Of Birthdays, Flying Without a Net and the Audacity of Hope

 

Hey Kids!

Dig, if you will, this picture:

Tomorrow is my 52nd birthday.

 Holy Crap!


So.... Here are some thoughts on that fun fact:



What a long, strange trip it's been...

I've managed to do some pretty cool stuff in 52 years. I carried and raised some gorgeous, gifted, smart, hilariously funny, and really, really, ridiculously good looking humans. They're happy and successful people in their own right who are now raising their own families in their own creative and spectacular fashion. So there's that.

I've gained and lost fortunes, been fat, been thin, been fit and strong. Won some battles. Learned some excruciatingly hard lessons. Traveled to some amazing and beautiful places on this big blue marble called Earth. Grieved the loss of loved ones. Celebrated the triumphs of others. Fallen in and out of love, or at least infatuation a few times...Fallen on my behind a thousand times and gotten back up when everything in me said "Don't. You can't. It's too hard. Just lie here. You're exhausted. You're alone. You're too scared. Stay down." That voice is a dream slayer. 
And I can't seem to stop dreaming.
So I keep getting up.
Call it an exercise in the audacity of hope.

Adventure in the great wide somewhere...

So here I sit on the edge of 52 looking over into the next phase of my life.
Wondering why I didn't write this sort of thing at 50? That's the big one, right?
Here's why: When I was nineteen, my mother was 52. 
She was 52 when she went into Bryn Mawr Hospital for treatment of cardiomyopathy, atrial fibrillation and blood clots, developed pneumonia/congestive heart failure and never came out. 
At 52, she transitioned, crossed over, went home, whatever you want to call it.  I watched her die looking into my father's eyes - and life as I knew it changed forever.

So what does that have to do with me at 52? I'm fit, strong, in ridiculously good health, routinely mistaken for ten years younger than I am. How is this relevant? 

See, there's no roadmap from here. I'm winging it. Although, truth be told, I've been flying without a safety net pretty much since that day in October, when I was nineteen and everything changed.  
There's a part of me that's angry with her. 
I know- It's not cool to be mad at the dead, to speak ill of the dead. But the fact remains that there'a a part of me that is flat out angry at her. Because she knew she had a congenital heart disease. She knew. And she smoked. She didn't eat well. She didn't do even the minimal exercise she was allowed, which would have strengthened her and kept her with us. 
 So she checked out at 52, when I was nineteen and I still needed her. 
I still needed her. 


When I was younger I did the same. I smoked, despite watching practically everyone in my family drop dead from heart disease. I ate like crap and comforted myself with food. I didn't take care of me. I was stupid. I was scared and depressed. My kids saved my life a hundred times over just by their very existence. I gained and lost a ton of weight. It wasn't until I was 45 and my granddaughter, Marley looked up at me with her gorgeous eyes that I made a firm decision that I was not checking out. My kids may have missed the grandmother experience, but my grandbabies would not.  I did my first 5k obstacle run at 46.

That's why I'm committed to fitness and helping others achieve their weight loss and fitness goals. That's why I bore you with endless workout and inspiration posts on all of my social media. 
Because it's too important to *not* check out on people who need you. You may not even realize how much they need you. You never know who your smile or kind word is affecting. The lady you chatted up in Costco may have been despairing until you told her how lovely she looked today. The girl at the CVS with the three screaming kids may have felt totally alone until you said, "Boy, do I remember those days- It gets better, I promise." 



So what's next? 
Who knows. 
There's no road-map from here.
Let's wing it. 
Have Adventures. 
Fly without a net.
Love people.
Be present.
You and I are the Ambassadors of the Audacity of Hope.

Finding Beauty in the Mundane

Hello Darlings!
So I've been a bit blocked and doing some excavation. In digging through my past writings, I found a series of exercises I did during one particularly brutal bout of writer's block.
One exercise in particular caught my attention. 
I thought it rather good, if I may say so. 

Even though it is years old, it speaks to my current belief that part of my mission in life is to inspire people to be better. Not to do more, to be better. Not to have more, but to be better. Inside. I firmly believe the road to that goal is paved in moments. Everyday, mundane, ain't-no-big-thing moments. 

So I'm sharing one with you that I think is pretty relatable. 

Prompt: Write 400-500 words about a less than remarkable aspect of your life.

  Laundry.

 

It’s heavy. The basket, I mean. I look down the murky stairwell of my ivory tower and sigh at the thought of descending, step by burdened step, out into the irksome damp. I wish for the grace of those straight backed African women who can fluidly tip a basket to the top of their head and stride boldly with swinging arms. I am not so graceful. So, I schlump down the steps, listing like a drunken sailor, and fall out the front door. Juggling basket, soap and big hips, I cross the street. Moving as if shackled, I trudge up the ramp into the Laundromat and collapse in a heap of weariness and my son’s BVD’s.

Breathe. Just get it done.

Fetch a big, wheely basket and transfer the tangled mess of jeans and hoodies/ Load the machines: light, dark, colors, three in a row. Add soap and quarters, and breathe. 

In the bottom of the basket is a book. Excellent. Sit on beach blue molded plastic and transport to somewhere else. Outstanding.

The damned buzzer rings. Stupid, shrill call back to here. Drag up and back to the wheely basket to dredge the soggy lump down and skate over to the cavernous dryer. Brush off the sudden urge to climb in there in the hopes that it’s actually a teleportation device, cleverly disguised. Load damp clothes in, insert quarters, go! Breathe.

Back to the awkward chair and the book. Gone. No smell of bleach remains. No rumble of machinery, no coughing old man can penetrate the force field of gorgeous prose that enters through my eyes and insulates me utterly. Longer, this time, the respite before the cranking whine of the slowing dryer calls me back. Look lingeringly at the page and, sighing, arise to unwanted duty.

Open the door. Roll away the stone. Suddenly I’m fogged over in the enveloping scent of clean and warm. Breathe in. It’s good. Move the suddenly unburdensome burden to the chest high table and begin to make order of the chaos.  Jumbled pile of color becomes pristine stripes of folded precision. This isn’t so bad. Suddenly, there are only skyscrapers of warm, perfect clothes.

Carefully place each square in the basket. Breathe. Lift the weighty, clean smelling basket onto one big hip and stride back across the street, soap swinging from the free arm. Smile.

Perhaps grace in motion is a state of mind after all. Ascend lightly the stairs from dark into light and place careful rectangles at the foot of each bed. Wonderful emptiness in the basket, except for the battered book. 

Excellent. 

Breathe. 

"Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water." ~Zen Proverb

Namaste, 

Shanna

Feathering the Empty Nest... What Now?

The empty nest.

Some parents dread it.

Some parents can’t wait.

Let’s be honest, some parents haven’t experienced it yet, though their kids are in their thirties.

But I think most feel a combination of the dread and anticipation embodied in the single question:

What now?

What indeed.

There are a million decisions to be made. Correction, there are a million choices to be made. You see, your children are adults now. Your choices no longer possess the urgency they did when you were making decisions for them as well. Relax. Breathe. You now have the time to do both. You don’t have to sell the house and move to Boca Raton. At least not now. Hold off on buying the bejeweled track suit just yet. Relax. Breathe.

It’s time to take stock.

Let’s look at the things you no longer have to do. You no longer have to pick up socks from random places socks were never meant to be. You no longer have to sew Halloween costumes that absolutely must look like an authentic Jedi uniform. You no longer have to wipe boogers, catch spit-out food barehanded or clean up projectile vomiting. You never have to change another diaper as long as you live. You are no one’s chauffer, maid, personal assistant, chef, party planner, personal shopper, ATM or nurse. Now if you’re like me, this is a mixed blessing. I don’t miss the boogers. I do miss the little face looking up at me as if I could fix everything that came attached to said boogers. Those little faces have already gone through the “Mom’s-so-dumb-she-doesn’t-know-anything” teenage years and now look at me as I am – a flawed human who did the best she could and still has a few pearls of wisdom to dispense.

So now you have been fired from the countless jobs you had when your children lived at home. Congratulations! You’ve done well. Ultimately, your job a parent is to put yourself out of a job.

Yay! You did it. You raised self-sufficient human beings. The question remains- What now?

Taking Stock – Three Lists

Whether you are elated, miserable or some combination of the two over your empty nest, the fact remains that you now have some expendable time. Let’s think way back, before you had children. What did you love to do, when you were just you and no one’s parent?  Make a list. Revisit those things to see if they still hold any charm for you. Now let’s try thinking back over the twenty plus years you were raising your children. How many times did you see something, a trip, a business opportunity, an idea for a great book, or a chance to volunteer that you were unable to pursue because you chose to be fully present for those little people you brought into the world. Make another list. Finally, let’s recall all those crazy, harebrained schemes you wouldn’t dare even entertain the thought of doing while you had kids at home. Sky diving? Bungee jumping? White-water rafting? Ok, maybe not so extreme. How about running a marathon, taking a meditation retreat to an ashram, or chucking your corporate gig to open your own business? All possibilities are on the table. Make a third list. Good. Now let’s get moving.

Taking Action – Three Dares

Now you have three lists of things that, if pursued wholeheartedly, will fully use your ability, passion and talent as well as using up your expendable time. 

Your next step is to choose one item from each list. Take your time and really mull over which item on each list calls to your soul. Which items will give you a real sense of accomplishment?  Then dare yourself. Double-dare yourself. No, let’s not be wishy-washy, triple-dog-dare yourself to do those three things. Give yourself a time line. Write it down and place it where you will see it every day. For example: “I, (your name), will relearn how to ride horseback, become a volunteer at the animal shelter and run a half marathon by exactly one year from today.” Sign it and date it. This is your contract with yourself. You are reclaiming yourself as something more than someone’s parent. Honor that promise to yourself as you would honor a promise you made to your children. It is that important. No, don’t argue. It is. 

Now you’ve answered the three small questions that make up the big question: What now?

Specifically: What have I accomplished so far? What is possible? What is my next step?

You have also made a commitment to yourself to pursue three things that are for you and only you. You are re-feathering your empty nest in your own beautiful colors.

You no longer have to pick up socks from random places socks were never meant to be. You no longer have to wipe boogers, catch spit-out food barehanded or clean up projectile vomiting. You never have to change another diaper as long as you live…. 

Until the grandchildren arrive.

Enjoy!