there are, of course, unhealthy levels of The Helper.

Though I am not a Helper who desperately needs recognition for the help given, it was very wearing on me when my efforts as a teacher were met with apathy and disregarded consistently by students over an extended period of time. Like the Colorado River carving out the Grand Canyon, I wore thin.

And in other chapters there were times when my efforts became enabling.
Enabling: the kind of help that helps no one.

I’m not sure the Enneagram Test brought me life-changing information. I knew most of this about myself already.

I do think that anything we can learn that will make us pause and consider why we do something, why we respond a certain way, why others do what they do, is worth while.

The reminder that there are healthy and not-so-healthy ways for our souls to reach out to others is worth the time.

We only get this one wild and precious life.
I aim to live it…on the healthy levels of all that I am.

Substitute Teacher
October 26, 2018
On Monday, I guest starred (…I prefer this to “substitute teacher”) in a Kindergarten classroom at Lincoln Elementary School in Hastings, Nebraska. When the job came up, I really wasn’t sure about Kindergarten, but when I’d been at the school for another guest appearance, the staff had been notably kind and supportive, so I took a chance on the little bitties.

As a middle school teacher, I’d always been “God bless you”’d by people when they learned what I did. “It takes a special person to work with junior high kids.” They aren’t wrong. The growing, changing, often apathetic, sometimes cynical, frequently lazy bundles of hormones in my classroom were exhausting and frustrating.

Kindergarten is not that different really. The kids are cuter because…little kids are cute, but there’s still a lack of body control, a need to touch everything and everyone, mean comments (different level of language, but same amount of name-calling) and mean gestures (they haven’t learned the “really bad” ones yet, but there was plenty of “she stuck her tongue out at me!” and “he pointed his fingers at me like a gun!”) And some of them need a lot of hugs just like a lot middle school kids, and high school kids, and adults!

But in the kindergarten classroom, they had their own bathroom.

And three recess breaks during the day.

And snacks.

And paraeducators to help periodically.

I believe we have made a lot of great leaps in education in the last thirty years, but…

When I was six, we had half-day Kindergarten: kids either went for the morning OR the afternoon. And on Monday, I saw why. The morning went great, but at the halfway mark…that’s when the name-calling and hitting and “he cut in front of me!” really came on full force. These five- and six-year-olds could handle other people for four hours. Then they were done.

For a lot of middle school students, they’re not only spending all day together for the most part, but they’ve been in class with the same kids for seven years! There is a lot of research out there for implementing recess for junior high and high school students…these kids need a break from each other and opportunities to get moving.

When I was still in the classroom full-time, I did my own research project on providing snacks during standardized tests. At the very least, the students in my classes were far happier about the test days than students assigned to other snack-less classrooms. They stayed alert because they could take a moment and have a bite of some brain-friendly foods (protein power bites, pickles, cheese sticks, fruit…)

The importance of PLAY in learning has also been confirmed again and again. When the fun is all out of it, it gets a lot harder to learn.

And when learning is fun, we retain it for long after that day’s lesson. I have former students who are really solid on their subordinating conjunctions (talk about some boring stuff…) because I brought in the wacky, the fun, the novel to teach it. I remember my times tables because we learned them singing along to cassette tapes *ahem* in third grade.

Guest starring in the kindergarten classroom was stressful, but at the end of the day, I went home and none of the problems were mine to carry any longer. Like waiting tables and office work, I think everyone should have to try it at least once. If we learn nothing else from the experience, we’ll gain a higher, more appropriate level of appreciation for the people who play this role every day.

#nevertoolate
October 15, 2018
In 2016, the summer Olympics were held in Rio, and I was living in my own personal hell.

Watching these amazing athletes conquer feats toward which they had worked their entire young lives helped ease the time. I spent every afternoon/evening planted on my futon in front of the television. I practiced color commentary, texting witticisms to my friend Kaitlin and made a decision: I would (finally) learn how to swim.

In Jen Sincero’s book, You Are A Badass, she explains the importance of making a decision instead of just WANTING to do something. “So often we pretend we’ve made a decision when what we’ve really done is signed up to try until it gets too uncomfortable.” Previous to the summer of 2016, I hadn’t even gone that far. I wanted to learn how to swim….but not enough to do something about it.

My only swimming education up to that point was part of my third grade P.E. class. My elementary school would bus us to the community pool a couple times a week for “lessons”. I use that term loosely because we’re talking about dozens of third graders all in the pool at the same time. Not exactly an ideal situation for really learning this skill. At 9 years old, I was 5’4” tall, so there was no fear of the shallow end of the pool–I could just stand up–but I did not learn HOW to actually, like, swim in this process.

Then 25 years passed.

I got registered for eight individual swim lessons at the Hastings YMCA, 25 miles from my house. There was a bit of hoopla and miscommunication, so my first lesson wasn’t until October–right around my 36th birthday.

I arrived at the Y, changed in the locker room, showered as required, walked into the pool area, and…panicked. Without my glasses, I could not see who was there. I did not know if my instructor was there. I didn’t know where I should go. This put me in a less-than-positive mental state when it was time to begin. I did bobs (get under water, blow bubbles) and floated and “swam” with a kick board to work on kicking.

After that first lesson, which felt a bit like a waste of time due to my nerves, I made another decision: Fear be damned.

The remaining seven lessons were better. Backstroke–not bad: face out of the water, no stress over when to breathe. Front crawl–not as good. I really struggled with the rhythm of when to breathe and would panic when it didn’t go well resulting in sucking water.

Swimming is also physically challenging. Each lesson I would swim five or six laps with a break midway (it’s a 25 meter pool, so a full lap is down-and-back), and I would be WIPED OUT, sucking-air-exhausted.

After the first round, I signed up for eight more lessons, adding side stroke and breaststroke to my repertoire. There was also one less-than-successful attempt at learning to dive. I’ve let that go for now. Maybe someday.

Swim lessons gave me a goal to work toward and somewhere to be a couple nights a week, which all helped me get through a nightmarish life chapter.

That was the fall of 2016 and the winter of 2017.

It is now fall of 2018. I just marked two years since those first lessons. I swim two or three times a week. Today I swam sixteen laps in 25 minutes. This may not seem that impressive if you compare my ability to someone else, but I have vowed not to do that. The only comparison I make is to my past self. Sixteen laps in 25 minutes means very little, if any, break between laps; it means stronger; it means fearless; it means SWIMMER.

This decision changed part of my identity: I swim.

I’m unlikely to win any races. (I’m unlikely to ENTER any races.)
But this is what I know: When I DECIDE to do something. I am able.
It’s not about what I “want to” do… it’s about what I WILL do.

38 Revolutions
October 9, 2018

I’ve traveled around the sun thirty-eight times.
On the sixth trip, I was in kindergarten where I learned I was really tall, had a weird name, and wore the wrong shoes. My teacher gave me a paper cupcake with a paper candle with a 6…it had my school picture glued on it.

On the twelfth trip, my family moved from Montana to Nebraska, and I started middle school in a new state, where they assigned me a corner locker and a kid named Mark made every effort to prevent me from getting to my stuff on a daily basis.

On my fourteenth trip around, my music teacher showed our class a filmed performance of the original Broadway production of Into the Woods starring Bernadette Peters, and I thought, “THAT! I want to do THAT.”On my nineteenth trip around the sun, I moved to Illinois–College, where I learned how little I knew, met people who remain dear to my heart, sang and danced and learned a lot, but not enough.

On my twenty-third trip, I took my BA in musical theatre and moved into Chicago, was unemployed for a bit, did some bad theatre, did some okay theatre, but was uncertain how to break through…was just uncertain.

On the twenty-fifth revolution, I spent some time in England, but mostly moved home to learn how to adult, and I met the man I immediately knew I’d been waiting for.

On my twenty-seventh trip, I moved back to Chicago and got a very secure job. Security is good but a great obstacle to becoming an actor.On my twenty-eighth, I spent the summer at The School at Steppenwolf, where I again learned how little I knew, met people who are deeply interwoven into my heart, and learned so much about vulnerability and the courage it takes to allow yourself to be seen.

On my twenty-ninth journey around the sun, the ugliness of addiction (not mine) and a violent gang beating (not mine) pushed me out of the city.

On the thirty-first revolution, I became a teacher of junior high students. This was most certainly never included on the five- and ten-year plans written for so many end-of-high-school essays and applications.

On my thirty-sixth journey, I said enough-is-enough to the emotional turmoil that underscored the previous decade (unseen when listing highlights or chatting at work or sitting down to holiday dinners). I straightened my spine and picked up the shards of my heart. I also learned how to swim.

I’ve just completed the thirty-eighth revolution… I am no longer a classroom teacher, though I pop in as a guest star several times each month. I’m the Executive Director of a Shakespeare company.

I strive to swim at least three times each week. I’m very slow, but I love it and wish I could swim every day. My heart is healed, and I no longer live behind the mask of “Fine”.
Trust has returned.
I’m a listener for those who are in the midst of the ugliness of addiction or similar turmoil.
I am completely undone by great stories and long to be part of creating more of them.
I am grateful.
I wonder what this thirty-ninth revolution will bring…Let’s go.

ConnectionsNovember 16, 2018﻿

Share this:

Like this:

Connections
November 16, 2018