Sometimes it’s easier to jump into the pool without testing the temperature.  If you stick your toe in and find it cold, your brain starts obsessing:  “It’s cold.  It’s cold.  Oh, it’s so cold.  Why is it so cold?  Oh, I don’t want to go in there!  Not there!  It’s cold.  It’s cold.  Oh, it’s so cold….”

And so I signed up for Nanowrimo.  Say what now?  Nanowrimo.  Na-no-wri-mo…oh, just click the link already!

For those of you who do not follow instructions well, Nanowrimo is National Novel Writing Month.  I’ve signed up in the past but did not follow through and, truthfully, I can’t promise that this time will be any different.  But I do have a few friends who also signed up to participate and, in going with the theme of my life lately, I mean, what the heck?  I have long fancied myself a writer and I do occasionally dabble.  (“Occasionally” being the key word for those of you who actually follow the blog.  Very key.)

The jumping in the pool without testing the water part is that I have no rightly idea what I am going to write about.  My writing is always much more memoir-esque;  the creative end always seems to allude me.  I have a hard time inventing people and lives and all of that when my own world is just so darned entertaining/irritating/confusing/etc, etc, etc.

We shall see!

I’ve been here one year.

In some ways, that year has flown by.  In other ways, it has felt like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it.

I think I’ve cried more tears this year than any other in my life.

I’ve grieved for all that I gave up. (I can’t say “lost” because I CHOSE this, but that seems like the more appropriate term.)  Denial/isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance – over and over and back again.

I’ve vacillated wildly at times between sticking it out and giving up.  So much so that, at times, I’ve questioned my own sanity.  How can you, in the same day, sometimes in the same hour, have such diametrically opposed thoughts?

Intellectually, I knew the transition would be hard.  I was leaving my friends, my family and basically, everything I ever knew.  How could it not be?  But I thought I had the wherewithal to overcome those things much more quickly than in reality.

I figured I’d settle in, find a church, meet some people and bada bing, life as I knew it would return.

Not so much.

But in the process, I’ve tried a lot of things.

I started a book club.

I took a line dancing class.

I trained for and completed the local Women’s 4 Miler.

I volunteer at local nursing home each month, doing crafts with the residents.

I just completed training to become a CASA.

I flipped (and sold) some cool furniture.

I revived ye olde blog (sort of.)

I “tasted” a lot of wine.  And some local brews.

I found out that polo is actually kind of fun to watch.

I met some very cool people who are well on their way to becoming good friends.

I maintained the bonds with many of my good friends back “home” despite the distance.  And I am thankful for each one who has responded again and again me in my many ups and downs – with a text back, a card in the mail, a call, a Facebook post or even a visit.

I’ve learned a lot about myself.  

I have my down times. And I need to let myself have them but I always try to refocus and find the silver lining.

I am enough.  And I am defined by no one but me.

I am resilient.

I believe that everything happens for a reason.  Every.Thing. Every person you encounter, every experience, good, bad, indifferent, happened BECAUSE.

I value honesty, loyalty and authenticity above almost anything else.

I found that, when asked if I like it here, it’s simply enough to say, “This place is really beautiful.”  Because no matter what else, that is always true.

This year has been full of the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.  Would I make the same choices again, given the opportunity?  Despite it all, I think I would, for all the reasons and more…

As anyone who knows me can tell you, I love me some Facebook, and therefore, by default, I love Mark Zuckerberg.  This social media network has done some really fantastic things for me but that’s a story for another time.

I was perusing the national news earlier today when I came across a story of interest to me.  Because it used “Mark Zuckerberg” and “bizarre” in the title, I was intrigued and clicked in.  The story talks about his efforts to learn or do something different each year, which I appreciate – it kind of goes along the lines of my word of the year project, giving focus to an area (or areas) of your life that could use a change.  But as I read about his goal this year, I was suddenly put out by the headline, “Mark Zuckerberg’s Bizarre New Self-Improvement Goal”.  His goal, it states, is to meet one new person every day.

That’s bizarre?

That’s been my LIFE for the past 11 months.  Everything I’ve chosen to do or try has been in an effort to meet new people and to recreate the support system I had back home.  While I realize that to introvert, the thought of meeting one new person a day may seem not only bizarre but also daunting; to an ESFJ on the Myers-Briggs scale, it’s a fantastically wonderful plan.  I’m also what Malcolm Gladwell calls a “connector” in his book, The Tipping Point:  I love to find commonalities between people I know.  It’s always wildly helpful when someone has a question or a need, to be able to say, “Oh, I know Paul.  He does that for a living!” or “Sue had the problem.  Let me see if I can find out what she did about it.”  You’re limited in your scope if you don’t know or connect with anyone outside of your immediate social circle.  I’m sure Mark Zuckerberg doesn’t have that issue;  I mean he did start Facebook, for crying out loud.  But wouldn’t it be interesting to find yourself next to him while waiting for a plane?  Or standing in line to pickup takeout from your favorite restaurant?

Last night at book club, a friend commented positively about my Runkeeper status updates on Facebook.  Since I started training in earnest for our upcoming Women’s 4 Miler, I have been using the app to keep track of my time/distances throughout the week.  It’s also a good way for me to get some much needed encouragement when friends like the update or leave me positive comments…especially since that is apparently too hard for me to do myself:

I replied to her, “Yeah, I’m doing the 4 Miler in a couple weeks.”  And then, inexplicably, I added what I ALWAYS seem to add:  the disclaimer, “But I’m walking, you know, not running.”

Ahem.

I am off the couch.  I am moving my body on a regular basis.  I’m working on my word for the year.  I am hitting new goals and achieving things I never before had interest in.

Yet I minimize this to others.

My response echoed other responses to similar comments in recent months.  I immediately qualify my comments whenever I tell someone I’m doing the 4 Miler or even when they comment on the Runkeeper updates, like I am less because I’m not running.  I don’t THINK I think I’m less but my need to explain, to clarify, points differently.

This seems to be the theme of the week, actually.  A few gals from church and I are working through Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts right now;  this week’s take away for me was specific to giving ourselves a break – extending ourselves grace as easily as we might to another.  If a friend responded to me as I did to mine last night, I would have been quick to encourage her, to tell her that it is awesome that she is walking and remind her how many folks are sitting at home watching tv while she is out there training.  But yet it is exceedingly hard for me to do that for myself.

I know I’m not unique in this;  so many women in my life would never speak to a friend the way they speak to themselves.  They’d never be as discouraging or as hard on a beloved friend as they are to themselves.  So why are we to ourselves?  If we move forward and try our best every day, to be a little bit better, stronger, kinder, more joyful than the day before, shouldn’t that be enough? Admitting when we fail, fall back or struggle but not letting that define us, shouldn’t that be enough?

Shouldn’t we, each of us individually, strong, unique, beautiful and wow, be enough?

Yes.

I feel like my head is constantly spinning.  Not in a vertigo sort of way, thankfully, but in a constantly thinking, planning, plotting sort of way.  Before moving, I would come up with an idea, bat it back and forth, decide upon it and become singularly focused on making it happen – borderline obsessively, really.  Here I just keep coming up with ideas:  how to meet people, how to make friend, how to not scare away potential friends, how to make ends meet (at all), how to make ends meet better, what I might want to do with my life, what I might not want to do with my life, where I am in my life, where I want to be in my life, where I could have been in my life, who should be part of my life; the list goes on and on.

Most of the time, I think this is great.  It’s part of change, really, isn’t it?  Starting over?  Starting “fresh”?  Having a proverbial “clean slate” to work with?

Other times, I wish I could just quiet my mind and focus.  It feels like there is too much going on in there to make any good decisions…about anything.  Kudos to my nearest and dearest for all the seemingly random posts, texts and messages they have been subject to over the past ten months as I vacillate wildly from this to that and back again..then over there….I wish I could tell you that the end of that is near and that I’m soon going to be back to normal.

But the one thing I’ve learned through this journey so far is that there is no such thing as normal or, perhaps, more accurately, my old normal is no more.

I’ve always loved learning.  I learned how to read before starting school and was always so excited to go. The end of the school year always brought a barrage of tears and lamentations, followed within days with cries of boredom.  The first day of the next school year brought me almost palpable excitement:  how would my new teacher be?  Who would be in my class?  What would we learn?  What field trips would we go on? (I think it took me until sixth grade to realize that the only answer to THAT question was the game preserve, where I developed my lifelong fear of attack goats, and the fish hatchery.  Seriously.  Every. Single. Year.)

College was an amazing time I didn’t want to end.  I even took anatomy and physiology at the community college one summer for kicks (but dropped out mid-semester because I got too wrapped up in the drama of my mentally unstable lab partner.  Yes, seriously.)  My current student loan balance shows you just how much I loved learning (though clearly not about math.  Or finances.  Or budgeting.)  If I could afford to take some classes today, I wouldn’t think twice about it.  I love learning that much.

So instead, I do two very simple things:  I read and I talk to people.  And I keep learning in every interaction, in every conversation, in every situation – good or bad.

A dear friend of mine was in a very serious car accident last week and is still in the hospital.  He & his wife have a three week old daughter and a four year old son (who thankfully decided he didn’t want to go to preschool that day or he might have been in the car.)  Ultimately, my friend will be all right but he has a long recovery ahead of him – or shall I say more correctly, they have a long recovery ahead of them.

I know people go through serious things all the time in this life.  It just feels like since I moved, my friends and family have faced some really, really difficult challenges.  And I’m not there to do anything.  To make a meal. To babysit.  To make them laugh. Or to just be there.

I feel so helpless.

I’m sure there is a lesson in all of this.  I know there is a lesson in everything I’ve been experiencing for the past 9 1/2 months.  But right about now, in this situation, I’d rather not be learning…I’d rather be doing and being there for those I love.

After a long Monday, I came home from my aqua intervals class and started baking.

I hate baking. I am absolutely terrible at it.

I love cooking and I’m pretty darn good at it.  I love to try new recipes, tweak old ones, play around to find deliciousness.  I don’t know what it is about baking.  Maybe it’s because you have to be very precise and…I’m just not that kind of girl.  Plus, without fail, I burn myself.

So, why did I spend my Monday evening baking cakes?  It’s all about being kind.

When I was little, my mom taught me the Golden Rule, to “do unto others” or to treat others as you would like to be treated.  She would tell me to “play nice” with the neighbors, even if I didn’t like them and even if they weren’t particularly nice to me.  I learned early on that I wouldn’t like everyone and not everyone would like me…but that that didn’t mean I didn’t have to play nice – whether I was on the elementary school playground or in the boardroom.  Yet more and more, the Golden Rule seems to have fallen by the wayside in our world.  Is it really that hard to be kind?  To extend courtesy to another, to treat another with respect and decency?

I have worked with teenagers for many years now.  This is very much a problem in that group, as some of us can tell you, having lived through the worst of it.  Time and time again, I’ve heard the refrain, “Kids can be mean.”  You know what?  So can grown ups.  There have been many times when a student was telling me of her struggles with girls in school or even youth group, of how mean someone (or a group of someones) was being to her for petty or unknown reasons.  While I can tell her in all honesty that it does get better, I can’t tell her that it goes away when you grow up. It’s just different…but no less hurtful in some ways.

I’m by no means a pollyanna.  I can sling snark and poisoned barbs just like the rest (some might even say  better), especially when I feel provoked, stressed or overtired. There are plenty of people I don’t care for that I have to interact with in my life. But when a need arises or the situation calls for it, I do my best to act like a grown up, suck it up and behave myself.  Yet I’m constantly amazed by those who can’t, won’t or simply don’t;  who can’t for a half hour show common courtesy, respect and decency to another in celebration of a life’s milestone or in another’s time of grief.  Those are the moments that stay with you, not the every day ins and outs.  You remember who celebrated with you, who grieved with you, who simply showed you courtesy.

I’ll often ask myself what I’d want someone else to do if the situation was reversed.  Would I want someone to hold the door for me when my arms were full?  Yes.  Would I want someone to ask if I needed anything when they were going out to pick something up at  lunchtime? Yes. Would I want someone to acknowledge my birthday?  Um, if you know me, that’s a resounding YES.  Would I want someone to acknowledge a huge life event?  Yes, yes, I would.  A smile, a hello, even a nod of acknowledgement…all these things can go a long way.

And so I spent my evening backing cakes to celebrate this month’s birthdays in my office.  I hope others join me in celebrating these folks today – and I hope that their day is made a little brighter for it.

Because, really, whose life can’t use a little more sweetness?

Love, I find, is like singing.  ~ Nora Zeale Hurston

In the midst of my very busy Saturday, I was scheduled to do crafts with the old folks at the local nursing home.  I had a great plan on Friday night which I decided, at about 9 PM, to switch up.  (I do this every single time.  No idea why.)  I had decided to make coffee filter butterflies that they can either hang in their window or put on a clothespin to clip.

My goal in the monthly craft is two-fold:  (1) Get folks out of their room and making something that will brighten their day and (2) make it easy enough that anyone can participate in some way, regardless of their dexterity.  The second part is most often challenging but after doing this a few months, I’m getting the hang of it.  I try, whenever possible, to prep pieces of the craft so it goes quickly and smoothly.

The challenge of the butterflies was that you were supposed to use either food coloring or watercolor paints, neither of which I felt confident having the folks use.  A friend suggested instead using washable markers;  when you colored the coffee filter and then sprayed it, the colors swirled into a cool tie dye look.  That decided, my challenge was now what to do when they were waiting for them to dry so they could move on to the next part.  I tested using a hair dryer on the filter;  it got a lot of the dampness out but not all.  They really had to sit for a bit to dry.  I thought I might come up with a game or some questions to ask them in the interim but in the midst of my busy day, I never concretely came up with a plan.

Thankfully, the Activities Assistant was on hand to help this week and things were going very smoothly.  They were enjoying how the colors swirls on the filter but were starting to get a bit antsy as I was trying to dry them.  Just then, a group from a local church happened in.  I had seen them only one other time since I’d been doing crafts and they were on their way out that day.  They came into the room and started talking to the residents and then, just when they were getting bored from the drying time wait, they started leading them through a few songs.  It was amazing and perfect.

I can’t even tell you how much these seemingly “little” things that happened on Saturday have impacted me.  I think it’s really just summed up in one of my favorite songs, “God Speaking” by Mandisa.