Staycation 2012 Update

It's Day Five of My Great Big Summer Staycation -a week off, with the hubby-hubs having four days off.  It's been awesome.  Before Baby, I usually took staycations (we don't travel very often - we'd like to, we just don't have the money and it's hard for my husband to get time off) and filled them up with errands.  My post-baby staycation has thus-far been a satisfying mix of errands and play.  Just rambling around the house and yard with Hubs and Baby is supremely satisfying.  And cheap!  I love this stage Baby's in - everything is interesting.  A leaf, a flower, a baby monitor, a spoon, a newspaper.  Everything is something to inspect, wave in the air, tear apart, bang against something else.  I do have to wrangle him away from the computer and the dvd player about eight times a day, but so far no major damage has been done.

So what have I done in my four days off?  I have:
- Read Billy Bob Thornton's memoir - freaking hilarious and very insightful.  He's a strange dude, to be sure, but I think we're all strange and he's just not afraid to show his brand of weirdness.  It's a great read, but if you can't handle cursing, then DON'T READ IT.

- Cleaned my dish drainer by the kitchen sink.  It's something I forget about, and the other night I happened to notice that it was growing its own eco-system.  But now it's clean!

- Amended and mailed our tax return.  We forgot to pay something.  Oops!

- Made pesto with the basil we grow.  Didn't have pine nuts or walnuts, so I used pistachios.  Turned out yummy!

- Not looked at Facebook for two days straight.  Kind of nice.

-Ordered Little Man some shoes.  Boy doesn't have shoes!  Now that he's cruising the furniture, he needs them.

- Watched "True Grit" with Hubs - the newer version.  Pretty good.  Hubs had been wanting to see it.

 - Took naps along with Baby.  I am one of those people who would take a nap about 3pm every day if I could.

- Had some pals come over for dinner.  We've not entertained much post-baby, but now he's getting to an age where he can handle lots of people and also stay awake a bit later.  So we're going to have people over more often.

That's just some of the fun here at our house this week!  I needed this time off so very much. 

A Little Big Life

Hi everybody.  I haven't been here for a while.  I haven't felt much like writing.  I've been kind of on autopilot for the past month or so.  It's such an easy state to fall into.  Wake up, shower, nurse the baby, feed him, feed myself, get dressed, go to work, come home, feed the baby, put him to bed, watch TV, go to sleep.  Repeat.  Weeks go by so quickly and another page on the calendar turns over.  There is great happiness in each day with a little one - the speed with which he changes and learns astounds me.  His vocabulary and physical strength seem to grow every day.  I feel so blessed to be his mom.  Yet even with this sweet, active boy in my life, days can seem remarkably the same.

This past week, though,  I've felt jolted out of my comfort zone.  I happened to read an article on Yahoo about 10 days ago about a baby and her "bucket list."  I couldn't help myself, I read the whole article.  And I cried.  And cried.  And went to her blog, which is written by her father in her voice.  And cried some more, but also became profoundly inspired.  Her parents are the embodiment of love, and they wanted to give Avery the fullest, most joyful life they could. 

Four days after that, after I'd cried a bit every day and prayed for her and her family, after I'd donated money to research for her genetic condition, I read that she'd died suddenly the previous day.  It hit me so hard, as if I knew her.  I didn't, of course, but the warmth and bravery of her family and this baby's spirit made me feel like I did.  I didn't know what to do with my sadness.  Sometimes life just ravages your heart, makes you question what the hell is the point of all of this if sweet little babies are taken from their loved ones like that.  Reading too much news will do that to you too, if you let it.

But I began to realize that baby Avery and her parents wouldn't want me to dwell in sadness.  Besides raising awareness about her condition, SMA, which is genetic and which is not routinely tested for, they wanted to celebrate the life that Avery had left, whatever that was, and they wanted others to actually live theirs. 

What would it take for me to be a more joyful, present mom to my son?  A few changes are in order:  more meditation, exercise, prayer.  Some more time with his dad would be nice!  I want to be a happy mom.  I want to feel a zest for life that I can't help but impart to my son.  I want him to grow up knowing that even though life is most definitely not fair, it is still beautiful and good.  I need to put away the "to-do list" and just BE THERE WITH HIM, introduce him to all that is lovely and wondrous about our planet.

There is so much sadness in the world.  Everybody really does hurt, as the REM song goes - no one escapes crap happening to them.  How can we be anything but kind to one another, in the face of all that hardship?  Love your kids.  Be present.  Find something to be happy about every day.  Donate money to causes you believe in, or your time.  Mentor kids, foster kids, read to kids...  we're failing our nation's children, and they deserve so much better.  If you can stand it, I encourage you to read Avery's blog.  You will come away with a fresh appreciation for life, and probably a desire to more fully experience yours.  If you're considering having a child, you might even decide to get tested and see if you're a carrier for SMA.  I know I am forever changed by that little girl and her parents's brave decision to share her story with all of us.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I love me some New Year's resolutions.  I love the fresh and clean feeling of the new year, new calendars, new planners, putting away the Christmas decorations, cleaning out closets and underneath beds.  I love January magazines, with their articles about diets and cleanses and organizing.  I love that the days are getting just a little bit longer every day.  I am ready to hit this January hard!  Watch out!

I decided yesterday driving home from Target that I'm tired of whining - I've got such a good life.  My baby is healthy, my husband is sweet, hardworking, and cute, I've got a good job and live in a lovely neighborhood - what the heck do I really have to complain about?  Sure, I'm tired a lot, and I don't have time to exercise like I'd like to, and I have an addiction to sugar, and I wish I could work less and still retain benefits.  I'm not alone.  And these things are not ideal.  But I am so lucky.  Navel-gazing and bellyaching aren't going to change any of those things and will likely only make me feel bad.  So forget it, pal! 

I'm not saying I'm never going to complain again, or feel sorry for myself sometimes.  I'm human.  But whether I eat a piece of chocolate or whether my thighs are heavier than I'd like - these are small potatoes.  So I'm gonna make potato salad - and savor every messy, tangy bite of my life.

Woohoo, gum.

So, more than a week in to this whole "no candy" thing, and I haven't caved yet.  There are times when I want nothing more than to fall headfirst into a bowl of Hershey bars, but I've not allowed myself that luxury.  I have had a 4 Pop-Tart day this week, but that's another story.  In my defense, two were consumed in the morning and two at night.  Perhaps it will be a "no Pop-Tart Lent!"

When I miss candy the most is when I'm at work.  This time of year is our slowest; everyone's elsewhere, shopping and decorating and wrapping.  I want the sweet burst of flavor, that zing of sugar and carbohydrate and smoothe, rich momentary relief from boredom.  Our candy jar is well-stocked.  Mercifully, it is hidden in a file cabinet and not in plain sight.  Out of sight, out of mind is true to an extent.

Instead of a mini Kit Kat or Almond Joy, I chew a piece of gum.  Yay.  I enjoy gum.  (I'm reminded of Chandler on Friends, stuck in the ATM vestibule with Jill Goodacre... "Gum would be perfection.")  I like its breath-freshening, thirst-quenching properties.  But it's gum, ho hum, and it's just not the same.

  

Day Three

I didn't have any candy on Monday, or Tuesday, despite it not being December yet.  So I guess I'm already starting my sugar-less (not sugarless) sojourn.  There's a square of Ghiradelli Dark Chocolate in my lunch bag.  It's been there for 3 days and I'm going to have to either throw it away or give it to my mother tonight when I get home (she takes care of Baby one afternoon a week.)  All the magazines extol the virtues of dark chocolate in moderation, and really it is my favorite form of candy, but if I want to do this right I'm going to have to include it on the banned list - for now.  (Sniff.)

Already I feel lighter.  You know how you read or hear about people saying that they've given up things to God, because they just can't do anything about it anymore, so they just release it to a higher power?  I sort of feel like that.  I'm not sure God really cares all that much about my post-baby pudge or my emotional eating.  Goodness, there are so many other pressing things to deal with.  But I do feel like I've let go of something that had been weighing me down, and whomever received it, more power to you. 

There's absolutely no reason on Earth that I can't do this.  Taking this seemingly small step towards better physical and emotional health and balance could be just the beginning, the beginning of a lifetime of healthier habits and inner peace.  Inner peace operating on a sliding scale, that is - I am what I am, as Popeye says.

I Want Candy!

In the spirit of the blog's title, it's about time I actually did something instead of whining about it.  Lately I've been sucking up candy like a vacuum cleaner, ever since I had my baby and was freed from the tyranny of my low-carb gestational diabetes diet.  Well, that was almost 5 months ago.  It's time to get serious about eating a healthier diet.  If not for me, then for my baby, since I'm still breastfeeding and hope to for another 7 months at least.

I am a sugar addict.  I seriously believe that sugar is an addiction.  The consequences might not be as deadly as with drugs or alcohol, but then again, look at the skyrocketing diabetes and obesity rates in our country.  I wish I could be one of those people who can enjoy things "in moderation."  I don't think I am that kind of person, sadly.  If I eat one cookie, I want to eat 4 more.  If I eat one piece of chocolate, I want to eat 3 or 6 or 8 more.  Last night I stood in my kitchen and ate 7 Hershey kisses with almonds, one after another, quickly, almost not even tasting them.  And this was after a mini Snickers bar too.  I looked at the gold foil pile in the trash can and said to myself, "I'm done with this." 

I am done with abusing sweets.  Or at least I want to be done.  So starting December 1st, I'm abstaining from eating candy for one month.  I thought I'd start out with candy, see how that goes, and go from there.  I figure I can do this, even in the month of December, when everyone and their mother are literally throwing candy in your face.  What do I mean by the term candy?  Well, specifically, any processed goody such as Kit Kat, Kisses, Reese's Cups, Nestle Crunch, etc.  Also, I'd better not eat anyone's homemade candy goodies either, which will be tricky as we get closer to Christmas.  (Our library patrons are always so generous and show us their appreciation with food this time of year!)  Surely I can channel my energy and my emotions into something more... satisfying?  Stay tuned. 

Sometimes I Don't

My last post gave the impression that I loved working out and went cheerfully and willingly every time. I don't. Sometimes I have to absolutely force myself to go, to keep on driving past the exit to my house and head to the gym after work. I tell myself, just go. You don't have to like it, but just go. Go inside. See if you can handle that. Then see if you can handle changing your clothes. Then see if you can get on a machine. Go for ten minutes. See if you can do ten minutes more. And by then I'm pretty much in my routine and just do the best I can.

It took me a long time to learn the lesson that I don't always have to like doing something to just do it. I guess I was such a stubborn, willful child that my parents just kind of let me off easy. They rarely pushed me to do anything once I'd said I didn't want to do it - so I had short spells of piano lessons, dance, Brownies... and promptly quit when they conflicted with things like my "Growing Pains" watching. I quit high school physics after one week, and later learned I'd scored the highest grade in the class on our first test. I quit French class after one semester in college because I tested out of the requirement and didn't like the teacher.

The biggest regret of my life is not going to study abroad when I had the opportunity in college. I was simply scared. I'd never been out of the country before and just didn't think I could handle being on my own so far away from the familiar. I think, no, I know, that if I'd gone I'd have emerged a stronger, more confident young woman. I don't dwell too much on the what-ifs, though. Who knows how my going would have affected my subsequent decisions - would I have moved back home after school? Would I be a librarian? Most importantly, would I have met and married the person I call my soul mate, my dear husband?

You can't change the past, you can only learn from it and try not to make the same mistake twice. I know I'm maturing in part because I push myself harder now. A late bloomer, that's what I call myself. So I file away these life experiences under the label When-I-Have-Kids. I want to be sure to tell them these things: most of the time life isn't easy, and you don't always get what you want, and it won't kill you to be uncomfortable or scared. It's just a feeling, and it will go away. Sometimes the things you're most frightened of will end up being the experiences of which you'll be most proud.

Why I (Try to) Meditate

When I finish meditating, I stop hesitating. I just go about doing things, not thinking about them but doing them. I practice with the help of a few CDs, guided meditations, which sometimes feels like cheating. But it works. It quiets my runaway mind, enables me to clear the slate. I so often am paralyzed by indecision. I so often defer to my husband or my friends - "What do you want to do?" I so often agonize over the smallest choices - do I work out first or go to Walmart? Logically I know it doesn't matter which option I pick, but my fearful, anxious brain is convinced otherwise. So I sit and stew and feel floopy.

Floopy is a word I picked up from Phoebe on "Friends." She waved her hands around her head when she said it, and so do I. It means my brain is all topsy-turvy and I'm overwhelmed by options. I truly do think it's a manifestation of my A.D.D. When I tell my husband that I feel floopy he says, "Okay, let's take a deep breath. You're okay." He knows I need reassurance and I need to hit pause.

I manage to meditate once a week, twice on a good week. I'd meditate every day if I could get myself out of bed 20 minutes earlier. But I love sleep; I never really feel like I've gotten enough. It remains a goal, though - maybe I can meditate 20 minutes a night instead of watching TV?

It's really hard to make yourself sit still. I know plenty of people who say they "can't" meditate. I say if I can do it, anyone can! It just takes a little bit of time, maybe a guided CD to help settle down, and a quiet space. For me, meditation refreshes, soothes, and propels me into action. It's one of the best things I do for myself.

Choices

I haven't written in quite a while. I try and I keep getting interrupted, or I don't even try at all. But I'm not discouraged! Far from it, actually. Writing this blog has helped me bust out of the fog I was in last year. I am able to see more clearly now the kind of life I want to live. Being with my mother and grandmother over the weekend - yes, I did end up going after all - crystallized for me the kind of life i don't want for myself. Their poor choices are a cautionary tale for me - for anyone. I sound unkind, and I feel a bit unkind as I write this. I, without reservation, love my mother, and despite the distance, emotional and physical, I do love my grandmother. But they live lives filled with fear and uncertainty, regrets and instability. Life is uncertain for us all - we do not know what is up on the road ahead - but there are choices in life and ways of thinking about the world that lend themselves to more positive outcomes.

I feel so blessed to have married my best friend, to have dug myself out of debt, to have the physical good health to have run a 5K. Choices I made - and continue to make - propelled me to those good things. Never have I been so keenly aware of consequences as this past weekend, trying to remain sane amongst family squabbles and the destruction of my grandmother's house in the Nashville area floods.

I have some choices ahead of me soon. The whole baby thing figures most prominently on the list. I decided, as I talked to myself on the elliptical trainer last night ("You can do this, Laila!") that I want to embark upon the Healthy Mama/Healthy Baby Project. That's what I'm calling it. A two month "program" in anticipation of trying to conceive. Exercise, healthy food, water, rest, meditation, writing. The essentials in life! I rebel against "experts" telling me what I need to do with my body and soul, so I'm just operating on instincts here. Right now what I most crave is a sense of peace. I need quiet time. I feel like the world is pressing on me too much - I think it presses on all of us too much, whether or not we're conscious of it. Too much noise, chatter, gossip, news, opinions, vulgarity, flash, marketing, spiritual disconnect. We're indoors too much, plugged in too much, staring at screens too much.

To that end, Eric and I agreed to try two new experiences. First, we're going to have a "quiet weekend" sometime this summer. No TV all weekend, try not to answer the phone. He's going to work on his music, I'll do some writing and pondering and reading, and we'll see if we can take it for two whole days! Who knows, it might drive us crazy. But it might be invigorating.

Second, we're going to make "summer reading lists" for ourselves and read classics! I don't think I have it in me to read only classics all summer long, but I'm going to read as many as I can. I want to have to focus on a book, savor it, and hope that the pace of a different time seeps into my consciousness. I know I romanticize earlier times - I gloss over polio and smallpox and women not being able to vote or wear pants, stuff like that. But part of me wants to have a Caddie Woodlawn-like experience of living on the prairie, hearing only the wind and the birds, depending on the seasons and daylight and darkness for my body's natural rhythms and the food I ate. There's got to be a way to blend the saving graces of modernity with a way of being closer to nature and solitude. A simpler life. I think we can find it. It may be a lifetime's work, but it beckons appealingly.

Blog First, Think Later

Do you, like me, have all these "shoulds" running into one another in your brain? You know, like, "I should really call X with whom I haven't spoken in weeks," or "I should really organize my important papers." I should clean out my closets. I should dust. I should go see a dermatologist. I should wash the car. I think women are especially vulnerable to the "shoulds." I don't know if it's nature or nurture, but I suspect both. I know that my husband is one of the most blithely unhurried people I know. Not that he doesn't care about things, but that he is able to relax when it's time to relax and get jiggy with it when it's time to get jiggy. I'm more likely to fret when I'm trying to relax, thinking about all the things I need to be doing. And then when I'm doing things I need to be doing, I'm thinking about how much I'd love to relax! It's ridiculous. But I'm sure I'm not alone.

I'm not going to let this blog be one of those "shoulds." My temptation is to let writing slide in favor of all those chores, or all the time-suckers that are sort of fun, like watching TV or reading. But I know what happens to me when I go for too long without writing. I get nervous, I start doubting myself, doubting whether or not I have anything worth saying. And I put it off one more day. Meanwhile, I start having even more conversations with myself, start writing blogs in my head without getting them down anywhere, and I get twitchier and twitchier. Argh. No bueno.

Today is a day to write. Tomorrow is a day to write. The day after that is a day to write. The point to just to do it, to think later. Make it automatic, like brushing my teeth or drinking my morning coffee. After all, it's elemental to who I am. Why fight it, why run from it, just because I'm afraid? I didn't run away from the challenge of the 5K race this past weekend. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and felt a rush like I'd never felt before when I crossed that finish line. I ran in 38 minutes, which is great considering it's my first time. Training for that race never felt like a "should." It felt like honoring myself.

I think magazines are especially dangerous to women, in that each issue holds out the promise of a better, shinier you inside. Read it and you'll be a better mom, a better wife, a better cook, skinnier, and with expertly applied makeup. I have been the Magazine Queen in my lifetime. But I'm kind of over them now. It feels good at age almost 33 to say, "This is who I am. I am quirky and kind of round and like to wear jeans all the time and have hair that doesn't do anything I want it to." I wish I could have found this self-acceptance earlier, but I guess it doesn't work that way. I still have my days when I do nothing but beat myself up, but I'm getting better about cutting myself some slack. The "shoulds" won't get this woman down for long. Who's with me?

Precipice

"Fearfulness is a mind habit." - Sylvia Boorstein



I took turkey bacon slices out of the cast-iron skillet, set them on the paper towel to drain, and said, "I want to have a kid." Husband asked, "What brought that on?" I replied, "I just think we'd be good parents. I think it would be fun."


And by fun I don't mean a party all the time. I mean challenging, rewarding, scary, hard, exhilarating. I mean pushing myself to see what I'm made of and really getting to know myself and my partner and all that messy life stuff.


Natalie Goldberg says that when something scary comes up in your writing, go for it. "Otherwise you'll spend all your time writing around whatever makes you nervous." So when I get down to what really matters, the stuff that freaks me out, pretty high on the list is mothering. Me becoming a mother. I've been wrestling with when to try and have a kid for at least a year now, and I keep putting it off. There are surface excuses - I want to lose weight, I want to gain self-confidence, I want to have more money - but it really all boils down to fear. What am I afraid of? Let's see:

Sleeplessness. Selflessness. A changed relationship with Husband. What if we have no money? What if I lose my job? What if I'm no good at mothering? What if she cries all the time and I resent her? What if I get fat? What if I have no time for me? So many questions, so many ways my mind can spin in loops.

But. I inch forward. I want, in my heart, to have a child. Someone who is part me and part my husband and something totally new all at once. Some sweet spark of God/divinity in her. I want to sing to her, read to her, teach her how to bake cookies and plant tulips and recognize the birds and the trees. Push her to try new things. Advise her that it's okay if you're not always comfortable or happy. At 32 I am finally figuring out that we won't die if we're afraid or uncomfortable! It's how we grow and get to know ourselves.

I think it's okay to acknowledge ambivalence about mothering. It's okay to be scared. These days I'm trying to operate under the premise that if it's something that would be good for me, for someone I know, or for the world in general, and I feel mostly capable, then just be scared and do it anyway. I'm totally freaked out about taking the leap. But excited too. So we inch closer, towards the biggest mystery/challenge/excitement we may ever be privileged enough to experience.

Feel My Muscles

"Ms. Laila, feel my muscle," four-year-old Ashley* said after story time today. She flexed her left arm and I poked at her bicep. "Oh my goodness, that is a big muscle! You're very strong!" I enthused. With twinkling eyes she smiled and said, "That's because I have a watch in there." I asked, "A watch?" "Yes, a Belle watch." (Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, which her mother told me she's never seen because it's in the Disney vault!)

Ashley reminded me of myself at her age, flexing with pride over my big muscles. There are numerous pictures of me at ages 3 and 4 with one or both arms poised to show off my "guns." Most of the time I'm scowling as if to say, "Don't mess with me, pal." This was my Lynda Carter Wonder Woman phase. Oh, how I loved her, wanted to be her, fight crime with thigh-high boots and gold bracelets!

Truth be told, I'm still apt to flex in front of the mirror after I get home from the gym. I make my husband periodically feel my muscles, and he gamely plays along. I love feeling fit and strong and I want to get fitter and stronger. Tomorrow, in another instance of Stuff I'm Actually Doing, I'm taking my first kickboxing class. I'm nervous. The ever-present fear of making a fool of myself rears its ugly head. But I've got to at least try. It's something I've always wanted to do! I'm going to try and channel my fearless inner four year old.

(*names changed for privacy)

Forward.

For pretty much all of my life, I've held ideas about myself - about what I could and couldn't do, about who I was and who I wasn't. All they've done is hold me back. As I was running at the gym yesterday, I thought, 'It's only taken me thirty-two and a half years to start finding out who I really am! How lucky for me!'

I ran and walked in intervals for 3.1 miles - a treadmill 5K. I was slow. I didn't care. I felt absolutely alive - sweaty, gasping, shuffling along. Ever since middle school gym, when the mile run portion of the Presidential Fitness Test scarred me for life, I've resisted running. It's so intense, this experience of a racing heart, burning lungs, and jostled joints. I am confronted by my fears and by the way I limit myself, compare myself to everyone else. The list of reasons why I'm not a "real runner" is long. I can't be a real runner because:

I'm too slow. I'm too fat. Too old. I wear glasses. I don't have the right shoes, clothes, mp3 player. I don't know the right way to breathe. I don't like being cold. Or wet. Or hot. I don't like wearing shorts. I don't wear a watch, or a heart rate monitor. I don't drink sport drinks. I don't shop at Runner's Market.

I could go on.

Running scares me partly because I'm afraid of getting hurt, and writing scares me pretty much for the same reason. But the more I write, the more I want to do other things that frighten me. I am somehow pushing up against myself, meeting my mind's resistance and punching holes in it, slowly.

In the spirit of "Why Not?", I am running a 5K race in six weeks. I have creaky knees, tight hamstrings, a twitchy back, a big butt. I still don't think of myself as a runner. I wonder if that will change when I cross the finish line. Sometimes I tell myself, just put one foot in front of the other. Just get down one word, one sentence, one paragraph. Moving forward, as slowly as I need to go, I figure I'll meet myself on down the road.

Stuff I'm Actually Doing

Obviously, the reason I am writing this blog is to DO something, take action, stop watching life from the sidelines. In that spirit, I am going to chronicle new experiences that I push myself into doing. For most of my life I have been highly averse to change, and this includes anything new that I am unsure of. Being in new situations freaks me out. I know some people thrive on the new. I'm not one of them. I like knowing the plan, knowing what's going to happen. It's just my nature, not something I particularly love about myself.

Some of the things that I post on my "done" list might not seem like the most terrifying experiences to some. They might not even be terrifying to me. But they're things I've been putting off doing for a long time, simply because of my fear of failure or making a fool of myself.

So here goes.

#1: I baked an apple pie from scratch!

I've made cupcakes galore, muffins aplenty, even some pretty darn good cakes. I love to bake. It's soothing in the doing and in the eating. But I've put off baking a pie because I thought it seemed too complicated. I can't believe I thought I wouldn't be able to do it! The pastry turned out so delicious and flaky, just the right texture and taste. I cringe normally at the thought of using shortening, but you really do have to use it if you want a flaky crust. Brushing the egg glaze (egg yolk mixed with a bit of water) on the crust as I unfolded it into the pie pan, I felt hopeful, excited, and a bit embarrassed. If all of my fears are anything like my experience of pie-baking, I've been holding myself back for far, far too long. Now what do I tackle next?

Feeling Scrappy

I kept a scrapbook, my first attempt at doing so, during 2008. I'd lay out my pictures, paper, and supplies on the living room floor in front of the TV. I sat cross legged (a position that feels more and more uncomfortable the older I get!) and documented our first full calendar year of marriage. After I created a page I felt a sense of peace and accomplishment.

I fully intended to begin another book for 2009. I bought a pretty red album and some new embellishments. They're still sitting on my closet floor with an accordion file of notes and ticket stubs I collected last year.

The feeling I couldn't shake each time I thought about starting the book was, "We haven't done anything."

This isn't logically true at all. We did do things. We hung out with friends, went to the mountains, painted our front porch, tried new recipes every week, traveled to my ten-year college reunion in Indiana. It's not like we spent a whole year staring at each other on the couch.

I just felt like I didn't do anything that mattered.

I have a horrible habit of comparing myself to others - friends, acquaintances, people on TV. Add a gnawing insecurity to that and you have a great recipe for inaction. It's easier to do nothing, to watch TV, to lose yourself in a novel, to clean the house. That feels easier than beginning something you don't feel capable enough, or smart enough, or interesting enough to do.

So I didn't scrapbook. I didn't write. I didn't go to parties or shows. What did I have to say that anyone would care at all about hearing?

Life is so easy to sleepwalk through. It's not hard to convince yourself that you don't matter enough to merit a big, eclectic, vivid life. How many of you feel this way? Why do we let ourselves shrink and wither?

I don't know what flipped the switch for me. I could point to January optimism, a vitamin D supplement, increased gym time... probably all of these factors and others I'm not aware of. The point is this: I finally believe I matter. I got sick of hiding my light and saying "no" to life. It's scary and it's messy and it's hard to put your neck out there. But ask yourself, is it time?

Day One

For a few weeks now I've had trouble concentrating. I can't seem to find anything I really want to read, which is highly unusual for a voracious reader like myself. I pick up a book, get about 30 pages into it, and get bored. I can't stomach reading memoirs right now especially. I turned the latest book back into the library and pondered what my weird mood means. I came up with this: I'm bored by other people's stories. I'm sick of reading about other people accomplishing things, or trying to accomplish things. I want to be the one creating and doing and accomplishing. I can't stand being a spectator anymore. It's taken me a long time to get up the courage to do this, to try and type something into a little box and send it out there into the world. Doesn't seem like much. But really, it means that I finally may have realized that I have something worth saying, something that someone else out there might want to read. If nothing else, I'll feel better about myself for having given it a shot.

So what is this? Who knows what it will be. I have so many things I want to do with my life: write, create, connect to God, run, dance, travel, savor the blessings in my life, be of use to others, have fun, play, have a baby, celebrate my wonderful husband, save money, bake pies, make time for friends... the list is endless. I hope that by putting down all the stuff in my brain that runs in an endless loop (I should be doing THIS, why aren't I doing THAT, what's WRONG with me?, etc etc.) I can finally put to rest my fears and act boldly. Live my life! Not too much to ask, is it?