made of

I have figured out what my problem is. It’s not earth-shattering. It did not rock me to my very core. My eyes just kinda popped when my mind’s light bulb turned on. I’m bored.

I started asking myself questions like what reaches me, what grabs my soul and demands that I listen. What challenges me because, seriously, I’m not challenged. Well, I have challenges. Don’t we all? But, what opens up my world? What makes me think and feel and dream? When you answer that with a shrug and an I dunno something is missing.

I’m bored.

So, I’m remedying it. I’m not going to write lengthy posts about my boredom and searching my soul over for what’s ailing me. I am going to try things.

I’ve applied for a job that a good, good friend thought I might have a knack for. I signed myself up for a UBC writing course during the summer. In a few weeks I’m going to this and find out what I’m made of.

Here’s the thing. Well, my thing anyway. When you have something so explosive happen to you, everything pales in comparison. Nothing quite measures up to the bigness of that car crash. Almost like you’re living in its shadow. I’m expected to do something great after that. I should amount to something huge, something above average because of what I went through. Survival isn’t enough. It’s crippling.

Ironic, huh?

Here I am. Bored. Needing change. I’m living in the shadow of my burn survivor self, real and imagined. I didn’t know I was doing that, until recently. Rather than be upset with myself for waiting this long, rather than berate myself for not getting out from under the shadow sooner I’m going to look at this as the right time. The time for doing something other than surviving. The time for exploring and taking on. I couldn’t take on before because I already carried enough. These past few years has packed punch after punch. There’s been a lot of good too. So much good. (I am proud, by the way, to be a burn survivor, proud to stand among other burn survivors, proud to speak on our behalf and I’ll continue to do it.) I wouldn’t erase anything about my life. Not a thing. And I mean that.

I am a girl on the cusp. I’m tired of thinking that I’m not. I have the world at my fake feet.








In Awkward Family Photos
I just learned about this site a few weeks ago and it has provided me with a whole lot of laughter since. Seriously. The first time I looked at these photos I laughed until I cried. It’s just awkward family photos that people submit – the ol' back to back poses, bad matching sweaters, family of four sitting on the branch of a tree and the one I have here...I just switched out the previous one I had here for this one. The owner of the website calls this photo Mommy-the-Pooh and has this caption to go with the photo, "The father was so relieved when he found out he was gonna be Eeyore. " Are you kidding me?! I can't believe anyone would do this.

What touches your soul?

I’m not writing a lot here these days. I’ve taken up temporary residence in my head. And when I’m not living there I’m with my family and friends or outside enjoying some much longed for sun.

This blogging thing began as an experiment. I did it on a dare and it’s grown on me. This interesting, always changing place where I put out my thoughts and change my mind a thousand times and where I get to put a part of myself out there that I rarely see. I wanted to tap into another side of me that doesn’t get out much – the side that has thoughts that go ‘round and ‘round but never have a place to reside.

While I doubt what I'm doing here sometimes, and wonder if it's completely crazy to journal to the rapidly evolving world wide web, my brain has a resting place.

I’ve been asking myself what touches my soul. What opens up my world? What challenges me?

I’m asking you guys the same questions. You guys - who have made this blogging thing so worthwhile. I would love to hear your answers.







In Mozart Bakery & Cafe
They make beautiful cakes, but it isn’t cake that I eat when I visit. And I visit often. I’ll get a maple swirl scone or a chocolate peanut butter bar or lemon cranberry shortbread. You know how I love all things made with lemon. If you’ve been reading my blog for a while now then you’ll know my deep love or obsession…whatever you want to call it…with baked goods. These guys completely indulge my love of baked goods. It’s in Walnut Grove next to Clancy’s and it is my new addiction.

love, love, love

When you peel away fatigue, schedules, and one hundred other things there is love. It, more than anything, defines me. Going after love, not giving up on love, and being free to love is my life’s work.

It’s so easy to determine what distracts us from love and what waters it down, but I’m not going to make that list. We can be quick to dismiss it or act like we don’t want it. We’re cynical and maybe there’s reason to be. But, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to honor love. Love, when it is pure and good, is worth shouting about from the rooftops.

Love has saved me. Over and over again it has saved me. Love is worth fighting for and committing to. Love isn’t something you keep to yourself. It isn’t something you hoard. Love is as scary as it is dizzyingly beautiful.

I know it isn’t popular to say that you need love. But, I do. I need it. It’s the common thread that weaves through motherhood and marriage. It’s in my layers and history and stitched tight, so I have a soft place to land.

My daughter will tell me she loves me constantly. It is her answer when she forgets what she’s going to say. “Mommy? I love you.” Sometimes I think, alright already. This is the 33rd time I’ve heard it today. I get it. You love me. But, I’ll never ask her to stop. I'll never tell her it's enough. It’s an answer to a question. An answer to my questions. When you strip everything away there it is beating, sure, and true. A force to be reckoned with. Love.






In Season Finales
I loved them all. Lost, Grey’s Anatomy, The Office, 30 Rock, and Gossip Girl. I could write pages on Lost. They’re changing up the game again and I can’t wait to see what happens next. Grey’s…Bailey’s speech (I adore her. She could kick my ass anytime)…Meredith, who's all grown up...Izzie…George…George! So, so good. And The Office?! I loved what Michael had to say about him and Holly – how theirs was a long love story. Jim’s face…just Jim’s face. If you’ve seen it you’ll understand what I mean by Jim’s face. Anyway, I could go on and on. The finales did not disappoint. I’m a little sad that my stories, for now, have come to an end, but I still have In Treatment to keep me company and Entourage is on its way. See ya, last season. Hello Summah!

free your mind...and the rest will follow*

Confession: I am 34 and still care too much about what others think. Shocking, I know. Me and 50 billion other women out there that feel the same way.

I spent most of my youth digging myself out of the people pleasing hole to emerge a confident, I’m okay with myself person. Then, I don’t know how or when it happened, I’ve dragged myself under again. How did this happen? I refuse to blame motherhood. It seems to be everyone’s go to target. It’s not marriage. I’m not going to accuse the people around me. Oh no, this is all about me. My choices. My problem. How I see me.

It crept up on me stealthy and sneaky. I have found myself justifying my decisions and looking for approval. I've been caught making a case for myself. I've been pleading my position.

I had this dream once (an actual in my sleep dream – not a vision or a well meaning wish) where I was in an open field that stretched out for miles. Part of this field was set up in stations. There were obstacle courses you could go through, activities to do and equipment to buckle on. There were slides to slide on. I attempted almost every station. I tried out and tried on. I slid. I jumped through hoops. At the very end I was heavy with fatigue and layers of clothes. Nothing seemed to fit right. Nothing suited me. The field was in front of me. I faced the miles that it went on for with no destination except the sun, shed my layers and began to walk.

I see what I’m doing. I’m wearing outfits that pull and stretch in all the wrong places. I’m putting on and piling up. And I want out from under something I’ve built. No one has done this to me. I learned a long time ago how to step out of the box. I’ve crossed the line. I’ve shut the lid and closed the latch.

I’m making decisions that I’m defending to others, but aren’t I defending them to me? These are not life or death decisions. They harm no one. I am my harshest judge and this is all in my head. I’m simply trying things out to see where I fit. Where do I belong? How do I see me?

I am the one with the tools. I just need to pick them up. I know how to do this and I’m going to let myself go.

*some of you may recognize that line. it is an en vogue (does anyone even remember them? i have heard rumors of a comeback) line from the song, free your mind. i'm not sure how it made its way into my head, but it did and it's here. on my blog. i know that what they mean and what i mean are two entirely different things, but, whatever.







In Underdogs Unite
Kate from The Big Piece of Cake has started this website dedicated to the underdog in the blogosphere. She will even be hosting a spoof on blog awards which I thought was hilarious and I couldn’t help but say, sign me up!
Read what she has to say about Underdogs Unite.
Are you currently undiscovered? Do you have a new blog or business online and trying to get readers, customers or support? Were you nominated for an award you have no chance of winning? Or even better - did you nominate yourself? Are you just as talented if not MORE SO than the blogger who WILL win? Then you are an Underdog. And this is your chance to unmask. Tell the world (or the five people who visit this site) who you are and why your superpowers make the Internet a better place. Move over Superman and Wonderwoman - you're not the only force to be reckoned with. Underdogs Unite!

story

I talked about this a little in the post that has been laid to rest. This thing of survivor versus victim. It’s the common thread in the talks I’ve given. The entire speech hinges on the choice of whether we’ll live our lives as victims or survivors.

How will you live this life? What do you want your story to be? Those are the questions I ask not only of the audience, but of me. I write these speeches for me as much as anyone else. Will I be a victim of my circumstances or will I emerge a fighter; because it’s in the fight that we become survivors. It may take only one step, but it’s one step closer to possibility. One step closer from what was to what will be. It’s the fight that reminds us that blood runs through our veins, that we are not done yet and we can do this…whatever this is. We can.

Our stories are not just made up of tragic events and change and difficult circumstances. There’s so much in between and after. We get to, dare I say, narrate our stories. We get to make them rich and full. We get to inject color and love our families and notice how beautiful the stars are on a dark, dark night. We can create and fill in and subtract. I know we don’t always get to choose. I get that. There are some things that are beyond our control. But, we aren’t powerless. How will we get through this? How will we live? Our life is in our hands. What do we want our stories to be?

I am always learning. Just when I think I understand something it is turned upside down. I respect that about life. I love deeply. I am afraid, but fear doesn’t paralyze me. I have faith in the unseen. I’m unsure but I want to try anyway. I am hopeful. I laugh even in unfunny situations. I will never stop asking questions. I want to stay true to who I am and to the people around me. I will do my best to make good choices. I’ll always want more and it doesn’t mean I’m without peace or contentment. I am a survivor. And this is my story.







In Anastasia Photography
I have sung the praises of Stace’s photography here before. Her photographs draw you in and tell a story. If you’ve had the privilege of having her as your photographer you’ll know what I’m talking about when I say how good she is with people, how she makes you feel so at ease and it’s how she sees beauty that grabs you. Here are only a few of her photographs. To narrow it down to just a few was hard! (The first one is of our friends’ and neighbors’ girls.) Her blog is full of beautiful photographs and she has a Mother’s
Day gift idea going on, so, go! Check out her blog!

free to be me

I adored Pippi Longstocking from her braids to her zany style to her love of life. She was what I wanted to be.

I was a serious girl. I was quiet and nice. My imagination was nothing like, well, me. It was full of color and longing and dreaming up scenarios that were otherworldly. In Pippi I found a kindred spirit. Her outsides matched my insides.

I wanted to speak up when justice didn’t prevail. I wanted to weave tall tales so that people couldn’t help but listen to me. I wanted to wear long mismatched socks. And having a suitcase full of gold coins would have made me a hit.

I was a quintessential late bloomer. It took me a long time to grow into my voice. Confidence was a game I couldn’t win. Finding myself was the theme of almost every movie in the 80s and my plight.

After years of trying on Pippi and others like her I discovered that the me I was looking for was right there all along. The search was over. I had found her and I had been shortchanging her for too long. I did know how to have fun. My scatteredness (it’s a word!) surely meant I had some zany in me. I had a voice. I learned how to use it. Confidence became a resource I could draw upon. I would no longer call myself ugly or I could never do that or doesn’t matter. I am significant. I have purpose. I belong here.

The Pippis, the women we admire and other amazing people that cross our paths are not there to become carbon copies of, but are there to inspire us. I still sometimes compare and contrast myself with others. Some habits die hard. But, as I get older, as I learn and live and grow I see myself more clearly. I’m not struggling with the vain pursuit of trying to be something else or someone I’m not, but, happily and peacefully exist as myself.






In my nomination?!
That’s right; it’s my very first nomination of anything! Unless you count me nominating myself for pretend Oscars or the fake funniest girl in school award. I wasn’t the funniest. Far from. I just wished I could be. If you’ll look to your right, close to the top of the page, there’s a little badge stating that I’ve been nominated for the blogitzer award and, yes, I’m asking you to vote. The lovely Kate from The Big Piece of Cake nominated me. Now, there is a funny and smart blog. I’m not sure what a blogitzer is, but if you’re so inclined click on the badge and cast your vote for me…the blogitzer.

That’s me with my family looking like your run of the mill blogitzer…not really. I don’t have any recent photos of myself. My friend, photographer extraordinaire, Anastasia Chomlack, took this last summer along with tons of other photos. She’s over on my list of favorites. She is truly, truly a gifted photographer. In fact, my plan is to feature her in one of my swept up items soon!!

taking a deep breath...

Okay, I deleted that last post because, upon closer inspection, it didn’t come across the way I wanted it to and I was worried about how it would be received. So, it’s gone. Done. Buried in the internet graveyard.

I will quickly say this. I feel a little like shut up and do something about it already. I don’t want to continue to talk about doing more or chasing a dream or what the hell are my dreams and not do anything about it. I have lost my way a bit and I really want to find my way back or start over or something. Or something.

So, I’m figuring it out. Taking steps in a direction. Who knows if it’s the right one, but it’s better than not walking at all.

I think we’re often in such a hurry to get things right. To get it done. It’s always now and not later. I don’t want to put anything off, but I don’t want to rush through my life either for the sake of having a destination. I’m going to do my best. My very best. To find solid ground again.







In aromatherapy
Aromatherapy for my head. I get headaches frequently and rather than swallow a whole lot of ibuprofen which is what I normally do I found an alternative. I found it at Tap in Fort Langley. It's a teeny, tiny bottle called Forhead. Clever and cute. Just a few drops on the temples or the back of my neck where my muscles are sore and it starts to take effect. Scott tells me I stink like a hippie when I use it. He's right. I do. But, it works.