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.

Rambling Thoughts on Easter & New Life

Today I am met with another first of this new life: the Easter Basket is filled and ready for a girl who won't see it until Wednesday. She and I spent a wonderful few days of her spring break with our almost-94-year-old Grandpa. Yesterday I dropped her off at her other home where her dad had hidden eggs around the property for an impromptu Easter egg hunt.

I knew she was in good hands, but those hands weren't mine. As I drove out of the neighborhood, I felt a whoosh of emotion. Tears welled up in my eyes and for an instant I thought about reaching out to people to comfort me, but instead I prayed, asked for strength, and found it in myself.

My year of firsts will basically culminate with her ninth birthday--the last big occasion that will take place on her weekend with her dad. I am fascinated by what has become of my life.  I am at the intersection where "creating a writing life" meets with "adjusting to being single with a child." Of particular note is the overlapping way I have decided to "write new narratives" for my own life as I have created characters that before I thought of them, did not exist.

A few weeks ago as I pondered what this Easter day would look like, I felt a twinge of self-pity. Alone without my daughter. Without a place to go after church, etc. The writer in me didn't let me stay there for very long, luckily. Instead, I wrote a different script. I was going to spend the morning with family after all--my church family. They love me deeply and I love them. We would share Easter breakfast and worship together.  My afternoon would be spent on my own puttering around my house preparing for house guests who would arrive the next day.

One of my favorite things is to watch how God uses serendipity and very small gestures to speak to me and to comfort me. He did not disappoint this Easter day.

I had the privilege to put together the Easter worship service and to shepherd the congregation through it. At the last moment as the inspiring sounds of the piano prelude were pouring into the sanctuary by the unbelievably talented hands of our pianist, I began leafing through the hymn book looking for something to read.

My style of worship is not big and loud with hands waving above my head. It is quiet and contemplative, and certain that God will always meet me where I am. Today he caught my attention with the lyrics of hymn 482 of the Community of Christ Sings. This is what I read as a welcome and call to worship:

Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
wheat that in dark earth many days has lain; 
Love lives again that with the dead has been; 
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

In the grave they laid him, Love by hatred slain,
thinking that he would never wake again,
laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen;
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,
he that for three days in the grave had lain;
raised from the dead, my living Lord is seen;
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

When our hearts are wint'ry, grieving, or in pain,
your touch can call us back to life again,
fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been;
Love is come again like wheat arising green.

At first, the hymn caught my attention because of the mention of wheat.  Days before, I had taken country drives with my Grandpa and my daughter. He had mentioned how good the wheat crop looked. The fields were bright with the green blades. I wouldn't have been able to distinguish the wheat at this stage of growth from any other crop. And now God was whispering to me reminding me that He is a part of everything I see and experience and that all of these things are interconnected.

I thought about my life in the past few years. How "laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen" describes how I'd felt. I was like that wheat growing deep beneath the surface long before the blades of green growth were apparent above the soil. In those years of disappointment and confusion, I was, in fact, doing the hard work of preparing for this new life.


It was the fourth stanza that really grabbed me though. My heart has been wint'ry, grieving, and yes even in pain. His touch--through the prayers of people who love me, phone calls, notes, and the quiet of solitude of this past year--has called me back to life again. It would seem I am my own walking Easter story!

And lest I worry about my daughter missing out, not being at church with her friends on this special day, a mama friend walked up to me and said, "The girls want to share these eggs from the Easter egg hunt with Cadence. What can we put them in?"

Love is come again like wheat arising green. My daughter doesn't have to be present or next to me every moment of her life to feel loved, to be seen, and remembered. There are two young girls remembering her on their own. It brings tears to my eyes as I think of it.

This life is what we make of it. We get to choose how to write our narratives. I am smitten by life's goodness even in the midst of pain, transition, and adjustment.

Franklin Pierce - A Recap

I am in the thick of the stretch of reading that my presidential biography project advisor, also known as my Brad-Dad, warned would be boring reading.  Since I have a flair for the dramatic, I'm going to call this boring reading the "monstrosity of dryness."  Cadence asked me if I was going to write about it on my blog, and my answer three days ago was, "Yes, if I can think of anything to say."

I finished the biography at lunch today, and I've been able to come up with a few words about President Franklin Pierce. But only a few words.

• His presidency was a dismal failure and helped move this country closer to the Civil War.

• This biographer, Michael F. Holt, summarized Pierce's administration: 
• "...they (other biographers or historians) faulted Pierce for a misbegotten patronage policy and a disastrous decision to endorse the Kansas-Nebraska Act that helped bring on the Civil War. And they usually tended to attribute those mistakes to Pierce's alleged character flaws: a weak will, too great of an eagerness to please others, decided prosouthern proclivities. As a result, Pierce has languished near the bottom when historians periodically go about ranking American presidents...I attribute Pierce's most fateful political decisions to his obsession with preserving the unity of the Democratic Party."

•  I am grateful for those wrap-up paragraphs at the end of the biography. They helped crystallize what I'd spent most of the rest of my time reading not understanding.  This period of history is new to me. It wasn't covered in any of the classes I took. 

• As a born and bred Kansan, my interest was piqued when the Kansas-Nebraska Act entered the story. I still don't understand it as well as I like, but I'm getting the gist of it.  Prior to Kansas and Nebraska becoming states, the government was in the heat of determining if they would enter statehood as free or slave states. Pierce appointed incompetent people to serve as territory governors and drama and illegal activity ensued. I am certain that the overlapping quality of this reading project will help me understand the high points as I read Buchanan, another terrible president.

• While Pierce was a dismal failure as president, he seems to have been well liked as a person.  He was a close friend of author, Nathaniel Hawthorne who had this to say about Pierce: "Never having had any trouble before, that pierced into my very vitals, I did not know what comfort there might be in the manly sympathy of a friend, but Pierce has undergone so great a sorrow of his own, and has so large and kindly a heart, and is so tender and strong that he really did us good, and I shall always love him better for the recollection of those dark days."

• As I read this volume, there were moments where I felt like I could be reading a contempory book about modern politics. So familiar were the deceits, shenanigans, and tomfoolery.  That's the enduring lesson of this project: if we do not study history, we are bound to repeat it. 

• I am intrigued by my own interest and tenacity to keep pushing through these boring spots in history certain that more interesting reading is ahead of me. I picked up the James Buchanan biography after work and will get started reading about him immediately.  

• It dawned on me today that I am only one president away from Lincoln, a real milestone in this project.  As soon as I read his biography, I can begin planning the train trip to Springfield, Illinois, to take in the museums and house tour. 

The Best Gifts I've Given Myself (in Chronological Order)

“You're taking up a valuable seat for someone who needs it more,” Dr. D teased. At the end of this evening's counseling session, we agreed that I'd worked my way out of this season of needing her perspective.

“Just think, four years ago I returned thinking I was coming in for a tuneup,” I reminisced.

As I pulled into her office parking lot, I thought about how far I've come in the intermittent appointments I've had with her over the past ten years. Therapy is the first of five gifts I've given to myself as an adult.

Before I met Dr. D, I cried in the shower a lot over things new and old that I couldn't work through myself. I felt confused and isolated and generally sad. I didn't understand why I couldn't get over my hurts and why I felt vulnerable and needy most of the time.

“You aren't the same woman you were ten years ago,” Dr. D complimented me. “You've done the hard work, and your life is better for it.”

I understand myself and how I fit into my family, my work, and the world better than ever before. This knowledge guides me smoothly through life's sticky moments by setting and reinforcing boundaries, trusting my gut, re-teaching people how to treat me, and being gentle with myself.

At today's appointment, I listed the ways I've implemented those tools in just the past three days. I actually clapped my hands with the excitement of it all. I like the sound of Dr. D's “atta girls,” but I like the sound of my own even better.

The second gift I am grateful for is yoga. Five summers ago, I stood at the counter of a store my sister likes to shop at when she visits. Her birthday was approaching, and I was buying a gift card so that she could shop next time she was in town. As I waited, I noticed a flyer for a yoga studio that replaced another store attached to the building I was standing in. I made my purchase and took the flyer with me.

A few days later I took a class on a day off. It was hard, really hard, but something clicked inside me and I knew I had to try it again. My company had a wellness program that would pay a portion of the yearly membership, so I bought it planning to be reimbursed. One month later I was downsized. Yoga taught me how to breathe through difficult situations and in uncomfortable poses. It taught me to love my body and to trust its strength and power. It taught me how to love my arms in tank tops and my long legs in short shorts.

Five years later, I do a short routine nearly every day on my mat in my bedroom—something I never imagined I would be able to accomplish. I started small and now I can't imagine my life without at least some yoga in my life every day.

In therapy, I learned the difficult truth that we teach people how to treat us, and that I was no exception. In being polite, non-confrontational, and people-pleasing, I had taught people that it was okay to take advantage of my good graces, to be takers because I would always be a giver, and to operate in double standards without mutual respect.

I wondered how this could have happened. I learned that I routinely did not set boundaries in my relationships. This was one grand weakness I set out to conquer. Now I'm a boundary boss. My life is so different because I've set boundaries.

I was afraid of what would happen when I took a stand for myself, but there wasn't much to be frightened of. It truly is scarier to navigate life without boundaries. They make things less complicated and provide clarity and structure. Taking the risk to set boundaries in my life is a gift that will not stop giving to me over time.

As I write about these gifts, it is apparent how connected they are. They have built on each other. Their power expands when combined. The first three gifts I gave myself set the stage for the fourth gift, which was my divorce. I had contemplated this dissolution for years before I moved forward. I shed many tears, prayed many prayers, and tried everything in my personal tool box to preserve the relationship. I was heartbroken. Divorce was not what I wanted. I was worried about how it would affect my daughter now and in the future. And then there came a day when I realized more harm would be done by staying than leaving, and I moved in that direction.

I created a mission statement for proceeding through my divorce: to choose to dissolve the marriage as peaceably, amicably, and with as much kindness as possible. Each time I hit a difficult moment, this brief phrase guided me to the next best way to proceed. It was an invaluable tool through a stressful time. Therapy, yoga breathing, and setting boundaries also helped to shape the multitude of decisions that occur during a divorce.

Today, I feel light, free, confident, and capable of so much. I am grateful that my daughter has two engaged, happy, healthy parents to co-parent her through the rest of her childhood and into her teenage years and beyond. This difficult decision created new opportunities for health and happiness.

My fifth gift is the Haven Retreat I took last June just days after the divorce was final. It was a vulnerable time for me to leave home—personally and financially—and yet, my gut told me it was the time to go. I asked for help through crowd funding, which helped to offset the cost. In the midst of pine trees and a mountain range, a body of water and cloud-puffed blue skies, I peeled back the next layer of understanding myself as a writer. I made friends who will remain in my life forevermore, and I received world-class instruction and encouragement to keep writing.

Nearly one year later, my memory flashes moments from that retreat on a daily basis. I am reminded that I “have what cannot be taught,” that dialogue is a strength, and that people are interested in my voice, what I have to say and the way I happen to say it.

In the case of each gift, I took a risk. I stepped outside of what was familiar or what I thought I knew about myself. I chanced that therapy, yoga, setting boundaries, getting a divorce, and going on a writing retreat each could offer me lessons, depth, change, and freedom that would invite transformation. I was right on every count. I am generally risk-averse,. I am a creature of habit in the extreme—even when the habits aren't good or healthy. I am so grateful that I was willing to thrust myself into the uncomfortable unknown. It is there in all of these gifts that I found new life. 

 

What Meditation Looks Like in My Life These Days

The 40/40 is complete.  Much as I expected, it's taking some time to settle into a new year without the list looming over my daily and or monthly schedule. I am growing more and more comfortable with the quiet, low tech life I have carved out for myself.

True to my 2016 goals, I am reading more, resting, and writing my book's second draft. (Book stats: 54 pages double-spaced; word count is at nearly 19,000 words.)

I have read a lot about meditation and always felt inadequate at my attempts. In the spirit of being gentle and not worrying about outcome, I've begun to meditate several mornings a week before I leave for work. I set my phone alarm for 10 or 11 minutes, sit quietly in a chair in my office, and close my eyes.

The mantra that helps me quiet my mental chatter the most is: dwell <inhale>, here <exhale>. I notice these two words help me to watch my thoughts pass across my mind's eye like a cloud.

I can't explain it really, but I am experiencing what I have read would happen as a result of meditation: I move more purposefully through my day. I feel calmer. I feel more in touch with my emotions and more aware of the sensations I experience in my body. I am better able to handle the ups and downs of every day life. Yes, all of this in just ten minutes' time.

I wondered what Cadence would make of this new practice. I have been pleasantly surprised. This morning she set the alarm for me. She continued her personal morning routine without my needing to coax her. She walks quietly past my open office door.

When I hear her approach, I stick out my hand and offer to hold it.  I do this with my eyes closed and with no words.  She takes my hand, holds it for a moment, and then moves along.

This morning after the hand holding, I heard her walk to her room and begin reciting her Girl Scout pledge, several lines of text that her troop leaders have asked the girls to memorize in preparation for their bridging ceremony to Junior Girl Scouts this spring.

She took this upon herself, and has nearly the entire passage memorized.

I smiled to myself as I heard her practice.

I am so pleased that the new life I am creating for myself is making space for my daughter to explore, think, and create in her own life. I love that we've reached a stage where she honors my time and choices without a fuss. It's quite an experience to be encouraged in your own pursuits by your child.

Valentine Reflection

Cadence was eight months old on her first Valentine's Day.  I decided to take her photo holding the same homemade sign each year on our staircase and send it as a Valentine to friends and family near and far.

It's fun to look at all the pictures at once. The photos say so much about this child: that she is happy; that she stopped wearing jeans after kindergarten; that she would prefer to be shoe-free and sock-less all the time; that she is expressive; that she has a ready smile.  More than anything, these photos remind me that this girl has a big heart and knows her own very strong mind.

I am proudest of those two qualities of hers and do everything, as her mother, to foster, cultivate, and encourage those attributes to grow with her.

This year's photo is particularly poignant for me.  I feel blessed beyond words that we live in this house, a year after our transition. I knew we would continue this important family tradition wherever we landed, but I am deeply grateful that we get to keep taking the photos in this staircase for years to come.

This Valentine's Day is different from others.  My daughter isn't with me this weekend, so her goody bag was waiting for her to open before school on Friday morning. More often than not, Valentine's Day has not been a day of romance for me, but a celebration of love and friendship. It remains the case this year. I am so grateful for the love showered on me by my friends in myriad ways year round.