Listening to road sounds can really make you think

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

He was the sunshine to my night when we first met
the one I loved the most, my John
became my Judas.
Betrayed. 

Sometimes it’s like this with people. An odd contrast. I was thinking about it pretty deeply the other day on my way home from work. Since I have no radio, (as I explained in an earlier post, it was stolen) I am forced to listen to road sounds, which lull me into deep thought. I was thinking about how I have been betrayed in the past, and how those betrayals play into my inability to fully trust people. We all have our John’s and our Judas’…what lessons do they teach us? How does our time with them change our lives…our perspectives…our ability to be open and to trust others? 

As I was forming the words to this poem in my head and thinking thought after thought about the role certain people have played in my life, I began to reflect on the times I have been John, and the times I have been Judas. I realized it’s not a “them” problem. It’s a “me” problem. How can I be better…how can I love, despite my fear that I could be let down? The truth is that wholeheartedly loving another person can not happen when FEAR exists (and here, I am not JUST talking about romantic love, I am talking about LOVE period), because fear holds you back. It prevents you from giving 100 percent of your heart. I can love more if I let go of the fear of being hurt. I can love more if I let go of the fear of loss…I can love more if I forgive myself for the times that I have been Judas to another…I can love more if I forgive those who were Judas to me. Not an easy thing to do…but I have to because I realize that to be fully alive, I have to LOVE without fear. Even if it means loving Judas. 

 

When the tears fall…ask yourself why

~ Lisa ~ 2 Comments

Schools are closed and the office is closed in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I’m home with my kids, and when I woke up with them this morning, the first thing I did was ask them “Do you know why you are home from school today?” Of course they gave the right answer. They’ve been learning as much as a 3, 6 and 12 year old can over the last week about Martin Luther King and his legacy at school. I wanted to start the day with a lesson on the truly backbreaking and often dehumanizing work Dr. King and all who struggled and fought for Civil Rights in this country endured. I began by telling them a little bit about how not so long ago, people were separated in this country because of the color of their skin; that they could only live in certain places, go to certain schools, eat at certain restaurants. I was pleasantly surprised to see them all really listening. It was quite a moment for me.

I talked to them about standing up for what is right, about Dr. King’s stance on non-violence, and about the ugly reality of racism, hatred and segregation. How people faced dogs, fire hoses, being spit on, beaten, battered, all because they believed that everyone, no matter what the color of their skin, deserved to be treated equally. As I was speaking about the bravery of the people who had endured so much, I could feel my throat tightening, my chest hurting…and I began to cry. I struggled through, talking more about Dr. King’s legacy and how it lives on today through us, and about how we should always feel gratitude to those people who fought and died for what is, by it’s very essence, truth. We are different, that is true. But we are all human and no one, no matter how many letters they have behind their name has ever been able to define race in a way that denies that fact.

When the lesson was over, I began to reflect. Why was I crying? I cried because I want to be that brave. I want to be that strong…to sit in the face of hatred and anger and know that I am on the side of justice. I am humbled at the bravery of all those men and women. I am humbled by their grit, their honor, and their knowledge deep in their hearts and minds that they were struggling for something bigger than themselves…

I am humbled by the knowledge that they weren’t afraid to die.

I will end this with one of my favorite quotes from Dr. King. It’s a reminder to me to always speak. I do, for the most part. It’s time to make my voice louder. Time to do more. Remember:

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Fear, the other F word

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

One of the things I’ve been pondering lately is the role fear plays in my life, and how it affects the decisions I make, especially the decisions that are life changing. I was scrolling Pinterest a few days ago and I saw this quote:

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Everything? Really? Because there are some things that I want that have absolutely nothing to do with being afraid. For example, I would like the laundry to magically wash, dry, fold and put itself away without ANY effort on my part. Laundry is exhausting! And it’s NEVER done. I have no fear of laundry, unless of course, I haven’t been able to get to it in over a week and I know that the mountain of clothes gathered in the laundry room will be damn near insurmountable!

I realize that I have taken the quote out of context but I do it to show how silly some of the quotes we take to heart and use to guide our lives can be. Is the quote important, sure. Should it be a guidepost for some of the struggles we face in our lives, sure. Does it apply to every aspect of our lives, no. My point in all of this is that there has to be some line, some balance, some critical thought so that we can apply this wisdom to our lives in a way that makes sense and is actionable. I see a lot of quotes pinned on Pinterest. I am guilty of pinning a number of quotes that I read and think “Wow, so true!” and then never really think about again. I am almost positive the majority of chronic quote pinners are guilty of the same. But, back to fear.

I thought I’d try to take this quote and make it actionable by applying it to some of the concrete life decisions I am faced with over the coming months. One is applying for a position at my job that requires me to speak in front of a room full of strangers. I HATE public speaking and I am sure that places me squarely on the bell curve of the majority of people reading this. I am no outlier when it comes to speaking in front of people I don’t know. I’d rather not. But the fact is, I have a dream I’d like to see come true (a higher paying job with unlimited potential), and speaking in front of strangers is a stepping stone toward that dream. I’m scared shitless to be honest. But I did it.  I applied to the position because in this case, something I want (not everything because my laundry still lies waiting for ME in the laundry room) IS on the other side of fear. And in all honesty, if I let fear continue to guide the decisions I make, well, I’m fucked. You can only move forward if you push through your fear. Words of wisdom made actionable. That’s how life changes.

If you’re going to do it…do it my way

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

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So here’s the thing: I am a perfectionist. I don’t say that in a snotty “I’m better than you” kind of way. I say it because it’s how I approach my work and the things I do in my life. If I cook, I cook to perfection. If I clean, I clean to perfection. Everything I do, I do to the very best of my ability so that, in my mind at least, it is perfect.

It’s a problem. I recognize it’s a problem and I will tell you why: perfectionists rarely get stuff done.

Now I know there are going to be some out there who will argue with this. “That’s you! I get stuff done,” they’ll say. I don’t doubt you get stuff done. Hell, I also get stuff done. Just not as much stuff as I COULD get done if I let go and allowed 1) other people to help me and 2) myself to ease up on the control I feel I have to have in EVERY situation so that things can be done “my way.” I venture to say I’d also have more energy to do some of the things I’d like to do (more writing, for example) if I gave myself permission to let go of my need for perfection and control.

With this in mind, I devised an experiment. I would start delegating some of the things I generally do myself because other people’s way of doing these things is not up to my standards. It began with telling my 16-year-old son to clean the bathroom. Now, cleaning the bathroom is a big deal for me. It has to be done a CERTAIN WAY. Otherwise, it is not RIGHT. I mean, even down to the way the soap and shampoo bottles are aligned. Right. As I am typing this, I can feel the anxiety mounting – even though this technically happened days ago, I can still feel the anxiety. Seriously. 

Did he do it RIGHT? Yes and no. He did the bathroom RIGHT according to his own specifications. He did a great job making sure he properly cleaned and disinfected all of the surfaces. The chrome gleamed, the porcelain shined, and the mirror was streak free. I twitched a little when I noticed that he hadn’t emptied and cleaned out the bathroom’s trash container. I could feel my anxiety reach new heights as I saw he lined the bottles and soaps up his way, not mine. I fought the urge to “correct” it.  I had to take a step back, for real because I realized something in that moment: The fact is, he did a great job. He did it his way and though it wasn’t MY way, it was perfection in HIS eyes. I had to appreciate the effort he made. I let him know he did a great job, that I was glad I could trust him with the responsibility, and that I would definitely be relying on him to clean the bathroom again. He was proud of his work. I beamed! I mean, I do have a great son. I’m one lucky mom!

Once he was out of sight, I fixed the shampoo bottles.

Baby steps.

 

Make me proud

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been running for about 2 years now, and average about 3 and a half miles per run on any given day. Today I started training for a half marathon I am running this May, and as I was on the treadmill trying to push through my first wall (for me, I always hit the first wall after the first mile; for some reason, my legs get heavy and just don’t want to “go” anymore) a certain song came on. I told myself right then “just get through the song and you’ll be OK”. So I did. I dug in and I ran for the entire song, listening to the notes, the lyrics, and pushing through the wall. When the song was over, guess what? I was OK, just like I told myself. Best of all, another song came on, and I dug in again and again. One song at a time…

I realized this concept can be applied to any situation that requires movement. Choose a song, and do a chosen activity for just as long as the song plays. As you become better able to cope with the aerobic demands of say, walking for one song, then move up to two, then three songs and more. If organizing is your goal, begin with one task (cleaning out a junk drawer for example) and work for just one song. Then another, then another. Choose music you love. Music that motivates you and makes you want to get up and MOVE. That’s an important part of the process. I don’t think playing R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” is my thing in terms of motivation, but it might be for you, and if it is, then get up and MOVE to it. 

I plan to continue to use this idea to just push through with a song during my training. I’m taking note of the artists, lyrics and sounds that increase my motivation and give me the fire I need to push through when I hit a wall. Today at the gym, that song I mentioned, the one I heard through my headphones as I struggled just after the one mile mark, was Make Me Proud by Drake. Listening to some (definitely not all, because well, damn…) of the lyrics, reminded me of the things I have done that I am proud of. I’ve set lots of goals and made lots of plans in my life. I failed at some, but hey, I have also succeeded at MANY. I am proud of my accomplishments. And I will continue to work to “make me proud” as life goes on. Half-marathon, here I come, and cheesy as it may be, I’m gonna KILL it, one song at a time!

 

For the times when you don’t get along with your mother

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

I realize the title of this post is long. Lots of words to reflect an often complicated relationship. I love my mother dearly. She is my biggest cheerleader. But she can also be my worst critic. And not in a constructive “hey, I see you doing this right, but this is questionable, but hey, this is awesome so I know you can do better” kind of way. It’s more like “that’s not how I did things” kind of way. (This is just a tiny sampling, and trust it is always said with a hint of judgment, a dash of disdain, and a pinch of  “my way is better.”) It’s frustrating. It’s aggravating. It’s often difficult not to react, to try to listen to what I feel is constant criticism with some kind of understanding (by now, I mean I’m 40 and my mom has been my mom my whole life!). I should be up to speed by now, right?

So my question, albeit a late one, is how on earth can I navigate my relationship with my mom in a way that is far more constructive? I’d like to, once, hear her comment about the state of the house or the state of my children or my parenting skills or my choice of wardrobe or my choice of food or reading or exercise or date or….you feel my pain? Yeah…so how to navigate in a way that doesn’t end in a clash that leaves me feeling like a jerk?

After careful evaluation, I don’t think there is a way to navigate this relationship. I’m just along for the ride. It’s a bumpy one, for sure. Yet, she is my mom. The mother who I know would do anything for me, even though I’m nothing like her. It may not make every criticism from my mother palatable, but knowing how much she loves me makes the medicine go down a lot easier.

Not quite like any other day

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

I go to the gym about 4 days a week on average. It’s all part of a fitness plan I’ve managed to stick to for the last 3 years, despite my general inability to stick to anything with any kind of consistency. Yes, I am consistently inconsistent most of the time. Anyway, back to the gym story. So I went into the gym, put my stuff in a locker in the ladies room and after sprinting on the treadmill for about 3 miles, went back to the locker room, showered, and because it is winter and cold as hell outside, decided I’d sit in the sauna for a bit before I head home. The sauna was empty, so I found a place and made myself comfortable.

I understand, being that I am a woman and have been going into women’s locker rooms for ages that a glimpse of a body part belonging to someone who is not ME is inevitable. However, what I had to endure yesterday was just…inhumane. A lady wearing nothing but her birthday suit rushes into the sauna and proceeds to BEND OVER and put lotion on. I wouldn’t have minded that so much. I can get over the naked despite the fact that the signage outside of the sauna CLEARLY says that you must be wearing some form of undergarments AND a towel upon entering the sauna. I know people usually can’t be counted on to READ, but damn. Follow examples then. People come and go out of the sauna all the time and they are covered at the very least with a towel. However, she was NAKED and her ass was less than two feet from my face. Talk about a “WTF” moment. No. No. No. You do NOT do things like that. NEVER, ever, (ever ever ever!) put your ass crack naked JUNK that close to an innocent stranger. It’s just beyond any normal human beings level of comfort, not to mention completely inconsiderate. I can appreciate that you have no shame, that you are comfortable in your skin and maybe even that you are a little frickin’ crazy and you think that rushing into a sauna butt naked and slathering on lotion with your ass in a stranger’s face is an OK thing to do. Unfortunately, there are those of us who would prefer not to be victims of such a brazen act of defiance against all that is good and holy. Yes, I said I was victimized. Because seriously, YOUR ASS?! In my FACE?! Needless to say, my time in the sauna was cut dramatically short. I am hoping my memory of this event fades just as quickly.

 

Lessons from a thief

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

So yesterday, I went to work. It was like any other work day in Chicago, except that yesterday was bitterly cold. I didn’t park where I usually park. Strike one, because I had a thought that I should just park in the employee parking lot as usual. But it was so FAR. And it was also so COLD. Did I mention how cold it was? Anyway, I parked on the street and something told me as I got out of my car to make SURE I locked the doors. So I did, I made sure that I locked my doors and went along my merry way, believing I had taken the care I needed to. Strike 2. Did I mention that the office is in an industrial area, and the street I parked on is not that busy, generally? Strike 3.

Cut to hours later. I’m leaving the office and as I approach my car I think, “Wow, that’s weird. My door is open”. You’d think seeing my car door open would be a clue something wasn’t right. But no, being the naive person I tend to be, I just thought maybe I hadn’t closed it right getting out of the car. I open my door the rest of the way and WTF!!! My radio is gone! Gone, gone….GONE. Nothing but a hole and wires. My immediate reaction was no reaction. Just shock. After a minute of standing there in shock I started to get irritated. Who would someone steal something that didn’t belong to them, from someone they don’t know?! You don’t know my struggles. I am a mother of 5 kids! I have food to buy, clothes to buy, shoes…school fees, BILLS BILLS BILLS. Then I wondered why? Why on EARTH of all the weeks and all the cars on the street and all the days and all the times (I mean, CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!!) would you break into someone’s car and steal a radio. Note: also stolen was a bag with paperwork for my job, and 2 bags of shoes I had planned to give to charity. I imagine, somewhere in Chicago, a thief is currently trying to get rid of little girl’s shoes, size 2. Red and sparkly. That was just one of many pairs of little girls shoes in those bags.

But, I digress. I am still mildly irritated at the loss of my radio. I mean, how am I supposed to maintain sanity driving in rush hour traffic to and from work in CHICAGO without my radio?! However, I have decided not to make a big fuss about it. To understand that this happened for a reason. What lessons can I learn from this thief?

Lesson 1: Follow your instincts. Yes it has been said time and time again and yes, I am sure we ALL know we should be following our instincts. However, if I had followed mine, I believe my radio and I would not be dearly departed.

Lesson 2: Don’t get too comfy. I can definitely say that I got a little too comfy…parking on the street is generally a safe thing to do but NOT WHEN YOU WORK IN AN INDUSTRIAL AREA and definitely NOT IN CHICAGO. Always remember where you are, and keep that at the forefront of your mind when you are making choices.

Lesson 3: Speaking of choices, this is a prime example of how our choices can affect our lives for the good or the bad. I made the choice to park on the street. I was robbed. Seems like going back to kindergarten here, but I guess that’s life. We have to go back to kindergarten to be reminded of the simple lessons. Hope now I can move on to Grade 1.

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A time for acceptance

~ Lisa ~ 1 Comment

I have always been my own worst critic. Many people can say that about themselves, I’m sure. When I was chatting with a friend the other day, I understood that I’m not alone in this. It’s not something we always talk about or share with one another. As for me, I’m forgetful, I lose my temper, I’m blind as a bat without my glasses, my hair gives me the blues because I look like an idiot no matter how I try to style it, I cuss, I sometimes feel really, really depressed, I am completely disorganized and it took me more than 4 years to complete my bachelor’s degree and more than 2 to finish my master’s because of it. Some days I feel like a crappy mom. Some days I’m on top of the world and I can’t really figure out why. These are just a few of the things I have picked on myself about, excluding the body issues I’ve had over the years. Maybe these things seem trivial. Perhaps they are in some ways.

Despite this I have lately become determined to love myself for who I am. The walking, talking contradiction that I am. I even went so far as to write about myself in the form of a poem. It’s a love note to myself. An awakening to the fact that I am who I am. Don’t get me wrong in thinking that the road to acceptance means I will stop trying to be better, though. Not so. I will continue to strive to be the best ME I can be. But I promise myself that I’m going to love ME every step of the way, to the best of my ability, from now on.

Average Me

I don’t rhyme shit…

Rhythm in my world is inconsistent

Though I try to defy that part of me

Beauty hides a struggle

Skin deep can’t get deeper than dark

Dark can’t get colder than cold

So hot…

Fire burns white hot

Burn out.

A mess, a jumble

A mystery to myself A

Rubic’s Cube minus a few colors

But with added dimensions

Where past and present collide

Where future holds…

Where silence screams

Where dreams shift into overdrive

And sometimes stall.

Yet…I remain in spirit unbreakable as the wind

Ever try to catch a breeze?

Damn right…I don’t rhyme shit.

Beautiful Remarkable Incredibly Average Me.

The birth of a blog

~ Lisa ~ Leave a comment

This blog was born in the wake of loss. This summer, I lost my grandfather, and just this past week, I lost a friend. These were two men who walked different, yet similar paths. Family, tradition, love, strength and courage are just a few of the traits they shared. I won’t go into the details of their individual struggles…suffice it to say that my grandfather died after a long struggle with Parkinson’s Disease. My friend died after a 3 year battle with cancer. Where their paths diverged can be seen in the families they left behind. One family, my grandfather’s, is broken…a break that is more than likely irreparable. My friend’s family is bonded forever by a tremendous amount of love.

What these two men taught me, very simply, is to LIVE. I have been alive for 40 years now. But I can’t say that I ever truly lived. I’ve spent the vast majority of my time feeling stuck, feeling trapped and unable. The borders I constructed for myself included the belief that what other people thought of me mattered…that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough…worthy enough. Fear of judgment and failure dictated the constructs of my life. After the death of my grandfather, who I was very close to in the end, I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, all these 40 years of “living” I had under my belt wasn’t really living at all. And when my friend died, I UNDERSTOOD that I haven’t lived.

Living means very different things to different people. These two people, in a short span of a few months, have sparked a fire in me to define, for myself, what it means to truly LIVE. They have inspired me, for once in my life, to step out without fear of anything. To be ME with the understanding that I am here to push limits. I am here to leave a legacy. I am here to LOVE.

With this in mind, I am setting out on a journey to appreciate the time I have left, to become the person I was meant to be, and to leave a permanent mark on all the people I am gifted to have in my life. One small step at a time…so here goes.