The Center of my Universe

I was on the shores of a beautiful lake at a Girl Scout camp waiting to take an eager group of Brownies canoeing when I glanced at my phone.  When I saw I had a missed call and voicemail from my Uncle Steve, I knew.  I stepped away from the girls and made the call.  My Grandma Peggy had died.

I confess that I had prayed for that very moment for years.  My Grandma suffered from Alzheimer's
disease and had lingered in an extended care facility for the past six years.  For a while, there seemed to still be a spark of her left; she could carry on a semblance of a conversation.  She'd get lost in the details like what year it was, and who I was.  But she would always smile at me and chitchat pleasantly.  She especially loved it when I would bring The (then kindergarten aged) Boy and The (baby) Girl.  It is a well-known fact that my Grandma ADORED children.  Even when the fog had rolled into her mind and blotted out almost everything, she would always interact with them.

As time went on, she became less coherent, more vacant.  She would make eye contact when I spoke to her, but she wouldn't say much.  She still enjoyed mealtimes, but that was about all that remained of her personality.  Even then, I could get a smile (and sometimes a little giggle out of her) if I would lean over and give her 100 Kisses.  When I was a little girl, my mom used to do that.  She's lean over me and place her lips against my cheek and give me 100 Kisses - puckering her lips and making the kissy sound rapidly.  When The Boy was little, he would allow me to violate his No Kisses Please policy to receive 100 Kisses.  Given her child-like state, I decided to try it with Grandma.  It worked!  When it would come time to say goodbye at the end of a visit, each time I would lean over and give her 100 Kisses.  She'd giggle in (what I hope was) delight and her eyes would flash with love.  In that moment, I knew that she was still My Grandma.

As the years dragged on, her condition deteriorated.  Her mobility declined and she lost the ability to feed herself.   The time between my visits grew longer and longer.  I thought about her often, but seeing her there, in that state was wrenching.  It got to the point where I cried during the entirety of my visits with her.  As she began to lose her power to speak, she was reduced to moaning.  I recall very clearly sitting next to her bed after a visit.  I had given her 100 Kisses, but didn't get much of a response.  She turned to me and moaned, "Take... me... home..."  I put my arms around her neck, whispered, I wish I could and left as quickly as I could.  I made it past the nurses station before the sobs started.  It would be over a year before I could go back to visit.

I struggled with that decision.  I loved my Grandma fiercely.  She was an essential person in my life.  But that person sitting first in the chair, staring blankly into space and later laying in a bed unable to speak beyond a moan was not my Grandma.  My Grandma was solid and stocky with a thick armed hug and a warm smile.  She was a woman who loved children, black coffee and Chinese food, who loved to "go off" on adventures.  My  Grandma watched soap operas and daytime talk shows.  She made pound cakes and pizza puff and the best sausage balls in the whole world.  That was the Grandma I wanted to remember.

That Grandma was the Center of my Universe.  As long as I can  remember, she was a central person in my world.  When my daddy, her son, died much too soon, she stepped in to help care for me.  I spent many summer days at her house, playing with my cousins and watching "the Stories" on TV. When my mom had to rail against the injustice of being left a widow at 25, my grandma picked up  the slack.  She was always placid, always loving - no matter what was going on.  My whole life, she never failed to show up for me.  From the silly concerts and awards ceremonies of childhood to the more serious milestones of adulthood, she was there.  The image of her holding my week-old Boy is one burned into my memory.  Four years later, she came to visit The new baby Girl too, but already she was a changed person.  The harmless forgetfulness we jokingly blamed on cooking with aluminum had grown to something dark, menacing and ugly.  That darkness took her from me long before yesterday, and so in many ways, the final step was more relief than anything else.  Finally, her body could again be reunited with her mind.

When I got the news, I cried a bit. And then I immediately snapped into caretaking mode.  I called my Mom (because no matter how old you are, you never stop wanting your Mommy).  I called the ex to make sure the logistics for The Boy and The Girl were cared for.  I threw myself into the care of those Brownies I was camping with.  It wasn't until later, when everyone else was handled that I  had to take care of me.  At that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to reach out to the last person who had custody of my heart.  Despite the fact that we have not spoken in months now, and we will most likely never speak again, at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to turn to him to take care of me.

But that won't do.

This journey I am on has taught me that I can't escape the pain of this loss by slipping into the old habits of distracting myself from uncomfortable feelings.  Nor can I look to anyone else to shoulder this burden for me. It HAS to be me.  I will honor my Grandma by being the strong woman she helped to teach me to be.  I've often said that my Grandma was the Center of my Universe; she was the person who loved me best in the whole world.  I've learned enough to know that that, too, has to be me.  And so it shall be.

Goodbye Grandma.  I love you very very much.  Rest in Peace.

The Gut Knows

I was having a discussion this week about decision making.  So many of the people I talk to - myself included - struggle with decision making.  Sometimes, it's the act of deciding which path to take that causes the trouble.  Sometimes, it's taking the steps required to set the plan into action where we get stuck.  Or, once the decision is made, it's the doubt and second guessing that paralyze us.  Or if you're one of the lucky ones, it's all three!!

The discussion I was having broke down decision making into three essential influences:

HEAD

HEART

GUT

As the discussion went on, someone posited that - while all are necessary - most people are governed by one more than the other three.  If that's true, I started to wonder who's in charge with me?

I admit, when I have a decision to make, I do rely on my Head a fair bit.  I like to look at the facts, do the research, and run the scenarios before making a decision.  But, my Head knows her place in the process;  she does her job and then steps aside to let the magic happen.

My Heart... Well, my Heart is another story.  When it comes to blockage of decision making, it's definitely Heart that is the one gumming up the works.  She has a selective memory and VERY selective sight. She ignores many of the well-chosen facts that my lovely Head provides.  Heart is the one who can't seem to cut the ties.  She's the part of me that says Maybe if you try just a little bit harder...  Have you looked at it THIS way?  If you just changed THIS, and tweaked THAT, might it work then?  Heart is the part of me that believes in the best, most pure intentions of others.  My Heart is the piece that go back over and over, looking for a way to  some how make it work.  Poor Heart means well, but she's far too naive and much too easy to forgive.  She only sees the best and ignores the rest.

My problem comes because Heart drags Head into her mess.  She takes the facts Head provides and tries to cast them in different lights.  And because Head loves to be analytical, she gets in on Heart's game.  Together they waste so much time going round and round and round again.  It's pretty clear that Heart has been running the show.

Meanwhile, there is Gut.  Gut had stuff figured out from the jump.  She took one look at the situation, glanced over the facts Head provided and had a decision made before Heart even realized there was a job to do.  But for whatever reason, I don't ever seem to listen to Gut.  Either because her voice isn't forceful enough, or because I feel more safe relying on Head and Heart, I just don't seem to trust Gut. 

 So she just kind of sits there and waits for Head and Heart and me to catch up.

Sometimes, it takes months or even years, but the thing is, I do get there... eventually.  And when that finally happens, I look back over all the evidence that Head provided, sift through all the obfuscation Heart contributed, and find Truth, sitting there, right in front of Gut.  It's at that moment when I think  Wow, Gut.  You knew that all along.  I really do need to start listening to you.  

And I imagine Gut's response:

So since life all about learning, going forward - today I vow to start listening to Gut earlier in the process.  After all, when given the Hindsight Examination, she really has proven to have an amazing track record.  So, instead of letting Heart run the show, I'm going to start letting Gut take the lead in the decision-making process.  Who knows?  Maybe I can reduce my decision making lag time from 4-5 years down to a month or two.    Hey!  A girl can dream, can't she?

A Walk in the Woods

Is there anything better than a beautiful Spring day when the weather is warm and breezy, and the sun is shining brightly in a Carolina blue sky?

How about being out in the woods, climbing over a rocky path and you find some sweet little flowers growing between the rocks?

 What about running into a friend who you like immensely, but don't know nearly well enough, who gives you a tip about a great spot slightly off the trail?

What about having the time to sit on the banks of a river?  

It's enough to inspire some bad poetry. 

Or watching some turtles sunning themselves on a fallen log?

 I don't know that it gets much better than that.

Blessings of a Windy Day

All week I've been craving a Walk in the Woods.  I tried to sneak one in on Sunday, but my timing was off.  I got to do a little wandering, but today I was craving the whole deal.  I wanted to wander deep into the woods and lose myself for a little while.  With that in mind, I headed out to Lake Crabtree Park after work.

Lake Crabtree is one of my favorite parks in the Triangle for a few reasons.  First, it's relatively close to Chez Kaye and is right off I-40.  It's rarely crowded - at least when I've been there.  But the most compelling reason why I love this park is the lake itself.  There is something wonderful to me about being near the water.  Water and I have a complex relationship.  I love being near it, love being on it, beside it, around it, but I really do not like being IN it.  I love water, but I hate being wet.  I know.  It's a little weird.  But I digress.

Today when  I got there, I got turned around and ended up on the short trail.  It wasn't the Walk in the Woods I was hoping for, but it did give me the opportunity to spend some time reading and sketching at a picnic table by the water.  It was a perfect day.  It was about 70 degrees, sunny and clear, with a wonderful stiff breeze coming off the lake.  I was there around 4pm, so the sun was getting low in the sky.  It was glorious.

My photo doesn't do it justice.
That thing was SO COOL!

As I sat reading my book, I just felt so... happy.  In my immediate view, a gentleman was flying kites at the lake's edge.  He had a huge white tiger kite, and attached to that was a circular kite - about 5 feet in diameter.  I couldn't take my eyes off that thing as it undulated in the air.  I watched a dad with his two kids trying to go fishing, and said a little Thank you for this moment prayer.

I dove back into my book and was a little startled when a friendly voice called to me, "Hey!  Would you like to fly a kite?"  I looked up to see a kindly older gentleman heading my way.  I looked around to make sure he wasn't talking to someone standing behind me.  When I verified that he was talking to me, I enthusiastically replied, "Yes!  I really would!"

The gentleman's name was Scott.  He taught kite flying classes and workshops in the area and had a car FULL of gear.  He had come in to meet another kite-flying friend of his, Kip, so while they were rustling up their materials, he pulled out a simple two string kite for me to try.  I told him the only kite flying I had done was with The Boy's penguin kite that we bought at Target.  He assured me this would be a little bit different.

I started out on a 150 ft. line, and Scott showed me how to secure the grips while you rolled out the line.  I learned how to use a lark's head knot to secure the kite to the line, and finally how to launch the kite.  Basically, once it's in the air, if you want the kite to go left, you tug on the left line, to go right, tug on the right.  Sounded pretty simple.

Scott helped me launch the kite, and it was off.  The first time the kite took flight, I felt the lines tug hard in my hands.  It pulled me forward half a step, because I wasn't expecting the strength of the wind, but I quickly got my bearings.  I only brought the kite down twice before getting the hang of

the ebb and flow of the gales.  After a few moments of adjustment, it was just me and the lines in a playful game of tug o'war with the wind.  Scott commented that he'd only seen one other beginner handle a kite as well as I did - and she was a Kitty Hawk with steadier winds.  I was very pleased with myself.  I must have spent half an hour just watching the kite rise and fall with the winds.  I learned how to tug just right if it looked like she was going down, and I managed to keep her aloft most of that time.

After a few moments, Scott brought out a more advanced kite for me to try.  This one was sharp!  It

I tried to photograph Stingray, but
all you could see was the line.  So here
is a shot of me - enjoying the day.

was purple and blue and shaped like a stealth bomber.  It's name was Stingray.  We tied the lines to this new kite, and he showed me how to put my arms out straight in front of me and tug - hard - to launch it into the air.  Where the first kite was slow and easy, this one was zippy and exciting.  It wasn't long before I managed to spin in around once or twice and make it swoop down and back up again.  It was SO MUCH FUN!  After an hour of flying and chatting with Scott, it was time for me to call it a day.

As I was helping Scott pack up, he said, "I want you to take this one and fly it with your kids."  He handed Stingray to me.  I couldn't believe it!  He loaded me up with a line, straps, and all the stuff I would need sent me on my way.  I couldn't stop smiling the whole way home!

The entire experience was lovely - from the beautiful day, to the patience of an unexpected teacher, to the lovely gift.  I'm constantly amazed at the wonderful things that happen when I least expect it.

It really was a a surprise and a blessing.  It was,  as my friend Sarah called it: A God Moment.  An absolutely beautiful one!

On Being Mommy

Twelve years ago, I became a parent.  First, let me say that it is very hard for me to believe that The Boy is actually 12 years old.  I still picture him as the angelic little boy who could run under the edge of our kitchen island without ducking.  Needless to say, he cannot do that now.

I remember sitting in my hospital room the day after The Boy was born.  We were supposed to go home the next day, and I remember the feeling of blind panic that seized me at that prospect.  I remember thinking that this little person was absolutely perfect.  He was beautiful, angelic, and peaceful.   In my mind, all I was going to do from that moment on was mess him up.  The thought terrified me, and as I sat in that room, I began to weep.  Not the graceful tears streaming down your face kind of weeping.  No.  This was the savage, guttural wailing kind of weeping.  Weeping like your heart has broken.  I felt like I had failed him before we even got started.

Luckily, the maternity ward of UNC Hospital was staffed by a kind-hearted nurse named Claudia.  I remember Claudia sitting with me while I cried my eyes out.  Once I had gotten it all out of my system, she showed me how to do the things that I was panicking about: how to get The Boy to nurse, talking me through how to bathe him, how to swaddle him and how to get those tricky onesies on him.  (Somehow, I thought these skills would be instinctive.  They were not.)  She also said something to me that I didn't understand at the time.  She told me in  response to my lamenting fear of ruining him: You are not going to ruin him.  In fact, he's going to change you.  

And boy has he ever.  

I spent the first 11 years of The Boy's life trying to get him to conform to my ideas of how things should be.  It is only in the last few months that I realized the truth in what Claudia told me all those years ago.  I'm not the one that's shaping these two.  They are shaping me - when I let them.  It is not an easy thing to do.  Being a parent means you have to check your ego at the door and accept life as it comes.  It requires acknowledging that I don't know everything.  (Mother, in fact, may NOT know best.)

Being Mommy to The Boy (and later to his sister) has changed me.  It has taught me that there is no such thing as having anything completely under control.  It has given me the opportunity to experience the world in new and unusual ways.  It has shown me what it is to love unconditionally.  And it has taught me how crucially important it is to appreciate, love, and accept people as they are.  Including myself.

Kahlil Gibran said it much more eloquently that I could.

On Children

 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, 

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 

and He bends you with His might 

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

And Sweet Honey in the Rock interpreted it even better than that:

I've been thinking a lot about what this means - especially in context of all the other work I've been doing.  I am the bow from which my two little arrows are being sent forth into the world.  I have to be flexible enough to give them the trajectory they need, but strong enough not to break when the string is drawn back.  It's a fine line to maintain, and many days, I don't do it so well.  But every day is a new chance to be what they need me to be, so they can be who they will become.

The Girl and The Boy
If this is not a reason to be the best I can be,
I don't know what is.  

Act 18: Try a Martial Arts Class

I didn't know what I was in for when I purchased my Groupon for Triangle Krav Maga;  I just knew the price was right, the location was convenient, and the timing fit my schedule.  I did a little bit of research beforehand (I am, after all, me!), but for the most part I went in cold.  

When I initially planned this Act, I had images of myself as the next Karate Kid - in a gleaming white gi, ready to take on the evil Cobra Kai.  However, as I learned more, my idea of Krav Maga seemed a bit more akin to the bad boys.   Krav Maga ("contact combat" in Hebrew) is a self-defense system developed for the Israeli army.  It's closer to boxing and judo than to karate or tae kwon do, and according to Wikipedia, "is known for its focus on real-world situations and extremely efficient and brutal counter-attacks."  YES, PLEASE.

Perhaps the biggest blessing of this little project of mine is how miraculously these tasks put me exactly where I need to be, when I need to be there.  Like the salsa dancing that lifted my spirits when I was way down, this, too, came when I really, really needed it.  I had no idea when I made my reservation weeks ago that on this day, I would be in the mood to kick some butt.  But I was.  I really was.

I didn't know exactly what to expect when I arrived.  Yes, I had done a little research, but the reading did not prepare me for what waited behind that unassuming storefront!  I walked in to a large open room with a wide pad in the middle of the floor.  It smelled like a middle school locker room.  On one wall, there were about 25 3 foot long pads hanging.  On the opposite wall was a display of weapons.  But this was not the typical weapons one might expect in a dojo.  Rather than shurikens and katanas think AK-47s. I realized at that moment that this was not Mr. Myagi's karate class.

As I waited for the action to begin, I watched the crowd that began to gather.  It was quite a diverse group: Two 20-something girls, a dad and his teen-aged son and daughter.  A couple in their late 40s.  A wisp of a girl who looked barely 18.  One or two 30-somethings, and a herd of 20-something guys.  Again, not what I expected!  I chatted a bit with the girls who were gathering, curious about what brought them here.  Most wanted a fun workout.  One wanted to be able to defend herself.  All agreed this program was downright addictive.

The instructor was a very compact and energetic guy in probably his late 20s.  He seemed small and easygoing to me when I first laid eyes on him, but as soon as class began, he proved to be quite an imposing presence.  To begin class, the instructor had us all line up in the front of the class.  We bowed to the mural of Imi ( Imi Lichtenfeld, the founder of Krav Maga) and then to our teacher.  And then the torture began.  We started with burpees.  If you've never experienced a burpee, consider yourself lucky.  They are a full body exercise that is a combination of a squat and a jump.  But in this class, these burpees were accompanied by a push up.  It went something like this:  Squat down, bending your knees.  Leap in the air.  Place your palms on the ground and hop your feet out behind you - assuming a plank position.  Do one push up.  Hop your feet up to your hands until you are in a squatting position.  Repeat.  If you want to try one, I'll wait...

Yeah.  It sucks, right?  We started with 10 of those.

After 10 burpees, we were told to find a sparring partner.  During this warmup, you and your partner would try to tap each other on the shoulder.  While your partner was trying to swat your shoulder, you had to defend yourself and try to swat their shoulders.  If your partner hit your shoulder, you had to do a push up.  5 minutes into class, and I was sweating, panting, and now trying to attack someone I had met 30 seconds ago.  It was hell.  And it was EXACTLY what I needed.  My first sparring partner was a new guy just like me, so we both were terrible at the shoulder swats.  That meant no extra push ups, so I wasn't complaining.  We did this for a few minutes and then...

Nine burpees and nine push ups.

We found a new sparring partner, and now in addition to swatting shoulders, we were instructed to also try to swat the outside of our partner's knees.  If your sparring partner connected with your knee, you had to do TWO push ups.  I ended up with that sweet, wispy girl I had chatted with before class.  I breathed a little mental sigh of relief as the sparring began, but the joke was on me.  That girl was dynamite!  She was so quick that I spent most of our sparring time doing push ups as she swatted me again and again and again.  She was kind though, coaching me to keep my guard up and giving me pointers on the best way to position my feet.  After a few minutes, the instructor called time.

Eight burpees and eight push ups.

This time, we were instructed to form two lines, facing forward with our feet slightly less than shoulder width apart and our arms crossed over our chests, hands on shoulders.  We pivoted to the left to face the left wall, then shifted to face the right wall.  We started slowly: face left, pivot right - focusing on keeping our feet in one place while shifting from side to side.  I did fine until we sped up.  Then I started to lose my balance and almost fell over.  Every time it would happen, I would get tickled and giggle at myself.  Then I would feel weird, because everyone else in the class was so serious and almost savage.  But I couldn't help it!  It was fun, and I was so out of my element.  We did this for a few minutes and then...

Seven burpees and seven push ups.

We got back up into place and this time, we added punches with the pivots.  Face the left wall and punch with your left hand.  Pivot to the right wall and punch with your right hand.  We did this much faster than the last go-round, and the punches helped me to stay a bit more balanced.  The only trouble was, every time I thought to myself Hey!  Look at me!  I'm doing this! or the instructor would praise me, I would lose my balance and stumble.  Every. Single.  Time.  Still, I felt like I was getting the hang of it.

Six burpees and six push ups.  (For those of you keeping track, that's 40 - not counting all the push ups I had to do during sparring!)

You can see I meant business!

Now it was time to learn the real punches.  We started with the left, or non-leading hand.  I stepped back with my right foot slightly behind me, I focused on a spot on the wall in front of me. On the instructor's command, punched out with my left hand (Hyah!) while keeping my right fist close to my jaw.  Again and again, we practiced the left jab.  Then we switched to the right.  However, since the right hand is my leading hand, we practiced punching through with the right hip to give extra power to the punch.  Again and again and again we punched with our right hand (Hyah!, Hyah!, Hyah!), then our left again.  And then both (Ya-Hah!).  Something about the focus on the single spot made this feel incredibly intense.  The instructor complimented me on my form (all that Tae-Bo I did in the late '90s paid off!) and I started to get why this was so addictive.

Five burpees and five push ups.

We were told to grab a shield and find a partner next.  I tracked down the nice girl I chatted with at the beginning of class, thinking that was a good choice for what came next.  It was time to practice actually punching someone.  I went first.  We were to hit the shield as hard as we could and as fast as we could until the instructor called "time!"  Then we were told to run back and touch the wall and go to the next person in the line.  Repeat until we were told to stop.  THIS IS WHAT I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR!  I learned after the first bit of sparring that folks didn't hold back in this class, so when the instructor gave the signal, I went all out.  I punched as hard and as fast as I could.  All the anger and frustration and disappointment that had been welling up in me surged up.  I must have looked like a mad woman, because I certainly felt like one.  That lasted for about 20 seconds.  Turns out, punching as hard and as fast as you can is EXHAUSTING!  After an eternity - in reality, about 30 seconds - I heard "Time!"  I ran back, touched the wall and found my next partner.  The short break recharged me a bit, and again, I just let that poor guy have it, wailing on that shield with everything I had.  "Time!"  Back to the wall and on to the next partner.  This time, I was a bit slower, and a bit less powerful, but I managed to keep it going.  "Time!"  Again,  And again. Until I made it to the last guy.  At this point, I could barely lift my arms to punch the shield.  Both my knuckles were battered and bloody, sweat was pouring down my face.  I was almost spent.  My partner was pushing me, saying "You can do this!"  and I could hear the instructor encouraging us:  Think of why you are here - what you have to protect!  Put that last bit into keeping them safe!!  Finally: "Time!"  I dropped my arms in relief, too exhausted to do anything but drag myself over to get a sip of water.

It was my turn to hold the shield.  I found my original partner, and she coached me on the best way to stand.  I held the shield against my chest, rooted myself with my left foot slightly behind my right and got ready for the onslaught.  The first punch took me by surprise.  It was the first time I had ever been punched, and the jolt of it knocked the wind out of me.  I adjusted my feet, raised the shield, and got ready for the next blow.  It kind of felt... good.  Every strike I withstood made me feel stronger.  Every blow I absorbed felt like a small victory.  And let me tell you, that girl packed some power!  "Time!"  The next opponent was a guy.  Interesting fact: in my Krav Maga class, the guys seemed to hold back a bit when it came to the punching.  The same can not be said for the girls.  Each time I faced a female sparring partner, I knew I was in for a walloping.  "Time!"

Four burpees and four push ups.  (At this point, the push ups were more like planks with a very small dip and the burpees were more like a little hop with a stretch at the end.)

The last part of the class was spent learning how to fend off attack.  (Side note: In the world created in Krav Maga, there are apparently always people lurking, ready to attack you with a variety of weapons, intents, and purposes.)  I learned how to not only break a choke hold, but also how to disable an attacker by aiming for his knees.  We practiced kicks, driving elbows and more punches.

Three half-hearted burpees and three leisurely push ups.

We found a partner and practiced attacking each other.  I found this to be a little disconcerting - partly because I don't like the idea of hurting anyone, and also because it's really quite awkward to grab a perfect stranger by the throat and knock him to the ground.  Also, by this point, I really thought I was going to pass out.

Two burpees and two push ups.  Almost done...

The instructor called up back into one line to review all that we had learned in class.  I was so glad to have made it to the end.  I felt strong and excited to have learned a few new things, but I was ready to be done.

Ten burpees and ten push ups.  (Wait!  What?!  No no no no NO!  It's supposed to be one, Dammit!!!!)

As I staggered back to my place in line, I felt proud of myself for hanging in the entire time.  I halfheartedly saluted Imi and the instructor, and then headed over to gather my things.  The instructor praised my effort and said he'd see me next week.

It took about 20 minutes for the complete and utter exhaustion to give way to euphoria.  It wasn't until I got home into the shower that I realized just how badass I was.  I did 64 burpees and 64 push ups (plus those I racked up during sparring!)  I had wailed on no less that three girls and six guys.  I had busted up my knuckles.  I was woman!  Hear me roar!  And I am SO going back next week!!

The In-Between

I am a chronic over-achiever.  Throughout my entire life, I've been obsessed with moving forward.  Whether it is my career, my education, my family life, or my relationships, I've always been obsessed with what "my next move" was going to be.  I've been like the shark, swimming unceasingly, because to stop swimming is to die.

I understand now that that relentless pursuit of progress was less about achievement and more about avoidance.  I kept plowing forward out of fear.  If I was moving forward, then it didn't matter if where I was at the moment was unsatisfying or uncomfortable.  I wouldn't be lingering here, so there wasn't time to really reflect on it.

Because of that unceasing need to be ready to seize the next opportunity, I found myself grasping on to situations that were not good for me.  I was the living embodiment of a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.  I always had to have a bird in hand - and had to be ready to grab the next one, should it become available.  I spent all my energy trying to fit the situations that were presented to me, rather than taking the time to find situations that right.

I am trying to change that.

Right now, in my life, I'm not really working toward an accomplishment. I'm not in pursuit of a goal.  I'm not searching for a relationship, a new career, the next big thing. There is nothing that I'm obsessively trying to achieve.   And the feeling is so... liberating.

And terrifying.

Right now, I'm in what Melody Beattie calls "the in-between."

Being in-between isn’t fun, but it’s necessary. It will not last forever. It may feel like we’re standing still, but were not. We’re standing at the in-between place. It’s how we get from here to there. It is not the destination.

There is a certain amount of faith required in this state of being.  And it's not for cowards.  As the quote above says, sometimes the most courageous thing is to be willing to stand with our hands empty and wait for God to fill them.  And while the idea of being empty-handed makes me nervous, I have to admit that after holding on to a heavy load of not-quite-right and just-plain-wrong, it's kind of nice to have my hands free.

 I've been spending my time and energy figuring out who I am and what I already have.  Once I get that worked out, I will spend some time thinking about what it is that I need and what I really want.
And hopefully, when that is all sorted out, I will be ready to start moving again.