A List of Things I Love

This post is inspired by the beloved poet Andrea Gibson, who recently wrote a post with the same name and asked us the question . . .

What are you loving today? 

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I love the way a person loses complete control of their face when they sneeze. I love that everyone sneezes differently. I love the way I love sneezes and that I usually sneeze at least 2-3 times every time. I love that my partner always waits to see if there's another one coming before he says bless you 💖

I love the way I get mad when someone doesn't do what I think they should do. Then as I reflect I think of all the things people wish I would do, and I don't. I love the way we think we know what everyone around us needs but rarely know what we need. I love that we think we are so smart . . . and we're not. 

I love tattoos. I love that humans found a way to decorate our bodies as though it is one big wild canvas. Isn't it one big wild canvas, though? I love the way each tattoo I add makes me feel like a part of me that's been hiding on the inside is now on the outside. 

I love the way my children, now teenagers, dance between needing me and not needing me. As I spoke on the phone with my mom this week I wondered . . . do we ever really stop doing that dance?

I love that I love to write. I wish I did it more. I have so many words inside this head of mine. When they land on paper or on this blog, it is a relief. 

I love the way the trail feels when I carry nothing with me. I am reminded of the feeling at 10 years old when I left my house on my bike, with no way for anyone to find me unless I wanted them to. What now might seem a bit reckless, is what truly feels like freedom.

I love when I see someone alone on a trail with their phone out trying to navigate. How brave of them to explore a new place, to risk getting lost, and to be prepared to find their way all on their own.

I love running in the rain. Splashing in puddles and watching cars drive by wondering . . . do they think I got caught in this storm? Do they realize this is exactly what I planned? Do they know I am a person who runs in the rain on purpose? I love when I run in the rain on trails and end up with mud up to my knees. When would I ever get so delightfully muddy if I didn't run on muddy trails!?

I love the way I am more patient while driving now that I have a young driver in my life. What once was anger and frustration when someone didn't make the left turn I know they had time for has turned to wonder, does that young person just need more time to feel ready? Oh how I hope they feel loved while learning.

I love the way I love Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle, fruity candy, fast food French fries and gluten free double-stuffed Oreos. And that the results of eating any of this will never impact my willingness to wear the bikini and tan my imperfect belly.

I love the way I love flowers and daydream about owning a flower shop one day, even though I cannot keep any plant alive in my home. 

I love that when I look at photos of places I've ran I can close my eyes and be right back there, smelling the mountain air and feeling the sun on my face. I love how I was once afraid to explore this wild world, and I love that the big scary world now calls to me . . . explore! 

I love watching videos of injured or neglected dogs being rescued, and thinking about the courage it takes for a person to be able to that work. What a paradox that must be, to build your life around helping animals only to expose yourself to the worst of humanity . . . those who would hurt an innocent animal. I love witnessing the balance of the reality that these awful things happen with the ability to hold those animals close and to make it better. 

I love the way my animals love when I have no place to be. I love when I look at them and see them calm, knowing that it is me and our peaceful home that allows these sweet animals to be safe, calm and regulated. 

I love following along with the setlist when my favorite band is playing in a far-off city. I daydream about what those notes, many of which are so engrained in my mind that I can feel them in my bones from way over here, sound like to the people in the very back row. Does the music feed their souls like it does mine? Or are they there to impress a friend or sought-after lover? I love to wonder if everyone feels music like me. I love how the band seems to love the songs as much as we do.

I love that I have sat in the same spot, my spot, on our couch each day and night, and that the world seems right when I am done with all the things and can finally sit down. In my spot.

I love that while I used to race to the sunset in order to catch a glimpse of its beauty before it disappeared, earlier this week I raced the sunset to get to my car after my run before it got dark. An invigorating race in both instances.

I love my girlfriends. I often wish I learned earlier the value of having women by my side in this life. Oh what I have missed with my competitiveness and insecurity. These women hold me up, and I love them more than I can say.

I love that when one member of our girl-group text shares that things are hard and she's struggling, that two more of us share the same. Then when we're together, we share a cry and a hug for no real reason. Or perhaps just because the world can feel so heavy . . . and so much lighter when we hold each other for a moment. 

I love the way my people love me, and the way that I love them.  

What are you noticing that you love today? 

My sweet child and me.

My kids both used to struggle with changes. New school year, new camp, new anything was a little tough and needed some extra love and support during those times. It has been a while since I have noticed they needed this extra support, them being nearly 13 and nearly 16. This week though I noticed my youngest might have been struggling.

We were on our way home from lunch after his camp was over and he just seemed off. Being an empath I am extra sensitive to this and I consider it my superpower. When I am right and the person confides in me it is an honor and assures me that this ability truly is a gift. 

So I said it seemed like he had something on his mind and wondered if he wanted to talk about it. After a few I am fines he said he just didn't want to talk about it. Not wanting to push too much I backed off. Although now I knew my sense was right, and that something was bothering him.

You see this was a particularly hard week for me. I experienced a couple of really brutal rejections. I won't go into the details not to be intentionally vague but instead because it doesn't really have much to do with this story. Basically I threw myself into the arena and it did not end the way I hoped it would.

I saw this post on Instagram and as an Enneagram 4 it really resonates with me. I process (i.e. overthink) my rejections not as a way not to control the situation (maybe?🤔) but mostly to truly try to process my feelings. This processing happens a lot when I run.

I always know I will get to that last step of knowing the meaning behind the experience but if I don't go through this processing it can become weeks of darkness and shame, with an unbelievable amount of negative self-talk. 

I was pretty stuck in that first one. I know myself well enough to know that I would get to that last piece of finding meaning eventually but I sure was hanging out in that "intense emotional processing" aka "overthinking" place for a while. 

After backing off on the conversation with my kiddo for a few minutes I looked over at my boy and took a chance. I said:

"Do you know what shame is?

"Oh sure. It's when... well... it's actually hard to describe."

"Yes it is hard to describe. I think of it as when we do or experience something embarrassing and that we are ashamed of."

He nodded.

I went on and channeled Brene Brown's work, "Do you know what's crazy about shame? We think that by being quiet and holding it in that we are staying safe. Maybe staying safe from further embarrassment and more shame that could come from telling someone what happened. But the thing about shame is that when it is silenced it spirals. When we hold it in it goes deeper and deeper into our minds and can rip us apart. The thing about shame is that it cannot survive in the wild. When we share our shame with a trusted person it shrinks and lightens. It's the opposite of what we think."

"I think I better talk about it then."

He went on to tell me what was on his mind. Like the details around my struggles this week it isn't really important. What is important is that this sweet boy in my car was struggling internally and it was eating his gentle heart alive.

He is a deeply feeling highly emotional kid, which is one of my favorite things about him because he reminds me so much of me. But in this world we live in, people with these types of big beautiful emotions are at risk of so much hurt and rejection. It's what causes us to armor our hearts and be terrified to risk the thought of going through that feeling again. We close off the world and those who mean the most to us out of fear and self-protection. I do not want this for my boy. I do not want him stuffed down into his darkness and shame. 

It is through the sharing of the hurt and shame that we feel that frees us. After this talk with my son I called a dear friend who listened intently, validated my feelings, gave me some requested advice and even challenged some of my thought patterns and viewpoints.

The conversation was the final step for me to be able to accept that these rejections have meaning and are either keeping me on or putting me on the path to where my story will go next. Were it not for my friend I may not have made it to that place. At least not as quickly. I am not sure about doubling down on my uniqueness. Maybe that's what this blog is for 😄

After he shared with me what had happened, and I validated his feelings around the rejection he experienced, he said to me:

"I imagine it was probably for the best, and I can trust that it wasn't meant to be."

Way to find that meaning in the experience, buddy.

I also wonder if perhaps his drumming helps him process his feelings like my running does! 

We are cut from the same cloth, my sweet child and me 💖

I'd better go see.

I'm a story teller at heart. I love connecting with others through the telling of stories especially about my various adventures. A kind coworker asked me how I was doing today, and really wanted to know, especially about my running and physical activity. So I told her about my newest adventure. 

Rock climbing. 

My first time climbing.

This could be as high as I got.

So the story begins maybe a year ago when my buddy started climbing and asked me to join. I wasn’t interested in adding another time consuming activity into my week so I passed. While I was in the midst of some hard trail training I think I was also reluctant to try something new. Trying a new physical activity is a very vulnerable thing. Being willing to suck at something for a while is tough, and I’m learning that I need to be in a pretty good headspace to take something like this on. I said no to my friend’s invitation. For a long time. 

Fast forward to the last 6 weeks post DNF and while I already feel like my body sucks at everything why not prove it by trying something new? Hahaha 

I went with my friend 2-3 times and at the end of the last time I said something along the lines of “I don’t think I like it”. I wasn’t ready to give up yet but I was close. 

Then last Friday morning I went for a run and it felt amazing. I’m slowly getting back to running and while the Friday run was short it was a good solid run. I knew my friend and I were going to climb later that night so I spent the run visualizing myself climbing to the top of the rock wall really strong. I actually pictured it in my head and decided that I would take one step at a time, stay out of my head and was going to make myself push through the fear. 

That lasted only about few hours 😂

By the afternoon I had lost all of that confidence. I again questioned if I could really do it and wouldn’t I get half way up and freeze again? My hands will hurt. It’s too much disappointment. I suck at it. All of this negativity screaming so loudly inside my head. 

There was a point when I was texting my friend about meeting up that I actually typed “or we can just wait until tomorrow to go” but I didn’t send that text. I hit the back button and instead finalized our plans.

We made it to the climbing gym and I was both fearful and determined. Armed this time with my own equipment and new-to-me shoes. After watching my friend climb to the top of a wall I clipped myself into that wall shown above and started climbing. I took one step at a time, one hand, one foot, one climb and before I knew it I was higher up than I had ever been. 

Then I tried another wall, and another. And another. All of them the same. One step, one hand, one foot, one climb at a time. Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe. Make it to the top.

As we were leaving we decided to try the 2-story wall. My friend climbed to the top as I watched. I needed to get home to the kids but I saw the red course and said I wanted to try it before we left. 

I climbed it one step, one hand, one foot, one climb. Breathe. One step at a time and before I knew it I was at the top. It was intoxicating. 

I was chatting with another friend this week and he was bragging on his life partner and how she is always fearful and does things anyway. This is so me. I’m afraid of everything. I’ve always been the worst case scenario thinker which has disrupted my natural enthusiasm to live an adventurous life. I have to make myself do the thing.

Many of the cliches I’ve shared have been what I need to hear. Do the thing that scares me. Do it scared. Life begins in the other side of our comfort zone. On the other side of fear is where the magic happens. 

For me, whatever I’m looking for might just be at the top of that rock wall.

I'd better go see. 

On my way up the 2-story wall

The top of the red route 💖

Taking a Long Hard Look

It’s been 10 days since I toed the start line for my 3rd attempt to finish the LOViT 100-mile foot race. I’ve been debating whether to even write this out, since every time I begin to write it in my mind it always sounds like I’m making excuses for not finishing. That’s right, for the third time I failed to finish this race. I could list all of the reasons out but in reality, my whole race was a shit show from the start, and the short story is that I quit. I made it 72 miles but if I’m honest I quit long before that. 

I’ve chatted with my closest people about this and have taken some time to process the extreme disappointment, both in the race and in myself, and have made peace with this race and am ready to put it behind me. 

We sign up for these races to finish for sure, but the hope is that is not all we gain from these experiences. If we sign up to finish and we don’t, and we wallow in our sadness and despair swearing off these big races forever, what good becomes of that? I went to a pretty dark place this week, darker than the last few times this happened. I sign up for these races to learn about who I am deep down inside. Nothing strips away the facade of a seemingly perfect life than facing the reality that comes along with staring down a distance that’s just out of reach. 

Perhaps the journey comes with all the things we need to learn whether we finish or not. How often do we hold a mirror up to ourselves and truly try to understand why we do the things we do and explore what it really is that is standing in the way of us meeting our goals. 100 mile races hold that mirror right up in my face and say, see that? That’s you stripped down. You think you’re strong? Take a look at the parts that hide under that strong exterior. Take a long hard look.

So instead of listing the reasons I didn’t finish I’m going to list the things I learned during this race. 

• One can simply have a really bad race day. 
• I can outrun blister pain. 
• The bad news is that no one is coming to save me. The good news is that I can learn how to save myself. 
• Caffeine is a magic pill for me. 
• I need to learn how my body processes salt, electrolytes and fuel while racing. 
• My friends will always show up for me. Always. 
• Nate loves me, even when I feel the most unlovable. My phone died at the race and when I stopped at 72 my friend handed me my charged phone and I saw a text from him that simply said “I love you ❤️” He didn’t know I had stopped so in that moment where I felt physically and mentally defeated, I felt loved. And whether I finish a race or not he will always see me as lovable.
• I have accomplished things in this life that are more impactful than finishing 100 miles will ever be. 
• And finally, while I may not ever finish a 100-mile race, I will certainly never finish a race that I am too afraid to start. 

The right kind of hard.

 

Chat GPT says that “The word ‘quit’ originated from the Old English word ‘cwitten,’ which means ‘to acquit’ or ‘to set free’. It later evolved to mean ‘to leave’ or ‘to stop doing something’.”

I have quit two jobs in the last year…one that lasted about 8 months and this part-time one that lasted about a month. Never have I ever quit a job after just one month. I knew the job wasn’t for me, and while I let the last one that wasn’t for me drag on and on, I had no intention of doing that to myself this time. One could say I quit two jobs this year. One could also say I tried out two things that stretched me out of my comfort zone. Both things are true. Either way it is all an adventure of this lifetime.

The news of me quitting was met with empathy and compassion from one boss, and with hostility and aggression from another. As I sat on the screen watching this person be forcefully angry with me over what this decision means for them, I stood in my confidence and while my voice was shaking I spoke my truth and said “I am confident in my decision and know this is the right thing for me.” And I resisted my feeling of needing to apologize.

While I did quit, I feel as though I am set free. I have learned what I needed to learn from this experience and am ready to move on.

Last week, as a part of my other part-time job, I visited a woman in the hospital who is dying. There is no question that she will die soon, when her frail body weakened by illness decides that it is time. As I sat with her and held her delicate hand, I stared at her fingers. We spoke about her life and what a wonderful life she has led. She didn’t want her family to come in town and see her “like this” and I encouraged her to let her people love on her. What a gift it is to have people come toward you when you feel most vulnerable.

It was after that visit that I realized that this is what I am meant to do. Sitting with a person who is dying is one of the most beautiful parts of being a human. As the body fails, there is nothing to hide behind. With hearts open and vulnerable, there is nothing to do but face what is happening. Many people are afraid. And if I can sit calm and unafraid, I can look at her and say “it’s going to be okay” and she believes me. What a gift. This is why I am here.

I visited her again this week and as the family and other professionals talked about details and plans and what needs to happen next, I looked at her hands. So frail and weak and full of memories of holding children and grandchildren and husbands and hot pans and making sandwiches and working as a secretary and pulling weeds and drinking coffee or tea. In a room full of talking, I see her hands.

I quit a job this week, among other reasons than because it felt too hard. I had a deep and profound conversation with a woman who is dying. That was hard, too.

I took a chance, and what I found is the right kind of hard.

~AZ

The more deeply I know me, the more beautiful I become to me.

Glennon Doyle, the author and podcaster over at We Can Do Hard Things is one of my most favorite people that I don’t actually know. She and I are besties and she doesn’t even know it. In one of her many talking times she tells a story about how she was a new mom, newly sober and trying not to be consumed by her role as mama to very small humans. Her sister brings her a computer and says “Write. Just write it all down.” She did just that and shared a level of vulnerability with the world that I can strongly relate to. She asks and I also wonder, why is it so easy to share vulnerably with a million strangers and yet so difficult to have coffee with someone. I feel this.

More than that though I feel the intense desire to write. As an Enneagram Four I am a hopeless over thinker. The depth of the thoughts in my brain is difficult to describe. It wasn’t until recently that I learned that not everyone is picking apart every single thought that’s thought or word that is spoken the way I do. It is truly exhausting. When I have the chance to sit with someone who can handle what the inside of my brain looks like and is willing to sit with me while I give them a peek, it is both refreshing and terrifying, while I feel the relief of not holding it all in I also see the weight that has just transferred to this loving human in front of me. What a weight it is, to have so many thoughts in my head.

So back to writing. I began blogging about 15 years ago when my first child was born. It is crazy to think that I have pages and pages about what my life was like when I grew into the role of a mother. I was so young and had no idea what I was getting into. I slowed that blogging and writing down a lot after my children grew into what I think of as real people. Of course they have been real people all along but when they were babies it was as though I owned their stories, or at least had a strong relationship to their stories and as they have grown I have felt less ownership over this, thus reducing the amount of time I spend talking about them and their lives on this platform. Posts became more focused on my running and other everyday adventures. I haven’t blogged in over a year and I while I can hardly believe it I do see why it happened.

I also feel the weight of these thoughts in my head growing heavier and heavier with no outlet that doesn’t also include transferring the weight to someone I love. Not that they really mind. My people love me for who I am, even when it’s hard.

I think what I am seeking though is a place to dump these thoughts of mine where they can just land. They don’t need a response or validation that they mattered or that someone felt moved by them. Just a space where words can live and breathe and thoughts can bounce around, be picked up if needed or be left well enough alone. I am talking a lot about talking, so maybe I should just get to it.

What’s on my mind now?

There is a song by a band called Cavetown that has been on repeat in my world lately. The guy from Cavetown has a cool story, he is a trans man who sings a lot about what it’s like to live in a body that doesn’t make sense, and what it’s like to be not okay in a world that doesn’t want to hear that you are not okay. He has many songs I love but the one I am talking about today is called “Talk To Me”. Seems appropriate, right? Check it out here. 

"You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique

You don't have to know what to say or what to think

You don't have to be anybody you can never be

That's alright, let it out, talk to me"

“You don’t have to be anybody you can never be” is the one that stands out the most to me today. How many of us beat ourselves to death trying to be whatever it is we think we need to be? We have all these expectations pressed upon us first by our parents, then by our teachers, then by our partners/families and throughout it all we have these expectations about what we are meant to be pressed upon us by this society in which we live. In fact, if we slow down enough to pause and take a look we will see that it is mostly society’s expectations that drive the expectations impressed upon us by our parents, our teachers, our partners and our families.

I have this quote pinned to my Facebook page above. It says: “What if parenting became less about telling our children who they should be and more about asking them again and again forever who they already are? Then, when they tell us, we would celebrate instead of concede. It’s not: I love you no matter which of my expectations you meet or don’t meet. It’s: My only expectation is that you become yourself. The more deeply I know you, the more beautiful you become to me.” ~Glennon Doyle

So much about growing up in this world is reparenting ourselves. Even if you had loving and caring parents like I did, there are ways in which they just couldn’t meet my needs. This puts us in a position to have to reparent ourselves. It is saying to myself as many times as I need to hear it:

What if becoming myself isn’t about what the world has told me I should and shouldn’t be and instead is asking myself again and again who I really am? Then, when I begin to see who that person is, I celebrate. It is not, I am lovable no matter which expectations I meet or do not meet. It’s: my only expectation is that I become myself. The more deeply I know me, the more beautiful I become to me.

And to those around me. 

~AZ

Cock-a-doodle-doo, b words

It’s been pretty quiet around here, so I figured I would pop in and share a short but sweet and funny story about me and some of my favorite girlfriends. 

My girl Toni is a friend I have had since we were in 3rd grade. It’s funny, when someone has known me for that long I feel like they know me in a way even I might not know. She is an incredible person and I am just so happy to have her in my life.

One thing I can always count on is her creating time for all of us girls to get away and connect. It’s usually a weekend near water where we can all relax and have a great time. This past weekend was no different.

We drove to a cute little cabin within walking distance to the Meramec river. (side note, if you know me at all you know I do this thing where I think I know where I am going and then I get there and I’m like wait, this isn’t where I am supposed to be. This happened and I ended up going like an hour past my exit. Then GPS took me on some back gravel roads to where I was supposed to be, which were sketchy and scary but my Jeep loved it. I was just about to succumb to the fact that I might die on a gravel road in the middle of Missouri when I saw a UPS truck. I wasn’t far from the world after all!)

Anyway, I got there Friday evening and we went to the river and enjoyed a few hours before night fell in. Then we talked and talked and enjoyed our time together. Some girls went to bed early and I crashed around 10:30pm or so. 

Then at about 4:30am, I woke up and heard some of the girls talking downstairs. I rolled around a bit and they kept getting louder. I am like wtf are these girls doing?! It’s 4:30am! 

So I sort of stumbled downstairs. The bedroom was a loft upstairs so the sound really traveled. I see 3 of the 4 girls awake and chatting. The following conversation ensues:

Me: what the hell are you guys doing? It’s 4:45am. What the f.

Girls: Oh sorry we had such a hard time sleeping. We thought you went on a walk or something.

Me: A walk?! It’s crazy dark and this is a weird place I am not going for a walk in the dark! You guys are so loud. You guys sound like chickens. Peck, peck, peck. No. What are the ones that wake you up in the morning? Roosters. You guys sound like fucking roosters.

[I turn and walk toward the bathroom]

Me: "Cock-a-doodle-do bitches."

Girls: break out in hilarious laughter.

Me: Go into the bathroom and break into hilarious laughter.

It was so funny. I was so grumpy. I went back to bed and when I finally woke up for the day and was met with the girls announcing in unison "cock-a-doodle-doo bitches! Then Jen was like, “I saw you running up to 82 miles injured and before last night I have never seen you grumpy!”

Cock-a-doodle-do bitches was our catch phrase all weekend. 

If you’re into musicals you might know the scene I was referring to when I said peck, peck, peck and called them chickens. It’s from The Music Man. I’ll link it here.

So anyway, that’s the funny story. One day if we are good enough friends I’ll tell you the part about #effbabies too 😂