Letter To My Younger Self

Letter To My Younger Self

Dear Little Blue,

You don't really need this letter, because you'll eventually figure all these things out on your own, but if I could share a few insights with you, I'd let you know that even though it feels like there's not a soul on earth who would really care if you ceased to exist, in just a little while that will change. Some angels will appear in your life, in the form of a school teacher, new friends, and a church leader or two. Their kindness will carry you through the next few years, and you will start to feel what it's like to be nurtured and cared for (and believe it or not, someday your sisters will be your dearest friends; maybe consider being nicer to them in the meantime).

Your sense of your identity is going to drastically evolve.  There's no way you could know yet that you're not utterly worthless, or that that's even how you think of yourself. Eventually you'll start to notice some of the internal beliefs you have, and question them. This is good.  Examining everything we believe is an important exercise in life, and requisite for growth. You'll start to feel something inside--called resonance--when things are true for you.  If you honor that, you'll be led and directed in ways that will be good for you.

Despite being told (and accepting as fact) that you're the ugliest girl in the world, in a few years you'll to meet people who don't hold that opinion of you.  It'll mess with your head a bit, but just hang in there.  In this world, appearance does matter, but really, it doesn't. Your dearest relationships will be based on the only kind of beauty that counts, that of the heart.

It's going to take years, but someday you'll forgive your parents and older sibling. They probably won't ever be a significant part of your life, but you'll find peace with that situation. Be okay with that.

Even though it's really scary sometimes, you're going to learn the most from the hard stuff you're going through, so I'm not going to tell you much, but someday you'll understand that even though you love them, some friends will move on without you. They get to. Also, you might just want to turn and walk the other way when you meet a dude named Kevin.

Throughout your life, a lot of the people you love most will lose their faith in God.  You'll struggle for a long time with your faith, too, and part of it will just be the shock that this even happens.  No one ever told you, nor did it cross your mind, that that was A Thing. Now you know, so just remember to trust what resonates within you, prove all things, and hold fast to the good. Proving requires study, thought, prayer, and righteous living. That's just how it works. Be fastidiously honest with yourself, no matter what other people believe. Eventually you'll find your own, bona fide faith, and it will be worth the effort. God really is always there with you...even when you're hiding from him.

Depression. You're going to deal with it, but it's not the boss of you. Ditto for the things you're anxious about.

When you're 18 years old, you'll meet a truly wonderful boy who will be nice to you and care for you and accept you, loose ends and all. You'll come to love each other and provide a safe harbor for each other to heal, evolve, and grow for a long long time.  Despite all that, sometimes he'll break your heart, and you'll break his...that's just how relationships go. Hold on when it seems bleak or hopeless ~ the end of this story hasn't been written yet, but no matter what happens, you will have a happy life.

The best thing about your entire life is you'll have the privilege of raising two amazing, precious children. You have no idea...I'm so excited for you, just thinking about them. I don't know how this story ends yet, but it'll be so great to experience it together!

You won't believe this now, but you are not going to be lonely. Or alone. There are unbelievably fantastic people in your future, and you will many times be simply overwhelmed with gratitude for the goodness and beauty in your life.  You're going to discover some things about yourself that will surprise and delight you, including fun interests and talents that haven't even crossed your mind yet. You're going to bless the lives of many others, and that will give you the most satisfaction of anything you do.  

It'll be a wonderful life, on a glorious planet (which you will get to explore, by the way). So be brave and strong.

With so much love,
Blue 2013

Fall Post

Hi all,
It is a sad reality that my blog has become a mostly obsolete thing. Most of the people who I know read my blog are also on Facebook, so they see the photos and the this-N-thats of my daily life. Seems a bit redundant to share the same stuff here. Not that Facebook is  anything like what a blog can be, but over time it's  become my primary source of online interaction.

Part of this is because something transpired almost five months ago that left my heart kind of shell-shocked. Since then, I haven't really had many other thoughts I could write about.  I'm not depressed, just kind of numb, like I'm sort of unable to feel things properly. I'm sure it'll pass someday, but for now, I haven't felt much like sharing what's on my mind. Perhaps someday I will.

Meanwhile, life goes on. Thankfully!  Despite my brokey little heart, I've enjoyed doing some fun things. In June, the kids and I spent a wonderful week in NYC and another great week in Vermont.  In July I took Bunch on a trip to Hawaii.  I'd been planning to take Gator, too, but one day a couple weeks before we were planning to leave, he informed me that he didn't want to go on any more trips that summer.  After checking his DNA to verify that he was, indeed, my child, I acquiesced and allowed him to stay home. My worries that he'd change his mind and wish he'd come after we were already gone never transpired, and he enjoyed being a homebody whilst Bunch and I enjoyed visiting the North Shore of Oahu and my sister's family.  Those are comparable, no?!

In August, Gator had his 13th birthday, and I made him a fantastic death Star cake. Every year I think "how am I going to top this next year?" and every year I seem to do okay, coming up with something he loves even more than the previous year… But this seriously might be the end of it, because this cake was seriously so awesome.

It wasn't too sad to say goodbye to my sister in Hawaii, because there was a good chance I was going to see her again this month...and I did!

Her husband is from French Polynesia. Every few years they make the trek back to visit his family in Tahiti and Moorea, and had invited me to join them any time they were there.  So it was just fortunate that it all worked out perfectly, and I was able to spend five days with them this month.

Tahiti and Moorea are surreal!

The first morning after arriving, my sister and I went out on a standup paddleboard and a canoe with her two kids. We were staying at his parent's home, and the ocean is in their back yard. I had my five year old nephew on my canoe, and she had her daughter on the SUP.  We were enjoying the water and the morning when we suddenly saw whale spouts nearby.  It was the most incredible thing! A momma humpback and at least one calf (seemed like there must have been two...but if not, that kid got around!) were hanging out in the ocean out behind the house, and we spent a couple hours with them.  It was so magical! I was super bummed that we didn't have a camera to capture them jumping into the air, looking at us with their big, beautiful eyes, displaying fins and tails, spouting off.  It was otherworldly.  There were people on boats nearby taking pictures. I was definitely jealous.

Photo of me and my nephew and one of our whale
friends from the Tahitian newspaper

Then this week something amazing happened: someone on the boat was connected to the local Tahitian newspaper and did an article about whale watching excursions, and they printed a photo with the story of...you guessed it...ME!

My brother-in-law's family saw it and recognized the paddle board and canoe, and sent us the picture.  I couldn't believe that my wish for a photo was granted in such an unexpected way!

All in all it was an incredible trip. Too many memories to share, but I'll leave you with just a few more photos of this amazing speck of paradise in the vast Pacific Ocean:

Over water bungalows. Quintessential Moorea

My sister and her two adorable kids

View from the house of the ocean out back. My nephew is
dancing on the sand. You can see a whale spouting ...

Scene from Moorea

The beach outside the house

The lunch truck my sisters' sister-in-law owns

Another perfect day comes to an end in Tahiti

View from the flight home of an atoll

One of those stories...

Friday night, I went to the opening of an art exhibit that my friend Leslie had a piece in. I was making my way slowly through the masses of people attending, when I ran into a former acquaintance (I'll call her Ally), whom I hadn't seen in a number of years. While we were chatting, a friend of hers approached, and for some reason this person looked familiar to me (though, as it turns out, I'd never seen her before).

 I asked Ally "who is that?", and when she told me her friend's name, (I'll call her Christine X), I asked "is she Steve X's sister?" Christine heard my question, and said "no, I'm Steve's wife. Who are you?"


Realizing I knew Steve, Ally introduced us to each other, and this is when I got embarrassed. Because I didn't know how they might respond to the truth. So I told them "I don't think I should  answer that question", which of course made them even hungrier to know. 

They pressed, I quickly caved.  "Well, as it turns out, Steve was the first guy I ever kissed"... the admission of which fact seemed to fill them both with crazy juicy delight.
 
Encouraged, I further explained, "I was fourteen. We met at a church dance in Newport Beach. He was cute and I was enchanted. Outside after the dance, he took me behind that mosaic wall, and then he kissed me."

Ally and Christine are both laughing now, clamoring for more details.  And since there were details to be had, I did share them.

"I floated all the way home, convinced that this kiss of course meant that WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED someday. I mean, naturally, he was clearly THE ONE.  So that night I wrote Steve a letter...with all the earnestness, heartfelt sincerity and oozing conviction of any newly lovestruck fourteen-year-old-fresh-out-of-junior-high girl.  And I had every intention of giving it to him, too, but I put that letter behind a photograph of the temple hanging above my cot in  the garage  for safekeeping, and eventually forgot about it because I NEVER SAW HIM AGAIN."

Ally and Christine are both hooting with laughter at this point.  And then, who should walk up but my once-upon-a-time-intended. Christine and Ally couldn't pounce upon him fast enough.

"Steve, do you recognize this person?"

And then, in what was for me the weirdest moment of all, Steve looked at me for only a few seconds and then replied "Sure I do. You're Blue.  Blue Jeuls."  (substitute my maiden name).

Shut the front door!

I thought someone must have told him before he walked up...or that he'd overheard our conversation.  But he hadn't.  He just remembered me, even though we only met once, TWENTY NINE YEARS AGO!

We chatted for a few minutes about that day and our lives since then. He and Christine are darling people, and it was fun to meet her.  He told me that three days after that dance he left for college, which is why I never saw him again.  I honestly didn't expect him to remember me, out of all the girls I presumed him to have met/kissed.  


He of course stood out for me because he was my first, and, well, because of THE LETTER--which, I should note, I didn't rediscover until I was packing up all my stuff to move out of the garage when I got married, seven years later. I pulled that photo of the temple off the wall and this mysterious envelope fluttered to the floor. After reading it, can I just say you have NOOOOOO idea how glad I was that I hadn't had the opportunity to completely mortify myself by actually delivering it to him!

In the end, I guess the only thing I can conclude from this experience is, dang, I must be a REALLY good kisser!*

How about you? Tell me your first kiss stories!!!


*or an amazingly terrible one.

Ex-Boyfriend Encounters. Sort-of.

Hi lovelies! A friend did a blog post today about running into ex-boyfriends and asked us to share our ex-boyfriend stories. I've had a few awkward encounters, but this one, while not entirely about an ex-boyfriend of mine, was one I thought worth sharing.

I had recently turned eighteen years old when a woman I had been babysitting for off and on for six years asked if I could watch her kids overnight.  I really liked their family, so I agreed to it.

I got to her home and we were catching up a bit before they left on their getaway, and she asked if I was dating anyone.  I told her about a guy I’d just met, who I'll just call "Dave". We hadn’t gone out yet, but Dave had gotten my phone number and said he’d call me. 

Turns out she knew him, and upon hearing this asked, “Do you know how old he is?” 

 

Now, Dave did strike me as older than any other guy I'd gone out with, but that didn’t really bother me at the time because I (naively) fancied myself super-mature and able to hold my own with anyone. Besides, he was quite good-looking, in that George Clooneyish kind of way. The type that could have claimed any age within a twenty-year span and you could credibly believe it. Also, he seemed to be well-off, based on his car and wardrobe...which had it's own kind of appeal.  The fact that he was older and still single was probably just indicative that he was looking for the right woman. And lo, that might just be me, I reasoned.

In fact, Dave himself had asked me how old I thought he was when we met (which was at a church singles dance). I admit I was low-balling it to be polite when I said 29, to which he replied “Close. I’m 31″.

I hadn’t ever dated a man that much older than me (Would have been jail bait till just a couple months before.) (Though not, actually, because I was, after all, a virtuous Mormon girl.)

So I told the friend I was babysitting for “He’s thirty-one″, to which she laughed out loud and shared the following story, related to her by her sister Karen, who knew all the parties involved:

Karen had gone to school and worked with Dave for many many years and knew him well. When he was in college, Dave had a girlfriend named Jane for a couple years. Jane loved Dave and wanted to take their relationship to the next level, but it seems Dave was something of a ladies' man, and when it became clear that he wasn’t interested in settling down, they parted ways and life moved on. 

Jane met and married a wonderful guy, and they raised a family together. One evening Jane’s daughter, now 19 years old, was upstairs getting ready to go out on a date. The doorbell rang, Jane opened the door, and was surprised to see her ex-boyfriend Dave, whom she hadn't seen in twenty-four years, standing there.

Dave, upon seeing Jane, seemed flustered, and stammered out a greeting followed by some lame excuse about "just being in the neighborhood and thinking he’d stop by and say hi and see how she was doing", but that "something had come up and he had to go". He wished her well and abruptly left.  "That was bizarre", Jane thought to herself as she shut the door.

A few minutes later her daughter comes downstairs to wait for her date to arrive. A little time passes, the date hasn't shown up. Jane asks her daughter "Who are you going out with tonight?"  Her daughter tells her the date's name. 

Sure enough, it's Jane's old college boyfriend, Dave.  Dave, who who was still out there, playing the field, chasing one girl after another for all these years, while a whole lifetime had passed for Jane as she raised her family. 

Needless to say, after hearing this story from my friend, who informed me that Dave was actually forty-eight years old (!), I didn’t return his call when he rang to ask me out. But I couldn’t avoid him a couple months later when he cornered me at the punch bowl during another dance. 

“You didn’t return my calls!” he says with a flirty grin. 

“You lied to me about your age”, I stated, looking him straight in the eye. 

"Yeah, I heard you found out about that", he cheekily responds “But how could I tell you my actual age when you thought I was 29?” 

“How can you attempt to start out any kind of relationship with a flat-out lie? To say nothing about what on earth a 48 year old would want with an 18 year old. Let me guess. Was it my keen mind that fascinated you?” 

A few months later I met the guy who would eventually become my husband…he was 5 months younger than me, and it probably wasn’t my keen mind that fascinated him, either, but at eighteen, that was understandable. At least he wasn't two years older than my father!

So, tell me your ex-boyfriend encounters. Any good ones?

India: Part 2

Three months ago, I ran at a flat-out sprint from the NYC subway, to the JFK Air Train, from the Air Train to Terminal 5, through security, and finally reaching the departure gate for my flight home,  just as the agent was preparing to shut the door.  Whew!

Grateful to have made it (after grossly miscalculating how much of a delay there would be getting to the airport due to the NYC Marathon that day), I sank breathlessly into my window seat, while apologizing to the two people next to me that I'd just climbed over, who were no doubt hoping that they'd have the row to themselves. (I always feel guilty when I get a window seat and a paying customer is in the middle.) (I have often offered to switch seats, when I'm feeling compassionate.)  (I was completely exhausted that day, and had firm plans to sleep the entire way home.) (That didn't happen.)

We struck up a conversation, the three of us, and in a singular occurrence in all my flying (which is eleven years this month) (!!!!), we ended up talking the entire flight.  Our conversation continued through deplaning, down to baggage claim, then outside till they got in a cab for their hotel.

Turned out V and M (as I'll refer to them here) were newlyweds, and they'd been enroute for about 26 hours at that point, traveling from their home in India where where he is from and where they now live, to the states where she is from.  

When I found out they were coming from India, I of course lit up. In fact, I likely started gushing.  "I love India! I love the food, the people. I've loved the movies and plays set in India that I've seen. I've read books by Indian authors. I don't know why, but I just love India." (which love commenced as described in my last post). 

Meeting them was serendipitous because, as an American woman who had traveled around India, and who now lives there, M is uniquely positioned to give me tips on when and where to go, what to see, and advise on the Safety Factor (which became a concern for me after watching Slumdog Millionaire). She's also a Mormon, like me, so we had that additional connection.  I got out my laptop and began taking notes on everything they said, presuming this was my one big chance to get an inside scoop.

I don't know if I've ever been more captivated than I was during those hours that we flew across the continent, sharing their hummus, salsa and chips (grateful, as I was completely starving) and learning about how they met (at at TED Conference of all places! I'm crazy about TED talks...as my regular readers may know), and getting to know them.

And then somehow, early in the conversation, I discovered something amazing:
V grew up knowing Mother Theresa. 

I was actually SITTING NEXT TO someone who had not only met, but KNEW Mother Theresa!  (I shook his hand, so if you like, you can be 2 hand-shakes away from shaking hers.) 

V's grandfather had, as it turned out, managed all the finances for Mother Theresa's organization for many many decades, and is still involved even though she passed away in 1997.  I couldn't believe it. I briefly mentioned my dream, and he shared some anecdotal stories with me that he knew about her.

I painted a miniature picture of my peacock.
This is actual size.

The time flew quickly by.  When we landed, V pulled our bags down from the overhead bin, and then surprised me by presenting me with a blue velvet box. "We have a gift for you" he said, handing it to me. How they could have a gift for me when we'd just met on the plane was apparently beside the point. Inside was a beautiful silver peacock figurine. I have always loved the colors of the peacock (beta fish, too), and this little guy was so pretty.  What a thoughtful gesture!

We exchanged contact info, vowing to keep in touch. They invited us to visit them in India, which increases the likelihood of me going there exponentially, (I enjoy knowing people in the places I visit. Adds depth and richness to the experience.) and we parted ways. I assumed it would be quite some time before we saw each other again.

But happily, an opportunity presented itself just last month. V had to come to the states again, and we had the pleasure of starting off 2012 by hosting him during his visit. 

We had a wonderful time, going for a hike in our lovely canyon, visiting the lights at Temple Square, eating gelato, and just learning more about him, his lovely wife M, and India in general. Both of them are now on the list of people I know who are doing amazing things with their lives. Who make a difference in the world (it's quite an impressive list). 

It fascinates, inspires, and also frustrates me...since I can't seem to zero in on what direction to focus my energies, to still be stumped about what course I should pursue with my free time, and with the next phase of my life (which will be upon me in six short years when Gator graduates). But a conversation at dinner one evening gave me a tiny glimpse into one way to figure it out. I asked V, "how did you decide to get involved in and do the specific things that you are doing with your time and resources?" 

Bunch, V, and Doc on our hike in Millcreek Canyon

(note: I had researched him before he came to stay with us...a point I admitted to him openly since I knew I'd want to ask him about them, and also to let him know that I'm not in the habit of bringing random people into my home who might be creepers, even though there was honestly no possibility of that with him...you just know when you meet some people. You know? Should also note that M has an impressive record of actively making the world a better place, too. They're quite a pair. In my searching, I had discovered an array of things that he is involved in that he'd likely never have mentioned himself because of his modest nature.)

Anyway, his reply was the first thing that has given me a glimmer of insight: "I think it primarily comes down to the experiences I've had in my life, because of my family, and what I was exposed to." 

This comment brought to mind a statement made by a man named Henry Eyring, about a time when he was taught that our experiences aren't just for ourselves, and was instructed to "write them down" so he could share them with others.  

This led me think that perhaps my experiences, those things that I have learned and
gone through that have shaped and formed me into the person I am today, maybe those are somehow connected to what I should do with the next phase of my life. 

I had a lot of momentum a few years ago when I began writing a memoir (inspired by Jeanette Walls The Glass Castle, because her book really changed my life), which fizzled out for a number of reasons that I won't delineate right now, but a big one is that I still have work to do on that journey of healing. But perhaps something in that realm, using what I've gone through and overcome to help others in the same situation? I don't know for sure yet, but it was nice to have some tiny spark of inspiration.

I gave the miniature painting of Philippe the Peacock to V and M, as a thank you/reminder of our serendipitous encounter and the resultant friendship.  I'm hoping that in the next year or so we'll be able to make it over to see them and experience India first hand (maybe someone will be able to teach me how to make naan and cook makhani and tikka masala sauce to rival that found at my favorite restaurant, Bombay House) (and maybe I'll get to have my own, bona fide Mother Theresa experience).

And that's the story, people. You just never know what's around the bend, do you?

India

I have a kind of crush on India. The first time I had anything to do with India was about thirteen years ago.  We were living in Chicago while Doc was working on his Ph.D.  One night I had a dream...one of those exceptionally vivid dreams that (at least for me) are so rare. Most nights, whatever dreams I may have had fade away and are long gone by the time I awake. I'll go years without being aware of any dreams whatsoever.  

But this night was strange and unique. In my dream I was shadowing Mother Theresa as she went about her work in the slums of Calcutta, and I was REALLY excited (in my dream) because I knew that at the end of the day I was going to find out the answer to a burning question that had been (in my dream) plaguing me, which is, How does an essentially selfish person like me become like her?  I.e.,  how does someone get from a life that is good, to a life of greatness, as measured by the condition of one's heart?  And I was SO excited to know (in the dream) that at the end of the day I'd be given this secret information.  

So we worked, Mother Theresa and I, side by side all the day long, and then it was time. She told me that my answer was going to be given to me as soon as I went through a particular door, and ushered me toward it. I reached out to open the door,

and then I woke up. (you totally didn't see that coming, did you? Neither did I.)

Anyway, I was SO upset! As soon as I awoke, I tried desperately to claw my way back into sleep, back into this fascinating dream, to rewind and let myself pick it up again, anywhere, that would lead me back to the door and to the answer to this important question (that, until my dream, I had never wondered about before).  

But I never did get there.

Mother Theresa with some of her children.

Now at that time, I wouldn't have been able to pick Mother Theresa out of a three-person line up. I honestly knew nothing about her, except that she worked with the poor. This dream had so much information in it that I had never known before. It was in every way vivid and realistic...with smells and sights that were totally out of my experience in life.  It was kind of freaky, honestly.

I remember mentioning it to my neighbor and dear friend, Ann, and it was her reaction to my dream that impressed upon me that it was a kind of significant dream. I had never (and kind of still don't) attached any special significance to dreams...though I've had a handful of them in my life that seem like they are kind of in a class of their own in terms of information or meaning. But it was this dream that started my (continuing) crush with India. 

I read all the books I could find at the time about Mother Theresa, none of which were that compelling in my opinion. Though I gained some factual information about her life and work, they were missing the heart somehow. They didn't manage to inspire or motivate one to action of any sort...which is what I think I was expecting or hoping they'd do.

My disappointment about waking up before making it into The Room With The Answer was mollified another night not too long afterward, when I was up with my crying baby.  Pacing the moonlit room, I noticed a book on my piano, open to a song which I hadn't taken particular notice of before. As I gently bounced my baby in my arms, the words jumped off the page and into my heart.  It wasn't a huge mystery, this answer I sought.  It was something I'd been taught my whole life, summed up nicely in the words of a children's hymn:

I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, 

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

I’m trying to love my neighbor; I’m learning to serve my friends.
I watch for the day of gladness when Jesus will come again.
I try to remember the lessons he taught. Then the Holy Spirit enters into my thoughts, saying

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

Love. Kindness. Gentleness. Remembering. Serving. The simple, everyday things. The stuff of life. The things we can all do, for everyone we encounter in some small way, even if it's just letting your eyes smile into another's. It took my strange dream to start thinking about this in a new way.

That dream was just the beginning of my India Crush. It would be another seven years or so before I discovered Indian food (oh my word! chicken makhani, tikka masala, naan, basmati rice...I Love You Most Of All!), and slowly, other aspects of India would find their way into my life until I found myself fascinated and both enchanted and terrified of the whole of India (but mostly fascinated.)  (I saw Slumdog Millionaire on a plane...hence the the enchanted and terrified part).

Perchance To Dream

Last Friday, Doc took the day off work and the two of us flew to Long Beach for a little overnight get-away for my birthday. It was absolutely wonderful! 

Dodge Charger

We got this ridiculously amazing deal on Hotwire.com at the five-star Island Hotel in Newport Beach, so our accommodations were superb in every way, particularly because one thing on our agenda was going to the 103rd annual Christmas Boat Parade around Balboa Island...which was just a mile away.  Perfect!

I always reserve economy rental cars, but when we got to Alamo, they upgraded us to a sweet set of wheels. I've never had a car without a key before.  And talk about acceleration! This was a fun ride.

Tunnel through the rocks

Saturday we went to Treasure Island Park, which is a beautiful stretch of coast in South Laguna. We loved exploring the beautiful gardens and rocks along the shore. It was low tide, so we hiked out on the rocks where we were surrounded by ocean, and just talked for a couple hours with the air and the smells and sounds of the sea filling us up and making us feel peaceful.  Ahh, dear ocean, I love you!

Looking inland from the rocks, accessible because it was low tide.

"What are your dreams?", Doc asked me as we sat, mesmerized by the ocean.  I paused for a while before answering, because I wanted to check in with myself.  Do I currently have any dreams? I wondered.  Growing up, my greatest dream was having a happy marriage and family. Really, that was all I wanted in my life, and while it takes effort to maintain, that dream has pretty much come true. But I never really had aspirations beyond these two things.

Sometimes opportunities have presented themselves and I've seized them.  Like when I became a flight attendant eleven years ago - that has been a very happy thing in my life. I also tend to get excited for other people and their dreams, happily signing on to support them in lieu of chasing my own dreams.  For example, it's taken a lot of effort to put Doc through his Ph.D. and then, later, going to medical school, but I don't regret any of the sacrifices it's taken to help him get to this point.

Doc & my sis. They're actually so much alike it's scary. And wonderful.

YMMV but it seems like there has almost been a movement towards not just having dreams, but having BIG DREAMS. People SHOULD have an admirable dream! You are wasting your life otherwise. 

So lately I've almost felt guilty about not having a big dream that I'm actively working towards.  Everyone around me seems to be, so what the heck is my problem?!

Doc didn't ask this question to pressure me. He's just genuinely curious, and supportive of me in pursuing worthwhile things.  He recognizes that some people (me) tend to be more process-oriented, while others are seem to need a specific goal that they're actively pursuing. Their dreams may fulfill any number of purposes, such as:

• Making their lives meaningful - by making a difference in the world whether large-scale or small. Starting a charity, volunteerism (eg: school, community counsel, church, soup kitchen), doing God's work, finding a cure for the common cold, etc. They want to leave a legacy behind them.
• Self-improvement - eg: become healthier (lose weight, work out more, eat healthier), acquire education (get a degree, take piano lessons, learn to scrapbook, bake, cook etc), find a partner (romance goals), all things that make them more accomplished and self-confident.
• Have lots of fun - such things as travel the world, go in a hot air balloon, be a guest on Oprah.  The pursuit of fun, unique, interesting experiences. (It seems these kinds of goals are wildly popular.)
• Negative motivation - like proving to someone else that you could do something, eg: those kids who were mean to your nerdy self growing up, doing something impressive so you can show them. This kind of goal can still bring about positive results, even though it's not the best starting point.
• Goals that you set because you need to - like learning to walk and talk after a stroke, quitting smoking BECAUSE it's KILLING YOU, or training as a stenographer for a new career as a court reporter. 
• General goals or aims, such as "eat healthier" or "spend quality time with my spouse and kids", or "be an optimist - accentuate the positive in life"...and doing these kinds of things can help improve one's overall life, but they tend to be less accountable. (These are the kinds of "goals" I've generally had.)

Though once upon a time I was a person with modest aspirations, they have all either come to pass or didn't come to fruition, and I never zeroed in on new goals. Hence, I've landed in this place of not really doing much good with my life the last while (few years?). 

Now granted, during this time I've been working hard to heal from the past, and fending off depression can be a major goal/dream/aspiration/pursuit killer. But there's no point in waiting till I'm "better" to have dreams I'm working on. I love how Leonard Cohen put it in his song Anthem:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

So I've (again) begun thinking about goals and dreams.  I've watched this gorgeous message, and am hoping to identify what it is that I actually want. There are lots of things I'm pretty good at or that other people have suggested, but they haven't moved me to action. I'm sure that fear is the primary reason I am kind of stuck. Some of my dreams have been dashed, but rather than move on, I've felt sorry for myself and stopped trying, so as to avoid failure. How crazy is that?!  Also, I can be pretty lazy. 

I'm not yet sure what my dreams are. But I'm starting to zero in on the subject. I think I have a pretty good sense of the person I want to be generally (those General Goals mentioned above)...thoughtful, grateful, nice, honest, loyal, faithful to truth. I want to turn weaknesses into strengths, create happy memories for people I love, be a parent to and friends with my kids forever, and grow really old with my sweetheart while never losing the spark of love that we have. That would be a life well-lived. But in addition to these basics, I know there is room for me to soar.

Holiday Crimson Amaryllis

My darling bestie Keri sent me a gift this week for my birthday. Her note said "Sometimes beauty takes time. This is your year, Blue" 

It's an amaryllis, and it didn't come with instructions on how to make it bloom. Neither did I, but between all the resources out there, and the lovely people around me, I know that if I choose to, I can find and reach any dream I make.

Shakespeare asked well when he said: 
To be, or not to be, that is the question. 
I want to be.  And, perchance, to dream. 

Merry Christmas to you!
xoxo 

PS: (Did you click that first link? If you click nothing else, promise yourself that you will take just 10 minutes of your life and watch it. You won't regret it UNLESS YOUR HEART IS A PETRIFIED ROCK. I've watched it at least 15 times so far. Thank me later...preferably via a comment.)

Twenty-Four

From the moment I met him, he seemed larger than life. I think it was initially his mind that impressed me. He was one of those golden boys who had always had straight A's and full-scholarships. His artistic abilities were considerable, as were his musical talents. He was earnest, hard-working, un-assuming, kind-hearted, deep-rooted.  The list of his admirable qualities (which wasn't just in my mind...I actually wrote it down) was long.  He was unassuming and liked by all...or at the very least disliked by none, which was a feat I was particularly positioned to appreciate given my tumultuous  teen years.  He was from a lovely, solid family and had four younger siblings that adored him. He was well-adjusted and happy.

And he liked me.

ME!

(?!)

That fact alone was usually all it took for me to fall for a guy based on my self-worthlessness at that time. But for some inexplicable reason, I just wanted to be friends.  I really liked him. I admired him. But more than that, I just wanted to be with him...and any guy I'd ever fallen for in the past was pretty much a flash-in-the-pan and then our friendship was over. 

So I told him I just want to be friends, and even though he liked me still, he said "that's fine."  

And so it began.  

That was twenty-four years ago this month.  

We hung out all the time.  We could talk for hours about everything.  We DID talk about everything that crossed our minds.  He became my best friend and every moment that we were together felt miraculous and wonderful. It was like landing on a whole new universe of possibility and joy, being with him.   Pretty soon I realized that I was totally in love. And I told him so.  He said he'd been in love with me from the start. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that someone was actually in love with me. 

It was glorious.

Because of the difference in our self-esteem levels at that time in particular, it was easy to pedestalize him.  The sky was not a limit for him I secretly thought. I practically immortalized him, but he didn't let it go to his head or buy into it in any way.  Still, I knew we were going to be an amazingunstopableandchangetheworld couple, because he was more than enough to make up for my (believed) deficits. 

I had no real concept of what kind of pressure being highly-esteemed can create, to say nothing of the already internalized pressure of being a provider for a family when you're just barely done with childhood yourself.  He didn't seek my sky-high-opinion. He honestly didn't entertain thoughts of greatness. He has always been genuinely modest that way.  He treated me as though we were equals.

We wed early in the morning on a warm summer day in 1990. We were so young and undeveloped as individuals at the time, only twenty-one, but I felt confident about our ability to take on the entire world...every bit the legitimate grown-up that the law said we were (until the day we tried to rent a car and had an "under 25" policy apply.  But we've been married for three years! How am I not a full-fledged adult? I wondered.)  

I've come to think it takes most of your twenties to truly become an adult.

The pressure from without to be a certain way comes from all sectors: family, school, church, work, friends, country.  It is present in all our lives, but I think some individuals are more deeply affected by it than others...they internalize it.  The expectations inspire some, but anchor others, and not always in a place they wish to be. This can be a heavy responsibility. I think of young teenage boys who are drafted to fight older men's wars, and the heavy toll that is exacted of them in the name of duty, honor, responsibility to country.  Sometimes it's just way too much. But there are individuals who are really exceptional at carrying on, no matter what.

On this week of thanksgiving, I've been pondering the abundance of blessings in my life, and they are legion, but there was a moment when I sensed an awareness of gratitude for Doc, different than ever before.  

Perhaps it was the angle of weariness in his posture after a long, difficult day at the hospital, when he came home to a sick wife and neglected kids who needed nursing, food, homework help, and parenting, and he just took care of everything despite his own personal preferences and needs, that I became aware of this.

Of course this is just what we do, all of us, but I think it comes more naturally to some than others.  For some, it is actually a labor of love, a conscious choice made every time, rather than their natural way of being.  

Maybe it was as I lay upon my bed, home alone, head and body aching with fever, wishing for comfort and relief from any one, but realizing it was him that I would have especially liked to have near me.

No matter when it happened, there came a moment when I saw my sweet husband with new eyes. With a wash of appreciation for his steady, enduring, patient, endless presence and love in my life. For his forgiving nature, his long-suffering with things that he'd otherwise have not had to have in his life, were it not for the choice he made to just love me, loose ends and all, those many years ago. And the many years since.  

For how he does his very best to manage and meet the great number of different expectations so many people have of him in the best way he can, while still retaining a sense of who he is on his inside.   It's a hard juggling act, and one that many people would have just walked away from altogether.  But he stays, and keeps juggling.

Today I'm very grateful for my dear husband, whom I call Doc.  His name is Brad, and my name is Julia. He calls me silly nicknames more than my own name (today I'm "Jay-beepen-beeber"). He makes me laugh and makes me proud and makes me stretch and learn and grow by just journeying through the years with me.

He still believes in me and what I might accomplish in my life...calls me his "wild card". He encourages the best in me, but never tries to live my life for me, and even if I never do anything exceptional or amazing, he'll still be here for me. 

He hugs me goodbye every morning though I'm still in bed when he leaves for the hospital.  He reads what I write and gives me thoughtful, encouraging feedback. He puts up with my lack of consistent domesticity, my tendency for messes and clutter. 

He takes exceptionally good care of himself in terms of food and exercise and health. He gives his time and money and support to things that I believe in. He is diplomatic and tactful. He has never laid a finger on me no matter how infuriating I may be at times and I know I can trust him 100%. He appreciates the smallest things I do, like making a nice dinner, or folding his clean laundry.  

He fathers our sweet children in a gentle, kind way, and has a tender, beautiful relationship with each of them.  We aren't perfect and we've had our major ups and of course even more major downs because that's just how all relationships are, but he's on my team and is a constant I can hang my star on. 

For these reasons, and countless more, I am exceptionally grateful.  In fact, in the vast universe of things I count as blessings in my life--which includes all my dear friends, and you lovely readers of this blog, I think Doc, my Brad, is probably the what I'm MOST grateful for on this day of Thanksgiving.  And that's just how it should be.

I love you, Sweetest! And I'm grateful for twenty-four years of life with you! ♥

Match Moment. After years of schooling and applying to various residency programs all around the country, this envelope revealed what kind of doctor he would train to be during residency, and where that training would take place.
That was an incredible experience.

How It Went

Hi guys!

Okay, I think a little background info is in order before following up on my last post.  

As I've mentioned before, it's been years since I cut off contact with my parents.  Five, in fact.  

At that time I wasn't sure how long it might be. I didn't really have a plan, I just knew that for my own sanity, I needed some distance and time to heal from the abuse and neglect of my childhood, and that just wasn't happening as long as they were in the picture. I tried to be nice about it, but really, there's no way something like that doesn't hurt. And I hate hurting people.

A year later I checked in with my mother while she was visiting a friend who lives near me. I told her I still wasn't ready to resume contact. 

Another year passed and that's when I confronted my father (as I wrote about and linked to in my previous post).  That was three years ago.  

I described part of my journey to this point in a talk I gave this past April, which explains how I was able to get to the point I was at last Christmas Eve, when I sent them a long email, the heart of which was to tell them: 

I’ve been working hard and praying hard, and I want you to know that I forgive you both for the things that you did, and didn’t do, which have caused me pain.  I know you are both good-hearted people with good intentions. We kids were a handful and you did what you could, and some things you couldn’t do, but we all at least survived, and I’m grateful for what I’ve learned so far in my life.  I really am."

So again, I want you to know that I do forgive you, and I’ve been praying for you both, but unfortunately I’m still very uncomfortable about having you in my life. And I’m sorry about that, but it’s just where I’m at.

Which brings us up to this past Saturday when my father called.

Since you're probably curious to know, I will tell you that overall, dinner went pretty well. I was noticeably quieter than usual; not really comfortable, but trying to be pleasant. But my typically reserved, "back row kind of guy" husband really stepped up to the plate and was conversant, engaging and sociable.  My sweet girl was her cheery, normal self. And even Gator, who didn't really want to go, also did just fine. It all made me feel so supported, thankful for, and in love with my little family! (And then I came home and had several lovely notes of support from my bloggy friends.  Imy bloggy friends!  Thanks for the notes and emails!)

As we were leaving the restaurant my father asked if there was a time we could talk before they left town. I didn't have my calendar on me, so I told him I'd call and let him know.  (By the way: Did you know that buying yourself a little time in situations like this is actually part of having healthy boundaries? I didn't realize that until my therapist mentioned it yesterday.)

I can't say I actually wanted to meet again, but I felt like I should at least make an effort to hear what he wanted to say.  So I called Sunday night and arranged to meet for breakfast on Monday morning.  At the last moment, my mother asked if it was okay to bring my brother Davis along.  "ABSOLUTELY!"  (SO glad I didn't have to do it alone!)

We met at IHOP and after a few minutes of chitchat my dad dove in.  I wasn't sure if he was going to announce that he was terminally ill and had just weeks to live, or what.  But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that really, it was just about the family stuff.

One thing they were both a bit confused about was how come things aren't better between us, since I've supposedly forgiven them.  We (Davis and I) had to explain that there is a huge difference between forgiveness and trust.  And honestly, I don't think that he EVER realized this before.  I could see the dawning of understanding in his eyes as we explained this concept to him.  Forgiving him didn't mean we trusted them, or felt comfortable being with them.  

I should have used the example (but I didn't think of it at the moment) of Sigfried and Roy, who had the most visited show in Las Vegas, until one night during a performance, Roy was bitten on the neck by a seven-year-old male tiger named Montecore, and dragged off the stage. He suffered severe blood loss, a stroke and partial paralysis and has spent years in rehabilitation.

These men loved that tiger. They'd raised him from a cub and spent time with him every day of his life. But this event changed their relationship forever.  They could forgive the tiger (if you'll excuse the example of forgiving an animal...this is a metaphor after all), they could even still love the tiger, but the trust they once had was shattered, and their show had to be permanently cancelled.  

Sometimes when things are serious enough, trust won't ever be restored 100%--at least in this life. My parents have a long way to go before I will be in a position to really trust them again. 

The other really big thing was explaining to my father that we think he has very high-functioning Asperger's, or something along those lines (my totally unprofessional diagnosis)...because he has always had a massive blind spot that he doesn't even realize is there when it comes to social issues and how interpersonal relationships work.  This was totally news to him, but all three of us insisted unanimously that it's true.

It was like trying to explain to someone that can't see the color red that there's this whole part of the spectrum that most of us are aware of, but that they didn't know existed. And we didn't realize he couldn't see it all this time, but we're starting to put the pieces together. 

So now, having had this brought to his attention, perhaps he can do some research and gain some knowledge about the matter that might make it easier for him and those around him in the future.  He just really doesn't understand how some human interactions work, and that is part of the problem (though it doesn't account for his uncontrolled temper, which thing never really did change even after the sexual abuse stopped. Discussing this part may help him be aware of why we're uncomfortable even now.) 

I can't honestly recreate much of our breakfast conversation WHICH LASTED FOUR HOURS, (made sure he left the poor, underpaid waitress a really big tip), but ultimately I feel like there was some movement for all of us I think, and over all it was probably a good thing that we had the talk. I agreed to allow limited email communication, and I was able to say some things that I probably needed to say.  

I know I don't have all the answers about this whole matter of healing and forgiving deep wounds. I'm no expert, but I DO I feel like I'm being led along, tweaked and turned in ways that will ultimately help in the (in-depth, never-ending, intensive) refining process, and I’m just trying to be humble enough to let myself be helped if possible. I share my journey here in case it might in some small way help another in their own life.

I really do hope that my parents can continue to learn and progress so that things can really improve for them.  It kind of seemed like they were still hyper-focused on me, and trying to get me to change so that things would be "all better" in our family.  I may have imagined it, but it felt like maybe they realized there were things that they still need to do and CAN do on their end.  So that gave me hope.

Thanks again for the support during this experience. It means a lot to me!

xoxo,

Blue

PS: I really will be getting to the promised Drama Triangle.  Soon!