Pleasantly Mistaken

Part of the grief of an unsupportive marriage and the subsequent divorce has been the matter of the lack of regular companionable touch. For awhile I've told myself that the hugs of my then-eight and now-nine-year-old daughter are wonderful, but just not the same as a grown up's and preferably a male's.

A migraine slowly made its presence known this morning as I was waking, showering, and getting ready for the day. I took my prescription medicine and waited while it kicked in.

In the kitchen, I felt the weariness and vulnerability that comes with the pain of migraines. I asked for a hug from my daughter. She wrapped her arms around me, and then heard me begin to cry. When I assured her I wasn't sick and that tears sometimes help relieve the pressure of a headache, I felt her take her role as comforter seriously. She sat on my lap facing me and held on. She held me firmly and alternately placed her hand on my head and rubbed the left side where she knew the pain was concentrated. She moved back, placed her hands on my neck and began giving me a massage.

I let myself sink into this comforting mother-daughter moment. When I patted her bottom, thanked her for her kindness, and told her it was time to drive to school, I felt better and realized it was okay for me to every once in a while, ask her for a hug. I have been pleasantly mistaken that her hugs wouldn't be enough.  Today they are.

A List of Thank yous

Today my divorce has been final for one year. It's strange to observe the day that something important was dissolved. And yet, I celebrate because I am in a better place. I am relieved to be at the one-year mark. It means all the firsts are behind me. I have a baseline for how most co-parenting interactions are likely to go. This brings me peace.

Some other unexpected things have happened. In the swirl of life, these things make me alternately sad, disappointed, tired, scared, and hopeful. That's a lot of emotion to wade through, and so I laid in my bed, covers to my chin, and sobbed them out. I went to sleep.

This morning the sting is still there and I know it will be for awhile. And I am committed to approaching all of the swirl the way Rob Bell addresses it in his book, How To Be Here: "How we respond to what happens to us--especially the painful, excruciating things that we never wanted and we have no control over--is a creative act.

The sun is shining.

Today is a new day, and I am grateful. Today's creative act is to make a list of things I am grateful for, so I keep my attention there rather than on the other places vying for so much head space.

Thank you for my gray, cozy robe.
Thank you for postage stamps.
Thank you for my daughter.
Thank you for Wednesdays when I get to see her again.
Thank you for people who make me laugh.
Thank you for Parks and Recreation binges and laughing out loud with my daughter.
Thank you for her kindnesses.
Thank you for books.
Thank you for words.
Thank you for audiobooks in heavy traffic.
Thank you for random acts of kindness--the giving and the receiving.
Thank you for Coldplay and Avett Brothers.
Thank you for courage.
Thank you for courage to turn off cable.
Thank you for courage to turn off Facebook.
Thank you for courage to take care of myself.
Thank you for boundaries.
Thank you for snail mail.
Thank you for massages.
Thank you for amazing coworkers.
Thank you for lifelong friends.
Thank you for new friends.
Thank you for the way decluttering makes me feel.
Thank you for trips to Aldi that make me forget my sadness even for a few minutes.
Thank you for creative minds that inspire.
Thank you for Rob Bell.
Thank you for Elizabeth Gilbert.
Thank you for Lin-Manuel Miranda.
Thank you for Hamilton-The Musical.
Thank you for faith--even when it's wobbly.
Thank you for Spirit, when it washes over me, and makes me cry.
Thank you for a paycheck.
Thank you for new days.
Thank you for this new day.

Thoughts at the end of a day - Mother's Day 2016

This post has re-written itself since I started working on it a few hours ago. Cadence was with her Dad this weekend. I knew I would see her at some point, but wasn't sure when. I went to church, had lunch with a friend, and scheduled a much-needed massage to help fill the afternoon. My writing was delightfully interrupted when Cadence rang my doorbell. When I greeted her at the door, her hands were full of miscellaneous mother's day gifts: brown paper bags of DQ ice cream, a card, and a canvas.

We hugged and then she showered me with her gifts. “Wait there's more.” Cadence opened her teal purse and presented an opened bag of Jolly Ranchers. “I thought we could share these.” 

Months ago at a friend's birthday party she painted a “camo deer head” on canvas and planned to present it to me today. “I know it's not really your style, but I thought the colors fit in with what you want to paint your bedroom.” She is exactly right.

She wrote the following note in my handpicked card: “Dear Mommy, I love you! Hopefully you like the dairy queen ice cream. Happy Mother's Day! Your the Best Mommy in the whole world. How was church today? The Cardinals game was so fun! You are so supportive! I love you! Have a good day! Xoxo Love, Cadence your daughter PS: your the best!  (I'm a fan of all her exclamation points and her use of the word supportive.)

Today has exceeded my expectations. I am so determined to make the best of situations like today when I didn't know how much time I'd get to spend with Cadence. These days always go better than I anticipate. The lead-up is usually fraught with more angst than the day itself.

Being newly single also reinforces new perspectives like: Mother's and Father's Days can be hard on single parents when their children aren't old enough to initiate gift-giving or some sort of observance. I do not for a minute take for granted that our dual household is functional. We co-parent well. I know this is not the case for many divorced families, and I am grateful that it is for us.

I am a broken record on this blog: I marvel at how much Cadence and I are thriving in this new life. It takes hard work, and some days are harder than others, but it is worth all of the effort. I am one lucky woman.

With my Cady-did

My new artwork - more inspiration for my writing desk

Where Have I Been?

It's a question I imagine my laptop asking if it had a voice. Astrid and Derrick, my beloved characters, are likely asking the same question. They are alive and well in my imagination. They are showing up to do the work of telling their story.

My answer is that I've needed a break. It has become abundantly clear that the activity of 2015 in celebration of my 40^th birthday, while healthy, invigorating, and constructive, also delayed the inevitable: grieving and adjusting to the life change that also occurred in 2015.

Much of what has swirled through my mind in the past few months has not been for public consumption. Not because it was too private or too horrible. Only that it was a little tedious, a little repetitive, a little boring, and mostly just for me to wade through. My journal shows the proof of my current writing production.

Here's a taste test of what's filled those pages:

• It struck me in the car a few blocks away from Cadence's school that this back and forth between her dad's house and mine is a forever thing. Not that I didn't KNOW that already, but the heart truth of it pierced me. In some ways, I'm getting very accustomed to it and in others, it feels fresh and raw all the time. It's a hard truth to bear understanding that a decision you made that was ultimately best for everyone still comes with the consequences of less time with the single most important person in your life.
  
  
• “If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present.” Lao Tzu's words have resonated deeply in the past few days. I used to be depressed and anxious. I'm making progress because the depression has lifted, but the anxiety remains. I cannot shake the feeling that I NEED TO KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT. It's a damning feeling. A coworker patiently reminds me that no one knows what's coming next no matter the stage of life they're in. So why am I so determined that I need to know?

This morning I was entrenched in the present. I unburied my desk from the mess of life. I spent hours (yes, hours!) blissfully unearthing the paper mess that has weighed down my desk space for the past few months. How can a minimalist possibly accumulate so much stuff?

Incrementally, I have decided what to keep and what to let go to help me feel like my house is my own. It's been a therapeutic exercise, and it's almost complete. What remains are the artifacts of my life that vibrate with life and happy memories and help mark the places I've been geographically and emotionally in life. The less I have, the happier I am.

Now as I type, I hear Chris Martin serenade me. I hear the tinkle of water in a small water fountain I finally pulled out of its box. I hear an airplane overhead and the hum of a neighbor's lawn mower beckoning me to my next chore.

There's a jungle of high grass waiting for me in my backyard. It feels like a privilege to have this plot of ground that's mine alone to maintain, this healthy body that can do the work, and the sunshine to warm me. This Saturday, I am at peace.

In the midst of the mess

Post-Mess: Items dusted and moved, fountain operating, desk clear

Everything that had been leaning against the wall is now nailed down. A great view for my writing pursuits.

Lest I mislead you: what's left to organize. I am a "mood-based' housekeeper. The mood will strike again. Later.

Letter to a Friend

Dear Lois,

We celebrated Cadence's baptism today.

It was a glorious day! My tomboy twirled around in her glittery, white tulle dress and bejeweled sandals.  She eased into the waters of baptism beside her aunt confident and assured of the decision she had made. She sat still and quiet as she listened to June pray words of confirmation.

I've thought a lot about you in the past few months. I've stopped sitting in "our row" at church. I felt your absence too acutely sitting alone after you died, so I have new "pew buddies" on Sundays.

I've thought about how you used to tell me that I was strong. You repeated it again and again. I admit that at the time, I thought it was a hallmark of aging. I appreciated your faith in me then, but not like I do now. You recorded a message on my heart and mind that I could access later when I needed it.

My, have I needed those words in the past year. I have summoned strength I didn't know I had, and then remembered your words. I have thought about where I am today, what it has taken for me to get here, and how much I wish you were here to witness it.

And then...

Cadence's special church buddy, Barb, presented a gift to her and said it was from Lois. I didn't catch the entire conversation, so I was a little behind.  Cadence tore the yellow tissue paper away and held in her hands a ceramic dish with a lid. She lifted the lid and inside there was a note that read, "I am so proud of you. Love, Lois."

Lois, this gift undid me. Cadence loved it, but I took it in like nourishment. To think that you had thought of this day long before it came and that you wouldn't be here to see it.  Thank you for planning ahead.

I wept and wept, and my friends held me and cried with me.  Through this gift you reminded me that loved ones aren't really as far away as it feels when death separates us. I cried as I felt your love in a way I haven't felt since we used to sit and sing harmony together, and tremble with stifled church giggles all those years ago. I knew you loved us then, but oh gosh, that little porcelain dish and note made the love come rushing back.

I think about how much Cadence, the nine-year-old, would delight you. She is wicked funny, whip smart, and has a huge, compassionate heart. She loves life and people. She loves her friends and family with a fierceness that sometimes takes away my breath. She loves Cardinals baseball, playing softball and applying makeup.

Thank you for loving her before you even knew her. And for loving me as I mothered her.

There are no words for how thankful I am for your friendship then and your gift today. Your thoughtfulness made my day.

I love you more than words can express.

Julie

The Power of the Holy Slump

I have recently exited a period I have coined as a Holy Slump. It's symptoms include:

• A sense there's something you should be doing—even want to do—but can't quite muster the energy for;
• Early bedtimes;
• Worry that this slump will never end;
• Heaviness in head and heart;
• A sense that something good will come from this unproductive season, which helps you cope with the symptoms above.

Martha Beck, a favorite wise woman and author writes, “During the times we think we're being “unproductive,” the seeds of new worlds are germinating within us, and they need peace to grow.” I observed my daily activity from late February through early April. This quote kept coming back to me during those days.

I shared Part One of my novel with a few trusted readers in the days leading up to the Holy Slump. I was shocked, elated, and relieved by the positive feedback. The “I want more” feedback motivated me to keep going at the same time that fear of how to write through my protagonist's undoing froze my fingers on my mechanical keyboard.

And so I did something new. I did not despair. I did not castigate myself. I gave myself permission to not write. At least to not work on my novel. And I didn't even discuss this slump with Dan. What the past few years has taught me, and last year's daily writing habit reinforced, is that my heart's desire is to write. The Holy Slump whispered to me: Trust that not working on your novel for awhile will not diminish your love of writing. I journaled and wrote a lot of letters where I articulated a lot of new insights.

During this time, my characters lived and breathed in my mind. I caught myself staring into space at work and realized that my character's brother, one of the story's narrators, handed me new material to open Part Two of the novel. These beloved characters kept me company on my commutes to and from work. The Holy Slump created space for us to dwell together and to grow.

The Holy Slump also offered a space for me to reassess the dogged productivity of 2015. I examined how it came to be that I set up arbitrary rules to order my life. I began to see that these rules in themselves are not bad things, yet anything in excess can turn into a hindrance. My rules about writing had turned on me.

“I watched you work on that 40/40 list like it was a military operation. You aren't going to like hearing this, but you have control issues, and you exerted control over that list,” said Tammy. She was right on both counts. I didn't like hearing it, and I knew that control HAD played a role in executing my 40^th year. The list had been a healthy distraction in the midst of a year where there were a lot of uncertainties that I could not control. Her feedback helped me wrestle with this controlling nature. I saw where these inclinations served me (I accomplished a lot in 2015) and where they did not (I held myself to exacting, unnecessary, and arbitrary expectations.)

I recognized myself in this quote by Danielle LaPorte:

Underneath overzealous motivation can be self-hatred. Underneath a lot of “self-care” can be more self-hatred. We can create new addictions, new obsessions, and it really keeps us on the wheel of “I'm not good enough yet, but I'll get better. Are you trying to improve yourself or are you exploring or expanding your potential? Improvement vs. Potential. They feel different.

After establishing a daily writing habit, that activity now was the newest self-inflicted rule or obsession. Writing everyday became a new criteria by which to judge myself. In my mind, daily writing was another recipe for somehow making me better.  Why did I think I needed to be better? The Holy Slump helped illuminate this as a lie of my controlling nature. It gave me permission to stop judging myself. Nobody cares whether I write every day or not. Neither should I. The Holy Slump gifted me with new perspective and a fresh dose of gentleness. The truth is I write because I love to, not because I have to. Skipping a day won't change that.

Like a spring shower that passes as gently and quickly as it begins, the Holy Slump lifted. I noticed one day that the heaviness I'd been carrying for the past month seemed lighter. Something had shifted. I missed writing my novel more than I was afraid of how to proceed. This felt monumental. All of this came to me one day at work. That evening I draped myself in my favorite robe, brewed a cup of tea, and sat at my writing desk. I puttered a bit to ease into the writing session.

The result during that evening of writing? Two and a quarter pages of brand new material for Part Two. I was relieved. The story was coming to me easier than I had imagined. Those seemingly unproductive days and weeks had been what I needed to rest, regroup, and remember why I love writing.

I refer to this period as holy because the entire time I was moving quietly through, observing my patterns, and giving myself space, I felt supported, buoyed, and encouraged by a force I couldn't see. I sensed that I was in sacred space and that I could trust this time to enrich, strengthen, and prepare me for unknown writing—and life—experiences ahead. 

Only if I let it. And so I did. I let it work on me. I allowed new ideas to germinate within and trusted that new growth would come.

I feel different now. I am at ease about my book's progress and my writing pursuits in general. I am certain that welcoming this Holy Slump into my writing timeline will ultimately allow me to finish my manuscript sooner than if I pushed through instead of taking this pause. Either way, I understand that it really doesn't matter when I finish, and that uncertainty can be holy too.

Rejection #4

When I started this blog, the plan was to chronicle my writing pursuits by celebrating my way to 300 rejected submissions. Submissions were few at the time because I hadn't convinced myself to own "writer" as a title. When I finally identified myself as such, I was so busy writing about the 40/40 list and working on my novel there wasn't time or energy to write pieces to submit.

Now I am motivated by the need for additional income as well as the desire to expand my comfort zone even broader (I've not yet written a query letter. It scares me, which means it's the next thing I must do), so I am newly motivated to prepare more pieces for submission.

Last fall I submitted the following essay for the 8th Annual Real Simple Essay Contest. This was my third crack at the contest over the years, and I am happy to announce it is the next rejection toward 300. I found the winning essay on the Real Simple web site today. It is a breathtaking essay and so deserving of the first prize ribbon. Congratulations to Diane Penney!

I have friends who insist that there's a book within my 40/40 list experience. I'm not ruling it out. There was at least an essay, which I present to you below.  Time will tell what other ways I will be inspired to write about how the 40/40 list shaped my life. Until then, here's my response to the magazine's question: What single decision has changed your life?

40/40 Vision: The Decision That Gave Me a New Outlook on Life

“You know, Julie, I'm creating a list of 27 things I want to do in celebration of my 27^th birthday. You should do the same to celebrate your 40^th.” My coworker's suggestion made me laugh and consider our age gap. My slender build, bone structure, and big eyes reminded her of Michelle Pfeiffer in One Fine Day—a movie we watched the same year. She was nine. I was a senior in college.

I didn't take her suggestion seriously at first, but over the next few days, the possibilities began to percolate in my imagination. Check off 40 activities in my 40^th year. I numbered a sheet of notebook paper and began filling in the blanks.

I posted a request on Facebook for suggestions. Friends offered ideas and their willingness to participate in some of them. Themes developed in an organic way. There were physical challenges: run a 5K with my brother-in-law; take tennis, ice skating, and trapeze lessons; do yoga daily—four sun salutations—to improve my forward bends; kayak at a local lake. A love of books and reading were represented: read four more presidential biographies; read a book off a high school reading list; re-read my favorite childhood series Anne of Green Gables. Writing four letters to state and federal legislators and attending a school board meeting rounded out the civic-minded category. Making bread pudding, making pie crust from scratch, and taking a cooking class at a local grocery store satisfied the cooking theme. 

 

I made sure that there were activities that my eight-year-old daughter could do with me: attend a symphony performance; get a pedicure with bright red polish; go to Meramec Caverns in rural Missouri; learn to fishtail braid her hair. 

Participating in a 31 day writing challenge in October and blogging about each of the completed activities represented my love of writing on the list. And then miscellaneous items that piqued my interest completed the list: singing a Sara Bareilles song at karaoke; staying in a hotel overnight solo; renting a MINI cooper; making a substantial donation to a charity; taking a train trip.

I kicked off the list on January 3—my 40^th birthday—by having lunch with girlfriends at the Boathouse in Forest Park in St. Louis. It's a restaurant I'd never been to in the dozen years I'd lived here. Being surrounded by such warm, inspiring, lovely women was the perfect start to a brand-new year and decade. We talked and laughed (and cried a little bit too) for hours. I marveled at how a group of women whose only known commonality was a mutual friend could bond and enjoy each others' company so much. 

 

My first 40 years were spent as a bookworm who lived predominantly in her heart and mind. The 40/40 list pushed me to question the narratives I had about who I was and what I believed about myself. Working my way through the list underscored just how much of life I had lived as a spectator, an observer. Take physical activity, for example. When my brother-in-law suggested I add running a 5K race to the list, I felt intimidated. “I’m not a runner!” I thought to myself. But he was suggesting a 5K, not a marathon, and so I agreed. I completed it successfully in just under 33 minutes. There were other labels that this list was challenging. Prior to turning forty, I also believed that “I'm terrible in the kitchen!” I repeated this belief often. It became a part of who I was. But then I baked the recipes on the list. No calamity occurred in the making of these desserts. In fact, they were delicious, and I had made them! I could no longer own the “bad cook/baker” label.

New mantras like “I can do everything” and “Right here, right now” developed in place of old labels. These mantras set a new tone throughout all aspects of life. “I can do everything” accompanied me on training runs for the 5K. It also came in handy before I launched myself off a three-story zipline platform or grasped the next handhold on the indoor rock climbing course. 

In January, I believed checking off items on the 40/40 list was simply a creative way to celebrate a milestone. What I know now with just a few activities left to cross off is that the 40/40 list initiated a spiritual journey. Always introspective, I evaluated myself in new contexts and under different circumstances. With emotional excavation I have grappled with the great role fear has played in my life. These activities have served as practice to end the cautious, play-it-safe ways I lived before. In my twenties and thirties, I was a serious woman who worried far too much about what other people thought of my decisions. Everything, real or imagined, scared me and so I backed away from anything that made me anxious. Now when I detect a sense of fear, I ask myself, “Are you scared?” If the answer is yes, I take the fear by the hand and proceed. In this way, I neutralize it and prove myself stronger. The fears of failure, physical pain, and not “doing something right,” have loosened their grips. 

The 40/40 list has created a fertile environment to take on other challenges that weren't outlined on the initial list. My new life is peppered with the questions “Why not?” and “What have I got to lose?” It turns out I have so much to gain: I started a daily writing habit and completed the first draft of a novel. I attended a writing retreat in Montana. I refinanced my house as a solo homeowner. And I did all of these things in the first seven months of my 40^th year.

As I celebrated my birthday all year, I witnessed others approach the milestone with trepidation, sadness, or dread. I cannot relate to these reactions. I love being 40! The first year of this new decade has ushered in new ways to live my best life. I take a stand for myself. I feel more energy, more happiness, and more zest for life than ever before. 

The reverberations from the list will last a lifetime. I didn't just run a 5K. I became a runner and have run another race since checking the first one off the list. And now I get a pedicure after every race. It's a new “be good to myself” ritual I've started. My daily yoga has taught the importance of consistent effort toward a goal. I can touch my toes without bending my knees. This was not possible in January. 

Nothing about life has changed, but everything about me has. Life is still hard and complicated, scary and unknown. The 40/40 list has taught me to take life as it comes. To delight in the good times, and to trust my instincts when the bad times appear. To keep one foot in front of the other, and to not look too far down the path. To just stay present and let tomorrow worry about itself. Best of all, I will be a better example of how to live a full and meaningful life for my daughter at 41 than I was at 40.

I can't wait to see the other ways my life transforms when this list is complete. I am grateful for my 27-year-old coworker's birthday suggestion to make that list. I hope she's had half the fun I have had.