Tonight I convinced my roommate Jane to go contra dancing with me. There is another mildly humorous story to tell about our evening, but tonight I simply want to share the statement that came from the couch about five minutes ago.
"I hope heaven has contra dancing."
Yes. This is what Jane wants in heaven. Contra dancing.
Love. It.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Courage
Why is it so incredibly easy to be dissatisfied with life?
Why can I be in the middle of Minnesota paddling beautiful lakes and wish I could drive to the cafe with a good friend instead?
Why can I be in a cafe with a good friend and wish that I was on a more exciting adventure?
Why is it that I relish my freedom as a single person yet some nights I dream of the settled ( as in fixed location, not lower standard) life?
I don't know why.
It's all somehow part of this whole growing process we call living.
As I was watching some pointless Hulu show one weekend, I heard the phrase “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." At first I was slightly convicted by that sentence, because a large part of me feels like I don't know exactly who I am. How can I show courage to grow up as who I am if I don't know what that should look like? My mind was set: I would never be the person that shows courage by becoming who I am. Sad, but true...I thought.
But lately my mind is changing. Let's delve into object lesson land for a brief moment.
Object #1: Cookies.
Lately I have been on a homemade foods kick, so these cookies were the kind from a recipe, not the kind from a box. I had very high hopes of these from-scratch cookies turning out super well so that everyone could marvel at my cookie baking skills.
None of the batches met my expectations. Some merged together into a form of cookie-like giant biscuit. Some were too crispy. Some were caramelly and really gooey.
None of these batches ended up how I thought they would. But I tasted a little bit (maybe a lotta bit) from each one and let me tell you...they didn't taste bad at all. Actually, they tasted quite good.
It doesn't matter that the end product was nothing like what I had hoped. They were good cookies. Fact.
Object #2: A Canoe Paddle.
I recently acquired a plain wooden canoe paddle from Sunrift. I plan to sand the shiny finish off, burn a fun design into the paddle, then refinish it.
Why would I torture a perfectly happy,shiny paddle with a burning tool then force it to soak in more shiny stuff after said torture? Simply because I know that after I have burned this paddle it will be one-of-a-kind. No one else on the planet will have a matching paddle. Ever. And - regardless of my minute artistic skill - that uniqueness will make this paddle a beautiful, treasured possession of mine. Because I (sort-of) created it.
Lessons:
#1: It's not always the end product that matters.
#2: Sometimes arriving at a better beauty is gonna burn a little.
Overall, I don't think it's ending as who you are that's the courage requiring part of this life. It seems that the real courage is called for while we are enduring the process of beautification.
Why can I be in the middle of Minnesota paddling beautiful lakes and wish I could drive to the cafe with a good friend instead?
Why can I be in a cafe with a good friend and wish that I was on a more exciting adventure?
Why is it that I relish my freedom as a single person yet some nights I dream of the settled ( as in fixed location, not lower standard) life?
I don't know why.
It's all somehow part of this whole growing process we call living.
As I was watching some pointless Hulu show one weekend, I heard the phrase “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." At first I was slightly convicted by that sentence, because a large part of me feels like I don't know exactly who I am. How can I show courage to grow up as who I am if I don't know what that should look like? My mind was set: I would never be the person that shows courage by becoming who I am. Sad, but true...I thought.
But lately my mind is changing. Let's delve into object lesson land for a brief moment.
Object #1: Cookies.
Lately I have been on a homemade foods kick, so these cookies were the kind from a recipe, not the kind from a box. I had very high hopes of these from-scratch cookies turning out super well so that everyone could marvel at my cookie baking skills.
None of the batches met my expectations. Some merged together into a form of cookie-like giant biscuit. Some were too crispy. Some were caramelly and really gooey.
None of these batches ended up how I thought they would. But I tasted a little bit (maybe a lotta bit) from each one and let me tell you...they didn't taste bad at all. Actually, they tasted quite good.
It doesn't matter that the end product was nothing like what I had hoped. They were good cookies. Fact.
Object #2: A Canoe Paddle.
I recently acquired a plain wooden canoe paddle from Sunrift. I plan to sand the shiny finish off, burn a fun design into the paddle, then refinish it.
Why would I torture a perfectly happy,shiny paddle with a burning tool then force it to soak in more shiny stuff after said torture? Simply because I know that after I have burned this paddle it will be one-of-a-kind. No one else on the planet will have a matching paddle. Ever. And - regardless of my minute artistic skill - that uniqueness will make this paddle a beautiful, treasured possession of mine. Because I (sort-of) created it.
Lessons:
#1: It's not always the end product that matters.
#2: Sometimes arriving at a better beauty is gonna burn a little.
Overall, I don't think it's ending as who you are that's the courage requiring part of this life. It seems that the real courage is called for while we are enduring the process of beautification.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
HOORAY!
Today Gavin and I were sitting in the playroom going through our usual daily routine and I prompted him to say "ba, ba, ba...like ball." Until this afternoon such a prompt has always ended with me giving him a few seconds to respond then moving on to a different game because he is frustrated by the difficulty of speaking.
But we didn't move on today, because today those few seconds of waiting were not silent. Today Gavin responded!
Yeah, that's right; he said "ba, ba, ba."
At first I thought he was just making funny noises with no real intentionality behind them so I used the same prompt again. Lo and behold, same response. Then I used a different prompt and got no response. Then back to the first prompt...success again!
O my goodness the excitement that filled the playroom today then overflowed into the kitchen when I showed Gavin's mom our new sound.
So much joy filled that moment. Today was a success. Today Gavin grew a little. And today I have good reason to smile as I fall asleep.
And the source of so much happiness...nothing more than a simple letter "B."
But we didn't move on today, because today those few seconds of waiting were not silent. Today Gavin responded!
Yeah, that's right; he said "ba, ba, ba."
At first I thought he was just making funny noises with no real intentionality behind them so I used the same prompt again. Lo and behold, same response. Then I used a different prompt and got no response. Then back to the first prompt...success again!
O my goodness the excitement that filled the playroom today then overflowed into the kitchen when I showed Gavin's mom our new sound.
So much joy filled that moment. Today was a success. Today Gavin grew a little. And today I have good reason to smile as I fall asleep.
And the source of so much happiness...nothing more than a simple letter "B."
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Never Good at Goodbye
As I drove to work this morning the sun was shining and the temperature was rising all the way to forty-something, so I did what any self respecting southern sunshine lover would do. I rolled down my window and listened to country music.
Some poor country man was singing about his girl leavin' him. He was pretty sure it was the last time he'd see her again, because she'd gotten "good at goodbye."
Among the long list of things I'm no good at is goodbye. I've always been so frustrated with myself over this little hang-up because tough goodbyes are so inconvenient for someone who travels around a good bit. I mean goodbye happens A LOT in my life, so you'd think I'd be able to get through it with fewer tears and a smaller knot in my stomach...but nope.
I still need a shop-vac to suck all of the waterworks out of my car each time I leave somewhere old to go somewhere new.
And I've decided that I want it to stay that way. The day that I get good at goodbye is the day that I have ceased to care about where I am and who is there. That's the day that I stop enjoying new places for the community and love they hold and start simply traveling for a pretty picture.
I love to go new places, to feel hard core in my adventures, and to be independent and strong.
I also love the familiar feel of an old friend's house, the knowledge that a hug will await me at the end of a terrible day, and stories that involve people experiencing life together.
Letting go of these things should be hard. It should make us cry. It should feel like a piece of us has been yanked out.
If it doesn't, then I am of the mind that we didn't actually spend real time with real people in the midst of real life.
Some poor country man was singing about his girl leavin' him. He was pretty sure it was the last time he'd see her again, because she'd gotten "good at goodbye."
Among the long list of things I'm no good at is goodbye. I've always been so frustrated with myself over this little hang-up because tough goodbyes are so inconvenient for someone who travels around a good bit. I mean goodbye happens A LOT in my life, so you'd think I'd be able to get through it with fewer tears and a smaller knot in my stomach...but nope.
I still need a shop-vac to suck all of the waterworks out of my car each time I leave somewhere old to go somewhere new.
And I've decided that I want it to stay that way. The day that I get good at goodbye is the day that I have ceased to care about where I am and who is there. That's the day that I stop enjoying new places for the community and love they hold and start simply traveling for a pretty picture.
I love to go new places, to feel hard core in my adventures, and to be independent and strong.
I also love the familiar feel of an old friend's house, the knowledge that a hug will await me at the end of a terrible day, and stories that involve people experiencing life together.
Letting go of these things should be hard. It should make us cry. It should feel like a piece of us has been yanked out.
If it doesn't, then I am of the mind that we didn't actually spend real time with real people in the midst of real life.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Naomi
There is something invaluable and indescribable about some people in life. My friend Naomi is one of those people. I can't tell you exactly how our lives became so intertwined. All I know is that sometime in college we started hiking together.
Then we went backpacking.
Then we went road tripping.
Then we flew over the ocean to see each other.
And somewhere in all of that adventuring we each gained a lifetime friend. I'm not talkin about just a "hey how are ya" friend. I'm talkin about the kind of friendship that continues despite the fact that right now Naomi is in the Philippines and we have only had one real conversation in the past six months.
How does this work? I honestly have no idea. You'll recall in one of my first posts about adventure (and if you don't then you should go back and read it!) I wrote about the rawness of relationships while on excursions. Looking back, I think this is what makes Naomi such a special person in my life. Conversations with Naomi are always completely honest, non-PC, raw moments in time. I love this about my friend.
Because of this vulnerability that makes her so wonderful, I know that Naomi is having a tough time where she is right now.
Whenever you are thinking about people in your life, please think of this person in mine as well.
Her heart will know.
Then we went backpacking.
Then we went road tripping.
Then we flew over the ocean to see each other.
And somewhere in all of that adventuring we each gained a lifetime friend. I'm not talkin about just a "hey how are ya" friend. I'm talkin about the kind of friendship that continues despite the fact that right now Naomi is in the Philippines and we have only had one real conversation in the past six months.
How does this work? I honestly have no idea. You'll recall in one of my first posts about adventure (and if you don't then you should go back and read it!) I wrote about the rawness of relationships while on excursions. Looking back, I think this is what makes Naomi such a special person in my life. Conversations with Naomi are always completely honest, non-PC, raw moments in time. I love this about my friend.
Because of this vulnerability that makes her so wonderful, I know that Naomi is having a tough time where she is right now.
Whenever you are thinking about people in your life, please think of this person in mine as well.
Her heart will know.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Just Keep Walking
My little friend Gavin had a major breakdown today. When I arrived to take my shift with his program his parents were both out running errands, which apparently did not settle very well with Gavin...at all. About ten minutes into our day together Gavin just plopped down on the floor and started crying uncontrollably. He doesn't use words and therefore can't tell me what makes him sad, so I was a bit confused about what I could do to stop the crying. As instinct required I immediately picked Gavin up and just held held him while rocking and singing. This actually worked...for about five minutes.
Then he jumped off my lap and lunged across the room to a different chair where he continued to cry and scream. So my aching heart followed him across the room and tried to comfort him again.
This pattern of
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown
continued for just over an hour.
In many moments of that hour I thought it was the end. I thought, multiple times, that Gavin and I were done.
Finished.
Over.
But now it is a new day and we are still friends.
What's over is the breakdown.
What's over is the feeling that I'm not making a difference in Gavin's life.
After a long period of what felt like totally ineffective soothing of a very distraught little boy, the crying stopped. By the time we had a snack at three Gavin was smiling and laughing as if nothing terrible had ever happened.
Healing.
This seems to be a fairly common theme in life. Things are rollin' along just fine until something triggers inside of us and all of a sudden we feel alone. So we shut down. We scream, cry, drive all through the night...just because we don't know what else to do. And despite the fact that the majority of us can adequately use words, in those moments of breakdown none of the words we know will quite describe what we are feeling. No one can truly fix our problem, whatever it may be at the moment, because we aren't exactly sure what the problem is.
But comfort, love, and healing do come along after the breakdown - as many times as they need to. Right now Gavin is happy. I have not doubt, however, that we will experience another unusually difficult day together. But that day will end. And he will once again find comfort.
I guess what I'm getting at is that it's okay to breakdown now and then as long as we remember that the breakdown isn't the end of the pattern. There is a light at the end of that crazy-dark tunnel we're in, but we have to go through the tunnel to reach it.
So just keep walking friends. Just keep walking.
Then he jumped off my lap and lunged across the room to a different chair where he continued to cry and scream. So my aching heart followed him across the room and tried to comfort him again.
This pattern of
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown-->
comfort-->
breakdown
continued for just over an hour.
In many moments of that hour I thought it was the end. I thought, multiple times, that Gavin and I were done.
Finished.
Over.
But now it is a new day and we are still friends.
What's over is the breakdown.
What's over is the feeling that I'm not making a difference in Gavin's life.
After a long period of what felt like totally ineffective soothing of a very distraught little boy, the crying stopped. By the time we had a snack at three Gavin was smiling and laughing as if nothing terrible had ever happened.
Healing.
This seems to be a fairly common theme in life. Things are rollin' along just fine until something triggers inside of us and all of a sudden we feel alone. So we shut down. We scream, cry, drive all through the night...just because we don't know what else to do. And despite the fact that the majority of us can adequately use words, in those moments of breakdown none of the words we know will quite describe what we are feeling. No one can truly fix our problem, whatever it may be at the moment, because we aren't exactly sure what the problem is.
But comfort, love, and healing do come along after the breakdown - as many times as they need to. Right now Gavin is happy. I have not doubt, however, that we will experience another unusually difficult day together. But that day will end. And he will once again find comfort.
I guess what I'm getting at is that it's okay to breakdown now and then as long as we remember that the breakdown isn't the end of the pattern. There is a light at the end of that crazy-dark tunnel we're in, but we have to go through the tunnel to reach it.
So just keep walking friends. Just keep walking.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Thank You
This afternoon I noticed a good ole country boy in a good ole country truck as I passed him on HWY 25. Apparently he noticed me too, because as I looked in my rear view to re-notice him (yes, I did) I saw that he was waving at me. This frightened me a bit. There's something sacred about being able to notice someone without having to actually interact with them...ever...and he broke that by waving at me.
Then he caught up to me. Then he started making hand motions toward the hood of my car. That's when I realized that he was not actually noticing me...he was noticing that my hood was open. Something is broken with the latch which causes the hood of my car to constantly flap about an inch above where the hood of a car should be calmly resting. This broken something leads me to discover quite a few nice people in the world who are genuinely concerned that my hood is going to fly up in my face as I drive down the road, and good ole country boy was one of them.
After motioning about my hood he rolled down his window, as did I, and we had a conversation during which I explained that my hood is always open so there's no need to worry. He replied with a deep southern drawl "Well, your car may be out of whack but at least you look good."
So he was noticing more than just my broken car.
Now I generally respond terribly to spontaneous flirting from random people,and country boy had broken my right to a non-interactive noticing moment...twice. So what did I say to his...er...compliment?
"Thanks." Then I sped away, hood flapping in the wind.
Thank you country boy. Thank you.
Then he caught up to me. Then he started making hand motions toward the hood of my car. That's when I realized that he was not actually noticing me...he was noticing that my hood was open. Something is broken with the latch which causes the hood of my car to constantly flap about an inch above where the hood of a car should be calmly resting. This broken something leads me to discover quite a few nice people in the world who are genuinely concerned that my hood is going to fly up in my face as I drive down the road, and good ole country boy was one of them.
After motioning about my hood he rolled down his window, as did I, and we had a conversation during which I explained that my hood is always open so there's no need to worry. He replied with a deep southern drawl "Well, your car may be out of whack but at least you look good."
So he was noticing more than just my broken car.
Now I generally respond terribly to spontaneous flirting from random people,and country boy had broken my right to a non-interactive noticing moment...twice. So what did I say to his...er...compliment?
"Thanks." Then I sped away, hood flapping in the wind.
Thank you country boy. Thank you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)