cheers

When I was a child, my parents scarred me for life by demanding that I ask permission before doing things like going out to play or having a sleeve of cookies before dinner time.  I know.  The nerve, right?  Under my parents' tutelage, I have grown to be hard-working, diligent, and always mindful of keeping superiors {and probably everyone else} adequately informed of my whereabouts and intentions.

And so the seed of my current writer's block were sown.

The problem is that I have been sworn to secrecy.  And it could be killing me.  Okay, so maybe that was a bit dramatic.  But still.  This keep-my-mouth-shut nonsense is for the birds.  Actually, maybe not.  Birds don't do a very good job of keeping their mouths shut either.

There are so many things changing right now that it's hard to contain myself, and yet strangely not appropriate to blast them via the interwebs, especially since I consider y'all my 1st removed besties and all.

I'm hoping that at least getting this off of my chest will help with that block that happens to all of us when we desperately want to spill the beans, but know that such action could be cause for other, more severe repercussions down the road.

So.  I leave y'all with a toast, to putting a positive spin on the uncomfortable, yet inevitable changing nature of life!

Cheers,

chicken*ish

This was a glorious morning, I woke up to the bright sunshine peeking through my blinds after a blissful 10 hours of sleep and a day of no set plans ahead of me.  It was 9 a.m.  I laid in bed, drank my coffee, read my daily Bible verse, and caught up on all 104 Words with Friends games {why does it seem like games multiply like rabbits on that thing?} and decided to head out for a little neighborhood run.

But.  Then.  As I stepped my left foot outside the front door, I became aware of the ominous clouds quickly approaching.  Because I am overly dependent on all things portable and electronic, I dutifully checked the all powerful iPhone weather app only to discover an impending chance of rain.  30%, in case you were wondering.

And then it happened.

The mental block.  Motivation disturber.  Game changer.

The thing is, I kind of like running in the rain.  And I don't love the treadmill.  And I didn't want to drive to the gym.

But I'm apparently a chicken.

So I gave in and drove to the gym.  I ran on the treadmill.  I drove home.  It did not even rain one little drop.

Today I'm gave in to the what if monster and now I'm temporarily surrendering my runner's card.

shakin' in the rain

I fear social failure.

Not because I can't hold my own in social events, because I've been told that I can be quite charming once I get warmed up.

But because no matter how old I get or how many successful social experiences I have, walking into a room of strangers, especially women, takes me back to the awkward, overweight, out-of-her-social-league college freshman on her first attempt at sorority rush.

That's right, I said first attempt.

Because I did it twice.

As it turned out, it would take a summer of a make shift Mommy-Daughter Fat Camp and the help of some good 'ol point counting to help me wrap my chubby little arms around my inner diva.  I lost 15 pounds, started running {albeit slowly}, and was able to feel that I was physically similar to my new sisters.

{a side note here: in hindsight, the tragedy of my overweight story was not the weight itself, but the already unique outfits I put together, made more, um, special by my inability to choose appropriate sizes}

Flash forward to Tuesday evening when I coaxed that insecure girl into a Junior League meeting across town filled with strangers.  True, it didn't help that I was ten minutes late or that I had dropped a ketchup-covered pickle down my cardigan and onto my grey pants while trying to gobble down my quarter pounder and navigate against Siri's best directions to my foreign destination in a thunderstorm.  But.  I sucked up my courage, signed myself in, found a seat, and made a b-line to grab a glass of complimentary wine.

You know, I was okay!

I was once told that sometimes you just have to fake it until you can make it.  It's true that I have a sometimes paralyzing fear of strangers, although most people don't believe me.  At one point in my life, I had learned to master that fear.  Then I got comfortable.  Now, I must once again, learn to push past the fear of not being good enough and master it.

And.

I'm off to a good start.  I left my meeting with a business card, a little spring in my step, and a little less fear.

Happy fear fighting, y'all,

back from the abyss

Ya know how sometimes, when you take a break from something, you cross the threshold from "break" into "hiatus" and then into "abyss"?

Coming back from the abyss stage is kinda hard.

Which is why this little ditty will probably be short.  I just don't have my sea legs quite yet.

Luckily, my girl Julia is still hosting her Thankful Thursday link-up.  Being thankful will take the first-post-back pressure off, I think.

Here we go:

I'm thankful for...

{treadmills}

In addition to the blogging abyss, I fell into the running abyss as well.  Eleven holiday pounds had me weeping on the scale come January 1 and back on track {sort of literally} as of January 2.  Between the super cold days and the early sunsets, I'm thankful I have safe, warm, if not crowded and stuffy, treadmill on which to save my soul one mile at a time.

{LinkedIn}

There comes a point when a person, especially one who is surrounded by teenagers every day from 7:10-2:13, needs a space to learn and connect professionally.  Facebook is nice, but I relish social network that requires adults to be adults :)

{Overdrive}

While I have this nifty little function on my car, gas is far too expensive {as was my recent speeding ticket} to really get out on the road and pay it the attention it deserves.  I'm talking about the fabulous little app on my iPad that allows me to check out library books, read them, and then let them disappear when they are due.  No overdue charges.  Which is super good because I am currently banned from checking out real books from the brick-and-mortar library due to my excessive charges.  

{GTD}

I love love love love love making lists and organizing and labeling, and, well, you get the picture.  I love David Allen more because he taught me how to make big lists and not be intimidated by them.  I actually had to buy this book.  And.  It was worth it.  I feel all productive and ish for the new year.

It's good to be back, lovelies!  Toodles,

dumb.

You know what's dumb?  When people lie.

Right now, I'm lying to myself.

I'm telling myself that I don't care.  That I'm over it.

But I'm not.

Even though, I knew a long time ago.

Actually, when I think about it, the day I knew was the exact day that I started lying to myself.

That's dumb, too.

charming my way to dry socks

Back in the day, when I used to save money all year long so that I could ship myself off to camp for a couple weeks during the summer, I loved me some archery.

Except, I wasn't all that good at it.

Especially when I took the time to aim.

Ehh.  It happens.

Then, a couple of years ago, I tried to take up golf.  My golf game is much like my archery game, except I was much more fashionably dressed for my one and only official tee time.

And all of this has to do with my new dryer.  I promise.

I've always admired those people who could strategically charm their way into deals and discounts, but I just never could master the art.

Until Sunday.  When my dryer broke.  Right at the exact moment that I had finally psyched myself up to wash all twenty-five loads that had begun crowding me out of my bedroom.

Not really, I only had two to do.  But still.

So I was a damsel in distress, but I wasn't acting, when I sulked into my local appliance supplier and then sulked some more when I realized that a new gas dryer costs just about twice the amount as the new tires I've been praying to save up for before December.  Sigh.

I'm not sure if it was the sulking sob story, the compassion-filled eulogy of my trusty old convenience, or the animated manner in which I attempted to cope with this last straw that had been added to the camel's back, but the salesman magically adjusted the price of my new dryer to roughly the equivalent of new tires.

Bullseye.

Apparently, my charm works quite a bit like the astute way I'm able to maneuver a bow and arrow or golf club.

Which is great, because air-drying my underwear and socks is just weird.

day 21: impossibilities

"Alice laughed. 'There's no use trying,' she said: 'one can't believe impossible things.''I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen. 'When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'"

- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

Source: pinterest.com via Nabil on Pinterest

There are a lot of different takes on how it happened, but Alice fell through the rabbit hole and no matter which version is being told, nothing happened the way anyone expected it to.  Some days are strange like that.  Maybe the cat doesn't talk, the Queen of Hearts isn't breathing down our necks, and we don't have to fight the Jabberwocky.  But maybe, just maybe, we're caught in a day where other's expectations have us feeling trapped.  Where we feel like we will simply burst if we have to put on the act one. more. minute. 

A girl can just simply not be sweet when she is suffocated with all of the rules of the should's and must's.  It's why sweet has to come freely from the heart.  

A free heart is one that is open.  It is free to dream and explore and make mistakes and have successes.  A free heart is not stifled.  It is childlike and open to impossibilities because impossibilities do not even exist.

If we get caught up in believing everything that we are told as truth, well, we simply will have nothing else to do except find ourselves searching frantically for an escape.

Whether we realize it or not.

  

How many impossible things have you believed today?

day 19: forgive

The quote that hangs on the wall to the right of my desk at school is from Anne Lamott.  It reads:

“Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past."

Forgiving is a lot like accepting, except it has more to do with making peace with what has already happened.  Accepting is about making peace with things as they are currently happening.   It means taking out all of that baggage we carry around, looking at it, taking note of what we've learned by going through it {and carrying it around for so long}, accepting that we cannot change it, and then simply letting it go.

Here's how it starts:

Some unfortunate event occurs.  It does not matter whether the event was planned or accidental, real or imaginary.

That little side-talker in my head says something like "You shouldn't have done that." or "She has no right to do this."

And then it grows.  and grows.  and grows. 

Because sometimes I am too angry, afraid, dumbfounded to speak up or I can't because I don't know how or because the risk is too great.

Or I do.  And the repercussion is more than I thought I could handle or doesn't resolve it the way I thought it would.

Or.  The offending person is me.

And then I become resentful.

And trust me, my lovelies, I am not sweet when I am resentful.  I am mean.  I use my words to cut and hurt and demean.  

I destroy what fractured, splintered, hanging like "sinners in the hands of an angry God" piece of a relationship was left as a result of the unfortunate event.

The only person who is really hurt is me.

If I can learn to forgive, I can learn to accept.  If I can learn to see things in my past as they were without judgement; then I can learn to see people and things as they are, rather than what I want or hope for them to be.   If I can learn to forgive, I can stop punishing people for the things that others have done to me in the past.  If I can learn to forgive, I can trust people to be themselves.  And that, my darlings, is the sweetest thing of all.

day 18: be brave

I'm a lover of all things worded.  I love pretty fonts and profound words.  I love reading, pinning, and re-reading pinterest quotes.  {Really, this shouldn't be too surprising!}

Source: stylecaster.com via Laura on Pinterest

So, while I was looking through my boards for an appropriate quote for my last post, I realized something:

I have a lot of quotes about overcoming fear.  Probably because I spend a lot of time being afraid.

Source: flickr.com via Laura on Pinterest

Afraid of what, you may ask?

Really, I'm so glad you did.

I'm afraid of:
failure, success, dishonesty, honesty, moving forward, staying stuck, growing old alone, having a family, doing things wrong, being too dependable, being mean or rude, being a doormat, regret, being attacked by a crazy, being annoying, loving too much, loving too little, being fake, being to honest, not being good enough, being too good, but most of all...

I'm afraid that I've let all of this fear limit the amazingness of my life.

Source: laurenconrad.com via Laura on Pinterest

This past weekend, I took a little vacay to my cousin's wedding.  I almost let fear spoil my sweetness.  And when I look at it from a different angle, it becomes clear that when my anxiety gets kicked up a notch, I am not a sweet person.  at.  all.

Source: via Laura on Pinterest

Some time ago, Susan Jeffers told me to "feel the fear and do it anyway" and I know she's on to something.  Upon some further net searching, I came across the insight of John Maxwell who suggests that a gal might be plagued by fear if she is feeling apathetic, scatterbrained, alone, putting things off, or getting easily sidetracked.

We all want a diagnosis these days, what if most of our problems are rooted in that grand friend, plain old fight-or-flight inciting fear?  Just.  What if?

~or~

What would our lives look like if we pushed the limits?  If we were really brave enough to do it anyway?  

I'm not talking about jumping off of literal bridges here, just maybe digging a little deeper into the words of that little side-talker inside of our heads, you know, the one who says things like, "You don't have to do it today, if you don't want to..." and "You know you won't be good at that" or a personal favorite, "You know everyone expects you to, you just can't let them down now."  

What if today we all took a baby-step toward something we've always wanted but never thought possible.  Even if that baby-step is a simple internet search or a single sentence on a blank page?  Take a baby risk, then tell me about it.  How sweet was it to be brave?

day 13: accept

I was supposed to run 10 miles on Saturday morning.  I ran 4.  And I'm honestly not sure what if I did could even be called a "run".  But there were 4 of them.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  4.  Four.

Last Thursday, I ran five miles like I was a rock star.  No, really.

It's funny how one day can seem like the only possible limit might be the sky and then, in a matter of seemingly minutes, that same limitless sky seems to be falling faster than my poor heart did after hearing that my alma mater lost their homecoming game this weekend.  ugh.  and to a mean team.

The fact is that not every day, run, or body for that matter, is gonna be perfect.  In fact, perfection isn't probably ever going to happen and we just have to accept that.  Undoubtably, it is when we do finally figure this out that we learn how to truly love.

For as long as I can remember, I've beens searching for approval.  striving to be perfect.  because my underlying belief has always been that I was not enough.

This is painful to write, to see it in print on this screen, because for 32 years, I've known this wasn't true, I just, for the life of me, can't seem to believe it.

And then, Saturday, while I was cussing a little about how I should be doing better than I was, a little voice cut through the anger and self-condmenation and said, "hey, let yourself off the hook!"

Sometimes our high expectations and aims for perfection prevent us from seeing the truth in ourselves and in others.  We can't really be sweet to someone if we can't accept them for who or what they are.  And really, how sweet can we be to others if we can't be sweet to ourselves?

day 12: handle your business

Anxiety and insecurity are not only ugly, they are not sweet. They are huge attention whores and only leave a girl drowning in her stupid drama, prayin' and hopin' that some sweet person is going to come and throw her a life preserver.   They prevent us from living fully and relishing in the amazing things that we so often fail to notice in our everyday lives.  Now, there is no shame in taking a helping hand once in a while, but there is no gain in sitting around waiting for someone to come save a sister from her own self.  No one likes a person who is needy.  And I'm gonna tell you that this anxiety ish that has gotten in my brain today has made me feel ultra nee-dee today.

Source: lawsofmodernman.tumblr.com via Laura on Pinterest

Ultimately, the cold hard truth is that no one is going to save us from ourselves.  They can't.  It's impossible.  It is a choice that we have to make on our own.  And it's usually more difficult than we think we can handle at the moment.  Especially because the underlining belief is usually that something happening beyond our control is taking control of our lives.  

So how am I gonna get out of my drama and back to my sweet self?

I'm gonna pray.

I'm gonna focus on the things in my life that I have control over: my thoughts, my actions, my words.

I'm gonna spend some time with people and doing activities that make me happy.

Source: Uploaded by user via Laura on Pinterest

I'm gonna check some stuff off of my todo list and maybe even attempt reign in the beast of disorganization that has wreaked havoc in my once cozy little home office.

And then, once I've found myself back on sweet stable ground and my life is back under control and in perspective, I'm gonna address this drama mess.

But not until I know I can do it sweetly.  Addressing problems is about solving them, not creating more.

day 11: relish

It was as the end of second hour today when, while patrolling the classroom, I looked back up at the board as a reference to the point I was making and experienced a small surge of joy run through my soul.   What, you might I ask, could a girl possibly see that could possibly bring so much excitement?

This:

I'm bringing diagramming back, yo!  

Then, ya know how there's always those people at the gym?  Today there was that woman who could not for the life of her seem to pick up her feet while she ran.  For reals, I could her the squeaking of her shoes fighting the belt on the mill over the Eric Church I was rocking out to.  And, a couple of weeks ago, I was on a machine next to that girl who used the treadmill like it was a ballet bar {for the record, I love me some fluidity bar workouts, I just tend to think it best to use a *bar*}.  At any rate, I think I became THAT girl tonight, right next to the squeaker, while I mouthed the words to every song {and maybe, possibly threw in a couple of head bobs or arm movements} over my whole. entire. fifty-five minute. workout.  and ya know what?  I don't care.

Earlier in this series, I mentioned the charming little objective of having a life that hugged me back as a priority to becoming more sweet.  In order to have this, a girl needs to relish in the things that build her up and while those things are different for everyone, the tend to fit into at least one of three categories:

• Things I love and I do not mean that I like them.  I mean I love, love, love them.  The reason doesn't matter, just the love.  
• Things I need.  I did not need to make pecan pie last night, although I do need to eat, but I love pecan pie and so I did make it and then ate it for dinner.
• Things I use.  Not the things I'm going to use when..., but things I use now or for a particular occasion, like my Christmas tree.

Of course not everything is going to fit into one of these categories, like say, the dear beloved who drives me batty with crazy talk about things that are not usually very important to me.  I do not love him, probably don't need him, and find very little applicable use in him {although once in a blue moon, he reveals tidbits of information that I find intriguing} BUT I do value him as a human and as a beloved and so it is important to me that I am sweet to him.  

You know the old adage about dancing like no one is watching, it's about creating that life that hugs you.  It's about relishing in the things that bring us joy.  Because as I realized while I mouthed along on the hamster wheel marinating over this post, the more I surround myself with and relish in the things that really matter, the more my life hugs me; and, the more my life hugs me, the more easily my sweetness flows.  When my life hugs me {for me it's when my relationship with God is open, my running is regular, and I've been able to, if only for a short while, let go of the what-if's that often plague me}, I feel balanced and that I can grin and bear the not-so-sweet aspects of life for just a little bit longer.  I may not particularly love that dear man, but I do love the peace that comes from an amicable relationship with him.  It becomes a cycle y'all. 

day 8: payoffs

I spoke with one of my Anonymous Beloveds last night.  She yells a lot.  It seems her kids usually err on the side of bad.  I do not think she is very happy.  I contemplated telling her about this here project thing I've got going, but I didn't want to get into it.  Sometimes sweet means, simply listening without giving in to the overwhelming need to give advice.  I got to thinking though, that she gets a pay off; she's in it for something.  We all are.

No matter how selfless or selfish a person is, everything they choose to do gets them some type of a pay off.  The problem is that most of us don't even realize that our rewards are making us miserable.  But what's my payoff for being sweet?  For sucking it up when I really want to tell the mean mommies to shove their stupid little rain boots where the sun really isn't shining or  from shoulder checking the person who's too busy yelling into her cell phone to see that she's walking on my side of the isle at the store?

I think the ultimate payoff is the world we build around us.  My girl Flylady suggests that we all deserve to build a home that "hugs" us.  Isn't that a fabulous image, y'all?  I want a life that hugs me back.  All the same, it's hard.  Its hard for me to make friends, well real friends anyway, you know the ones you really let get to know you.  Ok.  If we're really gonna be honest here, it terrifies me to be vulnerable in the same way that my man-eaters pace in the basement with their ears perked up, eyes so wide I can see the whites of them, and tails tucked to their bellies during a storm.  So, I've adapted.  I'm the girl with a plan, the one with doggy-tranquilizers and peanut butter as soon as the tornado sirens start wailing.  You know, the self-reliant one, the regular old boy scout.

To simply say that I want a life that hugs me back in return for my sweetness is only scratching the surface.  I want a life that hugs me back because sometimes the walls I build to protect myself leave me a tad bit lonely.  Because one of my greatest pains in life is watching others live a life that I can only dream of right now.   One of my very special ABs always reminds me that when the pain of remaining the same becomes greater than the fear of changing, you'll change.  I'm learning how to be vulnerable one sweet day at a time and my payoff for becoming sweeter is opening my life up to new possibilities.  What are your payoffs?

day 6: but, what if?

I knew it was bound to happen.  I suppose it's better to just get it done and out of the way.  Now's as good a time as ever, and sooner's always better than later.  Well, usually anyway.

My mini me is throwin' another fit, y'all.  And this time, she's angry at me.  It seems that she's pretty sure all of this sweetness stuff is going to backfire and leave us with nothing more than the dirt everyone else has left over from wiping their feet on our pretty little faces.

Sure, being sweet can get a girl's heart hurt, no one likes knowing that their kindness has been taken for granted, or worse, gone unacknowledged.  And yet, these are not valid reasons for choosing the opposite of sweet.  The choice to be sweet to the people we encounter in our lives, be them strangers, friends, or family, is a gift and gifts are not given because people earn or deserve them, they are given out of love.

Of course, we don't need excuses to be sweet to the people we love and who are sweet to us, although sometimes we need reminders {we'll cover this in a future post}, what mini me is afraid of and what keeps most us on guard in public are the people we don't really know or who we are getting to know and the pressing urge to protect ourselves.  Being sweet doesn't mean I am a doormat.  It means I choose to take and interest in other people and have respect for their journey as fellow humans ~ regardless of whether or not I agree with some, few or none of their decisions.

So, because mini me really likes clearly defined rules {they make her feel safe and secure, like she at least has a compass in the middle of the wilderness}, I thought I'd share the guidelines we have come to agree upon for the rest of this journey:

• People may not immediately appreciate sweetness from others, especially strangers, and that is okay.  If we are interacting with them anyway {passing through the same isle in Target, entering the highway at the same time, or even just walking down the sidewalk while we're gathering the mail} we lose nothing by being sweet and we have the benefit of going about our activities with a smile.
• We do not need to seek out people who do not wish to acknowledge or appreciate {although we're surely not being sweet for appreciation} our sweetness; in fact, sometimes giving people space without bitterness is the sweetest gesture we can make.
• We do not have stop enjoying our own activities in order to fill our time with what makes others happy; doing things that make us happy helps us to stay sweet.
• We are allowed to decline invitations as long as we do it sweetly.  This doesn't mean we have to give an excuse or tiptoe around the subject, simply acknowledging the gesture is plenty.
• We must always be genuine in our sweetness, it is okay to follow our mama's advice, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."  People can see through insincere actions and being fake just isn't sweet.

I figure being sweet, you know, the genuine kind, is sort of like buying a raffle ticket from that little neighbor kid's  school or church fundraiser: the underfunded cause gets a helping hand, you've strengthened {or begun building} a relationship, and because you now have a raffle ticket, you've got a chance to win a prize, which is a bonus, because we all know that whatever is being raffled off is not often the reason we bought the ticket in the first place.  If it's done right and for the right reasons, there's no real downfall to buying a ticket from the poor kid, even when it's not a winning one.

day 5: a choice

When I first formulated my mission statement, and much more recently the topic for this series, I was not thinking of myself.  Okay, well kinda, because deep down I knew that the only real way to enhance my own life was to be an enhancement in the lives of those I meet.  And let's be for real here, everyone we know and love in our lives was, at one time, a stranger.  So yes, strangers are included in this.

We have nothing if we have no one to share the ins and outs, ups and downs of our lives with, and while it's super important that we surround ourselves with people who genuinely care about our lives, we have to genuinely care about theirs as well.  And sometimes genuinely caring about someone feels downright uncomfortable.

A seriously foundational book for me, one that I've reread several times, is The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.  In it he outlines the five ways people give and receive love by suggesting that love is not only a verb, but also, and probably more importantly, a choice to learn and give love in the way others are uniquely built to receive it.  The most important message: it's your job to find out what makes the people you love feel loved.

Because being sweet has a lot to do with getting out of our own heads and loving people {especially our loved ones}, it's important that we actively remember that what makes us feel loved will not automatically make someone else feel the same.

So let's put the last two days into perspective here:  we cannot be sweet to people if we don't see {physically and figuratively} them because we are too busy walking around in our own drama and even then, if we fail to take genuine interest in what makes them unique because we are still in our own drama or do it solely as a means of getting attention, then we have done nothing more than allowed the important people {and we've already established how strangers fit into this} to become physical objects that stand to be manipulated or avoided.  What I've learned so far in this process is how unbelievably scary, amazing, and so precious it is when I shut my mouth and invite another person to share their world with me, even if just briefly in a passing conversation or exchange of hello's.

Being genuinely sweet is mindful choice to put our own desires, needs, and insecurities aside for the benefit of someone else.  It means sweetly reminding ourselves that there is greater joy in doing for others.  Today, I challenge you to put it all together and make the choice to be sweet for someone else's gain, for the sole purpose of letting them feel uniquely special.  Then, please, let me know how it goes.

day 3: take notice

I'm a very important person.

On any given day, my mind is madly overflowing with an obscene number of pressing issues.  Important people are reduced to simple items on a list waiting to be checked off, special events are resented as duties, and gift cards are unapologetically given for lack of a more thoughtful gift.

There is just so much to do.

I know I'm not alone in this.  On the rare occasion that I've managed to step outside of my own Very Important Pressing Issues while out and about, it's clear by the apparent grimaces {no, not the purple guy from McDonald's} on peoples' faces that they are also feverishly consumed by their own VIPIs.

And so my first mission in becoming a sweeter me took shape.


It has become clear to me that I cannot possibly be sweet to anyone if I am unable to get outside of my head.  Since we're taking baby steps here, I began my journey last week with some good 'ol people watching.  With the help of the phenomenal little book You Say More Than You Think,  my goal was to simply make observations, without attaching judgment, of the people I encounter on a daily basis.

Can we say mild anxiety attack?

The truth is, it's been a long time since I really paid attention to what and how people communicate.  I get so focused on how I can use the information that a person is giving or how I can give my personal expertise as a response that I find myself only listening to the facts not the person, or worse, simply biding my time until my turn to talk comes back around.  {I really do have great stories to tell!}  When I opened my eyes,  took off my me-me-me goggles, and got over the overwhelming amount of information that people share without speaking, I realized how small my world actually is.

Then, almost in the blink of an eye, it occurred to me that, for some of the people I had been observing all week: my students, co-workers, friends, family, and potential suitors {he stepped back on stage, hurray!}, I am part of their stories and the way I hold myself and speak to them is intertwined into theirs.  It is truly a humbling notion.

It's no longer quite so overwhelming to take notice of the people who I encounter in my daily life and it is refreshing to be able to almost automatically remember that I don't already know what is going on in a person's mind based solely on what he is saying or doing.

Being sweet means recognizing that other people's stories and experiences are just as important as mine; I can't possibly expect another person to take notice of me if I can't get out of my head and notice how important they are also.

Day 2: so what's the problem?

If you've been reading along with me for the last couple months, or you've just stopped in and perused a bit, you'll know that I've been making some eye-opening discoveries about my self lately.  My most disturbing recent {and possibly most important} was that, despite my increasing patience with life, greater faith in God, and growing attention to detail, I have become a bit more ... um ... well ... uppity.

*sigh*

It turns out there is pride in becoming a better person, and really, there's no blame in a chica being proud of the better person she's growing it to.  It becomes a problem, however, when that little chica mistakes her bettering as becoming better than other people on their very own journeys.

I'm actually quite embarrassed by the whole thing.  But.  I've also learned that if I don't deal with things immediately, they become, well, a bit of a pickle.

What's a girl to do in such a predicament?

I have a suspicion that the answer is simply to turn my focus onto those around me.

Source: x-secrets.blogspot.com via Laura on Pinterest

If only it were that simple.  Of course.  The best things in life are never easy.

a magician?

You know how sometimes when you're trying to empty a container and, because you can't see the contents, it seems like the package is holding an impossibly greater amount that there is physical space available.  Ya know, like Mary Poppins' purse?

If her purse were, in fact, the mode of transport for my recent abundance of bad luck, I'd venture to guess that we'd just have pulled out the kitchen sink.

For reals.

Seriously, I should learn magic or something.  Really.  I'm learning humility.

It seems that while I cannot pull a rabbit from a hat, I am becoming quite talented in the art of sending men into a black hole.  So maybe my afore fondly spoken of potential suitor has not completely taken the plunge, but he certainly has sunk behind the curtain.

*sigh*

God bless her, my mama is now sending me articles about dating in my thirties.  Because, ya know, every other instructional manual has been helpful and stuff.

It's a good thing I'm getting better at learning from my experiences.  That I'm getting my crazy under control.  That I'm becoming a happier, more resilient person. Because I sure was havin' a little bit of a fantasy sequence about telling Prince Charming a little about a couple of things.

But.  I stopped myself from making a complete and utter fool of myself any kind of contact.  And.  I leaned a little into the discomfort of the dark and ominous realization that I had been stood up.  for the second time.  And I found just a tiny piece of power hanging out way down deep in my gut.  And I clung to it.

For so long, I have hid behind my words to find a sense of power.  Specifically, my angry words.  Words that are meant to cut.  A little act of revenge for putting me in a situation where I felt powerless.

Today, again I stopped myself from mentioning it, even as he went about his daily interactions with me in a disturbingly normal fashion..

And why?  Why should a strong, independent woman not speak up for herself when she has been overlooked?

Because real power does not come from bringing someone else down.  If I can choose, and I can, I don't want to be her anymore.

Maybe he'll persist.  Maybe he'll climb out of the black hole.  Maybe he'll sink in.  It sucks to be overlooked and not be granted the simple respect of an explanation.  But really, what else is a girl to do?

Source: den10studio.blogspot.com via Laura on Pinterest

Toodleloo,

big-girl panties

I cried in school for the first and last time in the first or second grade.  I was in gym class and I was the last person to be chosen for a relay-race team.  So, I cried.  I mean, I was already the worst relay team pick, being a crybaby about it wasn't going to score me the points that having me on the team would lose.  I don't think I cried much, but I was embarrassed enough to determine never to do it again in public. 

And I didn't.

Even the day at recess in the third grade when, while practicing my less than mediocre baton-twirling skills for the upcoming talent show (hey, I had dreams y'all, a bit far-fetched, but dreams!), I managed to catch the baton with my eye socket.  The only black eye I've ever had.

And.  I didn't cry the day I nose dived through the asphalt recess area that year and got the huge scab that ran from the tip of my nose to the top of my lip, either.

And.  I also didn't cry when the bully-est girl in the first row of my first class on my first day of teaching told me that her sole intention, until I was otherwise notified, was to make me cry in front of the class.  For the record, I was never notified otherwise.

Nope, that gym class made me a tough cookie.

Ok, so I may have taken it a bit to the extreme and attempted to swear off crying as a whole.  At some point I convinced myself that much like the fact that there is no crying in baseball, there should be no crying in life either; that crying was useless; and that, probably because it's what my dad always used to tell me, it was just gonna make me sick.

My mantra: Pull up your big-girl panties, Laura, and suck it up.

Until yesterday.  When my mantra couldn't quell the emotional overload.  When I cried a little in the after-school privacy of my classroom, and then more on my way home, and then a whole lot more when I talked to my mama early in the evening.

Until yesterday, when I truly realized that I have been successful in beginning to build real relationships with my ABs where I am ok letting them see me in a truly vulnerable position, as opposed to the ones I craft in order to have something to kick up a fuss about.

I've learned that sometimes, most of the time, a person simply cannot do it all all on her own and keep a straight face.

Sometimes it's the only real initial response to a whole truck load of emotionally overwhelming nonsense being dropped off at your front door for you to deal with immediately at your own expense is a big, fat, ugly, mascara-running-down-your-face cry.  possibly while attempting some sort of consolation in a bubble bath.  Eh.  It happens.

Sometimes, it is times like these when a person, especially one who takes pride in taking care of the people she loves, such as myself, gives her loved ones the gift of letting them be there for her.

This morning, I'm focusing on pulling up my big-girl panties and getting through the whole. entire.  truckload. one issue at a time.  But I know now, more than ever, that it's okay to cry a little sometimes and that I have amazing people cheering me on.

Bring on that truck,

pear-shaped madness

Ya wanna know which fictitious character I feel most like today?  Veruca Salt.  You know the bratty little girl who's daddy schemed a golden ticket for her, the one who hooted and hollered every time she saw something she just knew she had to have, the one who befell her demise chasing after a golden egg.  Yeah.  Her.

Photo Credit: FanPop

My mini me has been screaming, "I want it NOW!" in the back of my head for the last day or so.  I wish it was simply a golden goose egg (or a specially trained squirrel apparently, if you've read the book) that would satiate the Miss-Salt-like squawking.

Of course, let's be real here.  The egg wouldn't have satisfied her in the movie and what I think I want right now ain't gonna fix a thing either.  Well.  Maybe just a little bit.  For now, anyway.

What I want right now, really truly, is to be able to trust that this super handsome potential suitor I've been seeing is for real.  And.  Here's the thing.  There's no real reason, except my own insecurities, preventing me from doing it.  Because you see, we're at just the right point in this budding relationship that my crazy should start acting up, terrified of what one. more. disappearing act is gonna do to my faith in the male gender.  Turns out that I'm in the midst of a supremely vicious cycle that happens to have everything a little pear-shaped right now.  

My mama has always told me that hind sight was 20/20.  It's easy to look back and see all of the things I've done wrong and even to imagine how I could've done them better.  It's really really really hard, in the midst of pear-shaped madness to remember those lessons, much less find the serenity I had before the crazy came back to visit.

They say that good things come to those who wait, but waitin' is so dang hard.  And waiting with any sense of integrity can be plain old agonizing.  Right now, waiting is making me want to stomp my feet, throw a fit, and chase that stupid golden egg to my own inevitable demise.  Or just burrow into my bed for a couple of days.

Oh.  Wait a minute.  I've done that.

And it repeatedly gets me.... that's right, you've guessed it!  NO WHERE.

You know how the saying goes, if you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got.  A self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will.

But, I'm not gonna do it this time.  Nope.

One of things I remember most from the good ol'days of The Oprah Show, was Oprah quoting Maya Angelou,  "when you know better, you do better."  I believe I finally know better enough to understand how to do it better.  This time, even if it doesn't work out or he falls off the face of the earth, I will know that I did better.  I will know that I was not a victim.  And, I will not be angry at him for failing to read my mind or for being flawed enough to *gasp* have more purpose in life than to simply please me.

So, this is where I change my course, scrape together all of my remaining composure, and let myself be a little more vulnerable than I'm comfortable with.  It's okay to feel uneasy.  It's okay to be scared strait out of my new Jessica Simpson heels.  It's even okay to let this so-far great guy off of the hook that he probably doesn't even know exists.

Wish me luck, 'cause instead of diving in after that golden egg, I'm gonna sit tight, stay sweet, invest some time in learning about him, and trust that I'm gonna be okay.  no. matter. what.

Cheers to moving forward,