Giving

I have a confession to make: I think I stole money from a homeless person.

You're judging me right now, aren't you?

Fair enough, but allow me to explain before you call me horrible and condemn me to a life full of heartbreak and Nickleback songs.

Every morning, I run down Sunset Cliffs Boulevard past a church where people who are homeless gather in the morning to get breakfast. A few days ago, about half a block past the church, I found $5 on the ground. I stopped to pick it up, then looked back at the masses of people waiting to be fed and briefly thought about the fact that one of them probably had dropped it. But how would I figure out who? I didn't pause for very long. It was cold, and the contemplation was making me stiffen up as well as killing my pace. I clutched the money in my hand and ran away, giving thanks to God for the money, laughing at the poor sucker who dropped it.

 Okay, maybe one of those things I didn't really do.

The thing is...I seem to have a knack for finding money. It's like a special talent of mine, like how I can remember birthdays of people I went to Kindergarten with, or how I make jokes at the most inappropriate times (like when my friend confessed she had a new boyfriend and I asked if she had warned him about the side effects of her depression medication and she told me she regretted telling me about the medication and my reaction was to laugh awkwardly, not immediately say sorry like a normal person would).

But I digress.

The point is...I wanted to give that money to someone else. I reasoned that, while the homeless are certainly needy, they were at least being fed and wouldn't miss that $5. So I ran 5 miles with it in my hand, contemplating how to give it away.

I settled on dropping it at the local coffee shack, telling the baristas to buy someone a coffee and give themselves a tip. Less than two hours later, someone brought me a coffee, proof that Karma really does exist...or maybe just that I'm good at guilt-tripping people into bringing me coffee at work because gosh I just work so hard and get up so early and do you see these bags under my eyes I need all the caffeine and some really good concealer, please.

Just two days before that, that awful Monday after the time change, I had set out for my run, thinking about how tired I was, both physically and emotionally. I thought about my job teaching at an inner-city school and how much energy it takes. I thought about the girls in my girl's group and how troubled some of them are and how sometimes it's just this huge life-sucking battle because maybe they don't really want the help, or are just not ready.

And I realized something...I can't save everyone. I can't save anyone, in fact, because that's not up to me. It's up to each person to decide their own fate. And I guess I'm just no longer willing to spend excessive amounts of time, money, or energy on people who aren't interested in helping themselves.

Now, before you judge me further, know that I believe there is a place for helping the needy. Of course there is. We all deserve basic rights and privileges. We should all have shelter and food and love and at least three (or in my case like 100) pairs of shoes to choose from on any given day.

That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about how I want to make the world a better place given where I am in life. What I know about myself is that I'm happiest when I'm helping make other people happy. I believe when we are happy it is contagious. Happiness fueled by passion can spread like wildfire. It's a ripple effect, like how when the butterfly flaps its wings in Africa it causes a storm in California and that's the reason I didn't blow dry my hair in the morning. Then again, some might not call that the Butterfly Effect. Some would call it sheer laziness.

The point is, I wanted to magnify the effects of that $5, and in my mind, maybe whomever received that coffee would do something kind for someone else...and then that person would do a nice act etc etc etc and now the world is full of sunshine and people with jitters from too much free coffee.

I have no idea if that's what happened, but I like to believe it is.

I like to believe that it's okay that I feel my focus on helping people isn't necessarily on feeding the hungry, it's on uplifting those who just need a little push...so that maybe, just maybe, they'll go on to uplift someone else and collectively, we'll all climb to this magical place where everything is gold, where having beer and cookies for dinner doesn't make you fat.

So maybe I'm judging homeless or needy people here, thinking they're not in a place to help others. But I know so many people in the world are there to help them that I want to help elsewhere. It's on a different level, but it's still giving, right? Maybe helping people doesn't have to mean just feeding the hungry or giving clothes to those in need. Maybe for me it means teaching a young girl how to have a voice. Maybe it means buying a stranger a cup of coffee. Maybe it simply means smiling at those I come in contact with and just treating everyone like they matter. \

I'm writing this not to make myself seem bad or judgmental, though maybe I have succeeded in doing just that, but to maybe spark some conversation or thought in all of us about the level of how and where and why we give. On knowing ourselves and our unique skill sets and talents, and seeing where that fits into raising the world's vibe. On thinking about what are are contributing as citizens of the world.

Tis the season, after all.

Strength

I grew up on a farm. I was 14 when I was finally able to chuck an 80 pound hay bale into the back of a pick up truck. I am petite and a lot smaller than most people, but I never let that stop me. I prided myself on being strong, fast, and tough. Maybe even more so than physically strong, I prided myself on being emotionally and mentally strong. I could work 80 hours a week, no problem. I could finish college in under 3 years. I could get hurt and not cry. This, to me, was strength.

But this was also not really living.

I never let myself feel, and I definitely never cut myself any slack. Cue perfectionist tendencies, aka anxiety and stress. Cue sleepless nights and control issues.

Cue a couple of years of soul searching, tears, and heart breaks. Cue break downs.

But the beauty of break downs is that they lead to break throughs.

Sometime over the past year, I began to unravel the belief that I had to be the best at everything, that my imperfections and weaknesses made me less than others. That, in fact, these are the parts of me that make me relatable to others. Brene Brown says that vulnerability is the first thing we hide about ourselves but the first thing we look for in other people. That is authenticity.

And only through authenticity, through living through our hearts, can we truly be ourselves and relate to others on a level that is real and genuine.

Being strong doesn't mean being invincible. It means having the courage to own up to imperfections and failures and trials and push through. It means letting other people--not all people, but the right people--see these things about ourselves that we really want to hide. It means not being afraid of all of the pieces of ourselves. It means accepting all parts that make us who we really are.

It means we believe in ourselves and love ourselves no matter what.

For me, recently, it meant sharing the before/after pictures from the 60 day challenge that I did. I didn't want to show the pictures, because  even though I surpassed my goals and am okay with people seeing where I am now, I didn't want anyone to see and judge my before pictures. I didn't want to admit how far I'd let myself go, how far away from myself I'd gone.

But then again...maybe that's exactly what I needed to show. Not the end result, but the path. Not the final destination, but the journey. Because we are all on a journey somewhere, and the part where we help others is encouraging and acknowledging each other along the way. To know that we are all in this together, that we all have the parts of ourselves we want to display proudly, just as we have those we want to bury deep inside and hide. And that's what makes us human. That's what makes us real.

And if there's one thing I've learned about myself over the past couple of years, it's that being real--truly me--is what really matters.

So. I've shared these pictures, I've let go of the fear of judgment, and I'm asking you all to vote for me, if you're so inclined. Rock the vote, rock this day, and rock the real you.


Here is the link. Thank you.

Yikes

I didn't want to post this. I still don't. Because, while I'm stoked on my results, I am--frankly--horrified at the before pics.

I knew I was gaining weight last year. That's what Sunday Funday and Relax Friday and Whatever Saturday and kinda whatever beer or cookies or both for dinner whenever I feel like it will do over the course of a year. My friends told me I looked fine, most of my clothes still fit (albeit not very well), and I avoided the scale because what does that matter, anyway?

It matters a lot, 20 pounds to be specific which, in case you don't know, on 5'2" me, is a lot.

It matters because it's not the version of myself I envision when I think about my best self.

So I joined this challenge, and I followed it because I wanted the best results possible. After only a few weeks, my friends were telling me I was inspiring them, but I wasn't doing anything extra, just sticking to the commitment I'd made.

As of the challenge end, I had lost 27 pounds and over 30 inches. To date, I have lost 30 pounds and probably more inches. My mile time is down to 7:06, and as of yesterday, I can do 3 unassisted pull-ups.

But more than the physical strength I gained came the power of being true to and aligning with the person I wanted to be. The true strength came purely from just being me.

And part of being me means struggling. It is hard for me to admit that I let myself go over the past year. It makes me feel vulnerable and like I'm going to be judged. Except I also realize something..in the willingness to be vulnerable also lies real strength and power. I don't need to hide who I am or the parts that made me this way. I'm okay with admitting that I fell out of line with who I was...and that I needed help to get back to that person. Now I'm back to where I want to be, but it took pure determination and commitment to get there. It wasn't easy, but I did it.

And that is why, ultimately, I decided to share. I would love it if you would vote for me.

On Being Great

My run was slow yesterday morning, my heart weighed down by the collective somberness of what happened.

The burden of change, the apprehension of disillusionment.

The disquietude invaded my mind and I cried as I ran my daily 5 on Sunset Cliffs.

This surprised me.

The outcome hadn’t been pertinent to my daily grind.

And yet.

I felt it.

How humbled, shocked...frightened many were.

But. As the shock wore off, I saw before us a choice.

There is a choice to be scared, and there is a choice to believe. There is a choice to look out into obscurity, or look toward the sun. There is a choice to see that there is not darkness, merely the absence of light. We must feel around and find where our heart is, for therein lies the light, the brilliance we seek.

We cannot begin to bounce back until we recognize the boundaries. The bottom is nigh when we recognize it as such, and from there, we can choose to rise...or descend to another, worser limit.

Perception is everything. Change is inevitable, honoring our time and space and the dynamic we set forth with our intentions.

We can place our focus on our fears and our disavowing discourse, and that is what we will experience, or we can place our belief and faith in something greater, and that becomes our reality

We can be great. We can light up the world by shining from within.

On growth

I was sitting in a bikini feeling sorry for myself on a boat in the middle of the Snake River when I made the decision. I made it on a whim--though the momentum, emotion, and struggle behind the decision maybe meant it was inevitable and a long time coming--and there was a strict no refunds policy. So I, a true Gemini, a person who has a hard time making decisions or sticking to anything, paid the fee and made one of the biggest commitments I've made in recent memory.

I signed up for a 60 day fitness challenge, and it was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.

I've always been fit and active. I know how to get lean, stay lean, build muscles, and have rocked a six pack a time or two in my life. But. somehow over the past year, the wrong sort of six pack (have you ever tried blueberry beer? AMAZING) crept into my life, the seems of my pants became strained, and all my tomorrows--you know, the day you say you'll start something--turned into tomorrows that never came.

I needed help, which is something that's never been easy for me to admit.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The program consists of cardio twice a day, starting off with 200 calories each session (one of which must be HIIT), and increased by 50 calories per session each week. Attending at least 5 boot camps per week and a crazy low-carb, lean protein (ALL THE FISH UGH), eating plan were also part of the process.

At first it wasn't so bad. But as the number of calories I had to burn increased, so did the difficulty of sticking to it. Pretty soon, The Challenge was consuming my life. I was working out basically three hours a day and meal prepping non-stop. I stopped drinking during football season. I brought broccoli and 4 oz of chicken to the bar while my friends drank beer. I gave up green juice and, at times, my will to live.

I talked about it a lot, and that might have been the worst part, the part where suddenly I could relate to and no longer judge people who did crossfit, vegans, or Jehovah's Witness. It was all I could talk about, because it was my world, and like, didn't people need to understand how crazy it was that I had to do 100 burpess one day in class (YOU GUYS, THAT'S INSANE!) or that I cut my six-mile runs down to an 8:41 average pace?

But it wasn't all about the workouts or the crazy weight loss that was occurring. It was about pushing myself. It was about those moments that I wanted to slack, or not wake up at 3:45 a.m. just to get in cardio and boot camp before going to a full day of work. It was about those little choices I made every day that kept me seeing results, that had me doing things differently than I had been doing them. It became about that sweet spot between uncomfortable and impossible. Because that spot? That's where the growth happens.

For 60 days I counted down to when I could have my life back. To when I didn't have to post sweaty selfies on the Facebook group page, to when I didn't have to spend Sunday evenings running when I really wanted to be watching football and drinking beer. To when I could have my weekends back from the crazy meal prep or the mandatory team challenges.

But it gave me structure and purpose. It made me actively work and push hard toward my goals. It gave me a place to grow, a place to make better decisions that led to amazing results. It gave me a place to step back and reflect on my life choices and realize where I needed to develop better habits.

And now it's ending and I'm not sure I want it to, kind of like when I finished that first book. It consumed my life, yet I don't want it to go away. It's basically like Stockholm Syndrome, where the victims begin to feel sympathy or affection toward their captors. As much as I wanted to be done, I don't want it to end.

I thrive when I push myself. I have purpose when I'm working toward goals. I have three pairs of size 0 pants (maybe that's bragging but I don't care, I worked so hard to get there!) and I never want that to not be a thing for me.

It has been a long time since I've pushed myself in a way like this. It has been a long time since I've accomplished one of those dream goals, you know, the ones that float out there in our somedays waiting--sometimes endlessly--to come to fruition.

But it happened. And the biggest take away wasn't my pant size or mile pace time, it was my realization that if we aren't doing things every day to work toward our goals, they become impossible and unreachable. Making little choices every day leads to big things. The secret to your success lies in your daily routine.

I'm not sure what's next for me. I have to set new goals, at least as far as my fitness is concerned. I have to figure out which habits to keep, and which will ultimately make me go insane.

But what I know, what I want to remember from all of this, is how amazing it feels to grow. Even if it doesn't feel amazing at the time, it is all worth it in the end.

p.s. I will be posting before/after pics on Facebook soon and I need to ask people to vote for me and please don't judge my bikini shot but please do tell me I'm pretty because vulnerability, okay?

On losing my keys and finding my happy

The description does not define reality.

I mulled over these words, which I read in the book Trespassing on Einstein's Lawn by Amanda Gefter. The book is an attempt to discover how something (the Universe) came out of nothing (defined as a state of infinite, unbounded homogeneity). Not your typical beach read.


It's full of quantum physics and theories and fancy words and my brain is saturated with information, only about 60% of which I understand.

But it has me thinking, and my understanding is growing, and slowly, the pieces of information are relating to my life and clicking into place. Or maybe that's just what it feels like when your brain is getting ready to explode. Thank you, Einstein. E=MC pour me a drink because my head hurts.

And, in a seemingly unrelated event (though I'm learning that everything is related, down to the Planck scale, a millionth of a billionth of a billionth of a billionth centimeter, watch out for that exploding brain matter as you try to process that), I realized how the description of something does shape reality, but only as it pertains to us as individuals. True reality, at least as defined in the book, is only that which is invariable from all perspectives. So far, the only thing that has been proven to be invariable is nothing.

But I'm getting way off my story here.

The other morning, I was getting ready to go out and about. I had my keys in one hand and a sack of garbage in the other. As I hefted the sack of garbage up, it caught my keys and took them with it to the bottom of the dumpster.

I had just showered. In the summer, that's basically a bigger feat than understanding string theory, because jumping into any body of water counts as a shower, right?

I stood looking down at my keys, the possibilities of retrieval and of missing my brunch date running through my brain. Even if I weren't now locked out of my house, I couldn't think of anything I had in there to fish them out. And in the moment I accepted the solution was me climbing in and getting them--soiling my new romper, my clean hair, and my dignity--my neighbor, that chain-smoking old hippie from Unit 4 walked by.

I explained my situation, and he went to retrieve the wire coat hanger he keeps around for when his mom locks her keys in her car, which apparently is a frequent occurrence. So, while the smoke from the cigarette dangling out of his mouth contaminated said romper and hair, and the coffee in his other hand grew cold, he fished out my keys.

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, even if they're missing teeth and haven't showered since 1982 (see above for why that last part isn't judgmental because summer accomplishments).

I thanked him and as I got into my car sans dumpster filth and stank, I realized how lucky I was. Because, as we all know, little annoyances like this happen. Dropping your keys, losing your keys (or mind), flat tires, etc. As far as this situation went, I really believe the easiest scenario possible played out.

And for that, I am lucky.

I could have bemoaned dropping my keys in the dumpster, being late to meet my friend, having to stand by the dumpster longer than my senses and pride enjoyed, but instead I felt a moment of gratitude that it was all so easy.

I realized that moments like these are what shapes our reality. When we see a situation as lucky, then our world becomes one where we feel and therefore are lucky. It becomes the truth of our world--our reality--because that's what we make it.

Dr. Wayne Dyer says "Hostile people live in a hostile world. Loving people live in a loving world. Same world."

Which seems to be in direct contrast with the opening statement here, but somehow this came around full circle when I thought of it. I can't remember how now, and I'm going to leave it like that for you to ponder, comment, or not care at all, because I'm still in summer vacation mode and I'm far too busy enjoying my infinite, unbounded homogeneity to try and figure it out.

Humble

Halt, you tell the naked earth.
Let my spirit speak its piece.
But nothing ordinary
stops the world.
Yet you are not
but a snowflake still.

You open like a flower
to the sun, your nectar
for the bees on a summer's day
You close when winter comes.
And good or bad, you keep
only what you release.

Your soul stretches to the sky
or just in your mind's eye.
Your heart opens or closes
to harvest heaven or hell,
Love or fear.
Your love hangs on
this dainty thorn,
holds your crown there tight.

Synchronicities

“He said he was into self-help, but when I mentioned Wayne Dyer, he drew a blank, and that’s how I knew he wasn’t my soul mate.”

I had forgotten all about the guy who moseyed up to me over avocados at Vons last September until last week, when I decided to scroll back through my timeline on Twitter and read what I’d tweeted around this time last year.

 I never went out with him--I don’t remember why--and promptly forgot about the entire incident.

Fast forward to Thursday. My friends and I were at breakfast, a local little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves foods like quinoa, green juice, and organic flax smoothies but has terrible service, is too hot to be comfortable, and has too many flies to be completely sanitary.

It’s my favorite place to eat off last night’s bad decisions.

My friend received a text from her crush, a simple message that said nothing and everything at the same time: the tongue emoji. 

“What does this mean?” she asked. I didn’t know what it meant per se but we both knew there was some sort of innuendo there that wasn’t necessarily appropriate for such a new relationship.

We spent a good half hour trying to decide what to text back. Something that had no obvious or even obscure connotation. 

“Well definitely not a peach,” we agreed.

We scrolled through every single emoji on either of our phones, until we landed on what we thought was the perfect response to derail an inappropriate remark: a paper clip.

We mulled the potential hidden meanings of a paperclip but found none.

Later that day my handyman showed up to determine why my closet doors kept coming off their tracks. He poked around for no more than five minutes, then told me the reason the doors were having problems was because something had jammed the tracks. He held up the culprit: a paper clip.

There came my day, seemingly unconnected events, full circle. 

I went to the grocery store that evening and passed the peaches. I snickered as I picked one up., remembering the earlier conversation I'd had with my friend.

And that was when a guy in a suit walked over and asked me if I thought they'd be good peaches.

“Well I believe it’s too early in the year for peaches. You’d have to wait a couple of weeks, and then you have to feel the peach. If it’s soft, it’ll be juicy and you’ll enjoy it. But see this one? It’s hard and you’ll regret the moment you bite into it.” I told him.

“You know, this sounds like a wildly inappropriate conversation for the grocery store, but it is really just an innocent conversation about peaches,” he told me. We chatted a little more. He noted my sass factor and said, “you’re trouble, my mom warned me about girls like you.” And then he somehow wove into the conversation that he does gratitude walks and is into self-help.

“Oh, me, too! I watched a Wayne Dyer video just this morning,” I said.

“Who?”

And that’s when I realized that the guy who was hitting on me (rather calculatedly, in hindsight) over peaches at Barrons was the same guy who hit on me over avocados at Vons a year ago. He had no idea he’d used the same lines on me a year before at a different store. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his hand to shake mine.

“Kelli with an ‘I’.”

“Oh, you love saying that, don’t you? I’m Brett. With two ts.” He said, which I already knew because we’d been here before. 

I will note here that I haven’t quite mastered the art of telling a guy “no thanks” when he asks for my number, even if I have no intention of dating him, because I just hate the thought of making him feel rejected. I guess I’d rather he feel rejected over text than to face-to-face.

He handed me his phone to put in my number, and I prayed it was a new phone and the awkwardness of his discovering he’d already ran his game on me wouldn’t come to light.

But no. I punched in my number, and there popped up, “Kelly Vons.”

“Oh. Apparently we already know each other.” I said, feigning surprise. “But you spelled my name wrong.”

“Oh, I’ll have to change that.” He didn’t seem too embarrassed.

“And also change Vons to Barrons,” I winked. “I have to finish my shopping now.”

He texted later that night, asked what plans I had over the weekend.

“It was fun running into you, but to be honest you’re too young for me.  Nevertheless, I look forward to our connecting over the produce at Sprouts some point in the future.” Was my response.

I didn’t hear from him after that, but somehow, I don’t think the Grocery Store Dating Bandit is going to be deterred from running his game and using cheesy pick-up lines in aisle 4 at the grocery store.  

Fair enough, as I shall not be deterred from analyzing how the events of the day came full circle and trying to figure out what it all means in the grand scheme of things, if it means anything at all...

Connections

One of the things I love the most about my Summer of Nothing is waking up, lying in bed, and deciding what I feel like doing for the day. Of course, there are some non-negotiables like coffee, meditation, reading Emerson, exercise, and a dip in some body of water, but for the large part of the day, I can do whatever I want.

One of the things I keep finding myself doing after I run but before I drink my morning green juice is cruising over to my friend Lacey's house for a morning cup or five of french press. We sit on the patio of her cottage by the beach, sip coffee, and talk about life. We talk in the way old friends do about the past, the present, the future or maybe all three because according to quantom theory they're happening simultaneously, anyway, so why not cover all bases.

I value this time because Lacey is golden and friendly and clever as hell.

Her wit rubs off on me and together we are more than the sum of our parts. We stay laughing most of the time, even if its through tears at some stupid lesson (read; mistake) one of us is going through or supposed to be learning from.

But the way she helps me look at life keeps me smiling, in check, and on my path. She never tells me what she thinks I should do, only offers mostly impartial perspectives I might otherwise fail to see.

Anais Nan says, "We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are."

Thinking can be our worst enemy at times. We are programmed with our unique schema of the world, and stepping out of our own perspective can be a challenge without the help of another. Sometimes, we need another frame of refrence to bridge our path north, if that's where we intend to go. Of course, we sift through the pieces of alternative view point and decide which will help us grow in the direction we want, or which to take with a grain of salt, a shot of tequila, and a prayer for the good of all involved because sometimes that next day can really creep up on you and you have to think about these things when you're an adult.

You are the sum of the five people you spend the most time with.

I like being around people who help me grow, who challenge me when I'm wrong, and who know when to stop talking even if I'm wrong because maybe I can't handle admitting it in that moment. Good friends know this because they're connected like that.

In my seemingly infinite amounts of free time and flow, I'm savoring the connections that enhance me and examining those that bring out the less savory parts of myself.

Flowers and weeds both grow toward the light, but the adoration of one over the other is obvious.

Going Without

A month of obligation-free summer looms before me. And sometime last week, I made the decision to do something I’ve never done before: nothing.

No plans, no trips out of town, no schedule. 

In fact the only thing on my agenda is to explore what life feels like when I have nothing but time. You know, that thing we all think we need more of.

In our everyday lives, we get too busy to call our moms or work out or complete any of those “someday” projects that we always talk about but rarely do. We become too busy to do anything other than manage our hectic schedules and zone out in front of the TV at the end of the night. And then repeat it all the next day and live for the weekend when we can relax and feel some sort of relief from what is really just life.

But what happens when all that goes away? What’s left? Is it a void? Is it boredom? Is it happiness?

I spent years working non-stop. It wasn’t enough that I worked full time. I did coaching gigs on the side and published two novels. I bought a big house and filled it full of things I thought I needed like big TVs, nice furniture, and shoes. I went to the gym in the morning and avoided processed foods and stayed up-to-date on the latest trends. I was constantly exhausted and overwhelmed, yet I thought I was fulfilled. I thought I was living.

Except I wasn’t. I was simply surviving. Numbing. Avoiding.

Somehow--thankfully-- I woke up one day and asked myself what it was I really needed to thrive.

In The Power of Intention Dr. Wayne Dyer says, “realize how little you need in order to be satisfied and at peace.”

I didn’t need the house (besides property tax is ridiculous here). I didn’t need 40 pair of boots. I didn’t need to fill my time endlessly with tasks, because in the end, what I was really doing was avoiding an emptiness that would never be filled, no matter how big my closet or impressive my resume.

I sold the house. I downsized my closet (down to 10 pair of boots!). I found the beauty in sunsets and still moments, where sometimes the only thing to do was sit in silence and find the joy in the scent of a lit candle and the feeling of the ocean air breezing through my patio door. I looked inside myself to figure out who I really was and what I was contributing to the world. Some of it was good. Some of it sucked. Some (read: most) of it I’m still figuring out.

In theory, I’m happy now, or at least striving to be every day. In theory, I live a humble life where I explore nature and meditate and drink green juice (because it makes me feel good, not because it’s trendy, duh). I believe that if you’re truly happy, you can be happy anywhere, anytime, with anything or anyone. Or without, as it were.

Knowing who we are and what we really stand for is where we find our sense of purpose. Trying to find peace or happiness or love through external circumstances, possessions, or people will never be enough.

Life is about living through the heart, and the only way to do that is to go within.

Someday is elusive...life is happening now.

Life is happening now.

A year from now, you will wish you started today.

The best time to start was yesterday. The next best time to start is now.

I could go on and on with quotes about how we only have right now, but quotes are meaningless unless you actually understand them. Actually, maybe what I really want to say is that quotes are meaningless unless you apply them. Live them. Synthesize your knowledge with your life and then you have wisdom.

 But I digress.

I’ve been living my life waiting for “someday.” Someday I’ll stop eating sugar because I know how awful it makes me feel. Someday I’ll get better at keeping in touch with the friends I rarely see. Someday I’ll start writing again.

Someday has been a long time coming. I’ve had these vague goals for a couple of years. But I haven’t given up cookies and processed foods completely (I have the tight pants to prove it), if my mom calls and I’m tired I’ll probably let it go to voicemail, and I can’t remember the last time I sat down and worked on my latest writing project.

Someday hasn’t come around in two years. At this rate, it might never.  Someday is elusive. Life is happening now.

And if life is happening now…that means the me that I am right now…is who I am. Which begs the question…am I proud of who I am right now? Am I who I want to be right now? Because being anyone other than the person you want to be is settling.

And I refuse to settle. Life is too short to settle, to keep putting off what you want to do, where you want to go, or who you want to be.

And what I know about myself is that I want to be the one who is acting rather than speaking, going rather than thinking, and achieving rather than dreaming.

Life is now. The time is now. Live life in a way that makes you proud right now. Because right now is all there is.

The Journey

It was the lowest point in my life.

It was the desolation. The reservation on the southeastern part of Utah just above the four corners area, the desert we let the natives keep...probably because there is nothing there but sage brush, lonely highway, and complete lack of cell service.

I had no Pandora, no radio stations, and had long since grown tired of the handful of songs I'd downloaded onto a USB stick before I'd set out on my journey.

I drove down that road and cranked Amarillo by Morning for the 38,959th time, but the music wasn't loud enough, or my thoughts were too heavy, or there was just no more running away from how I felt inside.

Barren. The lifeless desert was a perfect reflection of my life.

We'd just sold our house, our five bedroom, four bath slice of SoCal real estate. We sold it for half a million dollars, which, as it turns out, is nothing compared to the price of giving up on the dreams you made together. The future. The family. The plans.

Shattered.

I'd gone to Utah to connect with my roots, to escape from the reality that my life, as I'd planned it, was over. I hadn't meant to drive, but my flight got cancelled and I couldn't bear to stay in the house that, after the 30 day escrow, was no longer ours.

So in the comfort of my childhood home, nestled in the loving embrace of my parents and brothers, or on the back of a horse chasing cows, I hid from the emotions that were under the surface, an underlying current of hot lava that would destroy anything it touched if I let it escape. Even though this was all my decision. I was the one who took it there. I was the one who decided this was no longer right for me. I forged ahead with it all. But once we sold the house, it felt so...final. And with that finality came doubts. So many doubts.

Had I made the right decision? Or could we still go back? Maybe it--he-- was what I wanted, after all.

I stayed home with my family for a few days, then decided Moab would be good for my soul. Maybe I could regain some of the appetite I'd lost. Maybe those splendid arches or that slick rock would fill that void in my soul. Maybe the brewing company would let me bring my dog in and stay forevermore, or at least until that weak Utah beer brought on the numbness I used to be so good at harboring.

I stayed only one night, enough to do some hiking, not long because it was a place we'd gone together many times and it brought back too many memories and dreams that would never come true..also because Hank wasn't allowed on the trails. He had to stay in the car, waiting, wondering if I'd ever return.

In a way, I wondered the same.

I wondered if I'd ever feel whole again. if I'd ever feel happy again. If I'd ever stop crying. Because, as I drove down that highway of broken dreams, it felt like despair had taken over every fiber of my being. My tears flowed from a spring of eternal sorrow. Invisible, yet so very real.

Seven hours later, I landed at my sister's in Flagstaff. She hugged me--even though she's not much of a hugger--and I sobbed and blubbered about how I was alone and I wondered if the hurt would ever go away. This wasn't how I pictured my life at 35.

She looked at me, comforted me in the way that sisters do, and said, "don't be afraid to go to the doctor and let him help you get through this hard time."

Indeed.

Except I didn't. I got back to San Diego and immediately fell for a charming man, one who serenaded me and sent expensive flowers to my work, distracted me from my grief..and had serious commitment issues.

A few months later, I was alone again.

The despondency came back again, this time worse. But that was when I knew.

The only way out was through. I didn't know it all would affect me like that, not when I was so sure I had made the right choice. Still. Losing your best friend and partner, even if it is your decision, even if you choose to remain close (which we are to this day), is akin to death.

Divorce.

It's been two years. I don't feel despair anymore. I'm happy. I feel alive in a way I never have before. Now I'll go outside during a downpour, just so I can feel the rain on my skin. I'll shiver and let the ocean spray my face on a cold winter night while I watch the sunset, just so I can appreciate what it feels like to be warm. I'll jump into the Pacific after a long morning run because then I can remember how cool it felt while I'm enduring one of those hot fall days at my AC-less job.

It's feeling. It's plain old living, and I'm finally doing it.

And I'm almost certain that when I make that drive next week--two years after that initial desperate, soul-seeking 10 hour drive--I won't be crying. And if I do, it will be because I'm listing to Adele (seriously though!) or just feeling gratitude that after all that I went through, the pieces of my heart are back to together and I finally feel whole again.

The light of Dawn

This post brought to you by stream-of-consciousness writing. I was sitting on the beach one day with my journal. I looked up and saw two girls laying on the cliffs above me...and this piece just came to me. A few minutes later, Mel came along and snapped this candid photo of me writing. It captures the essence of my life perfectly right now.

She won.

It was a cheap, tarnished, lie of a trophy, but technically, she won.

If there were a ref in the game of life (some call that ref God or Karma, but where is the instant gratification in that?), she would have been booted out of the game for subterfuge or unsportsmanlike conduct. The game would have been called on account of rain, on account of the storm of duplicity, dishonesty, and destruction she left in her path. In his, too.

Naively I was floating along in the summer sun, surrounded by beach haze, evening baseball games, and local craft beer. I didn't even know I was supposed to be playing a game. And if I had...I didn't know how to play by those rules...or rather, lack thereof. If it had occurred to me that I had to win him, I still would not have disregarded my virtue to reign triumphant. What's the point of a victory tainted by trickery?

A trophy that doesn't shine with the light of integrity has no real value.

And so she rode off into the sunset with him on a foundation of lies, schemes, and dissonance. His noble steed indeed.

I stood alone, looking out at the ocean, pondering the colors of the sunset, the polarity of all things. Thanking God I never learned to play that way.

To the victor goes the spoils.

And to the loser--me--came solitude, the beauty of the setting sun, and the magic of the dawn yet to come.

Life 2.0

A reader messaged me and said she missed my blog. And it got me thinking...so do I.

But is blogging even a thing anymore?

I guess it depends on the purpose. But the message came at an interesting time, as I had literally been thinking about blogging as I lay on the beach yesterday.

That's where I am in life. Lying (laying? I can never remember) on the beach contemplating life. I've lived in the same place for two years, and relocation has been on my mind. I looked at a place in my same beach town today, but there's something that feels akin to settling when I think about moving into a dark, 800 square-foot studio. Sure, it comes with a  newly remodeled kitchen and boasts granite counter tops, yet it lacks room for my mountain bikes and off-street parking and would suck up $1400 a month and a piece of my soul. No thanks. I'll keep my townhouse with ample storage, poor insulation, and a shared wall with a neighbor who just might have a peephole somewhere, we're not sure.

But this is me now. Have spent the last 12 years at the same job, thinking about changing that, thinking about continuing to love that. Longing for some sort of life change that leads me to believe I might be having a mid-life crisis. Am I midlife now? I'm not sure, but at least my butt hasn't started to sag.

I'm not sure what in my life I want to change (definitely not the non-saggy butt, I worked hard for this squat booty!), but I'm ready for something new and exciting. Maybe I'm waiting for God to speak to me through a burning bush like in the old days even though He doesn't seem to do that in modern times except maybe through a sunset or a good Enya song.

And even then it's open to interpretation. It's all about perspective. As Emerson says, "People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also an expression of their character."

I see the sun rise through palm trees as I run my daily 5 on the beach each morning. I drink green juice and smoothies and avoid gluten. I watch the sunset over the water at dog beach almost every night. It's a mile walk and sometimes I have to carry Hank. Sometimes I make new friends, sometimes I keep to myself. Most times, though, I've learned to say YOLO (you only live once) to new things and have random and fun adventures. Sometimes my responsible friends yell at me and tell me I need to think more about my choices (like going rock climbing to a deserted beach while barefoot in a bikini in Cabo with a random local is a poor choice?) but I'm not dead yet so...nah?


And yes. I'm single. I've been divorced for 2 years. I have gone on countless dates, quasi-seriously dated 2 different boys (though neither made it as far as being Facebook official) but have yet to find a guy that has makes me want to settle down. In fact I recently stated that I'm out of the dating game. It's lasted 4 days so far. It's hard to know exactly how much to reveal about my dating life on a public blog (ahem, secret dating blog). Because I don't know who will end up reading this.

My old readers? New readers? My mom? No one?

Who cares. It feels good to be writing again.