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