Breaking the Silence

So…it’s been a minute. My last blog entry was at the end of July. A lot has happened since then. Like, A LOT. I’ve been wanting to jump back into blogging and have tried more than once, but I know there’s something that needs to be addressed before I start “normal” posts again. It simply wouldn’t feel right if I went on in this thing as though a significant life event had not occurred. So I’ll talk about it and I’ll probably cry while I do so, but I’ll talk about it. I feel like I have to.

Besides moving twice since July - yeah, you read that right. Don’t even ask. - and really wrestling with sudden and inexplicable bouts of depression, the end of summer/beginning of fall were already a lot to handle. I was missing family, missing friends in NH. I missed going to church and seeing people in general. I wasn’t feeling like me some days, and I was having a really hard time. In September it got a whole lot worse.

Most people know by now that my mom passed away suddenly and unexpectedly late September 2. We knew she was sick, had been sick for close to two years, and wasn’t in her best condition. But she was still “okay.” So when I got the call from my brother that night telling me she was gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Some days I still don’t. It’s been almost two months and it still feels like I just talked to her yesterday. But it also feels like she’s been gone for so long.

Before I moved I had people, family, insinuating that my decision to leave NH was selfish. Mom was sick. Who was going to take care of her? Who was going to take care of my dad if anything happened to her? Guilt tried to change my mind but in the end, I made the decision I felt was right. Ultimately, Mom helped me come to peace with that decision. She wasn’t thrilled I was moving in with my boyfriend. Many weren’t and didn’t have a problem telling me so and why. But in the moment I wrestled most with it, a moment after I was already gone, Mom told me to stop it. She asked if I was happy, if I was as healthy as I could be, and if Conrad was treating me right. I said yes to all of the above, and her exact words were, “Then stop it.” Meaning stop feeling guilty.

The night she died, all that guilt came rushing back ten fold, and it hasn’t really left. It’s changed as the days have passed, taking on different monikers, sometimes faces. I feel guilty for not being there when it happened. I feel guilty for not being there for my dad now. I feel guilty for making my brother take Mom’s place as Dad’s caretaker, and for making him take over in general, especially when work isn’t cooperating, hours aren’t adding up, and they’re having trouble paying rent. I feel incredibly guilty. I’m trying not to, but I’ve always been the caretaker. And not being there, being unable to help, makes me feel awful.

And I miss my mom. So. Much. We didn’t always have the best relationship, and goodness knows we didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was my mom. There hasn’t been a day since she died that I haven’t thought of her. In the past few weeks I’ve started having the daily urge to call her. Like, you’d think after a few days my brain would catch on, but no. I’ll be making dinner, walking the dog, or even writing, and my brain will go, “I haven’t heard from Mom in awhile. I should call her.” It’s a split second thought that I can never catch quick enough and it always hurts.

Basically, I’m a mess. I’m still here, but I’m a mess. Every day, to some degree. I’m still writing, in fact I’ve actually started a brand new thriller project, but it’s also a mess. I’m trying to get back into a good writing schedule, trying to get back into working on the podcast, trying to allow myself good days and not feel guilty for those. But it’s hard.

In two weeks I’ll be back in NH for an early Thanksgiving with the family. I’d already made plans to go with Conrad for the actual Thanksgiving and had discussed it with Mom some time ago. Growing up, we hardly ever celebrated holidays on the actual day she she didn’t care if it was early. I wasn’t planning on going back up so soon after being there for her service, but someone incredibly generous bought me a ticket back, no questions asked and no strings attached. Hopefully because of that I’ll be able to get back for Christmas.

Anyway, this is starting to turn into a personal journal ramble and I have always wanted to try to keep this blog semi-professional. I just wanted to let everyone know where I’ve been, where I am now, and where things are hopefully going. Thank you all for understanding my silence and sticking with me. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. Hopefully normal blogs will resume sometime soon.

10 Hard Facts I Learned from Social Media Fasting (and One Beautiful Truth)

Sometime about six weeks ago I realized something was wrong. Every single day, I was waking up feeling anxious, depressed, more tired than I had any reason to be, and cloaked by a general weight of hopelessness. It didn’t make any sense. I had a man who loved me deeper and more genuinely than anyone ever has before, a sweet puppy to snuggle, a roof over my head, and food in the fridge. Yes, I was missing other human beings. Of course I was. Who hasn’t been? But the feelings I was wrestling with still weren’t making any sense. So I did what I always did: rolled out of bed, got my coffee, sat down on the couch to do my usual routine. Instagram first, because it always makes me smile. Timehop, then email. Next was Facebook. Oh, hello creeping sense of rage and frustration. Let’s switch to Twitter. Well good morning, disgust, fear, and “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore,” syndrome! Let’s go back to Facebook. Maybe I’ll feel better when I’m not reading tweets about who’s being canceled this week and I’m just comparing myself to everyone posting status updates about how they’re making the most of quarantine and solving world hunger.

Huh. Okay, I’m beginning to see the problem.

It was then that I realized these apps I use to “keep in touch” with people were making me feel worse about my life than I had any right to feel. So I deleted them from my phone. And so, for the past five weeks, I have not scrolled my Facebook feed or checked Twitter tags. And I am stunned at how much lighter I feel. I’ve also realized some things I don’t think I would have realized had I still been so entrenched in the FoMO that kept me scrolling minute after minute.

1. No One Cares

   This sounds like a really harsh and obvious attention seeking statement, but at its very base level, it’s true. No one cares about every little thing I’m thinking in the moment, or what I made for dinner, or that it’s hotter down here than I was prepared for, or that my neighbors are terrible human beings. No. One. Cares. At least, not as much as I do. Any you know what? That’s okay. That’s actually a good thing. If people were hanging on my every typed word, I’d start to question the sanity of my friends and family.

2. It’s a Waste of Time

   Before I took the apps off my phone, not only would I wake up and start scrolling, but I’d scroll if I found myself with a few minutes in between projects, in a moment of writer’s block or needing to let an idea marinate. I’d open the apps in the bathroom, or while making dinner, or if the boyfriend was on his phone, or really, any spare moment I could. Except those moments never just stayed moments. They’d turn into minutes, which quickly add up. It’s embarrassing to say, but I would not be in the least bit surprised if my accumulated time during the day was two or more hours. TWO HOURS. I could have done so much more with that time.

3. It’s Addictive

   I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to stop scrolling and reading, but my brain just kept my finger moving and telling me, “just one more post.” Even when all I was seeing were stupid memes, or political posts, or articles, and none of it contained a real, actual life update from the people I was supposedly on there to keep touch with. I’d find myself opening Twitter in idle moments without even thinking about it because my brain had trained itself to do that. Why? What was I getting out of any of it that was beneficial to me? Nothing, that’s what.

4. It Kills Self-Confidence

   I learned a long time ago that Facebook is where you lie about how great your life is and Twitter is where you just complain about anything, everything, and everyone. Where Twitter depressed me because everyone’s lives were crap, Facebook depressed me because my life wasn’t anywhere near as wonderful as everyone else. I didn’t have the partner* who randomly cleaned the house, got me iced coffee and flowers, made dinner, and had the kids all dressed in matching outfits, family-selfie ready. I didn’t make the perfect meal. I wasn’t making masks or going to protests. I wasn’t raising money for charity, and I certainly wasn’t losing weight. What the heck was I doing with my life? I’m just a fat, lazy, uncaring, gross human being who was a large waste of space. I am not measuring up to anyone on my feed. Clearly, I never would.

5. It Made me Feel More Homesick Than Not

   Y’all, it’s hard moving away from everything and everyone you love to start a life in a totally new place with only one familiar person in your day to day. I thought seeing friends and family, reading about everything they were doing, would make me feel closer to them. And it did for a little while. But then, it made me realize just how far away I was. All the stories I was seeing online, all the pictures, the game nights I was missing (for a few months, anyway)…these things I was seeing on Facebook were things I used to be part of. In person. Sometimes I’d even talk to someone on the phone or over Skype and a subject would come up I didn’t know about. The response would be, “Well I posted it on Facebook.” and that sucked. It hurts, honestly. We’ve stopped communicating with each other the way we were meant to, leaving it up to social media to let people into our lives. It made me feel so much father away from everyone than 1,000 miles.

6. It Fuels Rage and Anxiety

   Have you ever noticed how right everyone is? No one is ever wrong. Myself included. We’re always right, we are incredibly entitled, and no one else’s opinion matters unless it lines up with our own. Anyone who thinks otherwise, anyone who dares to publicly challenge a stated “fact” is then shut down at best, shamed, or, at worst case, ganged up on by a swarm of other indignants to show you just how wrong you are and make you feel like the lowest of the low. The real winners are the ones who say something along the lines of, “You should just kill yourself to rid the world of your stupidity.” Yeah, that’s an actual thing I’ve had thrown at me for disagreeing with an opinion stated on a post they didn’t even write. The internet can be a beautiful place full of knowledge and revelations, but take one step out of place and you wind up in an incredibly toxic universe.

7. It Takes Me Out of the Moment

   So many times I have been experiencing something amazing, terrible, or in between, and my first thought was, “I should post about this.” My thoughts were on my social media accounts, wondering how many likes or comments I’d get if I said whatever inane thing had come to my head that, in the moment, I thought was so brilliant. Instead of enjoying the moment and breathing it in, or sitting with the discomfort of a bad moment, or even just the rare quiet of a down or “boring” moment, I’m missing the moment. It’s passing me by as I type away on my phone. I’m ignoring the beauty that could be found, the revelation in the silence, and the understanding that could come from unrest. Honestly, this was the worst of my realizations.

8. It Kills Personal Relationships

   How many times has someone been talking to you while you’re on your phone and you’ve found yourself going, “Huh…what?" You realize you’re not listening so you click off your phone and put it away, but even then you’re still not really listening because your mind is on the very thing that was distracting you in the first place. How many times have you been on the other end of that and found yourself frustrated over the lack of attention you were being given? Pretty sure we can all raise our hands to both. We’ve stopped “whole-face” listening. Heck, we’re not even half-faced listening most of the time anymore.

9. FoMO - Fear of Missing Out

   I found this more prevalent when it came to Twitter than Facebook. What if I miss something big happening in the news or the entertainment world? What if someone I follow, some editor or agent, says they’re now open to submissions and I miss my chance? What if one of my friends is having a bad day and a silly gif from me could help turn it all around? What if I miss my shot at getting retweeted by someone famous?! I mean! Insert the biggest eye roll in history here. It creates this never ending, ever growing sense of anxiety that I am somehow going to miss out on something immeasurably important if I am not constantly checking my feeds. It’s the need to know everything about everything all the time, and it’s so unhealthy.

10. It Begs for Word Vomit

    When we, as humans, believe we have a platform, we will talk about anything we feel we want to for as long as we can, and without censor. We feel justified in our feelings and opinions, entitled to our thoughts, and justified in sharing them with the world. With righteous indignation to fuel us, we spew out words that harm instead of help, and we feel no remorse. In fact, we’re silently begging for confrontation. The day I found myself getting into an argument with someone on Facebook and refreshing the page every ten seconds to see if they replied so I could leave an even smarter reply, I knew I had a problem.

Social media can bring us together when it’s used correctly. I had hoped with the world in chaos as it is that Facebook and Twitter, all the other social media outlets, would be filled with love, compassion, and support for our fellow human beings. Instead, it has become filled with vitriol and arrogance. And quite honestly, it makes me terribly sad.

Because my new book is being released soon, I’m coming back to the world of social media, but at a very limited capacity. I’m keeping Facebook off my phone and have already cut my list of friends by more than half. I’m going to block certain topics on Twitter and I’m weeding out that list as well. The second I feel myself sliding backward, they’re gone. I have too much to worry about without needlessly adding to it all.

If you’ve never done a social media fast, I encourage you to give it a try. You’ll be amazed at the beauty you find when your eyes aren’t glued to a screen, the words God will whisper in your ear when you’re not listening to another random video, and the in-person relationships that will overshadow the virtual ones.

Before I leave this post, I did promise the one beautiful truth. It actually ties in with number 4 and the little * I left in there. What I realized during this fast was that some of the best moments are the ones you don’t want to share with the world. Or anyone else, for that matter. They’re perfect just as they are and involve exactly who they should, no more and no less. And those are memories I don’t need to share on the internet to always remember.

* For the record, I have an amazing boyfriend who is always looking for ways to make me happy, smile, and feel better about myself just the way I am. I have never felt so blessed in life as I have having him to love and love me back. I would never want that picture perfect family because, man, can you imagine the upkeep?

Project Grateful

Y’all, it’s been a year. I will say it again, it has been a year! Now, I know there are still three months to go but three months ago I felt like I’d been through enough for an entire year already, maybe even two. There have been some really sweet, positive things to happen in 2019, but the sad fact of the matter is that there were far more negative moments than not. It’s been a wonderful and rare day that provided no stress, worry, or heavy burden to carry. Because of this, it’s become entirely too easy for me to focus on those negative things in my day.

Now, I’ve been in recovery groups long enough to know the actual science behind negative thinking. It is not unlike addiction itself, burrowing new pathways into your brain that soon become deeper than those that lean toward the positive. Before you know it, you see all the things that are bad and wrong far easier than all the beautiful moments peppered throughout the days. And the more you complain, the more you obsess, the more you see more dark than light.

I have fallen victim to this. If asked, I could name at least ten things each day that suck, or have gone wrong, or have irritated me. Heck, you don’t even have to ask me and I’ll gladly name them for you.

When did I become this person? This is not who I used to be. It’s not who I want to be now. No wonder I’ve been so depressed and anxious. I’m so hyper-focused on all the things that are “bad” that it’s become all I see. I used to be this optimistic, bubbly, happy person. I miss her. I’m sure those I keep close miss her, too.

In the spirit of trying to get back to that person I once was, I’m starting something I’m calling “Project Grateful.” I’m sure it’s been used before and many times over, but this is me not caring.

I started a journal last year where I’d list positive things as they happened. The habit never actually formed so my updates are few and far between. I’m going to try writing in it again. Every day. Even on the hard ones. Especially on the hard ones. I want to reform positive neuro pathways and fill in the negative ones. Not only am I going to use my journal but I’m going to take a picture a day so I have a way to look back in a more tangible way when I’m struggling to find my positivity.

If you’re interested in following along, I’ll be posting pics on my Instagram which will also go to my Twitter. I encourage you to join in and do your own project. You’ll be surprised how quickly your attitude and point of view change.

Head Above Water

How are you?

It’s a question I’ve been getting asked a lot lately, mostly through texts or messages. Nine times out of ten I have ignored the question or just chosen not to respond. Not because I don’t want to talk to anyone or I’m being rude. It sounds ridiculous to say but lately, even just returning a text is too much for me. It leads to conversation and conversation is not a thing I am up for right now. And honestly, it changes so frequently that I don’t know how to honestly answer. I may be great one minute and then bawling my eyes out the next.

This year has been kind of a nightmare and we’re still only halfway through.

Between my mom’s cancer, coming to accept her decision about her treatment, my dad’s stroke, him coming home and seeing him have to relearn things like a preschool kid, him going back in the hospital for a severe infection, my brother’s vacillation between helpfulness, severe depression, and rage, me being a taxi and running errands for two adults I don’t even live with, really struggling with the loneliness and separation of a long distance relationship, and taking care of my own health issues… I’m tired. I am so tired and overwhelmed. And I’m gonna be honest, I’m really wrestling with my faith in all of this.

I hate to even admit to that because my relationship with God, my ability to go to Him with anything and everything and know it’s going to be all right even when it seems life is at its darkest, has always been the thing that keeps me from drowning. Right now, that’s not there. I have a lot of hurt, confusion, even anger. I don’t understand why any of this is happening, let alone why it’s all happening at the same time. I just don’t understand, and I’m struggling to remind myself that God is good no matter what.

Most of the time when people ask how you are, it’s a polite societal impulse. We don’t really want to know how the other person is really doing but we ask because it’s what we’re supposed to do. You get your very surfacy answer, nothing too deep, and you move on. For most of you who have asked how I am, I know this is not the case. I know you’re asking and checking in on me out of love and concern. And I apologize for being a sucky friend and not keeping you up to date, but it’s hard to make this admission over and over.

How are you?

Honestly, I am a complete mess. But I’m doing my best to not get pulled under.

In September of last year, Avril Lavine released her first song after a long period of silence.It’s nothing like she’s ever released before, speaking of needing God to keep her from drowning and how much of a struggle it is to see through to the other side of the storm. It’s a gorgeous song with lyrics that just so perfectly encapsulate how I’m feeling.

So that’s how I am. I’m praying, sincerely praying, the rest of this year goes a little bit smoother, and that my faith will grow through all of this turbulence.

Next post will be back to the usual writing-centric stuff you’ve come to expect from me. I just needed to get this out to give myself some release. Thanks for understanding.

Where HAVE You Been?

This is the voice I hear in my head each time I think about updating this blog, the sweet, angry, concerned, demanding voice of Miss Molly Weasley. And really, that would be fair of all of you to scream at me. I kind of disappeared for a good few months and for that, I apologize. Much has happened since my last update, some of it good, a lot of it not, and it’s kept me silent for quite some time. This is my attempt at a brief explanation and getting back into the swing of things.

Personal Crap

I say crap but not all of it has been crap. We’ll start with that anyway because it’s good to end on something that is better than crap. Near the beginning of the year, we found out my mother has Adenocarcinoma, which is stage 3 lung cancer. What seemed like pneumonia over Christmas was actually something much worse. She’s getting nontraditional treatments that seem to be working for her and will soon be tested to see where things are at. Just a week ago, my dad had a severe stroke. He’s having trouble speaking and has issues with his right side, but he’s committed to working hard in rehab and make the lifestyle changes he needs to in order to live a healthier life when he gets home. There have been other personal issues going on that have been consuming as well, but I’m not going to go into them. I’ve been struggling a lot with depression and anxiety and have often isolated myself. It’s just not been a great year so far.

One of the bright spots in my life has been a new relationship. But it’s also been time consuming (though in the best possible way). I’m also working on a project for AoV that takes up a lot of my time and brain power, and I cannot wait to share it with you. Which is a perfect lead-in to…

Writing Crap

I know a lot of you are still anxiously awaiting the release of book four. I’m itching to get it to you! Unfortunately I lost my editor over the fall which has been a major setback. Though I’ve been looking for someone new, my funds are rather limited and not everyone wants to work for free - nor should they. So I’m doing my best to self-edit and am currently on draft one-hundred-billion-point-2, trying to make it as close to perfect as possible. Thankfully my editor taught me a lot in the way she went through my previous books, showing me things to watch out for and helping me pick up on things that need to be considered. Once I’m done with this draft I will be sending it out to two or three beta readers, likely do yet another draft or two, maybe do another beta read and one more draft, and then I intend to publish it myself.

But Diana, you said you weren’t self-publishing anymore!!!!!!

I did say that, yes. My plan was to pursue traditional publishing, thus the reason for taking my books offline. My thoughts on that have changed over the course of my two weekends at the New Hampshire Renaissance Faire. I spoke to quite a few fellow authors and aspiring authors who shared their journeys of publishing with me. Two of them worked at bigger publishing houses before branching off to start their own. At their advisement (and that of my unfairly smart boyfriend), I’m going to keep on this road with AoV. Anything else I write that is outside of this series, that is what I need to seek traditional publishing for. No one will look at my books because they’ve been self published, and I understand why. But if I can make a name for myself with something else, attention will then fall to my series and a publishing deal is more likely to happen. So the books are back on Amazon for purchase, and this time next year, this is my promise, I will have Age of Valor: Blood Purge ready for all of you to get your hands on.

At this time I would like to point your attention to my Patreon! It’s a bit outdated as far as goals and subscription tiers go, but that will be fixed this week. Subscribers will be able to see cover art sketches and the actual covers before they are released to the public. You’ll get news about the super secret project. You’ll get to vote in polls that could have an impact on plot lines and possibly even help me shape a character or two. You’ll even get snippets of works in progress, and much more.

So, with all of that having been said, thank you for your continued support. I’m going to make a real effort to keep up with all of you a lot more from now on.

Invisible Assassins

You can't see them, but you know they're there. They make sure of that. Sometimes they begin their work in small, subtle ways. Sometimes they come roaring in like a hungry bear just waking from a long hibernation. They take pleasure in the kill no matter their tactic as they destroy your motivation, your focus, your ability to comprehend and maintain some semblance of normalcy. As the minutes tick by and your energy drains, they take pleasure in knowing each time you fake a smile or a laugh, all you really want to do is curl up in bed and cry or sleep for a hundred years. They attack men and women alike, older and younger as the days go by, and because they are invisible, they are often dismissed by those that do not fight them off themselves. The medical professionals lump them all into one category called  "chronic pain," but for those of us who battle them every single day, they are invisible assassins.

Mine began plaguing me several years ago in the form of an inflammatory disease called Costochondritis. This is when the cartilage between the ribs becomes irritated and so inflamed that even the smallest amount of pressure can feel like a jolt of electricity is being sent through my body. Even wearing a bra can be intolerable on days when it's bad. One time, my dad poked me in the ribs because he didn't know I was having a day and whatever happened on my face and to my body must have scared the living daylights out of him because he just froze as his eyes bugged out. I turned white as a sheet and my eyes filled with tears, and my mother hastily explained why what he had just done was the wrong thing to do. It comes and goes. I'm happy to say it is an infrequent occurrence these days, but when it does come around, it definitely camps out for a few days and likes to be as strong a presence as possible.

Lately, I've been dealing with some unexplained nerve pain. A neurologist I went to a while back said it was Fibromyalgia. I knew it wasn't. My new Neuro knew it wasn't. It's idiopathic, meaning no one can figure out the source or cause, which 40% of chronic nerve pain is. I don't know if she told me that in the hope of making me feel better about it, but it didn't. Didn't make me feel worse, but it definitely didn't make me feel better. All I know is that I have certain spots on both arms, hands, my back, and my left leg that are sensitive to the touch. When I say sensitive, I mean to the point that even washing my hands brought me to tears because the simple feeling of a gentle stream of water on them made my bones feel like they were shattering. Still does at times. So I stand in the bathroom and cry until it's out of my system, collect myself, and go back out to rejoin life. I don't do it to be deceitful, I do it because, frankly, I don't want to dwell on it, I don't want to complain, and no one can fix it for me anyway, so why bring it up?

As of this morning, I'm on day four of waking up with deep nerve pain in my left tricep. It literally feels like fingers are reaching into my arm and trying to pull the muscle from the bone. I'm exhausted. I'm sad. I'm...so sad. There are things I want to do with my life, and for some reason, God is letting me go through this right now, leading me down this path that seems so contrary to the path I want to be going down. I don't quite get it. But that's not the reason why I wanted to write this post.

We talk to dozens of people throughout our days, our weeks. Be aware of people. Be kind to people. I promise you that those in your life who make you smile the most, who go out of their way to be helpful or kind are often the ones who are hurting the most, and they're the ones who are the best at hiding it. That's just how it seems to work out. Just...love one another and have patience. We're all so busy rushing around and it's only going to get worse as the holidays approach.

Don't judge people based on what you think you know.

Breathe.
Relax.
Love.

As we like to say at CenterPoint, go be a blessing. You don't know who needs it today.

Practicing the Pause

My father has never been a very patient man. If you asked him, he'd be the first to admit it. He hates sitting in traffic, complains loudly over the commercials that come before theatrical trailers, and mumbles, mutters, and curses under his breath when something isn't finished when he believes it should be. Out of all the traits I have inherited from my dad, I am thankful this was not one of them. The thing is, he's not alone in his impatience. While I may be more of a “go with the flow” type of person, there are many people who are the complete opposite.

This morning, I decided to walk down to my local craft store. Unless it's a holiday or there is a major sale going on, it's unusual for more than a couple of people to be in line, especially on a Monday morning. For some reason, today the store was packed. Even with multiple registers open, the line was quite long. When I was ready to check out, there were five people in front of me with more people quickly falling into line behind me. One of them was an elderly gentleman. He heaved a great big sigh behind me when he saw how much of a wait there was. It was the first of many. His impatience was not hard to understand. I certainly hadn't expected the store to be so busy. As more and more sighs sounded behind me, I was torn between amusement and annoyance. We all needed to buy things. We were all stuck in the line if we were intent on purchasing the things we wanted. How was expressing irritation over and over helping? It did nothing but make me feel rushed and cause his wife to question whether or not she really needed the things she had in her cart.

A trip to Market Basket is always a lesson in patience, no matter the time of day. There are people everywhere. All the time. No matter what. I have learned to go in with the expectation that it's going to be chaotic, and rushing will only raise my already high anxiety level. (Little known fact about me: grocery shopping stresses me out, and by stresses me out, I mean I would rather sit naked on broken glass than grocery shop because it raises my anxiety level so much.) I had a list with me, as I always do, and was strolling through each aisle, grabbing what I needed, waiting when people were in my way to move before taking what I needed. As it seems to happen when I grocery shop, I kept going down the same aisle with the same people, one particular woman standing out. She was quite a bit larger than me, and tended to walk (and park) her cart right down the middle of the lane, making people either have to wait for her or shimmy around her if they could. We happened to be down the frozen veggies aisle together at the same time, both of us heading for the other end. An elderly couple entered the way we were looking to exit and stopped to discuss whether or not they wanted frozen tilapia. The woman with the cart stopped, waiting for the couple to move. They blocked the aisle as they talked for all of fifteen seconds at most, a much shorter time than her own record for blocking the way. Instead of politely asking if either of them would step aside, she let out a loud, obnoxious growl, whipped her cart around, nearly taking me out in the process, and stomped back down the aisle saying rather rude things about impolite people who don't take anyone else into consideration in a loud voice.

How many times do we do this? How often are we oblivious to the ways we hold other people up, yet feel impatient, angered, even outraged and abused when we feel like someone else is hindering our ability to accomplish or complete something? Why do we feel like we deserve to have every want and need met the second we realize it is there, but if we see a want and need in someone else, we react to fill them with much less speed and conviction than our own? I don't have any real answers for this, but it's something I intend to be more aware of. This “righteous indignation” that tends to take root when we are faced with obstacles that remove situations and outcomes from our control gets us nowhere. What of, instead of huffing away or sighing loud enough so that everyone knows you're unhappy, we took a breath? What if we paused?

Life moves so quickly and we've become so accustomed to getting what we want exactly when we want it. It's killed our ability to wait and made patience practically an antiquated ideal. We rush through everything, looking for the quickest way and in doing so, we sacrifice so much: experiences, memories, interactions. Sometimes our inability to take a second before reacting makes us say or do things we wouldn't normally, simply because we're giving knee-jerk reactions.

Practice the pause before you give that tell-tale sigh. Practice the pause before you speak. Practice the pause. Let it be the action that comes before your reaction. It isn't easy. I'm working on doing this myself, and I'll be the first to tell you that it doesn't feel natural. I can also tell you that it's incredibly freeing to not be bound by impatience and frustration.

I'm in the middle of a rather long pause myself, and it's certainly testing my patience. Unfortunately, this has not been a good year for book sales and I'm definitely feeling the pinch of it. In the breath before the exhale, I wait to see what's going to happen instead of jumping ahead, opening my mouth before I take a second to think and make things worse. I'm going to try to do that more often. Hopefully others will do the same.

The Cute Girl at the Gym

How many of us feel, on a normal day, that we look good? How many of us feel like we'll pass but get no high marks? How many of us think we look like we rolled out of bed at 2 a.m. with one eye sealed shut by sleepy goo and the other one wide open with the pupil dilated for no good reason all day? If you're like most women, you fall in the middle. You feel okay in what you're wearing. Your hair is fine. Your make up, if you chose to wear make up at all, doesn't look like it was done by a three-year-old so, yay! Overall win for you! What about when you go to the gym? Yeah...totally different story.

Every time I go, I look at myself in those huge stupid mirrors on the other side of the room and hear this little voice in my head that says I don't belong there. Because, you know, the gym is for skinny beautiful people who really just go because they're narcissistic and like to watch their muscles flex in those evil mirrors and make kissy faces at their own reflections. Before you tell me I'm wrong, I'll beat you to it by saying I know that is not the case. Always.

I went to the gym tonight for the first time since getting my heart monitor on three weeks ago, and boy did my body feel it. I was sweating, my round, bean shaped face was red, I was panting like Tom Hiddleston had just come in the room, I had a bandana on my head to cover my sweat-drenched hair that makes me look even more balding than I really am. I mean...messy, gross, and not feeling all too great about myself. But I was there. I kept telling myself that. I was there, and that mattered.

And then I saw her.

Here I am, this four-foot-eleven-inch tomato doubled over on a glutes machine as I try to push and extend, the wheezing coming out of my mouth reminiscent of a chain smoker on her death bed, and this petite little blonde girl walks over near my station. She's got the classic all black ensemble of skin tight yoga pants and black sports tank. Her hair (which was totally dyed, I'm sure) was curled in that way some women can do, making it look effortless and natural even though it would take me at least five hours to get it done right and then it would fall pin straight five minutes later. Her make up was done beautifully and she had ruby red lips that glittered when the unnaturally bright lights above her caught the top coat of gloss she'd applied at one point.

I hate you, was the first thought that ran through my mind, subsequently and immediately followed by, I hate myself. For once, I was able to get my thoughts out of that dark place fairly quickly and direct them to a more healthy place: back on the girl. What? It was healthier for me at the moment. I scowled at her with my inner Gremlin, thinking, Really? You have to come here looking like that when the rest of us feel like gross piles of slime? I actually stewed in my irritation for the rest of the thirty minute circuit I was on, watching every male head turn in her direction when she passed them, blissfully unaware. It wasn't until I was driving home that grace tried to edge its way into my heart.

Once upon a time, I had a friend who could not do anything menial without looking cute. I mean, cute outfit, cute hair, full on makeup. She literally could not leave her apartment if these things were not in place, and it was because she had so little confidence in herself. I was one of the lucky few to see her without all her trappings (pun fully intended) and got to see how vulnerable, uncertain, and uncomfortable she was in her own skin. When she was all done up, even to go do laundry, she was a totally different person. She was sure of herself, funny, easy-going. Remembering this friend made me wonder if this cute Barbie-esque girl at the gym was like that. My friend was, and still is, gorgeous. This girl was gorgeous. But I don't know her struggles. Maybe she does have issues with confidence, maybe she doesn't. Either way, I had no right to assume the things I did about her, and I should not have compared myself to her. I shouldn't compare myself to anyone, because no one else is me, and no one else is walking my path.

As annoyed as I was by her presence, I'm actually really glad I saw her today. Not only will she be something of an inspiration for me to keep going to the gym and working hard, but she served as a much needed reminder that what we see on the outside is not always what is going on in the inside. I think that's a reminder we could all use from time to time.

Hello, Lovely

Several weeks ago, I walked into church and saw a friend I hadn't seen in weeks. I'll call her Gabby for privacy's sake. Though there were several groups of people between us, I made like a fish swimming upstream and slowly worked my way through the sanctuary until I could get to her. As soon as I was close enough and we made eye contact, I broke into a huge smile, threw my arms around her, and said, "Hello, gorgeous!" In my embrace she gave a light, almost bitter laugh and replied, "I certainly don't feel gorgeous." As we parted, I realized she didn't have any make up on, her hair was carelessly put up, and her clothes were not as "up to standard" as what everyone has come to expect from her, simply because she is always so put together. And yet, she was beautiful.

It's rare these days that I don't greet my female friends with some variation of the way I greeted Gabby that day. "Hey, beautiful." "Hello, lovely." I don't say these words carelessly, but honestly. We live in a world that is so focused on outer beauty that we often forget that age old adage of beauty being more than skin deep. In this wonderful age where we are beginning to accept the fact that a woman doesn't have to be a size two or even a size twelve to be beautiful, we're still not quite yet there when it comes to looking beyond the flesh. Let's face it, men are visual creatures but women are just as visual. We pass someone on the street who is better dressed, taller, has better hair, and we think, "Ugh. Her life must be so perfect. I bet she's so stuck up." Who knows what men think? I don't know that I want to be privy to that information. The point is, we don't see someone like that and think, "I bet she has a generous spirit." We still, whether we mean to or not, on some level, let our eyes determine how we view others.
 

Don't think for a second that I think I am any different. I know I make snap judgements of others based on what I saw, especially strangers. How fair is that? Without getting to know someone, I think I have them all figured out just by seeing them across the room. That outfit must have cost a fortune; clearly she has money. Look at that piercing; such an attention seeker. Look at how short that skirt is; no standards and no shame.

But what if people did that to me? Now, I'm not a huge fan of this term, but I'll be the first to admit that I have resting bitch face, meaning if I am not smiling or making an active effort to show some kind of emotion on my face, I look ticked. I'm not. Generally, it takes a great deal to get me irritated enough to the point where I actually am angry. I've also been told I look like a lost or abandoned child. So, you know, my go-to faces aren't the best representative of who I am, yet people who don't know me see me and assume I am one way or another. They hear I am on disability and look at me only to see nothing wrong on the surface, which leads to other judgements.

Guys, we have got to stop doing this to each other. And by guys, I mean all of us. We have to stop assuming we know someone just by what we see. You can never know a person's heart by looking at the name brand shoes they're wearing or how well kept they are. I have found in my own life that there are people I have made snap judgements about, thinking, "I will never have anything in common with this person," who have gone on to be some of my closest, dearest friends.

That is what beauty really is. When you see a person and you light up because you know you can trust them, that you can be honest and vulnerable with them...I don't know anything more beautiful than the glow of someone who has someone invested in them and loving them for exactly who they are.
 

Ladies, if I see you and greet you with this compliment, people know that I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I don't care about your make up, your hair, your clothes...I care about you, and I do think you're beautiful. Love makes everyone beautiful, and there is no greater example of that than the unconditional love we receive from God. If He can look at a walking, talking mess like me and think, "That's my beautiful, precious daughter," the least I can do is try to look at others through His eyes. Who knows? My next life-long friend could be among those I have harshly misjudged because I was too distracted by what was on the outside to see what was on the inside.

That being said, I'm going to style my pink hair, put on my sparkly gray zebra print sweater, and go do some errands.