One Day, I Snapped

 And I’m glad I did.

A few weeks ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror that both confused and horrified me. I was brushing my teeth, my hair was hanging in my face, and I looked up to tuck it behind my ear while trying to not get toothpaste in it.

The image that stared back at me was not a pleasant one.

I look in the mirror every day, of course I do, and I am not sure what about this particular time made me do a double take when I saw my reflection, but I did. I finished brushing my teeth and really looked at myself for a good long time.

My hair was limp and unwashed; it hadn’t felt the heat of a blow dryer or curling iron in weeks because I just washed and let it dry. That’s not a good look on me because I don’t have wash and wear hair. I hadn’t been to the salon since early October. Going 4 months without visiting a salon is not a good look on me, either.

The weight I’ve gained has rounded out my jawline and smoothed the wrinkles from my eyes and cheeks. I had no makeup on, hadn’t for days, and the redness that is always on my face seemed more vivid than normal. I turned sideways and could clearly see the weight I have put on lately in my belly.

And I was so disgusted I stuck out my tongue at the mirror.

“How did I let myself get to this pathetic place?” I wondered.

It didn’t help that it had been cold and snowy, so I hadn’t been out in the fresh air in weeks, other than walking to and from my car or a few warmish evenings on my porch. I told myself that was why I looked so bad. I also started to blame it on a medication I took for a few weeks that caused me to put on some weight and puffed out my face.

But I was still disgusted because it was more than that, and I know I have let myself “go.” Not because I don’t care—I do care. But because I usually don’t have the mental energy to put into hair and makeup. After staring at myself in the bathroom mirror for far too long, I started scrolling through the pictures on my phone. Pictures don’t lie. I remembered a horrible man who took our photos at Share years ago telling me I had sad eyes. I laughed and told him I wasn’t feeling sad, and he replied, “The eyes don’t lie.” I was so offended, and all of us at the office laughed it off later because he had in some small way insulted each of us.

I remembered his words that day. My eyes do look sad. The camera doesn’t lie.

Neither does the mirror.

I haven’t had the mental energy for much this winter, and my appearance is a casualty of that.

It is not only my looks, though. My entire life is a casualty of my lack of mental and physical energy. Mostly mental.

On that same day, my Christmas decorations were still up. And it was almost MARCH. I sometimes purposely leave greenery and white lights on the stair railings and around the dining room mirror because it brings me cheer during dreary winter days. But usually, it is all down well before March. This year, even my Christmas tree was still up. It had no ornaments on it, and I told myself the lights lift my spirits, but still. My Christmas tree was still up at the end of February.  Last year, I purposely left my skinny silver tree up and decorated it for each season, but this was not that, either. My 8-foot Christmas tree was still up in my family room at the end of February. My silver tree was still up in a corner of the dining room, but it was not decorated for the season—it was full of Christmas ornaments. And I couldn’t use the excuse that I enjoyed the lights, because the lights had all slowly burned out, a sad reminder of what seemed to have burned out in me.

 

That day, after I tore myself away from the dreadful image in the bathroom mirror, I walked around the house and made note of all that was wrong with it. It wasn’t exactly a mess, but it also wasn’t in the condition I like for my house to be in, either, and I had been ignoring that fact for far too long. My dirty laundry basket was overflowing onto the bathroom floor. I had a precarious tower of clean, unfolded\ wrinkled laundry in a basket in the laundry room that I had been piling onto and taking from for weeks.

I could go on, but I won’t. I could blame all my slovenly ways on the bout of Covid I had in late January/early February that is still sapping my energy, but it is more than that, and I know it.

That Saturday, after I finished mentally beating myself up for the sad state of my appearance, home and life, something snapped in me. I didn’t want to spend another moment feeling disgusted with myself, my house or my life. I know I have been through things in the last year that have been rough and beaten me down, but I decided that day that I was tired of using them as permission to neglect my life.

As I did my typical overthinking, I had an epiphany…I have felt guilty for not being able to keep my family together, so why should I give a shit about keeping myself or my home together? When I really dive deep into that, it makes me realize that guilt has left a deep gouge on my soul. Shouldn’t I have been able to hold our family together? Isn’t that what moms and wives do? Especially after devoting 30 plus years to it? If I can’t even do that simple thing, what is the point of anything?

What has happened in my life in the last year has touched all the soft, vulnerable places I have. It has affected every single thing about me…my self esteem has especially taken a hit, and it is not always the best anyway. 

I didn’t know where to begin to fix things, but I resolved on that day that I HAVE to do just that. Fix the things I can and maybe what is out of my control that I can’t fix will be easier for me to deal with. I spent the day taking down most of my Christmas decorations. I felt so much better just doing that one thing that I was inspired to do more, and I made a to do list that I can slowly cross things off of.

I decided the first thing I need to address is my appearance. I made an appointment at the salon and vowed I would stop looking like the mug shot version of myself. You know what I’m talking about—you see women on true crime tv shows who are so put together, pretty hair and makeup, then you see their mugshot from prison and it’s shocking and hard to envision they are the same person. That’s how I felt on the day that a simple gesture of looking in the mirror to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear caused me to snap.

My hair is an easy thing to address. The weight I have gained is a bigger hurdle, and I decided that day that at the very least, I was going to start walking outdoors for 30 minutes, every single day, no matter what the weather was like. It was already dark outside when I made that decision, so I started the next day. Today is day 30 of doing just that, and while most days have been rough because of the cold and rain that March is, and I still become short of breath easily, I’ve started to look forward to my daily walks out in the fresh air. I can’t say sunshine because most days, it’s not sunny. When I breathe in cool, crisp air, I imagine I am breathing in peace and good vibes. I like to listen to music when I walk, but sometimes, I simply listen to the sounds around me. Most days, I have had to force myself to lace up and bundle up, but I haven’t regretted doing so even once. On most days, especially those that are cold and/or rainy, I tell myself this: “I will not regret going for this walk when I get home. But if I don’t go, I will regret that.”

So far, it has worked.

Forcing myself to walk outdoors every day, especially in the winter, is more of a mental challenge than a physical one. I am perfectly capable of walking for 30 minutes every day. It is mental energy that gets me out the door early on a Saturday morning when it is 18 degrees with a windchill hovering around zero. It is definitely mental energy that makes me change clothes at work so I can stop at a park on my way home from work to walk on an icy, rainy day because once I get home, I know I will have a hard time convincing myself to go back out. It sounds dumb, but on the day I made that pact with myself, I thought that if I could make myself do this one simple thing, it might inspire me to do more. At least I hoped that it would.

And it has, most days anyway. I chose to challenge myself to do this one thing for 45 days. Thirty didn’t seem like long enough, and 60 seemed too overwhelming to consider. Thirty days in, and I am seeing a few small changes that are encouraging me to keep on going:

Walking every day has led me back to healthier eating. Why bother dragging myself out into the cold every day if I am going to eat like crap all the time?

Best of all, though, walking every day has also forced me to give myself a bit of grace. Even if I spend all evening sitting on the couch watching tv and crocheting, which I often do, I feel good about the 30 minutes I go out and walk. Especially when the weather is awful.

I don’t know if I have lost weight because I don’t want to feel discouraged if I step on the scale and discover that I haven’t. I do hope that I eventually lose some of the weight I have gained in the last year, but my daily walks have become about much more than weight loss. Walking outdoors every day in all kinds of weather has become as much about my mental health as my physical health. A kind friend told me one day not long ago that I need to give myself grace about my weight gain, that it has been a rough year, and I should not beat myself up about it. I am trying hard to do that, but it’s not easy when I am my own worst critic who easily falls into beat myself up mode.

My next goal is to walk outdoors for one hour a day. I know that will be easier as it warms up, but even if it doesn’t warm up soon (and it probably won’t), I feel ready for another challenge. Last March, I didn’t go out for even one walk. This March, I have walked almost 50 miles outdoors, and March isn’t even over.

I can’t promise myself that I have permanently pulled out of the awful funk I was in for a few months because I haven’t. But I feel more equipped to handle the next round of funk that is bound to strike at some point. If/when it does, I will read back over this and know that I am capable of dragging myself out of it. I know that I didn’t get to the sorry place I am at right now in just a few short weeks and it will take me more than a few short weeks to get out of it, too.

Nothing that I have done since that day I “snapped” has solved all my problems; it hasn’t solved any of them. I still have days where the weight on my heart is too much. Days where thinking about how the decisions I have to make feel too heavy and impossible. But those days and moments of self-doubt and crushing angst are fewer than they were even a month ago, so I am holding on to that and taking it one step at a time.

I will end with this: I have never been one to find any sort of beauty in the gray days of a Midwest winter, but this last month, I have tried to do just that.  I have come to appreciate the way gray branches look against clear blue skies, the unique bark pattern on a tree that I would never notice if it was leafed out. I can appreciate blooming trees and sunny yellow daffodils, even if they are blooming against a backdrop of grays and browns while an icy drizzle pelts my face. On the worst days, either cold or gray or both, I have challenged myself to find something interesting to take pics of. Here are a few.

I also can’t promise myself that I will stop beating myself up for the state of my life. It is winter, but I know spring is coming, sunshine will turn all the gray things green and colorful, and I am looking forward to that. This is a photo I took a couple of weeks ago at one of my favorite parks to walk at. I made it the background on my phone. It's not a pretty picture at all, and it was an ugly, cold, drizzly day. But I envision myself in that cold landscape, sitting on that bench on a cold, gray day waiting for sunshine and my spring to arrive. 

What Hiking Teaches Me About Life

 When I decided on a whim to go hiking one Sunday last August, I had no idea how much I would grow to love it. I was simply bored after months of not really leaving home other than to go to work. Isolation made me feel adventurous; I was tired of going for walks around my neighborhood, and I wanted to try something different. Even though it was hot, more of a challenge than I expected, and I didn’t take enough water with me, I felt energized and was hooked from that first hike. In the past year, I have learned plenty, not only about hiking, but about myself and life in general.

I have learned I am strong in ways I haven’t felt strong since I was much younger. Maybe ever.

And not just physically, but mentally as well; hiking has become so much more than physical exercise. I have stretched my soul along with my legs. I have learned what I can accomplish when I put my mind and heart into it, and during the hours when I am traipsing through the woods, I think a great deal about how I can apply lessons I figure out while hiking rugged trails to my life in general.

I have learned conditions around me can affect how I notice and pay attention to the lovely things,

 in the woods and in life.

 

When the path through the woods is smooth, I easily lose myself in the beauty around me—the birdsong, deep earthy scents, rustling wind, dappled sunlight. Woodpeckers tapping into tree trunks. The sound of leaves swirling and twirling to the ground in the fall. (Who knew leaves make a sound when they fall? They do, and what a delightful sound it is.) The simple pleasure of hearing nothing but my shoes hitting the ground.

But when the way is not smooth, when it is littered with rocks and twisted, knotted roots, full attention to my feet is required so I don’t stumble and fall. On demanding terrain, it is more challenging to focus on the beauty around me. I will miss it all unless I force myself to stop, gaze up at the sky, look around and listen.

It is easy to notice the good and beautiful things when the path is smooth and easy. Other times, it takes more effort to stop and pay attention to what is right in front of me that I might miss otherwise. When I am hiking a difficult path, I don’t always notice simple things like a patch of tiny yellow flowers or a cluster of unusual mushrooms because I am intensely focused on not stumbling and falling. Yet those small treasures are what make hikes fun and interesting.

And when life is bumpy and I am putting every bit of energy I have into keeping my wits about me, it is also more challenging to take in all the simple and good things around me which make life fun and interesting. They are always there; it just takes more effort to notice them. That is why I started this blog and called it dancing in the rain—to remind myself to always look for the good parts of life even when life itself is not so good. I am not always successful, though I sure try. I don’t write here much these days, but I do often find myself wondering, “How can I dance in the rain today?”

I have learned that is okay, necessary even, to stop and rest,

but no matter what, I have to keep on keepin’ on.

 

When I am hiking, I often need to stop and rest to absorb all that I want to. If either the trail or weather are strenuous and problematic, I stop more often. I try not to make my hikes be about how fast I finish, and when the going has been rough, I don’t feel guilty when I stop to replenish myself on a bench, open my bottle of water, have a snack, and relax for a few minutes. Notice the way the blue sky looks through rippling leaves. Or the way the harvest golds and reds shimmer in the sunshine. Or close my eyes and think about how the noises of the woods easily drown out the noises in my head. Once I feel refreshed and my breathing has slowed, I keep moving. Because when one is in the middle of the woods, what option is there other than to keep moving?

And when I am in a patch of life where the trail is rocky and conditions are less than ideal, I also must keep moving. But I’ve learned it’s okay, necessary even, to stop and replenish myself on a rocking chair on my porch with a book and a glass of wine or a cup of tea until I feel ready to move on. Watch the evening sky as the sun fades into a swirl of color or storm clouds move in. Listen to cicadas and tree frogs. And even when I am not ready to move on, I must anyway, because I can’t sit on the porch forever, just as I can’t stay on a bench in the middle of the woods forever.

I have learned that obstacles on the pathways of the woods and life present opportunities for me to take on challenges I don’t think I am capable of and feel proud of myself when I do.

I frequently encounter downed trees or giant boulders that block my way. Sometimes, it is easy to climb over and keep going, but sometimes, the stumbling block is a tree with a huge trunk that I stare at for a moment while I wonder how in the world I am going to get over it. Occasionally, those downed trees seem insurmountable especially at my age. When I was much younger, it would have been effortless for me to throw my long legs over the tree and continue. But now that I am older and not in great shape, the obstacles feel more impossible.

Every once in a while, I can walk off the path a little bit to go around the tree, or at least climb over a smaller part, but other times, that will not work, and I have no choice but to climb on over or play limbo and crawl under. I tell myself others I encountered going the opposite way on the trail that day have already conquered that hurdle, so surely, I can, too. I have scratched my hands and knees and ended up with muddy, wet pants more than once. But no matter how difficult it is, no matter what obstacle I encounter, I have always gotten over it. Not always unscathed, but over it, nonetheless.

The same goes for life….

Holes are ripped in my heart; my ego is bruised and scratched. I am in a phase now of staring at a huge, downed tree, wondering how in the world I will be able to continue on the path I know and trust. This is one of those trees there is no way around; I have to find a way over it, somehow. When I was younger, I might have hopped over and moved on much quicker than I feel equipped to do now. I tell myself I have overcome every obstacle I have encountered so far, and I will overcome this one, too.

I have learned that frequently, there is just no way to not get dirty and muddy.

Another obstacle I often encounter when I am hiking is mud.

I hate hiking in mud more than I hate any other trail conditions. If the path is mostly muddy, I am sore from my hips to my toes the next day, and I typically need to spend a day or two resting. Slogging through mud works muscles I didn’t even know I have. Other times, the path is primarily clear with an occasional mud puddle (or mud hole). Again, I will stop, stare at it and search for a way to go around it. Sometimes, there is indeed a way to carefully step around the whole thing, or at least tip toe around the edge so I can end up with less mud on my feet. Other times, there is no way around it, so I say screw it and tromp on through. Other times, I do it more slowly and gingerly; it completely depends on my mood.

Once more, just like life. I have never been a person who particularly enjoys getting dirty. When I was a kid, I hated for my hands to be dirty. As a grown up, I enjoy gardening, but I have to wear gardening gloves because I still hate getting my hands dirty. But sometimes, there really is no way to carefully step around the mud puddles of life, and it is necessary to simply traipse through them. I am doing that now. Some days, I stomp through the mud puddles of life, not caring how dirty I get. Other days, I take it slow, really think about how I can make it through with the least amount of mud and crap caking up my mind. On particularly muddy days, I find myself exhausted and in need of rest to recover from tromping through all the mud of life, just as I need to do when I have spent miles on a muddy hiking trail.

I have learned there is no way to avoid rocky hills.

My favorite hiking trail is one that is not far from home. There is one thing I hate about it though: the huge hill about midway through the 5 ½ mile trail. If I start the trail where most do, it is an uphill climb that usually takes me about 10 minutes to navigate. The worst thing about this hill is not just that it is long and steep (though it is!), it’s that is completely covered with lose rocks. It is treacherous. I was hiking there with a friend one morning, and she suggested that we start the trail backwards, that it might be easier to go down that hill than to go up it.

It’s not.

It sounded great in theory. But going down the hill is no easier than going up it. It is still a rocky hill, and it is still covered in loose rocks that are treacherous. It is still the most challenging part of the whole 5 plus mile hike. I still hate and dread that part of the trail.

A rocky hill is still a rocky hill, and life is full of them. And there is no way around them. I deal with this hill the best way I can: Whether I hike up it or down it, I sit on the bench at that top and rest. Either to catch my breath after hiking up or to psych myself up to go down. I take my time navigating that hill. The key is that I know eventually, whether I am traveling up or down this hill, it will end eventually.

Life is the same: Eventually, the treacherous, rocky, path will end. And there will be a restful bench or rocking chair to stop and rest a spell. If there isn’t, I will create one.

Hiking has taught me that lovely things can grow, even thrive, in harsh, less than ideal conditions.

There may not be much sunshine deep in the woods, but a green plant can grow in a dark crevice of a dead tree or even between stones and boulders. The environment may be inhospitable, yet these plants are hardy and search for any little bit of sustenance they can find. They might thrive in more favorable conditions, yet they still take root and grow.

In countless ways, my life is pretty dark and unfavorable right now. While I may not be what I think of as thriving, I do find that I am putting out some new, tender roots. I am surviving and, in some strange ways, growing. I, too, am seeking out any little bit of sustenance I can. Some days, that sustenance looks like texting a cousin I haven’t seen in years and asking her if I can visit then hiking with her through her woods before settling into old comfy chairs beneath older trees drinking wine. It looks like texting your brothers and saying, “Hey, I need to get away, when can I come?” and driving 9 hours a few days later. Other days, it looks like taking a few hours to browse an antique mall or walk in a park with a cup of coffee. Still other days, it looks like sitting on my front porch all day reading in the sunshine or snuggling in my pjs on the couch on a rainy day watching Netflix.

I have learned that while I love hiking by myself, companions are nice, too.

I have hiked with a few different people, but I also relish quiet, thinking time by myself. I have one friend I have a good time hiking with even though we often don’t talk while we hike; just being with someone is enough. Hiking quietly with a friend reminds me that in life as well, it’s not what is said, but knowing that someone is by my side that is all the comfort I need.  

I have learned that we all take life’s paths, hurdles, and hardships at different paces,

and everyone’s journey looks different.

And I have also learned that is okay!

 

Some of the people I have hiked with take the same path I am on much more swiftly and sure footed than I do. Sometimes, they end up far ahead of me and stop to wait for me to catch up. They may hop on over the downed trees that I slowly and carefully crawl over.

This serves as a reminder to me that in life as well as hiking, we all go at our own pace and have different capabilities for overcoming rough terrain and obstacles blocking our path. Some may think I am moving way too slowly right now, or not handling obstacles the way they are sure they would, but that’s okay. I know in my heart that I am doing what I can when I can. I am stepping gently and deliberately over the obstacles and around the mud puddles in my path because I don’t want to make a wrong move and tumble down a ravine. The one and only time I went hiking when I wasn’t carefully considering the path in front me, I stumbled on a rock and hobbled out of the woods on what I was sure was a broken ankle. I was hiking in anger that morning, not paying any attention at all to what was on the path. Thankfully, my ankle was only sprained and not broken, but it set me back and made me barely able to even walk for weeks. That experience reinforced that it is always necessary to keep my wits about me and not do something in anger I may regret later.

Hiking has taught me to step out of my comfort zone.

This is perhaps one of the most important things I have learned since I started hiking. My comfort zone has always been pretty small, and I tend to get caught up in my own little bubble, afraid to try new things. I bought a new sewing machine almost two years ago, yet I have never used it. I know how to sew, but this is a much fancier machine than the one I used in the past, and I am intimidated to try it out. My life is full of situations just like that one.

But staying in one’s comfort zone can become boring. And wasteful, like my expensive sewing machine that has sat unused for 2 years. No more of that for me.

Part of my pleasure in hiking has become trying out something new, a new park, a new trail when I am out of town. A new restaurant after my hike. Going somewhere I’ve never been before, just to hike there. Making it through a hike that is hard for me.

I have gone on hikes that were easy, but more of them were hard. And to be honest, I appreciate the harder hikes more. I get more out of them. I feel more accomplished. I have never yet regretted trying something new and stepping away from my comfort zone. I have encountered so many breathtaking views and beautiful scenery on paths I probably should never have been on with my limited hiking experience.

Life is becoming the same way. As I have forced myself to step out of my comfort zone, I have been treated to things like a picturesque town on a river in Wisconsin that I would never have visited if I hadn’t stepped out of my comfort zone.

Hiking has taught me that going backwards is not an option.

Tied for first place with the above lesson is this one.

When I am hiking, turning around and starting over actually is an option, even though it’s not a good one. More than once, I have taken hikes that I shouldn’t have, when I wished I could turn around and head back the way I came because the path and obstacles seemed more than I was up for. But so far, I haven’t turned around. Most of the time, that is because to turn around would take me even longer, and I would have encountered the same difficult conditions on the way back. I always tell myself I need to keep moving forward because the path may become easier around the next bend. Sometimes, it does indeed level and smooth out. Other times, it is even harder than what I already encountered. I have never turned around when tempted to, and by the end of every hike, I am exhausted but energized, and proud of myself for making it through a tough path.

In life, it really is not possible to go backwards. I tell myself that what I can’t see ahead of me may be easier, just like those twisty paths I hike. Sometimes, it is and whatever I imagined was not as bad as I thought it would be. Other times, it is indeed harder. On those days, my exhausted self may have to sit longer to gear up for what is ahead of me, just as I sometimes have to stop and rest longer when I am on a difficult hike. At this moment in time, I am exhausted in a lot of ways. Each turn I take, though, energizes me in some way. I don’t know when this path I am on will end, or how exactly it will end, or what twisty steep paths are ahead of me, but I am looking forward to overcoming all the hurdles and feeling proud of the ones I have already conquered.

Just as I look back on a difficult hike and think to myself, “Wow! I can’t believe I did that and am still standing because I didn’t tumble over that cliff!” I look forward to being at that point in my life as well.

Ironically, while I have no clue what is ahead for me now and that scares me, when I am walking in the woods, I love the spots where the path switches back on itself, and I can’t see what is up ahead or around the bend. Sometimes, what appears to be a steep drop off that I dread taking on turns out to be a set of steps I just can’t see until I get closer to them. When this happens, the relief I feel is enormous. I am trying to bring that feeling of wondering what is ahead with me now and embracing it rather than fearing it. I am trying to look for the steps that will make the steep downward parts easier to travel.

I am looking forward to standing at the bottom of those steps, looking up, and thinking, “Wow! I can’t believe I made it!

Joy is My Life Jacket

 

I have cried so much this year

That I’ve almost drowned.

So when you see me smile

Don’t think I’m no longer in the water—

Understand that my joy is a life-jacket.

~Elisabet Velasquez

 

I was perusing Instagram early this morning, and that showed up in my feed. I have no idea who Elisabet Velasquez is, but, WHOA. And wow. Did that little poem ever resonate with my heart in a profound way? I’ve been thinking about it all day.

 

Why? Because I have had a rough year that at times has threatened to take me under. And at the same time, I have tried my best to do things to keep me from going under.

 

Along with my marriage, my life as I know it is ending, so honestly the word “rough” is a bit of an understatement.

 

I don’t typically post such personal things here, and I debated doing so now, but it feels right. It’s not like I have gazillions of followers who will cause this to go viral. 😊 I think only 3 people actually read here. 

 

What is happening in my life now has made me deeply regret most of the times when I thought my life was shitty. I wish I could take it all back and have some do-overs. It’s like life said to me, “You thought THAT was shitty?? HAHAHA! Be careful what you complain about, and here ya go!” Because real shitty is what my life is right now.

 

It’s soul crushing.

 

Not long ago, a friend told me that she knows this has rocked my world. My world hasn’t just been rocked—it’s been spun off its axis and is hurtling out of control into a land far, far away.

 

What I am writing today is not really about that, though.

 

It’s about my mission to find joy and beauty and fun despite and amid the horrid, shitty parts of my life. It has taken me a while to get here, and who knows, I may not be here for long. But for now, this is where my heart is. I’ve had plenty of days (or if I’m being real, weeks, months) where my soul felt so bogged down that I spent entire weekends sitting on my front porch (or the couch) drinking wine and reading in my pajamas. I’ve had times where I completely let things go—times when I barely kept myself in clean clothes and went to the grocery store to stock up on frozen pizzas. And the house has admittedly suffered from serious neglect the past few months. I have gained weight that I worked so damn hard to lose a few years ago and swore I would NEVER gain back.

 

I’m not proud of any of that, and I can’t believe I am writing it. But there is something about your world being sent into outer space to convince you that making yourself vulnerable in ways you never have before is not so frightening.

 

After an especially bad weekend in May, I decided I was not going to continue sitting around feeling lonely and sorry for myself all summer. I was determined to squeeze every little drop of fun and joy out of life that I was able to. Make lemonade out of lemons. I even bought myself a coffee mug that says “Squeeze the day” as a reminder of how I want to live.

 

I knew it wouldn’t be simple or painless. And it definitely has not been. I often struggle and force myself to keep up that determination, but it has mostly worked. Despite everything, I have completely enjoyed myself this summer.

 

At first, I wondered if it is genuine JOY if I am forcing it upon myself? And at first, it certainly was fake, not real, deep down in the soul JOY.

 

It was forced.

 

At times I wondered what the point was. I wondered if I would be better off to just continue wallowing in my pitiful feelings for however long I needed to. Yet thankfully, I still had my wits about me enough to know that wallowing was not going to work, nor was it what I really wanted to do. Times when I did allow myself to wallow only made me feel worse. I made up my mind that even if it felt fake, I needed to look for joy anyway. Because I would at the very least feel something other than pathetic for sitting around all day in my pjs; I would rather feel fake joy than feel pathetic.

 

Four months into my journey of squeezing joy out of shit, I can say it has been a success. What once felt forced and fake has become genuine. When I feel joy, it now seems sweeter because it has been hard to come by. I have honestly fought myself and my thoughts for every single minute of it. Has doing so taken my problems away? Nope, it definitely has not. But what it has done is provide me with some moments of beauty and fun in an otherwise bleak time.

 

One of the things that has been the worst about all this is the utter loneliness that has consumed me at times. Because of that, one of the things I most wanted to do this summer was spend time with people I love, even when I didn’t feel like it.

 

Especially when I didn’t feel like it.

 

I gravitated toward people I knew would feed my hungry soul, even if they didn’t know what was happening in my life. And not all of the people I spent time with this summer know what is happening in my world. I found joy in those people and times anyway.

 

What did I do to bring joy to my life? So many things that I am not sure I would have done in any other summer or any other time.

 

I went to a street music festival with a friend. This was at the beginning of the summer when I was in the depths of the doldrums, but this friend’s company is so good for me, and I knew I would not regret going. And I didn’t. We people watched and drank wine from disposable cups on a bench while an 80s cover band played to the crowd.

 

I reached out to a distant cousin whose company I enjoy and asked her if I could come spend a Friday with her. Even though she lives less than two hours away, I hadn’t seen her in years. Two weeks ago, we spent a perfect afternoon having lunch on her screened porch and walking around her woodsy property. We relaxed in comfy chairs under old shade trees and drank wine. She showed me around her art studio and sent me home with some gorgeous pieces of her handmade pottery. She doesn’t know what I am going through, but that didn’t matter. For a few hours, I felt normal in the company of someone who doesn’t know what a hot mess my life really is.

I planned trips.

 

I went to the beach with my kids. And while it didn’t turn out as I imagined, it was full of joyful moments. Moments I spent in solitary walks on the beach each day. Moments spent soaking in the sunshine on the pool deck. Moments spent eating delicious seafood. Drinking slushy drinks too fast before they melted. Mornings walking on the quiet beach, a steaming cup of coffee warming my hands. Time to think and plan and unwind.

 

I went to Atlanta twice. One trip, I flew, the other I drove. Nine hours in a car listening to my favorite music, my cares uncurling in a ribbon of highway behind me. Time relaxing with two people I adore, drinking coffee on the porch in the mornings as the sun rose and cocktails on the patio in the evenings as it set. Listening to the best music and playing with the best dogs. Cooking delicious meals and savoring them outdoors with friends.

 

I took a trip to Wisconsin. It started out as a trip for PLIDA, but I turned it into a long weekend of fun in a place I had never been before. I met a colleague there, but I also spent time alone, which I desperately needed. I went hiking in a stunningly beautiful state park on a trail that had breathtaking views of the Mississippi River. We took a riverboat cruise and went on a winery tour. We ate delicious food, drank delicious wine while sitting in a porch swing overlooking mountainous green hills and vineyards. I ate breakfast in a quirky John Hughes themed diner, walked along the riverfront park, read a book and drank coffee in the same park. I bought two pieces of jewelry made by the husband of a shop owner across the street from my hotel. I loved the road trip there through hours of rural Iowa cornfields and quaint small towns. Again, music blared and my soul breathed.

 

At home, I’ve gone on hikes with friends and by myself. I’ve visited my favorite winery and new ones.

  

I have

gone on long walks and started doing yoga

taken a couple of online art classes to learn how to watercolor paint

I made this!

finally made a delicious and edible loaf of sourdough bread

made a baby blanket for my sister’s new granddaughter

watched sunrises from my back deck and sunsets from my front porch

I have soooo many sunrise and sunset pics. I'll just share this one. :) 

planned a fun back to school party for Rachel on her first day of teaching

went kayaking for the first time ever

 

 

I have read 17 books this summer.

 

My life may be shitty, but I am trying my best to fill it with good things.

 

Back to that poem I posted.

I have often wondered if people see all the things I am doing, the things I post about on social media, and assume that “Whew. Rose is doing well. She looks like she is having the time of her life!” What they don’t know is that I am doing the things I am doing and posting the things I am posting because I am forcing myself to do well. Because the alternative (not doing well) is not something I am ready to accept and embrace.

 

Just because I post a pic of my favorite winery after a hike or photos of me relaxing by the beach or hanging out on my brother’s porch or anything else I have done this summer doesn’t mean I am fine and dandy. I really am not fine at all.

 

All those photos and posts mean is that I am doing what I need to do to stay afloat, to keep from drowning. I hadn’t looked at them in this way before this morning, but these things are my lifejacket. I am still in the water. These things are saving me from drowning.

 

And I will keep on putting on lifejackets. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Only Life Had Directional Signs

This past summer, I started hiking and walking at different parks and trails. One thing I noticed right away is how the trails are often marked with signs to make sure you stay on the path and don’t get lost. They are mostly at spots where another path or two veers off the main one—in some places, it is clear you shouldn’t head down another path because it is narrow, overgrown and would be difficult to navigate. But in other places, the off-shoot paths don’t look any different than the main path. Sometimes, the marker is as simple as a sign with an arrow on it, others it is a painted circle on a tree. At some parks, they look like real road signs. At each of these points, I was and still am grateful for whatever mark lets me know that if I follow that direction, I will not be led astray.

Last weekend, I was hiking with a friend on a trail that has become my favorite. I have hiked there 14 times over the past seven months, and I am now comfortable there. I no longer need to pay close attention to the trail signs as I once did. In fact, at one point, I told my friend that even though we could veer off to a different path because it eventually joins back up with the main one, we probably didn’t want to because that part of the trail is hilly, rocky and more difficult. We were toward the end of what was already a tiring hike, and I knew that way would be challenging, even though it would add no distance.

As we walked past the post letting us know there were two miles to go, I had the thought that I wished my life had visible signs pointing out the right, easiest way to go, that informed me the route I was on would take me through the shortest, least challenging way from point A to point B. That I wouldn’t end up lost.  I wished there were clues that let me know when whatever path I was on would end, and I wished that when I was at a crossroads, the road I should take would be easily identifiable.  

 I wished that life had signs like this one at one of my favorite parks:

This sign that would tell me that life is about to spin me in circles, but it is inevitable, and if I let myself ease into the circle, I will soon be out of it and back on the right road.

Or these signs, simply telling me the direction I have to go because there is no other option. It’s going to be sharp, or curvy, but I am expecting it, and if I make that sharp turn, follow the curves, all will be well.

Or this one. Especially this one:

I could probably write an entire post like this about bridges. I may at some point. For now, I will say I don’t like bridges, I never have. Sometimes, they are stunningly beautiful, and I admire the engineering behind them. But I hate sitting in traffic stuck on a bridge. I don’t even like being stopped under one: in either situation, I always imagine them collapsing. But, since they are a necessary means to carry you over obstacles like rivers, or rocky streams in the case of this particular bridge, they are necessary. How great would it be if life had a warning sign to let you know that while there is some unknown obstacle ahead, there is a bridge to lead you over it safely?

Sadly, life is not that easy, and you are typically forced to build your own bridges, without the benefit of an engineering degree that ensures you make the best most sturdy of bridges. Instead, we cobble them together after we are already in the thick of the rocky, rushing river of complicated life.

But back to the theme of this post—if life had signs.

Yeah, it would be great if life had warning signs, alerting us to what struggles might be ahead; if we had them, we would never veer down paths that were going to take us the wrong way. We would know that going one direction instead of another would lead to challenges and heartaches we never imagined.

We would know that if we follow the signs and don’t deviate from the right path, all will be well, and we will get to where we want to be. In the case of hiking, following the trail signs means we are taking the best, easiest path that will take us back to our car. In life, it would be lovely to have signs letting you know that if you follow the right direction, you will end up exactly where you want to be, when you want to be there.

But we would also never know that taking one path over another can bring joys and experiences we wouldn’t otherwise have and couldn’t have imagined.

When hiking, there have been times veered I off the path, not on purpose, but because sometimes, I have hiked where the paths were not clearly marked. In October, I spent a weekend in Georgia and hiked much further than I planned to, by myself, over difficult terrain that I was not expecting, that I didn’t feel prepared for. Once I was on the trail, I had no choice but to keep forging ahead.

That ended up being one of my favorite hikes so far. If the path had been clearly marked, I would never have taken it because I know I would have been sure it was more than I could handle. By the time I realized it was too much for me, the way back if I had turned around would have been just as difficult, so I kept going.

And when it ended, I felt strong. Accomplished. Like I had earned the right to fist pump the universe. That was in October, and it is still the hardest hike I have done. I often look at the photos and think to myself, “Wow, I did THAT?!”

Once I started writing this last weekend after the hike with my friend, I realized that while I do at times wish life had signs directing me which way I should go, I also know that sometimes, taking paths I am unsure of will lead me to good things I would not have experienced if not for taking that particular route.

Life is not quite like hiking. There is never really one right path that gets you from point A to point B. My life, and everyone else’s is woven together from choices made when we weren’t sure what the wisest choice was. And of course, hindsight always gives the best opinion. But just like hiking, there comes a point in life where you can’t turn around and go back, you just have to keep forging ahead and have faith and hope that you will end up where you need to be at the end of the trail.

But I sure do wish it was as easy as following orange circle on a tree or an arrow on rusty sign.