Category Archives: blessings

impact

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This has nothing to do with this post, other than I took it today.

Today, my church put on a street fair on the upper east side. They do it every year (I think) and I decided to stop by to say hi to Jenn who was volunteering there. As I was getting ready to leave, I saw a woman out of the corner of my eye who looked so familiar. It only took me about two seconds to realize that it was Kendra, a friend from my first summer term in college.

I walked up to her to say and hi and was happy to see that she instantly recognized me. She has been living in the city with her husband and kids for the past seven years. It was great hearing about her life and catching up. She asked me if I was still in touch with anyone from that summer, to which I responded barely, followed by, “That wasn’t exactly a great time in my life.”

She reminded me that she had been in the same boat. At the time, her parents had been going through a divorce and she was feeling pretty insecure about the whole thing. And then she told me that it had been so great to meet me at that point in her life because, having survived my parents’ very drawn out and ugly divorce, I helped her to see that life doesn’t end just because your parents get divorced.

Unfortunately, I think we are rarely able to see the impact that we have on the lives of others (for good and bad), so it is so nice when we do get to see it, or at least be told about it. I’ve had some pretty crazy things happen in my life, and I often think about how those things have impacted my life personally, and the person I’ve become as a result of the craziness, but I don’t often think about how my ability to share those experiences with others can have a real impact on their lives. It was great to be reminded of that today. And it was great to reconnect with Kendra because she is so fabulous.

working it out

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So appropriate that Mother’s Day is this week. As mentioned in the last post, I’ve been having a bit of a rough go of things. And this bit has kind of lasted a little longer than a bit. And I was starting to worry. Which obviously wasn’t going to help. You never solve a problem through worrying. So, life kept going. I tried not to worry. I let myself cry. I knew it would eventually get better. I started running in the mornings with the lovely and talented Jenna. I tried to get more sleep. I tried not to eat my way into feeling better. All of this helped, but then tonight, I feel as if a switch was flipped…

Once upon a time I was a little girl with a very active mother. She had always been pretty athletic and she decided to pass that along to us; swimming, softball, tennis, soccer, basketball…the list goes on. During my MBA program, I thought about taking a soccer class to refresh the skills, but I was a little intimidated as one can only be by zoobie undergrads and their overachieving, still youthful ways. So I didn’t. I wanted to play on an intramural team, but also didn’t because I wasn’t sure if I’d be good anymore. And we all know I’m just a wee bit competitive. 

A couple of months ago, when I was in a better place (mentally). I found this coed adult recreational soccer league. I was too intimidated to try and join a team, but I put myself on the mailing list for the next time they held classes because I was feeling adventurous and pretty fearless. And then last week, in the depths of my despair (don’t I sound dramatic), I get a little email from NY Coed Soccer informing me that new classes would be starting this week. While the actual thought of taking the class with a bunch of strangers scared the crap out of me, there was this little voice inside me that told me to just do it. This would be exactly what I needed.

There were two classes offered. One was very basic: passing and receiving. The other was more advanced: aggressive ball handling or something. My uber competitive self would not allow me to sign up for both for fear I’d suck it up the first hour and then not want to be there for the second, so I didn’t. 
Yeah…not so brand loyal, am I?
Tonight was the first class. To say I was a little nervous would be a bit of an understatement. But, I’ve done scary things often enough to know that after the first few minutes, life goes on, I start breathing normally again, and no one will have actually tried to make me feel like an idiot. And tonight was no exception. In fact, about 10 minutes in I was already wishing I’d signed up for the second class. It was so fun! And I met some new people. And I had more soccer experience than anyone which meant I didn’t feel like a total loser. And I didn’t worry about how good anyone else was or when I messed up because we really were all there to learn. 
On the way home from Brooklyn (yes, I haul my arse all the way to Brooklyn for this class), as I was cooling off from our little passing game, I realized that not once during that hour had I worried about my “problems” or felt even an inkling of depression. I was so focused on the technique and the drills and the game that there was no room in my brain for anything else. And I had all those endorphins pumping through me…which I’m sure didn’t hurt.
While, during these down moments, there is really nothing I would like more than to have my mom around to tell me everything is going to be all right, “it always works out,” it sure was nice to at least have her influence pushing me to do the things that she knew would make for a happy child. I’m still her kid, after all.
P.S. If anyone in NYC is interested in joining me on a coed team this summer, I’d love to have at least one person join me. Just let me know!

unexpected blessings

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In my church, we all share the responsibilities. We don’t have paid clergy in our congregations, and so we all pitch in. While I’ve been a member of my congregation for about seven months (crazy!), I was not given anything to do until just a couple of weeks ago, when I was asked if I would be willing to teach the 4-year-olds. I said yes. I was happy to have something to do. But I was also a little nervous.

As those of you who know me know, I adore children…the ones that are related to me. Other people’s kids? Not so much. Well, that’s not a blanket statement. I like children who belong to my friends, too. Needless to say, teaching a bunch of kids who belong to people I don’t know very well, if at all, made me a little nervous. I wondered, when I was asked to do this, if maybe it was my punishment for not liking all kids, or for judging some of their parents. (I try not to judge…but when you see parents totally ignoring their kids, it’s hard not to.)

So, on Sunday, when I got into sharing time and sat down next to my row of ELEVEN 4-year-olds, I was still a little overwhelmed. It was my first Sunday with them. My co-teacher was out of town. I’d never done this before and I didn’t even know these poor kids’ names. Not to mention that I knew, after sharing time, I was going to be spending 40 minutes with them attempting to teach them about God. Thankfully, the little girl I sat next to was as sweet as could be. I watched the kids. Some were acting out a little, but they are four and I was trying to be patient. Eventually, we were singing and smiling. Things were going along just fine. I sat there thinking to myself that this was going to be all right.

And then, sweet little Catherine* (the darling girl sitting next to me) looked up at me with tears welling up in her big puppy dog eyes. I don’t know if it’s from my years as an aunt or just instinct, but somehow I knew that she had had an accident. I asked her what was wrong and in a very small, very embarrassed voice she whispered that she had wet her pants.

Now, you might be thinking that this was going to be the end of me; I mean, I was already nervous about dealing with these kids (aka carrier monkeys) who don’t belong to me, and worried that I wouldn’t like them at all. But seeing this sweet little girl so sad just melted my heart. All I wanted to do was pick her up and give her a hug. (I didn’t. I have limits. I mean, life and death situations? Sure, I would have picked her up. But she’s not my flesh and blood and she was going to be fine.) I sent someone to go find her mom and I just kept telling her that it was no big deal. She was going to be fine. And it wasn’t and she was.

That one moment suddenly transformed these little 4-year-olds from scary little carrier monkeys into sweet little children who deserve every happiness and all the love there is to have. You’d think it would be the opposite, right? The rest of the day went off without a hitch. These eleven 4-year-olds are just about the best behaved (with the exception of one or two) 4-year-olds I have ever seen. Seriously. And even the ones who aren’t well behaved weren’t that bad.

When it was all over, and I was waiting with the last child for his dad to come get him, I realized that somehow I had seriously started to love each of these kids in less than two hours. I was shocked. I still am. And so very grateful. And to think it was all because one little girl had an accident.

*Name has been changed…she’s a 4-year-old and not mine.

not really good at anything

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I grew up in a household of varying interests with a mother who ensured that we were always learning/doing/seeing something new and different. Over the years (childhood until now) I’ve learned and done a lot! I learned how to cook and sew. I learned about music. I played multiple sports. I took dance classes. I was in gifted and talented programs that exposed me to different languages and advanced math. I somehow got this crazy travel bug and decided to move to Belgium as a 14-year-old high school student. I was a cheerleader. I swam. I taught swimming lessons. I became pretty good at step aerobics.

I babysat and loved (and still do love) taking care of my nieces and nephew. I skied. I backpacked through Europe. I ice-skated and roller-bladed. I learned how to drive a stick shift and then took those skills off-roading. I hiked. I learned to love reading. I sang in choirs. I took all kinds of random classes. I painted ceramics. I arranged flowers. I took cake decorating classes. I bought books about art. I studied French. I learned how to change my oil and my brake pads and rotate tires. I became handy when I bought my first house. I went to beauty school and learned how to help people with their skin and apply makeup. I got certified in scuba diving. I moved to Hawaii for a couple of months. I discovered photography. I learned to enjoy running. I discovered a love of writing in college and rediscovered it through this blog. And I still do a lot of these things. And that isn’t the end of the things I’d like to learn to do.

I want to learn at least one more language. I want to take some kind of music lessons (violin? guitar?). I want to go to culinary school. I sometimes think about getting a PhD (once the loans are all paid off, of course). I want to take a watercolor class. I would love to start rock climbing.

My point? I seriously love learning, but I never become really good at anything. Sure, I have some skills and I’m better at some things than I am at others, but I just can’t be bothered to become an expert in anyone thing. I couldn’t even be bothered to get really good grades when I was perfectly capable of doing so.

For a long time this really bugged me. I wanted to be really good at something. I finally got over that when I realized that becoming an expert in any one thing would likely mean sacrificing the other things that I love. It’s funny how there just really is no life without sacrifice. And so I’ve learned to be okay with my mediocrity (okay, I don’t think I’m mediocre in everything, but you get my point). And I figured out a career path that would allow me to continue to do all of the things I love doing (meaning, something I enjoy enough, doesn’t take over my life, and earns a good income). I admire people who love one thing so much that they can sacrifice everything else to do that. That is not me.

On Sunday night, when my girlfriends were over for our little makeup night, Maria asked me if I had taken this picture of the Conservatory Garden I have hanging on my wall. I replied that I had. After which Jenn stated that one of her favorite things about me is how multi-talented I am. This made me smile. Apparently the one thing I am really good at is collecting talents…even if I’m not the best at any one of them and even if I never will be because I don’t have time.

it’s all in how you position the offer

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I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not very good at accepting help. I like to think I’m perfectly capable of handling my problems myself–which I generally can (I don’t have issues…). Oh, and I hate inconveniencing people. Hate. It. There are a number of things that have made into this person who wants to do everything on her own. I won’t get into the details, though, because that isn’t what this post is about.

Yesterday, though, I found myself having a conversation at the end of which the person with whom I was speaking made the general offer, “If you every need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” And my thought? “Yeah…fat chance.”
Then, a couple of hours later, my home teachers came to visit me. (Incidentally, and having nothing to do with this post, they came bearing a demi-baguette and passionfruit panna cotta from Silver Moon Bakery…amazing!) I really like my home teachers. They are just good guys. In fact, after the big snow storm, I got a phone call from one of them just to make sure I didn’t need anything. I didn’t (I was in Utah), but it was super thoughtful.

Anyway, as is typical of home teachers, at the end of their visit they asked me if I needed anything. I instantly said, “No. I’m good. I’ll let you know if I do need something, though.” P.S. I don’t make a habit of lying, but I must admit that was a big fat lie. I had no intention of calling them if I ever needed anything.

And then, one of them rephrased the question and asked, “If you had to ask for one thing, what would it be?” I suppose I could have said something like, “I wouldn’t.” But I was caught so off guard by the follow-up, that suddenly I found myself giving them a reply. A real one. I don’t think I had even realized that there was something I could ask for, something I needed. Apparently there was.

I learned something so valuable. Well, two things. The first is that it’s okay to ask for help, even if it’s someone you don’t know that well, and even if the help is minor. People like feeling useful. The second and, in my opinion, more valuable lesson is the value of effective positioning. Essentially, in the case of offering help, there is a way to ask a person if she needs help that will help her know that you are serious. While my offers to help others are always sincere, I’m guessing most people feel a lot like I do. They don’t want to inconvenience anyone. Like me, they might not want to admit that, while they are handling everything on their own (and could probably continue to do so), it might actually be nice to have someone in the ring with them.

And just because I was listening to Greg Laswell while I was writing this and because I feel like this song kind of goes with the post, here you go: