Dwelling in the Discomfort Sucks

Be careful what you wish for. Boy, oh, boy. Yesterday I made the mistake of asking for "emotional sobriety" to live with uncertainty and a future of unknowns. I may not have received exactly what I asked for, but opportunities presented themselves throughout the day to allow for growth and emotional development. Before I knew it, this girl was in over her head.

Every morning I read The Daily Love, a blog by Mastin Kipp. The timing of his words has been perfect for me. This was the gem from my morning's reading:

"Ask for the emotional sobriety and peace of mind to be okay living the maybes. Get comfortable in the in-between. Know that delays are not denials and have fun in the moment, in the mean time, as it evolves into an ever better version of reality."

Jeff Goins is another writer I follow, and I have learned so much from him about living fully in the "In-between" times of life. (For those of you who identify with the term "in-between," you might gain some important insights from what Jeff has to say about navigating through the uncertainties.)

We have to trust that everything will work out just the way it should, but while the universe is at work, bringing wonderful things to pass, we need to fully enjoy the life we've been given, right here, right now...even during the uncertainties of the in-between time.

"He that can have patience can have what he will."

- Benjamin Franklin

Mastin Kipp reminds us that a delay does not mean a denial. I read a quote yesterday about patience, which has never been my strong suit. Patience is not simply waiting. It's maintaining a good attitude while waiting. (Thank you, Joyce Meyers.) The best way for me to do that is to stay busy while I'm waiting, and be grateful for the blessings that are already mine.

Yada-yada-yada. I couldn’t have known that after posting all of these thoughts on my Facebook wall yesterday that I would have to face my demons, and ride a big, old nasty wave of emotion within hours of my posting.

During my morning reading, my mind felt elevated and inspired by the words I read. It was easy to want to be present in the comforting reassurance of Mastin. I was drawn to his words, and felt such confidence. And then, without warning, I had to put this information to the test, and all hell broke loose.

Yesterday was day three for me of a little experiment I was trying. Instead of numbing myself in mindless habits that have been my go-to stress relievers for the last thirty-odd years, I decided to challenge myself by avoiding my own avoidance techniques. 

I planned to dwell fully in the moment, and live with an intention of mindfulness, even when life gets hard. In doing that, I was not going to allow myself to fall back on old patterns of behavior that gave me something to do, but did nothing to fill the hole in my soul that presents itself from time to time. A friend had warned me that when we avoid our avoidance techniques, it brings out the demons. I was going to be fine. I'd managed two whole days of living with intention. My plan was to live in the present, and face life head-on.

THAT is easier said than done, my friends. Everything was going along smoothly yesterday morning. I went for my daily four-mile walk after I finished my writing, first thing, before the day became too hot. When I returned, I spent some time with a friend via Skype. Then I headed to the gym for a Zumba class. (Yes, I know, I tend to use exercise as a numbing agent, too, but I had set a goal of “two-a-day” workouts. There’s a difference. I was in a good place mentally, and was being intentional about that.)

My day was clicking along…listening to Bridger play guitar, checking in with friends on Facebook, and then, out of nowhere, my old friends the demons came by for a visit. All it took was a familiar trigger, and it was like I’d opened my brain to a host of fears and troubling thoughts.

We all have our demons, our own personal challenges. Do you know what thoughts plague me? Abandonment. Rejection. Loneliness. Being alone is my greatest fear. It is what has driven me to make bad decisions in the past. Goodness knows I’ve had to confront my solitude time and time again, especially since Christmas. After a long and lonely winter, I was starting to feel like I had a handle on things. I was wrong. Giving those fears a place to rest yesterday afternoon was my first mistake, but I was recognizing the experience for what it was.

“Ask for the emotional sobriety and peace of mind to be okay living in the maybes.” Emotional sobriety was nowhere to be found. I resorted to old thought patterns, and let my fears convince me that what I was feeling in that moment is how I was always going to feel. It wasn’t going to get better. I would always be alone. I would be required to live out the rest of my life facing my biggest fear on a daily basis.

That these thoughts are irrational was not a consideration. I was in a bad place, and I needed to figure out what to do with these thoughts and feelings.

Dwelling in the discomfort sucks. Just sayin'. It hurt. It was uncomfortable. I recognized it for what it was, and tried to reason with myself. That’s a hard thing to do.

“Just because you think it doesn’t make it true.” What if you can't stop thinking it, though? What then? Huh?

"This feeling won't last forever." Uh-huh. Not buying it.

“Experience these feelings; get to know them.” No, let’s just not. I have known them most of my life. Making friends with them seemed like a very, very bad idea. I'm not good at doing the counter-intuitive.

The old me would have retreated to the kitchen, seeking out the soothing solace of filling my mouth with food in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside of me. Not today. Today I refused to allow myself my numbing habits.

So I sat in my living room, wondering what we were all going to do together. Fear, Loneliness, Anxiety, and I, all just hanging out on the couch, looking at each other nervously, driving each other crazy. I couldn’t offer them something to eat, even though if they’d been normal visitors, a good hostess might. I couldn’t ignore them by leaving them to themselves; I had promised myself I wouldn’t. No, I needed to sit with them, talk to them, and figure out what they were trying to teach me.

Some people turn to compulsive behaviors as a coping mechanism when things get tough. I know what mine are. You probably know what yours are. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, sex, cutting, excessive exercise, eating disorders…familiar patterns of behavior feel like old friends when our self-talk becomes full of doubt, self-loathing, and fear. 

What was I supposed to do to get through this day of discomfort? I began to panic. A dull ache was taking up residence in my head. I tried a nap. The thoughts racing through my brain would not allow sleeping to take place. I selected one of my new books to try. Before long, I realized that even that was a technique of avoidance. I knew I needed to eat, but because I’d used eating mindlessly as a coping technique in the past, I would have to be careful.

I made a simple dinner of vegetables and eggs, and sat down at the table with my son to eat it. After he left to spend the evening with friends, I was left alone. My visitors loomed larger than life, and seemed to fill my house.

Sitting in the living room, staring at my unwelcome guests wasn’t getting me anywhere. What was I supposed to do to get through this? I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I decided to take us all out for a walk. I know, maybe that seems like another avoidance technique, but it was better than my other options. I didn't know what else to do.

During my walk, I felt a sense of dread. Panic wasn’t far behind. I decided to reach out. I texted a friend, “Tonight my demons have come to do battle.” I pressed on, walking farther into the early evening hour, wishing with all of my heart I could make sense of all of this.

Within moments, my phone rang. I hadn’t cried all day, even though there were times I thought I might do just that. The moment I heard concern on the other end of the phone, I was like an injured child who holds it together until mom is in sight. The tears stung my eyes, and fell down my cheeks unchecked. I couldn’t do this alone today. And that was okay.

We talked about knowing we’re supposed to dwell in the discomfort, but not really knowing what we’re supposed to do while we’re in the thick of the dwelling. In talking, I was able to verbalize my fears, and I started simply by saying, “I got scared.”

Today, I’m going to find out what else we can do when tough times come. They’re going to come, you know. If I’ve learned one thing from this last winter, it is that nothing lasts forever. Good times…bad times. We’ll always be fading from one into the other. I’m thinking we better know what to do when the next wave hits. 

So, today, I'm going to be a super sleuth. I'll investigate, and I’ll let you know what I find out. And if you have any tips for weathering these storms, I would be most grateful to hear your thoughts.

What do you do when life gets uncomfortable? I'm not asking for your dark confessions; just any tips that have worked for you when life gets uncomfortable, and you have lessons to learn. Is it just a matter of waiting it out? I have so much to learn; I hope you will share with me, and I will continue to seek out answers for myself. Stay tuned...

And just so you know, this morning when I woke up, I discovered that my unwelcome guests were nowhere to be found. Now that I know them, and have spent some time getting to know them, I think their visits will take up less and less of my time. Here's hoping!

Gnats Drive Me Gnuts

Squinting through the fingers of my softball glove, I take a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of leather and hot, humid air. Standing in our neighbor's pasture where our family of eleven has joined the Saunders family of nine to a softball game, I can feel the sweat trickle down my back, and my wilted "wings" are sticking to my forehead. My view of the action at home plate is mostly blocked by my mitt. I could remove it from the front of my face, and would probably not make my face quite so hot, but if I were to do that, the gnats would have a better chance of getting in my eyes.

The Iseman-Beidler Clan

While the softball game drags on, the only activity I am actively engaged in the outfield is keeping those infernal insects out of my eyes. Occasionally, I remove the mitt from my face to take a swipe through a swarm of gnats, hoping that by clearing a path through the buzzing mass of bugs, I will scare them away. They quickly reassemble, flying around my head, and I go back to protecting my eyes with my mitt.

Gnats are so annoying. During the heat of any summer day in Virginia, they travel in swarms, attracted to eyeballs, apparently.  I swear I spent the better part of June, July, and August of my childhood trying to remove dead gnats from the corner of my eye. 

Being in the outfield is such a drag; it is just so boring out here. The only people possibly having any fun are the pitcher, and whoever has a turn at bat. The Saunders boys and my brothers know if they hit the ball in my direction, they're probably going to get a home run out it. I'm too busy protecting myself from the bugs, and I'm not exactly known for my athletic skills. I hate softball, and the only reason I'm even out here is because the Saunders family is comprised of seven boys, several falling in my age range of interest. 

Granny Iseman once told me at a church picnic that I needed to hold a small, leafy branch over my head to get the gnats to fly OVER my head, instead of around it. They're attracted to the highest part of us, and apparently, we trick them into thinking the branch is where the top of our head is. Gnats are not only pests, they must be pretty stupid. It seemed to work for her, but I was a teenager, and couldn't afford drawing undue attention to myself. I became adept at folding the corner of a Kleenex into a sharp point to retrieve gnats from the corner of my eyes because I wasn't willing to carry foliage above my head.

Gnats are probably why summer is NOT my favorite season. And why I hate being outdoors in the summer in Virginia. And why I really hate playing softball. But gnats are only ONE reason I hate softball. There are bigger reasons I hate that game, but that's a story for another day.

Bugging Out in Biology

My fascination with insects began my sophomore year in John White's biology class at Nelson County High School in Virginia. He gave us the most comprehensive assignment I have ever had: catch, identify, mount, and label 50 insects. Only ten could be duplicates.

Mr. White taught us about the classifications of the animal kingdom. He showed us how to make our killing jars, and gave us instructions for making insect nets. His requirements included mounting the insects' wings properly so that the display looked as professional as possible. We were required to use an entomology handbook to make labels for our display case: a shadow box filled with a thick layer of batting to which we pinned our insects. Labels had to be straight, legible, and neat. 

My family spent late nights under the spotlight in the gravel driveway, trying to help me reach my goal. My brothers and I took turns climbing a ladder to get the larger moths that fluttered near the light. My friends and I traded our extras. The day I was able to trade two Io moths for a Luna moth was a very good day.

Mr. White's biology classroom buzzed with positive energy. His job could not have been easy. High school sophomores are more concerned about driver's ed, being with friends, and the opposite sex. Not many teachers know how to motivate that many students to invest their time and energy in a project of that magnitude. I can't speak for everyone, but I think most of us were excited to come to class with our questions, to work together in identifying our latest finds, and sharing our extras with our classmates. 

Even now, 35 years later, high school friends recall that entomology collection with fondness. I've seen classmates banter back and forth on Facebook about pictures of insects, correctly identifying butterflies or garden pests. There is good-natured teasing about the source of the interest and information.

My own collection moved with me from Virginia to Utah, and from house to house for 34 years. Every year at school, I would show it to the children in my classroom. I was very proud of my collection, but over the years, its age began to show. Some of the labels slipped, and some of the insect parts detached from the bodies. My last year of teaching, I finally gave it away to another teacher to use in her classroom. My bug collection lives on.

Danaus plexippus, Monarch butterfly

Sadly, within a couple of years of my graduation in 1979, the project was terminated by the school board. Parents had complained of the extensive project, stating that it took too much time, energy, and money. Like so many quality learning experiences, it fell by the wayside because of a small group of vocal people.

John White, you were the toughest teacher I ever had. You were strict, had high expectations, and did not accept less than our best. It freaked us out when you knew what was going on in the back row while you were the sage on the stage in the front. You kept a bunch of rowdy high school sophomores in line with your discipline, and your dry sense of humor. From you I learned about excellence, the importance of curiosity, and giving my best effort. 

Thanks, Mr. White. You were one of the best. 

Silence, the Soundtrack of Solitude

"Hello, darkness, my old friend,

I've come to talk with you again..."

My memory naturally summons the strains of that old Simon and Garfunkel song when I consider the sound of silence. Does silence even have a sound?

In the absence of television, when no music is providing background noise, the sounds that would normally go undetected seem incredibly loud, reminding me how alone I am in the early morning darkness. 

When I am still enough to listen for it, there are so many sounds to be heard in the absence of my own noise. The cadence of the clocks interrupts the quiet, and as I become even more still, I notice my breath, and as it becomes more soft, my awareness grows. 

There is a soundtrack of solitude. The small clock on the mantle, ticking in the offbeat of the clock in the kitchen, is the first thing I notice. The loud click of the central air before the rush of air pushes through the vent overhead startles me, initially. The occasional muffled hum of a passing vehicle heading out of town retreats in the distance. The coo of the mourning dove outside my window is the only birdsong to be heard this early. 

These particular sounds can be quite soothing when I am tired, and need to rest. The house seems to comfort me with its rhythms, feeling like a haven of relaxation. There are few distractions as I type at my computer, willing words and phrases into existence.

"People writing songs that voices never share,

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence."

Later in the day, though, the silence seems deafening. Each movement of the clock's gears, noted with staccato clicks, seems to mock my loneliness, reminding me of the empty bed in my room, the unoccupied chairs around me, and the absence of another voice. Then, the silence becomes the soundtrack of solitude. 

"Fools," said I, "You do not know;

Silence like a cancer grows.

Hear my words that I might teach you.

Take my arms that I might reach you."

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence.

Sweet Surrender

When confronting challenges, we always have choices. We can try to control all of the variables, or we can recognize our limitations, and release our expectations. 

There have been times in my life when I have felt despair in my circumstances. I have tried to imagine myself in a better place, but more often than not, my imagination is limiting. When I'm in a dark place, any hope of a brighter tomorrow flickers dimly.

Over time I am learning that if I let go, and release my expectations, blessings greater than any I could have dreamed come into my life. When I see my trials as opportunities, I free myself to explore the possibilities, rather than focus on the problems. When I see challenges for the gifts that they are, I am blessed beyond measure.

There are hidden gifts in our trials; it is our job to find them. If I am willing to admit that I have no control over the outcome, I am humbled by the experience. The only control I really have is over my attitude. Each time that I surrender to what is, instead of fighting it, I discover blessings of strength, knowledge, and peace.

I don't know how my story is going to end, but I have to believe that it is going to be an adventure with a happy ending. There will be conflict along the way; every good story has to have that. I just have to trust that things are going to work out just the way they should. I will do my part by not fighting the present moment, and surrendering to it. There is so much to be gained by experiencing each moment as it comes today, releasing all of our expectations for tomorrow. Accepting what is without struggling against it is the first step to opening ourselves up to the limitless possibilities of tomorrow. 

The secret to surrendering to what is lies in not giving up, but in being willing to let go to allow the miracles to take place. Have faith that things will work out just as they should. Accepting what is, and surrendering to it, is the first step toward peace.

"There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." 

-Albert Einstein

We Laugh until We Cry

My brother called last night. I could hear his smile through the phone. Things are going well for him, and that makes me happy. His family has seen their share of trials, but he told me things are looking up. I asked him what was different.

"My attitude," he replied. That's Danny. Leave it to him to distill the essence of a happy life after a long series of difficult situations. He makes me smile. 

Before long, after we'd updated each other on the recent events of our summers, Danny started chuckling, which meant I was going to be laughing my butt off before our conversation ended. I can always count on him to make me laugh.

Daddy started the Beidler laugh, in my recollections, but maybe his dad or granddaddy is where he got it from. Whenever Dad would tell a joke, his eyes would survey the room, making sure he had everyone along for the ride, and then they would flash as he led up to the punchline. His face would break into a grin, and he would have to pause right before he delivered the ending, to keep himself from laughing. Once the punchline was successfully delivered, his laughter would fill the room, and the rest of us would follow suit. It's an infectious thing. Once we Beidlers start laughing, it's hard to stop. Doubled over, falling into each other on the couch or standing around, tears streaming down our cheeks; we would laugh so hard our bellies hurt. Once we would recover, all it would take is for someone to make eye contact with another, and the whole thing would start again.

We have a silent version of the Beidler laugh, too. This is useful in solemn occasions, like events that take place in a church. Oh, my word...just thinking of Dad leaning forward, establishing eye contact in a very pointed way to let you know he noticed whatever irreverent thing we Beidlers find humorous, and the silent laughter would begin. Shoulders would shake, eyes would squint shut with the effort of not making a sound, all the while, facing forward to avoid looking at each other. Then the tears would begin. Laughing until we cry is our specialty.

When our stepmom talked to Danny recently, Jackie told Dan that she missed hearing the Beidler laugh. I smiled at the memory. The Beidler laugh is something I miss, too.

My brothers are good joke tellers, just like Dad, as long as they can stop laughing long enough to finish the story. Get the two of them together, and laughter is sure to follow.

When Danny and I were talking last night, we were laughing so hard, I couldn't even understand half of what he was telling me. There I was on my couch by the window (the only place I get good phone reception here at Green Acres, unless I want to climb the telephone pole out in the yard...) I was laughing; Danny was laughing. I had no idea what he was even saying half the time; we were both doubled over on our phones.

That's what happens whenever Beidlers get together. Dan was giving his best impression of the comedian John Pinette. I had heard him before, but I liked Danny's version even better, probably because he was laughing so hard.

Here's Pinette's version of the story. I wish I had a video of Danny's telling it; it's even funnier to me. 

What a great way to end a weekend. I'm already looking forward to next Sunday's phone call from my little brother...

Loving Myself Enough to Listen

The chalky feel of Tums coated my molars as I crunched them quickly, and chased them with a glass of water. It was still early evening, but I felt queasy and exhausted. After brushing my teeth, I crawled into bed before dusk turned to dark, listening to the booms and pops of the fireworks in the neighborhood. I tossed and turned for hours, it seemed. What was wrong? My body was treating me like an enemy. Finally, sleep overtook me.

While writing the next morning, my stomach gurgled and churned. Afraid I would feel even worse later, I decided to head out for my morning walk, before the day turned hotter, and I felt any worse. Feeling sick is so foreign to me, I felt slightly offended that my body was letting me down like this. Where was my energy? Where was my enthusiasm? What was happening to me?

The concept of "extreme self-care" came to mind as I walked along the trail, and I realized that a little exercise is good, but when I am feeling like crap, it's probably okay to take it easy and only go a couple of miles. I slowed down enough to enjoy some of the flowers in a neighbor's yard, and then I went back home to rest.

What would good self-care look like? How could I make the most of this time? What if I took care of myself the way a mother would nurture a child, or the way a friend would take care of another? 

I decided that since I wasn't at death's door, maybe I should sauté all of the veggies I'd bought for the weekend, so they wouldn't go to waste. My kitchen smelled like somebody loves me. Somebody does. I am learning to love myself, and to see it is not a selfish thing to take care of myself. This weekend, I would nourish myself with healthy choices, and allow for an indulgence or two, if that's what I needed.

Not feeling much better, I decided to lie down. A friend, aware of my blah day, sent cheery texts. Another offered to chat. I could handle that kind of interaction. After awhile she had me laughing, but my stomach still hurt. After we talked, I went in search of food. Maybe I was just hungry.

Very ripe mangoes were waiting in the fridge to be eaten. I peeled one, and bit into its sweet, tender flesh. It had been years since I'd had a good mango, and I savored every bite. 

My tummy began to settle down, and as it did, I was hopeful hunger was all I was battling. I had a late breakfast, and then later, snacked on a handful of Junior Mints and some Tootsie Rolls and Frooties. That may have been inadvisable. My stomach began to complain again.

My friend had suggested I try reading something FICTIONAL, since I'd been plowing through Brené Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection. I grabbed a small stack of humorous lit, and crawled back into bed. My mind struggled to concentrate on the words. My eyelids kept drooping.

The rumbling of my stomach coincided with the thunder rolling across the sky. The neighbor's dog seemed to be protesting the incoming summer storm with his incessant barking. This was the cacophony to which I finally succumbed to sleep. A couple of hours later, I awoke to a semi-darkened room. The rain still hadn't arrived, but the skies were growing in intensity. 

What if my body weren't letting me down? What if my body were making me slow down, to allow time for reflection and learning to take place? What if I were being forced to dwell in the moment more fully? 

Not having the strength to run at full tilt, and having to stay home from planned activities gave me the time and space to consider that there was internal conflict taking place within me. I could keep ignoring the troubling thoughts, and feel miserable, or I could confront them, with care and concern, and continue to learn lessons the old Denise would have avoided. 

As my tangled thoughts unraveled, and I was able to make sense of my confusion and internal conflict, I found my body returning to a more relaxed state. Anxiety lifted, and simple answers replaced complicated problems. I was getting to know myself instead of denying who I am. 

Yesterday was hard. And uncomfortable. And quite painful. Was my body letting me down? No, it never will. I am finally recognizing the signs of conflict between what I feel, what I know, and what I do. I am learning some things about myself that I am still mulling over in my mind. 

As I went through the day, I treated myself as a friend would, giving myself permission to stay home, and do things for myself that would feel comforting, as I struggled to make meaning of my thoughts. Eating good food, laughing with a friend, reading, and resting, gave me some time to see that my mind/body/spirt were out of alignment. 

"Leaning into the discomfort" is such a counterintuitive thing for me, and yet I am learning if I am willing to face it, and endure it, there is greater understanding, and comfort waiting on the other side of my fears. My body didn't let me down; it was reminding me to listen to my spirit, my thoughts, and my heart. I am finally learning to listen, and to love myself in the process. 

Don't Worry about the Dishes

When my children were little, I rarely accrued extra sick leave days. All three of them battled ear infections, tonsillitis, and the the typical childhood illnesses. It wasn't until the older two were out of the house, and the youngest was in the intermediate grades that I actually began to see my sick leave bank grow.

Sick leave days were usually productive days for me. In between playing nurse maid, and rocking my little one, I was able to clean the house, read, and get caught up on my to-do list.

There was one time I remember that I was truly sick. It had been a miserable day of lethargy, discomfort, and symptoms that kept me on the couch. The house was a wreck. Dinner consisted of whatever the kids wanted to fix for themselves. The kitchen counter was cluttered with the debris of the day, and the dishes were piled in the sink.

The one who shall not be named took one look at me, and took pity on me. 

"Why don't you just go to bed?" he suggested. Aw, he noticed. After a dozen years of marriage, and the births of three children, I finally heard the sweetest phrase wives everywhere long to hear. 

"Don't you worry about the dishes," I was told. My mood brightened somewhat. I couldn't believe it; he'd never volunteered his services in the kitchen before.

"They can wait until tomorrow when you're feeling better."

Thank you. Just... thank you.

"Celebrate Your Independence!"

Happy Fourth of July! The blasts from the cannon at Joseph's community center just shook the windows of my little cottage. It must be time to celebrate Independence Day in our small town.

Today will be a day for families filled with community breakfasts, parades, races, and fireworks. There's something for everyone on Independence Day in small town America, and Richfield is no exception. 

Traditionally, our family always found a parking spot on the east side of Main Street in downtown Richfield to watch the parade. We preferred to have the sun at our backs instead of in our eyes. We'd bring camp chairs and blankets so we all had a place to sit, and the kids would run to gather the candy that was thrown from the parade entries. The kids would fill their dad's ball cap with Fruities and salt water taffy. We would watch the procession of farm tractors, simple floats, old cars, and the high school marching bands as the sun climbed the sky, making us glad the parade wasn't any longer than it was.

Today will be different. Today I am alone, and the big kids will celebrate the Fourth of July in their own towns. Bridger will march in the high school band himself this year. And I will proudly watch from the crowd, taking pictures as these teenaged musicians parade past, friends of Bridger's and former students of mine. 

This morning, I was reading and responding to comments left on my blog. A fellow blogger had left this comment: "Blessings and Happy Fourth. Celebrate your independence!"

Once again, I am reminded that it is all in our frame of reference how we respond to our circumstances in life. Am I going to see this day for the gift that it is, or am I going to wish away the hours as they pass? Is the glass half full, or half empty? Am I going to see the clouds, or the silver lining?

The decision is mine, and I'm not going to waste a moment; I'm going to celebrate my own independence. Today will not only be a day for parades and fireworks, but also an opportunity to reflect and be grateful. 

It's summer. That long, lonely winter is behind me now. I've grown as I've struggled to learn the lessons life brought my way. I'm stronger; I'm smarter; I'm happier. My circle of friends has grown, and there are those to whom I'll reach out today to feel that sense of connection that feeds my happiness. To be surrounded by the crowd of friendly faces in town today will be a good change of pace, and then I'll enjoy some time to myself at home before joining friends for a barbecue tonight. 

Lonely or independent? Independent sounds good; sounds strong. I'm leaving the loneliness behind. Today will be a day of celebration. Happy Independence Day, indeed!

Making Myself at Home

"Honey, I'm HOME!"

What a great feeling, to pull up to a place of my own, and to know that I am home. It's not big, and it's not fancy, but it's MINE, and I love it. This is the place that has become my refuge from life's storms, and I am so grateful for it.

Back in February of 2008, my little house wasn't much to look at, and I have to admit, I didn't have much in the way of a vision for it. I just needed a place to land after my divorce, and it provided that. It took some serious "DE-CLUTTERING," as I pared down belongings from two homes in preparation for my move into my LITTLE COTTAGE. With the inspiration of the 40 Bags in 40 Days Facebook group, the daunting task was accomplished right around Easter. We painted and re-carpeted, and moved in.

2008

There has been a great transformation taking place, in my home and in my heart. As my house has gone through this process, I have been changing, too. I'm not the woman I once was. I'm stronger; I'm happier; I am coming to understand my value and worth. I would no longer be content to live in a house that looked like this one once did. 

My house is a metaphor for my life. It took an investment in time, money, and work, but it has been worth it. At times it was uncomfortable, but the lessons learned were worth the discomfort. The differences in this little building, and in me, are noticeable. I'm making myself at home, literally and figuratively.

This time around, it's different. When we moved to Joseph last April, I was very happy with the inside of the house, but the outside, let's face it, was kind of "ghetto." Bridger remarked that he had never seen a house with such a sharp contrast between the outside and the inside. It was true; the inside was cozy and happy; the outside looked drab and dreary.

Enter MacGill Contruction Company in Marysvale. Those guys whipped the inside into shape so I could get moved in as soon as possible, and then this last week, they did their magic on the outside, and made my house a home.

It's amazing what a new sidewalk, front door, and siding can do for a house. My son and I have a cheerful little place of our own, and it makes me smile with contentment to be here.

My house and myself; we're works in progress. Feeling comfortable in my little cottage, and in my own skin, is the best part of this whole process. There is more work to do on both of us, and I know it will all be worth it. Making a house into a home was not a small undertaking. Loving myself enough to become the woman I was meant to be has not been easy, but I'm grateful for all I have learned lately. Life is good, and it just keeps getting better.