When recommending a book wasn't the answer and other book recommendations in the New Year

She stood at the island in my kitchen. I sat a few feet away at the kitchen table. She was telling me about her particular frustrations mothering her particular children. She didn't often confide these frustrations to me. It felt like a holy moment. I reminded myself that she needed someone to listen. That there was nothing to be said. I could help her most by being quiet and attentive. And I followed my own wisdom for a few minutes.

But then the more she described, the more I was certain that I had a remedy. A title. A book that described the parenting frustrations she was experiencing and suggestions that might provide tips, perspective, relief. Books are my go-to fix for everything. I regularly find myself with the name of a book on the tip of my tongue. “Read this. I'm certain you'll find something good, rich, helpful within the pages.”

I wish I'd kept my big mouth shut. I didn't.

“You should read this book. It helped me so much, and I really think you'd find some helpful suggestions and context in it.”  I hadn't finished speaking when she exploded. Threw her hands up above her head. 

“When do you think I have time to read?!?!”

I sat silent. Hurt, misunderstood, and fuming.

There was such pain and anger in her outburst. Our children who had been playing stopped, silent, watching. Their mothers had just had a fight. I knew the little recorders in their minds and memories were taking this in. I wanted to help guide them through the conflict.

At least one child began crying. Another asked, “Whose fault is this?”

The silence was palpable.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled even deeper. I spoke again.

“It's mine. The fault is mine. Your mama needed someone to listen. I stopped listening. She needed to talk and needed me to listen. It's going to be all right. Everything is okay.”

Replaying that scene in my mind, I felt ashamed. I knew that she needed me to listen. I succeeded at being quiet for a long stretch. Impatience and bad timing and a desire to help got the better of me. I betrayed both of us in that moment. I clobbered the inner wisdom that told me to shush, and my suggestion broke the spell of intimacy and safety that had allowed her to vent about a frustrating situation.

What I couldn't articulate in that moment was that books have saved my sanity many times over. Books have been an escape from situations that I couldn't navigate away from on my own. Books have been mirrors reflecting back who I am and what I believe. In some cases, the characters in books became friends. I wanted these things for her too, and it was why I was recommending the book.

I stopped giving book recommendations for awhile. I didn't want to be the “know-it-all” that the exchange seemed to reveal. With time and reflection, I understand that that moment didn't have anything to do with the book, so I've gotten over not sharing titles with others. I'm still mindful about the context in which I am sharing, but since this is my blog, this platform is always a good place to title drop. These are the first books I've read in 2017. I am thrilled by how good each of them were in their own unique ways.

The Book of Joy – Dalai Lama, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Abrams

It was on my check-it-out list, and then it came in the mail as a Christmas gift from a friend. I love it very much. I read a chapter, set it down, let the Dalai Lama's conversations with Archbishop Tutu soak in, rumble around in my head and heart, and picked it up for another chapter. It is comforting, encouraging, and motivating.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years – Donald Miller

This book is harder for me to summarize. It's definitely a book for writers. I'm not sure how it would resonate with non-writers, but the stories he weaves throughout are so poignant and rich, that I believe it would be a meaningful read for many. It definitely gave me some fuel for returning to my novel. For that, I am grateful. And it made me tear up, repeatedly.

My Antonia – Willa Cather

A friend I've recently reconnected with after many years told me about this one. The books that people love tells a lot about them, so in getting to know this friend again, I was curious about this book. It was published in 1918, but the story is as relevant and entertaining now as it must have been then. To attempt to move through my vast book list quicker, I found it on audio at the library. It was an excellent choice for audio because of the accents that the narrator peppers throughout the story. 

Here's to reading really great work in 2017. 

A Year in Review - On my 42nd Birthday

This time last year, I was coming down from the high (and exhaustion) of completing my 40/40 list. I looked at 41 as nine years from age 50 and had a mild (or not-so-mild) freak out. How in THE WORLD was I going to pass the time now?!? All that wide-open space on my calendar--day-by-day, month-by-month, and year-by-year--was intimidating and overwhelming.

At some point the freak out diminished. I rested, binge-watched shows that made me laugh out loud. I also did a fair bit of weeping. I gave myself permission for all of this. Over time I stopped thinking about filling my time and simply lived. Life got easier in the way it should, not because is is devoid of problems, but because I welcomed the difficulties and asked, "What have you to teach me in this moment?"

I also let my word of the year, Trust, guide me. I recognized that in order to live a meaningful life now and in the future, I was going to need to learn how to trust myself in new ways and also to trust that others were trustworthy too. These were not easy tasks in post-divorce life. When I was confronted or presented with something new or scary or uncertain, I conjured my guide word and bathed the situation with the image of what trusting myself and others would look like. This practice reminded me of the physical transformation my body underwent when I was doing four sun salutations a day for a year. These small movements added muscle definition in places that had not been defined before. I gained strength and confidence. The daily practice compounded the benefits. The same happened as I allowed myself to practice trusting myself and others. The more I trusted myself, the better my decision-making skills became and the better my life rolled along.

I spent the year re-reading and reliving the activities of my 40/40 list. I was reminded about all the fun I'd had in challenging myself, sometimes scaring myself, and always learning and growing as I celebrated being in the present. The two years of completing the list and then reflecting on the list have been good.

As I begin my 42nd year, I do so with far less anxiety. I have practiced seeing the unknowns of life as opportunities for adventure and reminders that the illusion of control is rarely helpful or productive. 

On the plane to Charleston last week, I was certain I knew the word I would choose to guide me in 2017. I looked out the window at the frozen landscape of rural Illinois. My weary mind and spirit relaxed as I pondered events of recent days. How one fall for my 94-year-old grandfather could have such drastic ramifications for his ability to live independently, for his physical health, and for my life when he comes to the end of this earthly journey.

I projected into the future what my life would look like and how I would cope. The landscape below looked like works of art. I was soothed and in the relaxing, a new word materialized: Quiet.

Trusting that I would/will be able to handle each situation as it appears, quiet seemed the next right word. It felt like an extension of trust and something I would need to observe in order to get through the next days, weeks, months--given these recent events. And so, it is decided. I will be quiet in 2017. Metaphorically and sometimes literally, though it is no vow of silence for this writer. That would be a bridge too far!

It is, however, my reminder that I can trust myself to make the best next decision after a period of quietude.

I have fewer expectations of myself in this new year. I know I want to write and submit work. I will work on the project that moves me at the given moment, be it novel, short story, essay collection, whatever. I want to honor my day job for its ability to support my daughter, me, and my craft. I want to embrace more minimalism, so that I can eliminate debt and pursue yoga teacher training as soon as possible.

Beyond that, I want to breathe deeply, express gratitude, love my tribe, and keep an eye out for the next adventure. The past two years have prepared me for this journey. I am ready.

Catalog of Beauty - November 10, 2016

I need to write, but I am still dazed by this week's events. In addition to the election that didn't go as expected, there were abrupt changes at work and a migraine with which to contend. I am beyond weary.

Tonight I'm going to make an accounting of the good things I experienced. Even in the midst of chaos and difficulty, I have cultivated the ability to pay attention to the little things. The practice pays off - especially on days or weeks like this.

1. My daughter's requests for hugs

2. Long stem roses from ALDI for a bargain

3. Seth Meyers' monologue

4. Laughter with a co-worker

5. Deep breaths

6. Choosing to walk by my fountain even though it's closed for the winter. The broader beauty is recognizing that I no longer feel the need to avoid things that are painful or disappointing. The thought had crossed my mind to stop walking by the fountain during autumn and winter, but then I realized that I was avoiding the sad feelings I have missing the water. It's better to feel them and move on. Those feelings dissipate much more quickly when faced head on.

6. Gregory Alan Isakov's voice, music, and especially his lyrics.

7. Wind and sunshine

8. Smiling after the pain of a migraine.

9. Being told that I look like I'm in my LATE TWENTIES by my new Panera friend, Elizabeth.

10.  This epiphany: I have determined that the Trump presidency is going make me bolder, braver, and more loving. All the scary things I have faced in the past five years--my dad's illness, continuous job losses, staying afloat financially in spite of said job losses, my own health scares, divorce, and post-divorce life--have prepared me for this time. I am determined to be an ally for vulnerable people in this new world. One of the ways I plan to do that is to initiate contact with people who do not look like me in all their beautiful diversity. I want to create spaces of safety, inclusivity, and rest wherever I go, which leads to this exchange:

11. At Panera, I noticed a beautiful man who was wearing the heck out of a scarf around his neck. He had such flair, and I told him so. "I love your scarf," I said. He looked at me for a second and then smiled. "Thank you very much. I like your look too." I smiled back and sat in the table ahead of his. I am a proponent of Random Acts of Kindness. It felt so good to interact with this lovely stranger. As Glennon Doyle Melton says all the time, We Belong To Each Other, and this exchange made that phrase pulse with truth.

12. Imagining that my walk back to my office was a scene from a musical and dance-walking all the way back to work.

13. Picking up a handful of trash.

 

13. Vulnerability, authenticity, and presence in my friendships.

14. Playing volleyball with my friends and daughter at church and being less afraid of the ball. And being a better contributor to the team. Also not bruising my wrist when I served this evening.

15. Lemonade from Chik-fil-A.

16. Having the energy to write this list while snuggled warm and cozy under my covers in my bedroom that is now my sanctuary from the world. 

17. My electric kettle from a friend that makes my room feel like a hotel.

18. It's Friday-eve.

19. Not feeling so down this evening.

November First Observance

Whew. The past month has been something else. I feel the weight, weariness, and relief of having successfully completed another write31days blog challenge. Behind the scenes, I've also navigated numerous challenging interpersonal circumstances on top of the high-heel-wearing foot injury.

Today is the first day I haven't had a blog post topic planned in one month. I woke up shortly after five a.m., though, to re-read my essay submission for the Glamour Magazine essay contest. I checked the word count to make sure it still fell within the prescribed range and filled out the submission form. Then I pasted the essay into the online form, hit submit, and snuggled back under the covers.

As I fought the need to get out of bed and ready for work, I thought about the significance of November First, and how this is the 25th anniversary of that day.

I've written about this anniversary before, and I suspect I'll write about this day many more times in my life. Longing, sadness, and a dollop of adventure swirl together to make the day stand out in my heart's calendar. At forty-one, I can see more clearly what an important milestone it is. It's the first before-and-after marker of my young life.

To recap, I was a fifteen-year-old who was moving away from the only home she knew. I was leaving my friends and family. I was leaving ballet, tap, and jazz and the Nutcracker Ballet. I was leaving my neighborhood the character that loomed large in the story of my childhood.

The moving van was scheduled to come that day while I was at school. What I was not prepared for was learning that my quiet, stooped little grandpa passed away a few hours after the moving van pulled up to my house. Now I was leaving my beloved grandmother, a days' old widow, all alone.

I keep asking myself, "What does this remembrance mean for you this year?" My answer: it was the first time that I encountered numerous life stressors simultaneously, and that I walked through that difficult time with grace and courage as a teenager. It taught me about my strength as a young person and what I was made of. The forty-one-year-old me is proud of that young girl.

It also makes missing my grandmother and my best friend, Melissa, feel more palpable now than at any other time of the year. It takes me back to those days of saying goodbye, and then saying goodbye again, after our departure was pushed back for my grandfather's funeral. I have been friends with Melissa for 28 years. I am proud of the way we have stayed in touch across many, many miles. I love that we get to be mothers to our children at the same time.

I think of how proud my grandma would be of my writing pursuits. I have a cherished circle of super fans, but my grandmother would be the president of that club. She believed I was a writer before I did. She planted that seed in my DNA with her love of words, storytelling, and writing. Then she nurtured it with encouragement and endless conversation about it.

What I submitted to Glamour Magazine is the hardest, most truthful story I've written yet. It has primed the pump for other stories to come, and I know she would have read it and exhaled loudly. She would have placed her hand over her heart, and exclaimed, "Now THIS is going to give me something to think about for a little while, my little darling."

I appreciate that for just a few minutes in the process of writing about that sepia-toned time of life, I can conjure her as if she's in the room with me. That is the power of writing, and why I can't stop--even when I'm weary.

Handsome Wayne K. Steele, my paternal grandfather.

My grandmother, Maxine, is the woman on the right in the first row. My grandfather is in overalls behind her.

Wayne and Maxine with Steven, before my dad was born.

31. Final thoughts...for now

I spend so much time in my head. I suppose it comes with the writer's territory. It also stems from a desperate need to make sense of things long past that still sting, still linger. I want to get them straight in my head, to order them, and to let them go. I'm getting better at the letting go these days. I keep practicing, and I see improvement. It will be a lifetime's work.

It's been apparent for awhile that in spending so much time in my head that I've overlooked the need to spend time in my body. To move, exercise, feed it well, enjoy having a body that is healthy and strong, to use it, for heaven's sake.

I concentrated on spending more time and energy in my body as I created my 40/40 list last year. The training for and running a 5K taught me that my preconceived limits were beatable and that I actually like running. The trapeze class taught me a different lesson about limits and to know when I've had enough. I still dream of owning kayaks after a peaceful afternoon with a friend on the water. In other words, I came to appreciate my body in new and lasting ways last year.

When I attended the Haven retreat in Montana in June 2015, the concept of the writer spending time outside of her head was reinforced every afternoon as we explored equine-assisted learning and yoga surrounded by big skies and fir-covered mountains.

“As you pray, move your feet.”

            - African Proverb
 

This proverb holds deep meaning for me since I began walking and then writing about the Sole-to-Soul Sessions. I understand the power and truth of these words. Choosing to hit the pavement at a depressed season of life personifies its wisdom.

I was praying and hoping for healing and insight before I started walking. But I believe now that moving my feet was what really helped to expedite the healing. By physically moving, energies that time and pain had lodged deep inside began getting moved around and eventually out of my body. These sole-to-soul sessions helped burn off old stuff that was no longer serving me. 

 

Even though this blog series winds down today, I will continue to walk and write about the insights and beauties I encounter. I already have two other stories queued up to write. I look forward to sharing what comes to mind as I bundle up and brace against the wind and cold of the new season. I will continue to move my feet as I continue to pray, heal, and live fully in the present moment. 

 

30. Catalog of Beauty

“I am not against critique, but the world’s need to nick pic everything is a dis-ease. What I crave is holiness. We are so far away from the heart, when only the head leads with only what is wrong. How about the million beauties you walked by today and did not see? Name them. The world needs/ I need your catalog of beauty. What is your catalog of beauty?”

                                  
                                                                -Glenis Redmond

Since beginning this series on walking, my friends have sent me articles and quotes about walking and its benefits. I've also stumbled on a few myself, like the one above. 

 

It feels so relevant to today. So much nick picking, so much judgment. So much emphasis on what is wrong. I was struck by the sentence I put in bold type. My walking habit has helped me focus on “the million beauties” I walk by. But now months into this habit and nearly one month of writing about it, I have figured out that I pay attention to the beauty around me regardless of if I am walking or not.

This heightened sense of attention may be one of the best byproducts of walking as meditation. The built-in slowed pace of walking makes paying attention easier than say noticing from the driver's seat of a car, but it's a practice. The more I pay attention, the more I see. 

 

Today's catalog of beauty:

• The lyrics of the hymns we sang at church that spoke of hospitality and inclusion. Especially these words from Community of Christ Sings #274:
  
  
  “Oh, may our hearts and minds be opened, fling the church doors open wide. May there be room enough for everyone inside. For in God there is a welcome, in God we all belong. May that welcome be our song.”
  
  
• Friendship shared and expanded over hamburgers and ice cream after church.
  
  
• Attending a symphony performance with my daughter. In costume.
  
  
• When she rested her sleepy, sweaty head on my shoulder during the performance.
  
  
• Driving home, taking in the beauty of the enormous homes on Lindell Avenue. Their chrysanthemums were vibrant and eye-catching. 
   
• Cadence: “It's just nice looking at all these big houses.” Appreciation for things we do not have and not feeling a need to get them or feel bad for not having them.
  
  
• Costume off, feet free of hours of wearing high-heeled boots. Lounging in cozy pajamas under an antique quilt, sipping tea, texting a fellow writer, and working on this post.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

29. Change of Season

“Winds in the east, mist coming in. / Like somethin' is brewin' and bout to begin. / Can't put me finger on what lies in store, / But I fear what's to happen all happened before.” - Bert, Mary Poppins

My walks have been breezier than usual the past few days, and there's been a bite in the air. I've been grateful for my jacket and fingerless gloves I wear in my office. Bert's right, something's brewing: cooler temperatures, falling leaves, the fountain drying up for the season. I feel a twinge of something. It's not sadness exactly, but an appreciation for what this season has brought me—peace, calm, confidence, hope. And curiosity for what a season of walking in autumn and winter will gift me. I know that if I look for lessons and insights, I will find them. 

The change in season feels momentous to me because I have been so attentive in this current season. I have grown so much. Healed in ways I didn't expect and am feeling so strong and ready to take on whatever life blows my way. 

I plan on continuing my daily walks, albeit bundled up. I will likely suspend my walks on icy days, but otherwise, my plan is to walk through the arctic winter like I walked through the blazing summer.

This month's daily writing has been a wonderful ramp up to returning to daily work on parts two and three of my novel. As I walked and let my life unfold before me, I sensed new rhythms settling in. Autumn and winter feel right to be the months for the heavy lifting of writing larger works of fiction (or whatever strikes my fancy). In those months there are fewer demands on my time. No lawns to mow. No softball games to cheer on.

I am certain that walking at lunch will be a beautiful accompaniment to the writing I do either early in the morning or late in the evening. I'm excited to see how my story takes shape in this new season. 

Landscaping crews are changing out the flowers and planting shrubs

I like the drizzly days

Note the leaves that have gathered at the base of the fountains