Happy Birthday, America! You made it another year. Two hundred forty-one. Not bad. I mean, there are plenty of nations that are way older and more experienced, but you’ve done pretty well for yourself for such a young country. You’ve survived some serious growing pains (even a civil war), and on the whole, your people are now freer and have better living conditions than many people in many other nations in the world. And what a beauty you are! So demographically and geographically diverse, so many shades of so many colors scattered throughout your ever-changing landscapes.

I have to say, though, recently I’ve been more than a little worried about your health. Because your bones have gotten so brittle lately. You came into the world a strong democracy, but you have been infected by greed, and I just see you getting weaker and sicker as time goes on. Your democratic ideals aren’t what they once were, and it shows.

And the bigger problem is that your citizens, who could heal you, are in no position to do so. Your full name is the United States of America, but these days you’d be more aptly named the Divided and Really Pissed-Off States of America. Partly as a result of your infection, your people are angry, and they are mistrustful of one another and of your leaders. As humans tend to do, they have largely forgotten all the ways in which they’re the same and they’re seeing only how they differ. They are really, really not united, and I’m not sure how they’re ever going to come together enough to restore your health.

But don’t despair. As absurdly petty as humans can be, one great thing about them is that they like to solve problems–the bigger the better. They’re pretty good at coming up with new ideas and ways of doing things. And they also desperately want to feel happy and useful. Sitting around fretting over their problems without working toward solutions to those problems eventually makes them crazy. So day after day, they overcome their strong urges to just keep sleeping and not do anything, and they drag themselves out of bed and get busy, together and individually, solving problems both big and small. It’s pretty amazing, really, what they’re capable of.

So here’s hoping they can figure out answers just a little bit faster so that you can begin to recover. After all, you can be so vibrant and extraordinary, and you have given hope and joy to so many. And so I wish you a healthier 242nd year, and many happier returns.

I used to strive for CHANGE. I needed to CHANGE my job, my house, my life, my attitude, my whatever else–as soon as possible if not yesterday–because then I would be happy. 

With time, I resigned myself to Change. This is, annoyingly, not immediate. But as I got older I knew that planning and practice and patience were necessary. I had to think about things for a while and work hard to Change.

Now, I realize and (sometimes) accept that change is the maddening rascal I’ll always be waiting for, because it happens so slowly that it’s almost imperceptible. I can look back at the years and see that I have changed myself and my life for the better, but the accrual of positives is only possible to see by comparing the twenty-years-ago me or maybe the ten-years-ago me with the now-me.

This is a problem because humans aren’t exactly wired to strive for and notice really really really tiny changes. We want CHANGE and we want it now. I want to compare the yesterday-me with the today-me and see progress, dammit!, and my mind is likely to go to a dangerous place when I can’t see forward movement at the rate I expect.

But of course we’re also not exactly wired to process CHANGE very well. We can imagine it in an instant but only take in change comfortably over many, many strung-together instants. CHANGE tends to send us into a frenzy.

What we end up with, then, is most of us mostly not changing most of the time. A small percentage of people CHANGE, a slightly larger percentage of people Change, a larger percentage of people change. And some people, well, they only ch-. We can’t process what happens to them at all because it’s too tortoise-like to even form a word.

We humans sure do find ourselves in a lot of confusing predicaments. Can someone please work on CHANGING that?

*Note: The slow rate of change exhibited by humans is the reason why this is my first post in many months. I hope to CHANGE, uh, change this soon, uh, eventually.

I do a lot of processing by writing, but because of some little people-planets I orbit around, I have had very little time for that the past decade or so. Everything just swirls around inside, then, and crazy runs through my veins because it can’t get out. (Yes, that’s my excuse. 😉 And ohmigawd I can’t believe I just used an emoji in my blog!) I really am trying to meet my needs along with those of my kids, but how can I not feed them or cheer them on or (try to) tend to their emotional needs?

And I seem to be dividing into smaller and smaller pieces all the time, which I blame on children (I blame a lot on them) and also on technology. Call it soul division. I’ve got horcruxes all over the place. How can I be present when I can look up anything I want on Google? I can be all-knowing, and yet I’m supposed to give my full attention to the dishes I’m washing or the homework I’m helping with? I roll my eyes at you guys, mindfulness and intention. I am everywhere, all at once.

And then I crash and I want to come back together. So I write a little. Like this. And I feel the parts of myself converging again, for just a little while. Ahhh.

Five minute writing exercise here. Unedited. Have been thinking about this lately: how can I have both so much to say and nothing at all to say about my life these days? In other words, how can I have so much interesting going on and yet nothing interesting, everything humdrum? I do the same things each day, for the most part. The same routine that so many other moms of school-aged kids have. The just-trying-to-survive without any major embarrassment or injuries kinds of days. No time for embellishment, and isn’t that the fun stuff? But these are also such wonderful days, exhausting but full of life, of being out in the world and putting little people out in the world with all my/their blemishes and beauty spots, hoping to forge connections in spite of it all.

Okay, that was more like ten minutes. I got into it. Got past the humdrum. That’s so exciting!

Also, I did delete and retype a couple of times. Full disclosure. It’s so hard to let go…

There are plenty of things I want to accomplish in 2015, but I’m not going to make any of them into formal resolutions. I don’t even know if I’ll write any of them down, as much as I love making lists. Because the moment I make the things I want to do into Things by putting them down in print, they become impossible objects to obtain and that exist only to make me feel bad about myself if I don’t do them. (Shame on you, Things! Bad Things!)

I’m trying to not even identify the contours of these goals in my mind but instead to make out whatever eensy-weensy step I need to take next so that I can eventually realize the big picture. So I want to learn to play the guitar? I’ll try not to imagine myself jamming like a pro but remember that the next thing I need to do is just pick up my guitar and maybe practice some chords for five minutes. In fact, and I swear I’m not making this up, I was so overwhelmed by the thought of giving myself my first guitar lesson that I decided the first lesson would consist of me asking my husband where in our house my guitar was (because we had recently moved, and have yet to sort everything out). So I asked, and he told me (because I knew he would know). End of first lesson. How’s that for setting the bar low?

As silly as I felt deciding that establishing the location of my guitar was good enough for my first lesson, I have come to believe that if such minuscule steps are what it takes to accomplish my goals, so be it. I will break those suckers down into subatomic particles if that’s what I have to do. I am not afraid to get down and dirty with all the Things!

I wish everyone extreme smallness in the new year. May we think tiny so we can keep moving forward. Unless you’re capable of taking giant leaps, in which case you should totally go for it. Just stop every once in a while and turn around and wave to us slowpokes, okay?

At least I hope so, because I really NEED to learn to be imperfect. Or rather, to learn to accept being imperfect. And so here I am, again, writing something and publishing it, without spending a lot of time on it, without editing, without even knowing what I’m gonna say. But as soon as I hit “publish,” I know I’ll get a self-esteem boost, because, hey, I did it. I was brave.
It feels ridiculous to say that, that I or anyone else could be brave just for hitting “publish.” I mean, there are people out there living through war, or disease, or overbearing grief. Aren’t they the ones showing real courage, sometimes just by making it through the day?
Well, yes, they are, but that doesn’t diminish the courage we show when we do something we’re afraid to do that seems small by comparison. Fear is fear. When I’m afraid to hit “publish” because to do so is to put myself out there, to let my soul run naked through the streets, I feel vulnerable. Just as those living in difficult situations do. Whether we feel physically or emotionally vulnerable (or both) doesn’t really matter. It still takes courage to tame fear, whatever kind.
So I hope that none of us are quick to minimize our little acts of bravery throughout each day. They’re all important, they all add up, and they’re all worth an exuberant fist pump.
I got WAY off topic in this post but, oh well, imperfection. YES!

***Bear with me, this is a little writing exercise; I just need to get something out and onto the screen. This’ll be quick and dirty–so don’t say you weren’t warned.***
All my life I’ve had trouble with following through. I’ve had lots of great ideas, plans, desires, and great other stuff I’m sure I’m forgetting. I’ve dreamed big: I want to help people, follow my passions, and, of course, save the world. Or, now that in older and, ahem, more realistic, just help the world out a little.
For whatever reason (and I’ve gone over and over the possibilities: ADD, laziness, indifference, incompetence, fear, *insert clever possibility here*), though, I start much but finish little. Completion often feels like climbing Mt Everest. And I’m talking about little tasks too. Sorting through that smallish stack of papers? Mt Everest. Filling out a job application? Mt Everest. Making a chore chart for my kids? Yep, that’s Mt Everest too.
But enough about all that, because completing this post feels like Mt Everest and because my time is up, my exercise is done and now I get to go watch The Sopranos (yeah, we missed that one somehow, we’re a little late to that (mob) party). So what I’ve been getting to is this: it occurs to me that I may have found something I can follow through with. And that would be … flaunting my imperfection. Because I’m already imperfect (thanks, God), so how hard can it be to just tell y’all about it? I mean, no one else knows what it’s like because all y’all are perfect, so I could follow through and enlighten at the same time. Awesome!
And now for this imperfect, not-wrapping-anything-up, totally generic ending. Bye bye!

I came here to write something else entirely, but I just feel like whining. I’ve been procrastinating all night and trying to shake my bad attitude, which can be summed up thusly: The School of Life is hard, I’m tired, and I don’t want to do any homework.
I mean, c’mon, do I really have to actually DO things to improve myself? Can’t I just sit around and think a lot about how great it will feel when I am perfect? Because that’s not, like, deep, complicated thinking; that’s just nice warm-fuzzy thinking. I can get drunk off that stuff.
No, of course I must face life with a clear head that is ready to think hard. But do I have to do it now? Can’t I wait to figure out all the things until after I have watched Game of Thrones or played Words with Friends or checked Facebook? Surely I can do a little of each of those before I get started. Right? But how much is a little? I mean, I am learning stuff on Facebook–all those, uh, news articles I read are contributing to my knowledge of important national and world goings-on. Not to mention all those inspirational posts telling me I CAN do it; I can be the me I’ve always wanted to be, if I just meditate/pray/forgive/love/laugh/donate/run/walk/look at pictures of puppies and kittens. So a little extra Facebook time won’t hurt.
And so then what if I think hard for just, like, five minutes, and figure out just one or two of the things instead of all the things? Will that be enough for the three-hour period I have to myself at the end of each day? After all, the rest of the day I’m figuring all the things out for myself and for all the children, except that once they’re figured out there’s no time to act on the figuring because someone is hungry/is thirsty/needs to use the bathroom/has colored on the walls. And after that I’ve forgotten all the figuring anyway.
Where was I going with all this? Something about thinking hard. And a school of some sort. That sounds like it requires coherency and other stuff that is not fun.
Maybe I should play hooky tomorrow. I will give it some thought.

It’s fear. I used to think it was hate. And that’s not altogether wrong. But at the root of hate (and anger, pride, jealousy, etc.) is fear. It’s the cage of fear that we spend our lives beating our fists against. Any of us can break out of the cage, but we have to burn through the bars with the brilliance of love.
I used to think love was a noun. Now I believe it’s a verb. And now I know it’s not the same thing as attachment. Because guess what’s at the root of attachment? Yup, that bully, fear. But love takes courage. It’s not easy or comfortable like attachment. I used to think love was supposed to feel good all the time. But often it’s difficult and scary and leaves us feeling like we’ve run a marathon or fought a battle. Real love is not for the faint of heart. We have to make ourselves vulnerable, over and over again, to love well. Yikes.
But real love cuts the deepest channels into our souls. And it rests in there, nourishing us and allowing us to nourish others.
Y’all, I’m scared to post this. I mean, “we have to burn through the bars with the brilliance of love”? I honestly don’t know whether that’s profound or cheesy. I think I’m supposed to know, and I think I’m supposed to change it if I figure out that it’s cheesy. But I need to publish this and move on to something else, and if I take the time to change that, I might not ever publish this. It’s an act of love for myself to post this anyway, not knowing.
I wish for all of us to do those little or big acts of love for ourselves and others, over and over again, every day. Hitting “Publish” now…

Today is my forty-first birthday, and it’s quite possible that I’ve never been happier.

Wait. Did I just write that? About possibly never having been happier? Me? Depressed, anxious, brooding me?

Well, yeah. I’m second guessing myself about whether that’s true, but that’s me too. If it feels true, it probably is. That’s good enough for me today.

This past year has been one of the hardest of my life. At times I wasn’t sure I was going to survive. Nothing was wrong with me, not really, but anxiety had so overwhelmed me that I didn’t see how I could stand it. One night I ended up in the emergency room and spent the night in the psychiatric ward because I was in such a black hole of despair that I was afraid to be anywhere else. Intense panic attacks will do that to you.

And now? Now I’m grateful for the anxiety. As much as it sucked, as terrible as it felt, it has made me a better, stronger person. Adversity tends to awaken us like nothing else can.

I got a wonderful birthday present last night. I was watching TV (“Call the Midwife,” good show if you haven’t seen it) and the episode–which was about a newborn’s death, you know, nothing heavy–made me think about how scared I am of my feelings. Like terrified. Like more afraid of them than anything else. Like I have this idea that if I feel too intensely, it will kill me. But this is good, I thought. Now I know. Another awakening.

And so I begin my forty-second year a little wiser, if a little grayer also.

May we all suffer enough adversity to awaken us fully. But may we not suffer too much. Would it be too much to ask to be able to control the adversity dial, God?

Just had to ask.