This is just happy – 2 minutes and 45 seconds of happy – and I wanted to share it with you.
Rich in Love Trumps Rich in Money
October 17, 2011 by ·
I have a new bloggy friend who feels like a kindred spirit, though I haven’t known her long at all. I met Dwija from House Unseen. Life Unscripted. through a bloggers’ group on Facebook, and if I hadn’t noticed her because of her name I certainly would have because of her blog. “We bought a house in rural Michigan sight-unseen off the internet,” reads her header. “My husband quit his job in California and we moved our four kids across the country.”
Heck yeah, I want to read this woman’s blog.
Then she friended me on Facebook and holy canoli is this woman funny. As in don’t-miss-her-status-updates funny.
Her story, as it turns out, is even richer than it sounds. (No pun intended.) My heart latched on to her history when she wrote Where I’m From. Several people, including me, asked her to share more about her background. Her response to that request – her humility, her hesitancy, her hilarious vernacular – captures so much about why I totally dig this woman already. (Plus, the post included a giant picture of a musk ox.)
She has started writing those stories, so go read part 1 and tell me you’re not hooked already. (And because you’re going to want them, here are the links to part 2 and part 3.)
So, um, anyway…before I spend a whole post rambling on about my new friend (and I could) I’ll tell you why this is important: She’s here today! And I’m at her place.
We’re doing a post exchange as part of the Friends You Love blog hop. I asked her if she’d play with me, she said yes, so here’s Dwija!
***
Five years ago I was still in my twenties. My skin looked great, I ran five days a week, I had two healthy little girls in pre-school and decent job.
And I was miserable.
Oh, we had money. We owned a charming little condo in Southern California and had two cars. I went out with my friends at least once, maybe twice a month.
And he was miserable.
We had everything “they” say you need to be happy and we just…weren’t. We weren’t happy. Because the one thing we didn’t have was each other.
I’ve read articles and “studies” lately that suggest the secret to a happy, or rather just bearable, marriage is to spend as much time apart as possible. Go on vacations alone. Talk badly behind each other’s backs. Drink a little too much. And then get some better meds.
My friends, if you are willing to endure that kind of painful existence, milquetoast at best, desperately depressing at worst, you are selling yourself short. You are cheating yourself out of the joy that everyone deserves.
When we had money and a house and perfect children in the Land of Fun, we rarely saw each other. We shared no hobbies. We went on no adventures together. He worked nights as a police officer, I worked days in an office. His days off were during the week, mine were on the weekend.
We stopped knowing each other.
So we stopped loving each other.
And you know what? That is not good enough. Not. Good. Enough. I wanted more, demanded more, because I deserved more. You deserve more.
And then the best terrible thing that could have happened to us happened – we foreclosed on our condo. Suddenly we had something in common again: a crisis.
In managing that crisis, we had to lean on one another. We had to make tough decisions and remind ourselves of what our priorities were. Or ought to be. We clung to one another and our relationship and the love we shared for our children and suddenly our lives BLOSSOMED again. Into a two-bedroom apartment just 6 days before baby number three was born and we were filled with JOY.
The peace that washed over our hearts and lit up our days once we prioritized each other over money or “fun” or stuff was nothing short of miraculous.
And now we’re here, in a house we bought for $27K cash sight-unseen off the internet, not knowing when Tommy will get another job or if we’ll ever be able to fix those holes in the ceiling, and we are happy.
You are worth more than tolerable. You are worth more than it-could-be-worse. Believe that. Live that. Make your life and your marriage and your family your hobby. Your adventure. You won’t regret it.
***
Sigh. I love her.
So now that I’ve introduced (some of) you to a fabulous new blogger, please head over to Dwija’s to read my (not nearly so deep) post about the time we were moving my husband out to live with me and ended up giving all his worldly possessions to some strangers.
Genius, Power and Magic: Commitment and a Leap of Faith
September 16, 2011 by ·
I refuse to spend all my time doing something I’m not totally passionate about.
Bold statement, I know. One of those easier-said-than-done things. Ah, but there’s a gap in that expression. The continuum is not merely “say” or “do”. Not at all. It’s actually much simpler than that.
Let me explain.
You’ve probably heard this quote by Goethe:
Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
I love this couplet – it is language dressed to the nines, glittering diamonds draping the dots and dashes of otherwise everyday words making them beautiful.
But these words, to me, are missing something. They’re the destination, not the journey. They suggest one must know the ultimate end as though it were a painting – visualized, sketched and shaped, then painstakingly created with deliberate brushstrokes until the last drop of paint is in place and the picture is revealed.
But life doesn’t work that way.
It can’t work that way.
We just can’t know.
Enter W.H. Murray.
Mr. Murray lived centuries after Goethe and spent three years as a prisoner of war, during which time he wrote the first draft of his first book – which was subsequently destroyed by the Gestapo – on toilet paper. His was a decidedly less poetic life, though not short on boldness.
One of Murray’s books contains the following passage, often written in the form of a poem and misattributed to Goethe:
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.
Murray’s original work is clear: “I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets,” he wrote at the end of that paragraph, and then quoted the more well-known genius/power/magic couplet, forever linking them and causing his words to be credited to another.
In any case, I think what he’s basically saying is this:
That’s what I believe, too. Sometimes we just have to place our faith in the universe (or God or Allah or whatever you believe in) and take that leap, knowing that each of us has within us what it takes to get where we want to be. It doesn’t even really matter if we don’t know exactly where that is.
Sometimes you just have to take the leap and build your wings on the way down.
I have leaped before, into the unknown, knowing nothing except where I wanted not to be. And I’ve found what Murray suggests to be true: Upon committing to something, things start to happen. Sometimes the path goes sideways for a bit, or even backwards, but if you stick with it you will end up where you’re supposed to be. It might not be where you wanted to end up, mind you, but it is where you’re supposed to be. I believe that to be true.
That’s why I have, again, taken the leap. I have decided to be bold and have committed to something big – something that will ultimately require change, not only for me but for my family. I did it in my usual, dramatic way (which is another post entirely) but in doing so I have allowed providence to move, and I’m already seeing the results of that in ways I never could have predicted.
I did it because I don’t want to be stuck in a life I know isn’t right.
I don’t know what the end state is, what the dream looks like, but I have begun it anyway. I have invited genius, power, and magic into my life by taking a leap.
I am building my wings as I go, and once they start to take shape I will share with you the journey they will carry me on. I don’t know what that journey is right now.
I just know what it isn’t.
***
Prompt: “I refuse to spend all of my time…”
Walking the TEDx Talk
September 11, 2011 by ·
Yesterday I presented at a TEDx event – the locally-organized versions of the well-known TED conferences. I’d like to share that experience with you and have been trying to figure out how best to do that. I was inclined towards a humble description of how it went, as in:
It went really well.
It was a great experience.
It was fun, and I’m really glad to have done it.
You know what? Screw it.
Instead I will tell you this: I got up in front of a theatre full of people I don’t know – people from my local community who I might very well see on the street tomorrow – and told my story about postpartum depression and how blogging, with brutal honesty, about my breakdown not only helped me but helps others. I shared some excerpts from my posts here. I cried – not a little, a lot.
Here’s how it went: I got a standing ovation. And I am really damn proud of that.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the event and I certainly wasn’t sure about my place in it. I was honoured and totally excited to be asked to speak, and I was less nervous than you’d think about telling my story. What I did worry about was whether people would connect with it and whether I would be able to offer something for them to take away.
The organizers were supposed to give me time cues and they chose not to, so I went, er, slightly beyond my allotted six minutes. Judging by the response, the people – including men – in the audience who were crying, and the incredibly generous comments I got afterwards, I think I can safely say I managed to get my message across.
That’s not the only reason I’m proud of how it went. I’m proud because I did it in a way that was true to who I am. I knew I was going to cry – I couldn’t figure out any way around it. And I actually didn’t worry about it. My story, and my message that it’s okay to be a little bit vulnerable, it’s okay to remove our masks and be honest about our struggles, and that, in doing so, we might actually make the world a better place – that’s an intense sort of topic. You want people to be emotionally invested in what you’re asking them to do? Make them cry.
Making people cry wasn’t my goal, obviously. Making it okay for me to cry was my goal. Because that’s what happens when we open ourselves up to people and share the stories about the hard stuff and reveal that maybe – just maybe – we’re better off for having dealt with something difficult. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable. I was never okay with that before. I am SO okay with it now.
Those of us who put our words to these pages – who tell those hard stories and reveal our tears – know there’s beauty in the breakdown. We know we’re not alone. We know we will get support and that those who don’t support us perhaps just don’t understand.
I’ve seen this countless times on other blogs. My friends’ blogs. Your blogs. I’ve seen you share stories about hard things I never would have suspected had you not written about them. I’ve seen you be bravely, beautifully honest and then, just when I think all your cards are on the table, you lay down your hand and say, “This is what life dealt me. It’s not the hand I’d have chosen, but there’s no point hiding it so I’m going to play. I’m going to stay in the game and play, and if you care to read along with me I’ll share my strategy and you’ll see that you can win even when you get dealt a bad hand.”
That’s why I believe bringing together writing and technology is more than “blogging” and think those who dismiss what we do here underestimate the power of this art. This art has the power to break down barriers and borders. It has the power to make life better. It has the power to make lives better.
You know it, and I know it.
And I think it’s an idea worth spreading.
[Update: The video of my talk is now available.]
This is our very last week to make an impact for Be Enough Me 4 Cancer. Last week we had 45 people link up an enough-themed post in our Be Enough Me for Cancer campaign and I’d love it if you’d help us boost that number again. For every 20 linked up posts, Bellflower Books will provide a memory book to a woman fighting breast cancer through Crickett’s Answer for Cancer, and help bring a smile to courageous women giving it their all, every single day. The link-up remains open for three days. No blog? No worries. You can also comment on the post or on the Just.Be.Enough. Facebook page with your own story and be counted.
