2 Years

Two years ago I walked into a quaint little coffee shop for a first date, slightly nervous, yet excited to meet this cute guy who had a distinct sense of humor that made me smile. Over iced matcha lattes we lost track of time sharing stories, laughing, and finding a rhythm that has become part of who we are. Today we celebrate 2 years of dating.

Two years of adventures; from snowboarding trips, concerts, breweries, whitewater rafting, and hiking, to family dinners, kitchen adventures, backyard fires, and plumbing mishaps we have certainly experienced quite a range. It has not been easy, combining our very different lives into this one that we are creating. Moving from a single mom of 4 very busy teenagers to being in this relationship has challenged me. It has brought old traumas to the surface and forced me to confront them, while navigating the needs of our relationship. We have misunderstandings and communication breakdowns, each of us navigating our past while trying to find what works for this relationship. Even in the difficult times I know he supports me, loves me, and wants me to take care of me.

We tell each other on occasion that if you had told us at the end of that first date that we'd be where we are today neither of us would believe it. Sitting sipping our beverages there was no way to know that he'd help me find a passion in snowboarding, we'd encourage each other's creative sides, and that I'd help him love the outdoors more than just in a single season. There was no way to see how well he interacts with my crew and how they have come to care for him, and how we are finding our way as a little family of 6. Reflecting at dinner last night over the past 2 years it amazes us both at times, and while there was minimal talk of what was to come we know that there is more. 

This is a season of change for me, with one graduating high school and the others following directly behind her it is difficult to plan and even more difficult for me to imagine what my life will look like when Miss B graduates in 2029. What I do know is that I am excited to have him by my side as we navigate this together.

Ashes to Ashes

 A little over 2 months ago my life imploded and crumbled to dust. It was the darkest period of my life, even more dark than periods leading up to my divorce and early post divorce. Anxiety and depression assaulted me daily and I began a course of medications to find some balance. The side-effects of the medications became as much of a problem as the anxiety and depression, and it was one more battle I had to try to find the energy to fight and manage. But this story is not about the medications and effects, this story is about the creation of the ashes of my life.

I had a plan.

I had a plan to move to Bend, Oregon and raise my children in a town that better meets our needs and lifestyle. A town where I feel at home, safe, protected, and at peace. A town that values the outdoors, being active and community and connection. A town that strives to care for its own, and while it is not perfect it is trying, more than I see in so many other communities. I had a job in Bend, I had my non-profit in Bend, my best friend in Bend, and a growing community of friends through my job. I had a plan to move there and continue to grow the non-profit and eventually transition to working that full-time as a paid employee and likely a small job on the side to supplement income as needed. I had a plan to create a lifestyle that supported my physical and mental health in ways that are extremely challenging living in my current community. I had a plan.

Having primary custody of my 4 children does not give me the right to just move them across the country, I had to come to an agreement with their father to move them. In brief he was not agreeable to them moving, thus began a year long legal battle for relocation. On April 20th, the day before my birthday, we all attended court, the children spoke to the judge alone and expressed their opinions which were relayed back to me via my attorney. I found myself in the very real and very painful position of continuing my quest for relocation and likely being denied relocation and primary custody of my children, the only option that was guaranteed was to rescind the relocation request and have the battle for change in custody follow due process through the courts. In 10 minutes I was forced to make a decision: fight for my move and potentially win or potentially lose everything, or give up relocation and keep custody until it could proceed through the court. My heart was breaking, I sat in the courtroom hallway fighting back tears, breathing, shaking, trying to find the decision that met my needs and the needs of my children. This move was for me and for them, and I knew that if we moved it would be incredibly challenging for them, I knew that it would strain our relationship, but I also knew that given time and space to heal and move through it we would do well in the end. Having grown up moving I know the resiliency of children and moving, but also the trauma of it. I sat in the hallway battling in myself, the clock ticking, my heart racing and breaking all at once, torn, watching my world finishing burning into ashes. The last important component of my life fuse lit and burning out. I made the decision to pull my relocation request, I simply couldn't take the risk of not moving and losing primary custody. It would break me further than I was already broken at that point.

Earlier in the month of April I lost my best friend. My best friend of the past 3 years simply decided to stop speaking to me, stop being there for me, stop answering calls, texts, anything. Having been as close as we were and having supported them through so many trials and challenges it was killing me to have lost them, lost their support when I needed it most. I needed that person that simply understood me and grasped that this was more than "just a move." They knew what this meant to me, and understood how deeply important to me it was, and I was abandoned by them without explanation. A fight had been had 2 months previous that had not been resolved, but I had been hoping that we were going to move forward as we had in the past. Every other fight, disagreement, and confrontation we had had over the 3 years we worked through, and we always told each other we worked through it because we cared about each other. I still cared about my best friend and I wanted to work through it, but I also desperately needed that support from them. Support that I had received previously, and I could not, and still cannot understand, why it was withheld. Why, when I needed them the most they abandoned me? Left me, ignored me, triggering so many of my trauma responses I swirled and spiraled more. Court loomed closer, there were challenges with the children and court, my birthday loomed, and the person that I had been closest to for 3 years was missing by their choice. My heart broke, my soul adrift, and I began to crumble, to implode, unable to bear anything more, fire burning throughout.

I struggled to sleep, I struggled to eat. I struggled to get out of bed and get to work at the desk next to my bed. I did it though. I got up slowly, I struggled to focus on my tasks, taking double and triple the time to complete tasks as April wore on with the loss of my best friend and court approaching. With the loss of my best friend also came my resignation from my non-profit. The non-profit that I helped create; the organization that I built from the ground up; from the logo and community and website, that was driven primarily by my effort. It was a passion project, one that I poured my heart and soul into. I was proud of the work I did, it brought me much joy and it was such an honor to be a part of it. Yet the organization was changing and the leadership and I were in conflict and I could no longer stay with an organization that did not value my opinion, my work, my time, and did not appear to believe in open and honest communication anymore. The non-profit was the one thing that I still had hopes of, the one thing that was going to be my light in this time of extreme darkness, and it went away. With the loss of my best friend and my non-profit I crumbled, but had little time to grieve those losses. Medication was not working, therapy was still in place and yet it was still not enough. I was unbearably sad, yet also so numb to everything. My body and mind unable to process anymore hurt. Food was a chore, everything was a challenge, from a simple shower to making dinner. I persevered, the kids were fed, chores completed, and life moved on. I was not ok, yet there was no time, no space to fall apart.

I sat in that courtroom hallway with only a small fuse of life left, having burned away so much with the other losses, and now it burned away my job and my move and my future. Ashes, dust, nothing left, no pieces to make a puzzle. No strength. I am not a phoenix to rise from the ashes. I am a woman, nothing more. One who was incredibly broken, not ok, and yet still asked to carry on, to move forward. To grieve quickly and briefly because it's "only a move" "only a job", yet it was never just those things. It was a lifestyle, a safe place, a peaceful place, and a place that provided comfort in the pine tar and smoke tinged air with the snow capped mountains surrounding the town and the river carrying the heartbeat of the mountains within it. It was gone. My chance removed of my own accord. The sacrifice I made for my children that I did not want to make. I made it because of my deep love of them, but this was one that broke me. In a month I lost my future, my best friend, my safe place, my organization, and so much more. It's challenging to put into words all that was lost. 

I have not grieved it all. It seems impossible at times to grieve it all. Where do you start? How do you portion it out? How do you find the time and space and safety to become vulnerable when you are already dust? How do you share this with the world?

Two months later and I still struggle to find the words, to grieve it. Tears come at times, life is moving forward and there have been some incredible moments over the past 2 weeks and amazing people coming into my life, but I know I have more grieving and healing to do. I do not have a path forward, I do not know where I will be in a few weeks, a few months, much less a few years. It's ok not to have those answers, but there is so much instability that I drift. I am thankful for the people that have become anchors, and the new ones that are supporting me with open hearts and empathy. What a challenging time to come into my life, and yet as has happened before people have arrived in my life at challenging points and made such lasting impacts that I have a small amount of hope blooming again.

There have been more smiles and laugher in my life these past 2 weeks than there have in the past 2 months, for which I am thankful. I see and feel parts of me that seemed to have been lost forever. It is not a return of those parts, but an emergence of new. I do not have a path, I do not have a plan, but I find more moments of strength and courage. In this I can take some comfort, and in knowing that anchors are there for me.

Tomorrow begins the start of the next chapter. Tomorrow their dad begins his battle for joint custody and I have to find the strength, courage, and energy to fight for what I believe is best for my children. What is best for me as well. I am scared, I am terrified, I am exhausted, I am sad. Knowing I have a handful of people supporting me is giving me the strength to proceed and I will. 

As I have said so many times before reach out to your friends, to your family. So much of this story has been withheld, and maybe I will write more on it one-day, but without those people texting me in April, giving me hugs, and calling me I would not be where I am today. Without all of you being there despite me not reaching out or reaching out right before I would have fallen further. My heart has gratitude for all of you for being there, even when I told you I was alone, and you told me I wasn't. Thank you for letting me disagree with you and have the space to move through some of this grief safely. 

Turning 43 in the middle of all of this was not what I wanted, not what I envisioned and again I find myself with trauma on and around my birthday. Six years ago I knew my marriage could not be saved on the weekend of my birthday, a turning point in my life, and here I am with a no plan again coming off of a birthday. I love plans, yet at this point I can do no more than walk through each day, each moment, each breath and let things unfold.

Peace, I pray for peace.

Bend October

I stood up at the river, turned my back on the Deschutes, went to pick up my backpack and the tears came instantly. They took me by surprise, yet they should not have as I had been crying intermittently all day. The last day of a momentous trip and the emotions overtook me. I turned back to face the river and allowed the tears to fall as I sobbed quietly. When they slowed I donned my sunglasses and backpack and walked along the gravel path back into downtown Bend, keeping the river on my left. Tears appeared at times as I walked along the path towards my final meal in Bend. I knew that as I walked I was leaving a piece of myself in Bend.

I shortly came upon the pedestrian bridge, my thoughts instantly drawn to the previous Saturday, and I walked on, yet a few steps later I turned, drawn back to stand on the bridge and look out over the river towards the mountains. I stepped on the wooden planks, uneven, studded with screws, and walked to the middle. The sun shone over my shoulder and I stood simply letting the tears gather. I knew I needed to mark that moment, and I recorded some videos, unsure of exactly what I wanted to say. I let the tears fall as I expressed my gratitude, my joy, and even my sorrow. 

Saturday, October 8th marked the completion of the first scouting hike of the American Perimeter Trail. My best friend, my business partner, and one of the most important people in my life walked the pedestrian bridge over the Deschutes River into Drake Park in Bend, OR completing a 3 year journey. As I watched him cross that bridge I smiled, I laughed, I cheered, and I was overwhelmed. With a smile, tears in his eyes and a swing of his flag he completed the loop. I thought I would cry, instead I smiled, we hugged, we laughed, and I was overwhelmed with it all. Another demarcation in my life, one of joy, sweetness, and a lot of dedication and work. A moment made possible by a simple connection on Instagram, an offer to help, and an acceptance.

The past 3 years were not easy for either of us. There were traumatic moments, changes in course, but most importantly there was connection and a willingness to go forward. At the transition points we talked, we argued, and we found a way to move through as friends and business partners. It has been a gift, a privilege, and an honor to accompany him on this journey, and even now, 6 weeks later, the moment he crossed the bridge brings me to tears. They are tears of joy, gratitude, and love for a friend and a project. A project that was not mine but quickly became my passion, my own project; integrating into so much of life I cannot imagine, do not care to imagine, how the past 3 years would have unfolded without it. 

Now the project moves on a new path and I cannot help but grieve some of what was. It was never perfect, but it was familiar and faced with the unfamiliar there is fear as well as excitement. For nearly 3 years we journeyed to this space, and finding ourselves having crossed here I find more tears. They are powerful tears, ones that hold space for the grief of the loss of the familiar while holding hope for the future. Around the bend we find ourselves.

30 Days of Thanks: November 10

"I found myself in a sea of busy places, in a world of blurry faces

I found myself, on the edge of insanity, I found, I found me
I was broken, torn apart
Scars line my arms, on my sleeve I wore my heart
They remind me of what is real
No longer needing pain to feel" ~ I Found Myself, Anna Clendening

I am thankful for scars and pains of my journey- they have put me where I am today.  Five years ago my marriage was falling apart, I was falling apart, my children were sick with stress, and life was challenging. I had a brave smile everyday as I worked, but the moment I stepped into my car the facade broke down, and I pieced it back together as I pulled into my driveway to be the mom I needed and wanted to be. Four and half years ago I found the courage to say enough, all of us in this house are miserable and this life we have planned is over. October 2017 I stepped into my role as a single parent, terrified, determined to prove to everyone and myself that I could do this hard thing.

I stumbled, I fell, I broke my foot, and yet I found the strength everyday to make the steps to living a life that would be filled with love, joy, and peace. I searched deep within me to find the scared girl and heal her, gain her trust, and use that to create a foundation for the woman I am in this moment. There were so many tears, so much anxiety, crippling me, bringing me to my knees, and wishing for a stabilizing force. Little did I know in those moments that I was the stabilizing force. I grew weary, wished for help, wished for that outside magical source to help me pick up the pieces; I could not understand that in rebuilding myself the way I did I created a bond and strength within me that is ever enduring, it is strong, flexible and exactly what I need for me. I found myself, I found me in those moments. 

A terrible, yet beautiful process creating internal scars that forged the woman here with you. If you have not listened to the song quoted above I challenge you to find a quiet moment and immerse yourself in the haunting piano and the soothing strength of her voice. Find yourself. 

Today I give thanks for the journey in which I found myself.

Outside the Circle

The tears threaten to fall, so I blink and smile as I walk to the car, head held high, no one the wiser that there is a part of me breaking. A part of me wondering why, wondering what is wrong, wondering why it's happening again, and wondering if it will ever end. A simple meeting turned into a stark reminder of my place, outside the circle, yet again. 

Seven years ago we moved here, seven years of searching for connection, to build that local community, to build and find that tribe, and here I am, still on a quest. The first few years spent on the cusp of the circle, dancing at the edges, always taking steps to find where a married, working mom of 4 fit into this new community. I was still learning how to be a working mother after a long practice of being a graduate student mother, and the transition was not smooth, yet I was hopeful that in this community I would find my place, my footing. It seemed that I was making a place for this family of mine, and then it changed when my status went from married to single. In a community that is designed for 2 parent households, I found myself thoroughly on the outside. 

Four years ago standing on the outside of the circles I had finally managed to find a small acceptance I found the lines redrawn and the steps to make my way forward towards and into the community in which my children thrived were monumental to me. In a time when I needed my community to support me as I established my role as a single parent I was abandoned by most here. Over these past 4 years I have found my footing and worked diligently to create and live a less life ordinary. The drawback to a non-traditional lifestyle is living life on the outskirts within your own community.

This means driving through your neighborhood and seeing a neighbor having a party and knowing you weren't invited, hoping your children don't notice. But of course they notice, and then they ask: "why weren't we invited, I thought we were friends" and you find yourself saying that you don't know and maybe it's not a neighborhood party and pray to anyone who's listening to support your statement. Then of course your child spots a neighbor walking to the party and your statement is no longer valid. Now your child is wondering aloud at this point why we're never really invited to parties, echoing the inner thoughts in your head. You find a way to console them, remind them of the adventure/activity we are on way to, and pray that it's forgotten in time from their mind, knowing that the moment will be etched within your own. You remind them of all of the parties they have attended and the fun we've created at our own small parties, praying that it's enough. Praying that your children are at least welcome places if your family as a whole is not, all the while building a damn to prevent a flood of tears.

A life less ordinary is not for the faint of heart, especially with children in tow. It's working through each of those situations above, praying that you are making the best decisions for yourself and your children, while honoring the needs of all parties. As a single parent it's questioning every decision more than when you were in a 2 parent household, analyzing each choice and decision. It's finding the consequences of your choices in simple actions such as attending a parent meeting and no one will engage in conversation with you because these critical relationships were developed when your life was upended. On nights such as these when you make solid attempts at engaging in simple conversation with other parents only to be rejected or ignored you begin questioning what is wrong with you, why you are always on the edges, why after 7 years you still are tribeless in a community that thrives on connection. There are moments when it's too much to bear and the tears threaten to pour down because you're tired; you're tired of the inner reminders you tell yourself that you are enough, that you are worth it, and that these other people are missing out. It's wishing for a welcoming face at an event, a person to share the moments with; wishing that for that brief period you are welcome into the circle. It's finding the last of your inner strength and courage to be the parent you want to be and the person you want to be. It would be easier for a short period to don a fake smile, fake attitude and play the games to be accepted into these circles and community. Yet I would not be honoring the person I am continuing to become, so I accept the tears and find a quiet moment to release them, and pray for a tribe for my family.

30 Days of Thanks: November 27, 2020

Today I'm thankful for a slow pace. I often rush and jam pack my days, but today I opted to take it slow. It was a sleeping in morning, reading in bed, lazy breakfast morning. I took my time, in no hurry, and made it out and about for my 2 errands easily and with no stress. It made running errands much less stressful since I had no time agenda. I arrived home and opted to rest a bit more, eat a lazy lunch and then hit the trails.

I packed a book, drove to my state park and hit the easy trail. There I leisurely walked along the river until I found my favorite little corner where the river crashes noisily and the rocks are positioned just so. Out came my little pad and up went my feet. I dazed at the water, content to listen and fall away from myself, a meditation of sorts. After some time I opted to pull out my book and read, my back on the tree and my feet on the rocks, the water sounds my only accompaniment. There I found myself swept up in the story, it may have been minutes, it may have been an hour, I honestly do not know how much time passed. I do know all of a sudden there were people and a golden retriever across the river from me and I was startled out of my trance. That was my cue to get up and move. I hiked on, following the river as much as possible before being forced back to the paved trail.

I watched the others around me hustle and run, as I leisurely walked, no concern for the slowly setting sun and the rising moon. When I reached my car the moon had risen and the sun was mostly set, yet it was only 5pm. I was not afraid as there was plenty of light and I have certainly hiked in darkness before. It was an easy drive home and a simple dinner of leftovers.

Today was a day I needed. Simple, slow, easy. It was peaceful and full of connections as well. For all of these I give thanks.

30 Days of Thanks: November 26, 2020 Thanksgiving

 Happy Thanksgiving 2020!

I sit here tonight after a unique thanksgiving, an experience to which many of us can relate. For the past 3 years I have been at my cousin's, and prior to that alternated between hosting, my parent's and my in-laws. Today I awoke and had the morning to myself; coffee, a book, and a tub of blueberries. It was a pleasant start, and the day progressed to a non-traditional dinner with my parents of smoked prime rib, lemon-alfredo pasta, cranberry sauce, salad, and cannoli chip cheesecake for dessert. 

As I drove home I reflected on the multitude of drives I have made Thanksgiving night, returning home to an empty home. Tonight I came home to my 2 cats waiting at the door, and peace in my heart. It is direct contrast to a drive I made a few years ago, where I drove home full of both happiness and pain. Happiness at having spent time with loving family, and imminent pain at returning to an empty home. The anxiety, depression and pain were crushing. I arrived home full of anguish, and in apparently an attempt to feel better I surfed social media. What did I find? More photos of groups, happiness, love and joy, yet there I was sitting in an empty, incredibly lonely home. I will confess that night I found it unbearable and turned to alcohol, thinking a number of drinks would numb the pain. I quickly found out that it did not, and found myself spiraling downwards under the weight of my pain, anxiety and depression. To sum it I made myself even more miserable, and then had a hangover the next morning to boot. Not my best choice in hindsight.

Today I am grateful for that experience, for I know now that alcohol is not the cure to my misery and drunkenness for me, does not numb, but enhance. I am also very thankful for more tools in my kit and the courage and strength to use them. I am thankful for a therapist who has helped me cultivate them and friends that are there. I am appreciative of the journey and lessons learned. There are moments when we have to experience the pain to further our growth. Each experience leads to a learning opportunity when you are willing and able to access it. This does not indicate that in the midst of trauma, tragedy, or anxiety/depression you have to search for the lesson; in those moments it is my opinion that you walk through them, experience them, and pray that you have someone to walk with you. 

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for the peace and love in my heart. Peace and love that I have cultivated and nurtured. I am thankful for the experiences that have taught me to do that and the people that have influenced my journey. There are select individuals that have been instrumental in this process.This Thanksgiving I am thankful for choosing the life less ordinary.

30 Days of Thanks: November 23, 2020

Today I am thankful for the journey. I never could have imagined the journey that I have been on these past 40 years. I never would have thought that I would have gotten married, moved to Kentucky, and then had 4 kids in 4 years and 6 days all while pursuing my PhD. I couldn't have dreamed that we would pack up our family and move away to the east coast, only to divorce a few short years later.

How could I have dreamed that I would have been introduced to backpacking and from that one single trip found a passion that would lead me into a project such as the American Perimeter Trail? Life is a journey. I know it's cliché, but for me it is true. Each decade has provided new growth, and while in my 20s I thought I knew who I was becoming, this woman before you never existed in her mind. My 30s taught me more about myself and was such a period of personal growth I reflect on that with both fondness and fatigue. I can hope that the growth continues into this decade, but overall I am thankful for the journey.

As I reflect on the convoluted ways I found myself here tonight I am grateful. Was it where I thought I would be? No. Is it where I want to be? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. I have destinations in mind, but I am learning to make peace with the consistent change of destination. I am learning to focus on the moment, and the current path, while not keeping my eyes always ahead on the horizon. I reflect on the steps that lead me here, the strength, courage, determination, grace, pain, and love that fueled it, and use those to guide me forward. I will continue to pursue my life less ordinary and walk the path under my feet.

30 Days of Thanks: November 13, 2020

Do you have a passion project?

I do. In January I joined the American Perimeter Trail Project, a leap of faith on my part. I took on the self-proclaimed role of coordinator I had no idea what exactly I would be doing, but I knew in my heart, in my body, that it was what I meant to do. Shortly after beginning my role I found myself wrapped up in this project in ways I could have never imagined. What began as a simple way to help someone else complete a crazy dream, quickly became my passion project as well. Over the past 10.5 months of being intimately involved with this I have found my footing, my stability and a beautiful community that feeds my heart.

I have watched this community step up, every single time we have needed them. From purchasing food, supplies, sending money, providing lodging and transportation, this community has become a family. I have never witnessed something quite like what they have done, many of them pouring out generosity for a total stranger, entrusting me with supplies to keep Rue hiking and safe. For months there were packages delivered to me for him, each box containing a bit of magic, a lot of love and reminding me what it's like to be a kid on Christmas morning. I opened each box, never knowing what it might contain, often holding back tears of gratitude. How beautiful is their love for him, for the project. I often struggle to adequately describe the impact this passion project has had not only on me, but my children as well.

I never imagined that they would participate in the way that they have, nor find the love for it that I have. What a gift I have been given. There is a complicated series of events that led me to this project, ones that were incredibly painful and ones that were full of beauty. As I experienced each one, especially the painful ones I had no idea that I would be where I am now. If you had told me a year ago I'd have large tubs of food and supplies for a hiker in Oregon taking up my garage I'd have laughed. If you had told me that I would find my feet, my grounding, my place, in a community that I helped grow, and along the way my best friend I would have shook my head at you and said that you must have me confused with someone else. 

My passion project is a blessing, something I give thanks for every night. I am thankful for the path that lead me here and the courage I had to say yes. I said yes, jumping fully into the unknown, and I thank God daily for that. Today is no exception, and while I am in the midst of a painful experience I am trying to reflect that often these experiences lead to beautiful opportunities. I am thankful, grateful, and blessed to have this project, this community and these experiences. They are a light, and they help me be a light.

30 Days of Thanks: November 3, 2020

Tonight I sit here at my computer and reflect on the past 4 years as I have the election coverage in the background. I can't help but reflect on what I was doing 4 years ago on election night. Four years ago, on election night as we all sat watching the contest between Clinton and Trump come to head my life reached a critical moment. It was that evening that I shared with my husband at the time that I was unhappy, miserable, and wanted a separation. Not a divorce, but a separation. Our divorce came months down the road.

I sat that there that night in fear. Fear of his reaction, fear of my choice, fear of the impact of my choice on my children, and feeding on the general public fear that Trump was gaining ground. I was terrified, shaking, but I found the strength and courage to have that conversation. It was not easy, and it took all of me to make it through my statement. That evening as I slept on the couch I found my body depleted in a new way, but also at peace. How could such a traumatic moment in my life give me peace?

As I reflect back to those moments 4 years ago I am thankful for the courage I gained that night, and the courage that has continued to be with me since then. It was one of the most difficult nights of my life, but I found courage among the fear. More importantly, I found myself. I can see now with 4 years of life behind me, that in that moment I found a new love and respect for myself. That courage, love, and respect have fueled these past 4 years in creating this new life. They have given me the strength to keep fighting for a life I love and one that loves me back. I will use these gifts to continue my life less ordinary.

Are you seen?

Everyone tends to think that the 3 most important, most impactful words are "I love you" and while they are powerful and important I think there are 3 more that are even more critical: "I see you". For there are plenty of moments in your life where you are loved, but not seen, not recognized for who you are. When someone says they see you, it not only means they love you, but they recognize you for who you are. How many times have you been in a relationship of any form where you can feel the care and concern, but still not feel seen? Still be invisible?

When you are seen that other individual confirms your existence as you experience it. There is no questioning, just acceptance. A validation of you in that time and space. They see you, accept you and love you. It's a different experience than I love you. If you have someone in your life that sees you and tells you that they see you, you know that this person cares deeply about you. They understand that desire to be visible, accepted, and loved as you are. Too often I love you comes with the desire to change the person or with blinders. You are loved for an idea of who you are, not who you are at your core, an image. This is not false love, that individual does love you, they just don't necessarily see you. It could be because you don't let them see you, or they are unable to view beyond their own boundaries, regardless of the reason there is a difference in the love and being seen.

I have a small group of people that "see" me. There is no need to explain things, though I often do regardless. They see me, understand my desire to explain myself even when not necessary. They see me through the anxiety, remind me that I am me, not my anxiety. They love me, simply for who I am. They tell me I am seen. I am valuable. I am loved. To me, the distinction is important; I do not desire to be loved on a pedestal, I desire to be loved and accepted for who I am. I desire to be seen, accepted for me. Me, the woman, mother, coordinator, therapist, backpacker/hiker, writer, and coach. But most of all me, the soul in a human body. A survivor and thriver of life's experiences; one who is on a path to create a life less ordinary for herself and her children.

So I ask you, who in your life sees you?

This is 40

In the past few months I have come to acknowledge the power of 40. Forty is not the naive youth of your 20s, nor the growth and experiences of your 30s, but the acceptance of your own being and recognition of your own power. Each decade before brought it's own growth, challenges and joy, and while I expect that the 40s will do the same there is a unique magic to 40. It comes with a dread and becomes an adventure.

At 40, a single, divorced mom of 4, I am more grounded than I was in the previous years. This does not come from age alone, but the internal growth I have undergone. Forty means stepping into my power, acknowledging who I am and accepting who I am. It is seeing me for me, loving her, even the parts I would change, and showing her to the world with the statement "I am me." For at 40 I can see me, the woman with the hips that carried 4 children; legs that have run marathons, chased children and hiked countless miles; a belly marked with stripes from carrying children; and hazel eyes that have seen joy, destruction, beauty, pain, love, and hope.

I have spent much of my life fighting myself, never quite fitting in, using that as my shield and torch. I am setting down those props and embracing my uniqueness with love. I will never be the one who spends weekends with lifelong childhood friends, driving through a neighborhood I have lived all my life. Instead, I am the one who has childhood friends across the states, friends with whom I can stay at a moment's notice, picking up right where we need to, despite a decade apart. Friends in Texas, Michigan, Florida, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, to name a few. I will always have a unique tribe, and it's something I enjoy, and at 40 am embracing with love. In fighting myself I faced every challenge alone, refusing to allow help. When the world said it was nearly impossible to complete a task, I would tell the world to sit down and watch me. It was set as a gauntlet, a challenge, not from a place of love. And you all did- you watched me fight through earning my PhD with 4 kids and husband; you watched me struggle with a license, housing and finances; you watched me battle the anxiety that was here pre-divorce and in earnest post-divorce. Now, at 40, I see my mistakes, when the task is nearly impossible I can complete it alone, but I can share the burden. I can chose to go forth in love or in fear.

At 40, I chose to go forth in love.

This is 40:

• seeing the woman in the mirror and loving her crinkles at her eyes, the light in her eyes, and all the little imperfections
• understanding that accepting help does not make you weaker, but stronger
• learning that love comes in all forms
• following passion and dreams, not only for yourself, but to model to your children
• finding the rhythms of parenting 4 unique individuals and accepting that you are never going to have all the answers
• accepting the situation at hand and then changing what you can
• taking risks, refusing to let fear and anxiety dictate
• choosing a life less ordinary and crafting it
• finding the courage in large and small situations to express my opinion, needs and desires regardless of the outcome

At 40, I go forth in love.

Heart

One month ago, on June 2, I dropped my best friend off in a Kroger parking lot in West Virginia to take the next steps to completing a crazy goal. I drove off in tears, consumed with grief at leaving behind my best friend. Driving the 4.5 hours home intermittently crying tears of grief, sadness, frustration and joy. Yes, joy. For you see when I had driven earlier that week to pick up my friend he wasn't my best friend, certainly fairly close, but those few days together, solidified everything and we were suddenly best friends. Despite the tears of grief, those tears of joy existed amongst them. I was happy to have an amazing friendship, one that challenged me, supported me and one in which I was safe, secure and loved. There was grief at leaving him, knowing that it would be months of grueling work on his part to complete this goal; grief at the short time we had together; fear of the unknown, for hiking does involve danger and we have already had enough dangerous encounters these past few months. 

When I volunteered to assist Rue McKenrick with the American Perimeter Trail project I distinctly remember sending him a message that I sincerely hoped that we would be friends as well as business partners. Little did either of us know that we would quickly become friends and in a few short months develop a deep bond of friendship and gain a lifetime best friend. He and I have had a whirlwind of 6 months, from nearly running out of money, hiking through the initial wave of Covid-19, to creating a logo, storefront and building a community; it has been beautiful and chaotic. We juggle the business aspect of the Trail and our friendship, often switching mid-conversation from business to personal and back to business. While it is highly unconventional it works for us. This is no ordinary business or project. This is a project that requires heart, faith and love. You can't connect people to the land and the land to communities without heart.

Heart, it's something I haven't spoken about much here lately. My heart is fully vested into this project, and in committing myself to something larger than me I find my heart opening in new ways. It's challenged me, challenged the experiences I have had over the past 20 years, and I find new pieces of myself frequently. It's been a beautiful gift that I have been given, though not without painful growth. In volunteering for this project I could have never imagined what I would be doing, where I would grow and how it would change me. I know that this project is not temporary, but a lifelong commitment. It fuels my personal goal to living a life less ordinary; teaching my children to chase dreams and that a cookie-cutter life is not the only option. This project and this beautiful friendship are a blessing and a gift, not only for me, but for them as well. I can reflect back over these past 6 months and see immense changes in myself, and it all stems from the changes in my heart. One of the best surprises of the heart has been to observe my children's hearts. I listen to them reflect on how Rue is doing hiking; is he safe? does he have enough food, money? It's statements like tonight that are made at bedtime, "have you spoken with Rue? Is he ok tonight?" that strike my heart and allow me glimpses into the hearts of my children. 

As I open more, they open more. There is less fear, less uncertainty and a more stable, loving life. As they watch me jump in and dedicate my time, heart and energy to this, they follow of their own accord, but also open their own hearts as well. In those moments it brings me tears of joy and disbelief. As a parent you often hope that your children have the ability to act beyond themselves; within this project and my relationship with Rue, I have I have been able to observe their hearts, actions and intentions. I am beyond grateful for those glimpses. So, as I drove away I cried for myself, for my children and for him; for it was not just a leaving of a best friend, but of a piece of myself. Our meeting had been 5 months in the making, and it's another 4 months to the next. I'll see you in Bend Rue.

Rue and I before the drop-off

Dream Chasing

As some of you might be aware Leilah Grace is at it again.

This time she has partnered with Rue McKenrick, an amazing man designing, creating and hiking America's newest long trail, the American Perimeter Trail. As you all know I don't believe that people come into our lives randomly, but that each individual has a purpose. After a few conversations and a phone call I knew within me that I was being called to help this man. He has big dreams and is chasing a seemingly impossible goal, all the while doing it without consistent support. I have been lucky enough in my life to have the support I needed while I was out chasing my big crazy dreams and goals. This opportunity isn't about paying it back, but about doing what is right and supporting someone in their journey.

In the short time of this partnership I find myself glowing, happy and passionate about something; filled with a fire that hasn't been there in a while. I have a sense of belonging, a purpose. This project is forever bouncing around in my head, so much that I carry a notebook for when inspiration strikes. There is no dread, no fear, just excitement at the opportunities and promises it holds. While I help Rue I am finding my own fire and drive to chase my impossible sounding dreams again. Last year I made a connection that reminded me to dream and strive, but 2020 brings a fire and intensity that is unparalleled. 

Off we go into 2020 creating a life less ordinary.

A human connection

Did you know that nights and bedtime are the roughest?

It's facing night after night an empty room and an empty bed. You can typically find me stalling going to bed, staying up significantly later than I should be. I am texting a friend, sending messages or scrolling on Facebook or Instagram, just to get that human connection. There's no one here to reminisce about the day or just decompress. I am not saying that I am incapable of doing these things alone, but that I miss that human connection.

The point is that there are aspects of this journey that hit you everyday and while they are easier than at the beginning I have a daily reminder of the major difference in my life. There are nights that are certainly easier than others, but there is often no predicting what will happen when I turn out the light. A while ago I turned out the light and had a massive meltdown. I couldn't tell you what exactly set it off, but lots of tears later I was finally able to crash into sleep. I have moments in the evenings when I can just anticipate that my bedtime routine will be challenging and have learned to reach out to my friends. I am lucky enough that I have a few friends that are generally awake and willing to chat with me for practically hours on end.

This past Monday was shaping up to be one of those days. My anxiety was on the rise and I was dealing with emotional fallout from an encounter that morning. All day all I wanted was to be at home and be sad and process everything that was swirling within me. Sadly, single mom life called and there were what felt like a million errands to be run and a tight schedule to keep.

As the evening wore on I was exhausted and craving solitude, but around 9pm my phone rang. The number was one unknown to me, but based on the location appearing in the caller ID I had an idea who was calling, and I just couldn't pick up the phone. I was out of courage, exhausted and trying to wrap up my evening of chores and duties. The call went to voicemail and I felt guilt, big guilt about not answering. About 30 minutes later my phone rang again, same number, I gathered what remained of my courage and answered. Maybe you're wondering why I needed courage, but this was not an average phone call. I knew that this phone call had the potential to offer a life changing connection, and I was anxious. After a few moments of chatting my new friend and I were conversing like we had known each other for years and away fell my anxiety, fears, the stress of the day.  I am always in awe in the power of a human connection. That phone call was the reset that I needed to go to bed that night at peace.

At my core I believe in the power of human connections and healing nature of healthy connections. Not every human connection is a helpful one, and not all will heal, but when the magic of one appears you can't help but be changed. This specific connection has the additional magic of fueling my plans to a life less ordinary. Who knew that in an hour conversation with a person who was essentially a stranger at the beginning would create such magic and healing?

Closure

A little envelope came in the mail today. Nothing fancy, but I knew what was in it: the official divorce decree. How did I know? I had an email from my attorney earlier in the week with the PDF copy of it, so I knew my hard copy was to arrive soon. It's such a simple little thing, two sheets of paper in a legal envelope, marking the end of a chapter. So different than the multiple pages signed and agreed upon dividing up the things that made up our life. This is just an 8x10 sheet with a raised, notarized stamp saying we approve of your multi-page settlement, but it carries with it a finality that the larger document does not.

I knew the day was coming that it would arrive, and I didn't know how I would react. I know many have gone to celebrate; I know many have gone to go weep, and then others somewhere in the middle. It's been such an emotional process these past 3 years that to reach this milestone, chapter closure, I don't know exactly what I feel. Relief? Thankfulness that it's done? Grief? Likely it's a combination of all of these and more.

My marriage wasn't easy, and I'm aware that no marriage is easy, but marriages that end in divorce have their own struggles that a healthy marriage cannot understand. When you factor in children it adds to the complexity of the grieving and healing process. My therapist has told me that in her experiences those that divorce without children may often heal faster as it is a clean break. Those of us with children are going to interact with this person for the rest of our lives, and on a more frequent basis until they are 18. This alone create stress and anxiety, so while we are officially divorced I still have to interact with their dad frequently for the benefit of our children. I say it not to be a martyr, but to be clear that in this instance my wants and needs are superseded by those of my children. So the "freedom" that has been granted me officially has a different connotation than to a woman who does not have children.

I will say it has been heady going and officially changing my name at Social Security and the DMV. It's about creating my own identity. I am not the person that my parents named as an infant, nor the woman that assumed a name at 23, this time I am choosing me, my name. I returned to my maiden name, but kept my "new" middle name. In choosing this new name I chose my new identity, display my power and revel in the magic that I am creating. I have to think every time I sign my name to make sure I identify myself correctly and that is a powerful reminder of who I am choosing.

I chose me. I chose life. I chose happiness and love. I chose to show my children that it takes all different kinds of courage to make a life worth living. So while I sit here tonight processing the impact of an envelope I examine and reflect on the gift of closure. This isn't the "when a door closes open a window scenario," this is a chose your own adventure book. Skip ahead to page 44 to pick up your story. While I reach closure on this process I know I am in a period of transition, on my way to living what I'm terming "a life less ordinary." Surely some of you are thinking that I already live a less than ordinary life, and while I do, there is still more to see and do and experience.

Follow me along this next trail while I explore, develop and grow into my chosen self and my life less ordinary.