In Praise of The "Other Kids"

“Misfits deal with the double-edged reality of having our differences act as the source of both our challenges as well as our successes.”
― Tiffany L. Jackson

My kid got booted out of the chorus concert last night.  Jettisoned. Discarded.  Heaved. Cast off.  Now, I was CAREFULLY watching my kid almost 100% of the time.  Studying him.  Wondering why he wasn't moving his lips more.  I mean, I've sung a LOT and I'm always smiling, enunciating and having a grand time.  However, since he claims that his teacher has "ruined music" for him, I suppose I can understand why he wasn't a little more engaged.

I didn't see any behavior last night that would warrant a boot.  Granted, he can come up with some sarcastic zingers out of the blue (I don't know WHERE HE GETS THAT FROM?) and I obviously couldn't HEAR everything.  But, he didn't seem to be doing anything other than looking like an uncomfortable teenager on the stage.  Since that teacher has his dad and me on speed dial, I could only assume that he had done something in class earlier to warrant this humiliating exit off the stage.  (Note:  No children were harmed in this incident.  She booted him quickly and quietly during a break between songs.  The Thing who left the stage expressed extreme pleasure at not having to endure the exquisite motor-skills on display as his classmates awkwardly maneuvered through "Somebody to Love.") 

The whole matter got me thinking about school and my kids.

They are not good at the whole school thing.  They just aren't.  They're SMART.  And they're funny and polite and (mostly) respectful.  They have kind hearts and they are quick to defend the underdog.  But, let's face it: they suck at school.

I, on the other hand, was GREAT at school.  Kids had to dodge my flailing arms as they shot up to answer question after question.  I LOVED A's.  And I loved praise.  And it came easy for me.  I was a STAR at school.

Until there wasn't school anymore.  Then, well...I sucked at LIFE.  There were no more tests or gold stars or "This is EXCELLENT WORK."  There were still deadlines.  But there were no 100% right answers anymore.  This left me stymied.  And I fumbled around for many years seeking the gold star and the teacher who would acknowledge my raised hand.

So is there a correlation between kids who suck at school and become great at life?  I PERSONALLY know more people than I can count on one hand who didn't shine at school but who became rock stars at life. That kid who got thrown out of class by the academically gifted teacher and forced to sit outside in his desk? He owns his own business.  Those smart kids who didn't care about the grades have become successful engineers, managers, and business owners who travel all over the world.

I resigned myself a long time ago to the fact that my kids won't get awards on awards day.  They won't be celebrated in the hallowed halls of early education.  They are one of the "other kids."  But this morning, I'm a little excited.  Because while they may not be living up to the traditional standard of excellence, I know they have a good foundation.  They're good PEOPLE even if they aren't great STUDENTS.  And if we can offer up the first 18-22 years of their life as a sacrifice, I think it's a good trade if they can take the years of disappointing mediocrity and turn them into a lifetime of success.

So, to the teacher who kicked my kid out in the middle of the concert last night:  thank you. Thank you for opening my eyes to the fact that this stage isn't the only stage.   My kid is a good kid.  And your choice last night was yours...I hope it made all the difference to you. 

Rock on, young men.  The world awaits.

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We Are Family: Lost and Found Sisters

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”

― George Bernard Shaw

I am a word person.  Always have been.   I've been in love with vocabulary for all of my conscious life.  And, for that reason, when I want to get to the heart of the matter, I always go first to the dictionary.  Merriam Webster dictionary defines family in this way:

As you can see, MOST people don't need to look this one up since its popularity is pretty darn low.  Only 1% of people who consult MW are looking for the word family.

"Family" is a deeply personal word and one that conjures up a lot of different images for people.   It can be a warm word that means love, laughter, Thanksgiving dinner, adventures and fun.  It can be a sad word conveying loss or shame.  Or, it can be painful and filled with scars, tears and silence.  It can even be hopeful, fat with the promises of marriage, babies and future domestic bliss.

For me, family is a complicated word.  My mother was never married to my biological father.  My stepfather told me when I was six that HE was not my father but didn't bother telling me who was and threatened my life if I told my mother I knew.  And I spent more than half of my life wondering about who the REST of my family was.  What was my father's name?  What did he look like?  Did he ever think about me?  Did he have a REAL family?

The truth is simple but often complicated when it comes to families.  In truth, my biological father held no legal or moral responsibility for me.  He walked away clean after signing away his parental rights at the request of my mother.  He was kind enough, along with his lovely wife, to meet me when I was 36 and came looking for him.  We have developed a nicely loose relationship over the last years and I am grateful that I now have answers that haunted me for so long.

But life is never neat and tidy.  I met B, one biological half-sister and connected immediately with her.  Nature vs. nurture was answered immediately for me when I met B.  We have so many similarities from the rhythm of our speech to the fact that we both named our youngest sons "Jackson." B had a full sister, L, who wasn't ready to meet me all those years ago.  Two other half-siblings were (and remain) lost to me.

My life, since meeting my father, has changed dramatically.  It was the impetus for change in me and in my choices.  It was almost as if I needed that missing piece to clink into place before I could get down to the business of living.  When you know where you come from, it seems to be easier to envision where you might go.

A few weeks ago,  I heard a ding announcing I had a new message.  I looked and the message was from Kelly L.  Kelly.  She told me that she was the biological daughter of JL and was looking for other siblings she might have.

Kelly L.  Kelly L.  Kelly L. 

My breath caught in my chest.  She HAD MY NAME.  I have always joked that Tilyard is the only legitimate name I've ever had.  I was Kelly S. on my birth certificate.  My mother started calling me Kelly N. after she married.  When I found out my biological father's name, I said I COULD be Kelly L.  And, finally, I took the name of my (now ex) husband, I legally became Kelly Tilyard.

But Kelly L.  Kelly L...

After I breathlessly read the message to The Boyfriend, I must have looked at him somewhat wild-eyed.  He gently said, "Well, are you going to answer?"

I did answer.  I told her that I was his biological daughter and that SHE was, indeed, my half-sister.  We connected quickly and I spoke to her the first time the next day and we pieced together the little we both knew.  I found out that she had met my biological grandmother also and had pictures of our biological father from when he was in her life as a young girl.  I won't share her story here because it isn't mine to tell, but I know that we were mutually thrilled to have found another long-lost half-sibling.

She wanted to meet.  After all, she was finding a sister whom she didn't know existed and...well, so was I.  And, after all, we share a name!  We arranged a meeting of a big group of our family,  our father, his wife and their two children...our two half-sisters.  I had already met B but was thrilled that L was ready to meet me, too.

We had a good day, the six of us plus Kelly's fiancé.  We found many, many commonalities among the four of us sisters as well as some marked differences, too.  (OK, I just don't like the VIOLENCE of football...)  But that's just the way it is with all sisters, isn't it?

We skipped all the years of petty jealousies, of fights over clothes and boys.  Of pecking order establishment.  But we also missed that bond...that "us against them" mentality.  We missed years of laughter and of tears.  We missed marriages, births, trials and triumphs.  Kelly and I both have brothers whom we are grateful for.  But neither of us has ever had a sister.

I don't know what causes a parent to walk away from a child.  I know that I have no animosity toward my biological father.  Life is complicated.  And it's messy.  I get that.  He did what he did.  And I am who I am because of...or perhaps in spite of...never knowing him growing up.  I know that I can love him for the now that we have.  And I have nothing to forgive...because he did nothing wrong by me. 

But sisters.  I have sisters.   And I have a promise for them...for B...and for L...and for K.  I will always love you.  My door is always open to you. I don't always say the right thing.  I am selfish and opinionated and often wrong...about everything.  I am not great about keeping in touch and birthday cards sometimes remain unmailed for years at a time. But, I will always be on the the other end of the phone or the road or the thought.  Sisters.  From now on.

We are family.  I've got all my sisters with me.  

Thank you, Kelly.  Thank you for being brave.  Thank you for finding me.

Author's Note:  This was a tough post to write.  It's taken me a week to sort out how I feel about meeting two new sisters last week and I feel like I have to be very careful because, again, these stories don't belong to me alone.  Like I said, it's complicated.  But I needed to write it out.  And to share it.  Because families, like life, are sometimes messy.  And it's good for all of us to understand that we are not alone in navigating the chaos.  I, personally, like to bring the chaos close to me.  When I see it up close, I can better understand it.

How do you handle your own complicated family?


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Age is a number with a life behind it

“It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

Today, I woke up with the realization that the woman in the mirror is 44 years old.  44.  Forty-four.  XLIV in Roman numerals.  She has been 44 for some time...but the number is clanging around in her head this morning, ricocheting off memories and dreams.

44 is old enough to know better and old enough not to care.  44 is too old to play dumb and far too experienced to waste time.  At this age, that woman I see in the mirror has finally stopped caring what people think of her but she still longs for them to like her. And she wants them to accept her exactly as she is. She has spent a lifetime pretending to be this for one and that for another and has become content...finally...with simply being herself. 

The woman in the mirror looks back at me with kind, vivid blue eyes.  I appraise her objectively and find her beautiful.  I rarely see her beauty but, instead, focus on her shortcomings.  Her short upper lip curves upward when she is at rest.  It is nothing more and nothing less than how she was made.  It's a part of her and it's only a lip.  It's nothing to hide.  It's nothing to disdain.  It's a lip.  And it belongs to her. 

I wonder why I have spent a lifetime being critical of that woman staring back at me. I realize that she has done nothing more than the best she can.  And, at some points, even her best really wasn't very good.  But every day, no matter what the day before had brought, she wakes up.  She puts one foot in front of the other.  And she keeps moving.  She goes forward...every day attempting to be a better person, a better friend, a better mother, a better employee, a better human being.  She fails.  And tries again.  And fails.  And, once more, she tries again.

She deserves my compassion.  She deserves my patience.  My forgiveness.  I must remember not to criticize her, apologize for her, belittle her or be angry with her for too long.  

She takes life to heart, this woman in the mirror.  She knows her role on the planet is small but that her behavior and her moods impact the environment in her home.  She willingly fosters a climate of acceptance, kindness and love.  She laughs a lot...sometimes too loud and too long for those around her. 

She lashes out at times...usually in fear.  Her fears are deeply personal and related to loss of self.  She fears not being heard, understood, or loved.   She is sometimes sarcastic and curt.  She is harsh and unyielding until she becomes aware of her own coldness.  And then she melts like butter in tearful apologies.

She believes that people are inherently good...even those people who do evil things.  She rails against stupidity and ignorance.  She aches for those who are hurting.  She assumes their pain and makes it her own until she can't bear it and pushes it away.

The woman in the mirror is 44.  She still has a lot left to learn.  She has places to explore, thoughts to examine, things to conquer, and tasks to master.  She is 44.  And she moves forward.

Who is in your mirror?

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Parenting Teens: When Does This Merry-Go-Round STOP?

I hope you never look back, but you never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you live,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
And always give more than you take.

But more than anything, yeah, more than anything

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too...

Yeah, this....is my wish.

-Rascal Flatts 

Things 1 and 2 off to school

Yesterday, I watched my eldest son walk away from the house toward his bus stop.  His head bowed, he looked more man than child as he moved.  His arms have become roped with the veins of a man and his face needs shaving more often than not.  

His brother, taller now by an inch or two, still loped away with the easy grace of a child. But I know, as I watch his limbs lengthen and hear the deepening in his voice, that he is also moving away from our shared life and into his own.

They're in tenth and eight grades respectively and they each have only a few more years to benefit from my daily tutelage and the day-to-day umbrella of my winsome personality.

I was talking with a friend this morning about my changing role as a parent.  "I don't WANT to tell them what to do anymore," I complained.  "I shouldn't have to tell them to take out the trash or mow the grass or do their homework."  Except, apparently, I do. I have an example from last semester that fully illustrates that point but it makes me tired to even think of it.

Here's the problem:  as they begin to LOOK more like men, I don't want to ACT like some woman nagging them to do what they're supposed to do.

See, I don't want them to get accustomed to the idea of, oh, if I don't live up to my responsibilities, some chick will just tell me that I need to do my laundry or feed the dogs or pick my socks up off the living room floor.  Scratch that, socks are found on every horizontal surface in my home.  I don't want to train them to be nagged.  Nor do I want them to live with a nagger.  There is nothing more miserable on this earth than being told constantly that you're simply not meeting expectations.

So how do I handle it?  I often let them fail.  A lot.  I don't rescue them nearly as much as I could.  Or maybe even as much as I should.  I won't let them completely screw their lives over just yet but I regularly just expect them to do what they should.  But, often, they don't.

Dagnabit.  WHEN DOES THIS PARENTING STUFF STOP?

I need to come up with solutions to ease them into adulthood without causing me to lose my tenuous grasp on sanity.  Or, I could just do what I always do..what I always HAVE done as a parent:  I need to keep adapting to their needs.  I need to continue to morph as a parent to ensure that I'm giving them what they need as they need it.  It's OK for me to pull back but probably not OK for me to expect them to behave like a 40-something adult when I can barely manage that on a regular basis.  So, fine, I'll keep reminding them.

They're gonna screw up.  They're gonna tick me off.  And my job is to love them through it.  And usher them into adulthood relatively unscarred and without excessive emotional baggage that they'll have to sort through with a professional.

For now, I'll continue to watch them walk away.  I'm growing accustomed to it.  I just hope that they know that they wear my heart on their backs.  And that, no matter what...no matter how many times they fail or, let's hope, succeed, that their mom will always be thankful that she only has to raise them once.

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5 Things You Should Never Do During Chemo Treatments

“Cancer. The word meant the same to me as tsunami or piranha. I had never seen them; I wasn't even quite sure what they were, but I knew they were bad and I knew in many cases they were deadly.”
― Natalie Palmer

One of my very, very good friends has gone and gotten breast cancer.  She's now inundated with appointments, information, more appointments and the well-meaning actions of the few people she has told.  She's living every single day by putting one foot in front of the other and just getting through it. 

Because she's just not ready to go public, we're going to call her MGFWC (My Good Friend With Cancer) for short.  Actually, we'll just drop it down to MF to keep the character count down.  MF has been through a lot these past few years and cancer is just the icing on the sh*t cake she's been living.  (Yeah, I said "sh*t cake."  And I meant it.) And just a few weeks ago, she had been presented with the chemo treatment facility where her doctor has privileges to treat.  Laughing, she told me about her visit with the Chemo Nurse who showed her around. The sad little room was barren with a couple of chairs and no television or any artwork on the walls.  It was a dreary room intended for an even drearier purpose.

"We have Wifi," Chemo Nurse said proudly.  I think MF (who, I just found out, has her nephew download things onto her computer because she just doesn't "get it") was singularly unimpressed.  The nurse THEN said that they strongly encouraged interaction between patients during treatment.  MF may have mumbled something about having enough friends and the average age of the other patients being old enough to remember the suffragist movement.

MF then said perhaps I should write blog posts to entertain her during treatment.  So, I shall.  The first one is all about Things You Shouldn't Do During Chemo. I mean, she doesn't have TV.  But she DOES have Wifi.  And she's a freakin' troublemaker.

1. Porn.  The very first thing you should not do during chemo is surf porn sites with your tablet.  If you accidentally knocked the headphone jack out of your tablet, then everyone (including that Chemo Nurse) would hear the...well...whatever sounds it is that people in porn sites make.  Also, I hear those things aren't free and you should probably be saving money for your deductible.
2. Sing out loud.  OK, I REALIZE that when we were little kids Karen Carpenter encouraged us to "sing, sing a song...sing out loud...sing out strong" but, c'mon.  Unless your name is Beyonce or Kelly Clarkson, no one really wants to hear you singing.  Especially during chemo.  Because for goodnesssake people are SICK.  They're already feeling nauseous from that chemical cocktail coursing through their bodies and you over there belting out "My Way" isn't going to help anyone.
3. Scratch yourself.  You might be itchy.  And uncomfortable.  But did you ever notice how, when you're in the room with people who are scratching themselves, all of the sudden you feel itchy, too?  I feel kind of itchy just WRITING about scratching.  Oogie.  No one needs cancer cooties.  
4. Cry.  Nope.  Not the time and not the place.  We'll go to another oldie but a goodie:  "Don't Cry Out Loud," that old Melissa Manchester favorite that begs you to very healthily stuff everything inside.  "Learn how to hide your feelings."  'Cause that's totally what well-adjusted people do.  Like baseball, however, there is no crying in chemo.  Crying is for later with a pint of chocolate ice cream and Lifetime Television for Women.  ('Cause just THINK, YOU could be imprisoned for a crime you didn't commit or have a cheating husband just like those poor chicks on the Lifetime Movie Network.) 
5. Call me.  Whatever you do during your treatments, you should probably avoid any phone calls to me.  This is not only because I'm now working in a highly library-like environment but it is also because I am likely to be fairly irreverent and make wise-cracks about cancer and the other people sitting beside you and Nurse Ratchet and pretty much raise holy heck on the other end of the phone.  And because you're getting cancer treatments and not treatments for some kind of bladder problem, you probably aren't wearing Depends undergarments. This can be a problem for excessive laughter. And I will not be held responsible for the stains on your seat because of that fact.  

I love you, MF.  I truly do.  And I have a lot of faith that you're going to make it through this.  And that your life is going to be amazing.  And that we'll be sitting together in rocking chairs when we're 102, drinking tequila and telling dirty jokes to the staff at the nursing home.

You've totally got this.  And when you don't have the strength...you've got a lot of people who will carry you.

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5 Secrets To Keep Life from Keeping You Tired

“Winston was gelatinous with fatigue.”
― George Orwell, 1984

Maybe coffee is the answer?

The very last time I remember being exceptionally well-rested was 1999.  Newly pregnant, I was weary due to that whole business of actually manufacturing human life in the walls of my uterus. I slept.  Oh, how I slept.  I would come home after work and climb into bed at 8 pm where I would snooze away blissfully until the snooze button was worn to the nub.

Then, Thing 1 was born and all notions of sleep left with the incessant wailing of the newborn, the finicky restlessness of the baby, the 5 am wake-up calls of the toddler and the ever-present one-ear-open-because-what-if-he-needs-me of the child.  Then came the teenager that wakes me up in the middle of the night with the hushed laughter and murmurs of forbidden late night phone calls, Skype sessions or online video game parties.

My forties came calling and with it endless nocturnal wanderings at 3 a.m.

WTF?

I don't remember NOT being tired. I'm tired right now and I haven't done a damn thing all day except attend meetings, send emails and jot down a few notes. Well, I worked out halfheartedly and slapped together a mildly nourishing, somewhat edible dinner. Short of just going to bed at 5 pm and ignoring the rest of my life, I've got to figure out a way to combat this incessant fatigue that prevents me from being the world-famous figure I am almost certainly destined to be.

I must have a plan. 

1.  Eat fewer fat-girl calories.  Let's take one night a couple weeks ago, for example.  I stopped by the grocery store on the way home.  Famished and exceptionally susceptible to grocery-line suggestive selling, I chucked a Snickers bar on the belt.  I didn't really WANT a Snickers bar but, let me tell you, I WANTED A SNICKERS BAR.  I read the useless, wasted calorie count and the "imma make you fat" sugar content conveniently AFTER I snarfed the bar.  All that stupid sugar makes you feel sooo good and then it makes you feel so very, very, very tired.  And to punish myself, I basically licked water off the counter for dinner

2. Treat exercise like a date to the movies.  I would never, ever skip a date to the movies.  I don't even care what movie it is.  I am NEVER late to a movie.  I always show up early and sit there, breathless, waiting for the dancing popcorn to start its entertaining jaunt across the screen.  And then I am fully engaged in that. But exercise?  I think of any excuse I can to skip it, be late or half-ass it.  But, truly, the more active you are, the less tired you are.  I don't know why it works this way other than the notion that the universe is obviously pitted against me.

3.  Stop trying to control everything.  Very, very little is actually under your control.  And trying to rein in all of the earth and its inhabitants is a pretty big job.  And exhausting.  I am pretty much limiting my little corner of control to...myself.  Sure, I have some influence over Things 1 and 2 but, quite honestly, at this point they're in control of themselves. I have to trust them to make good decisions and use me as a parental consultant on an as-needed basis.

4.  Sleep.  I'm getting good at this one (with the obvious exception of my odd middle-of-the-night random wakening).  If it's not finished by 9, I probably shouldn't be doing it.   Nothing good comes not after midnight but after 9pm.  And that includes cookies.  And one last glass of wine.

5. Practice joy. It may seem like a weird concept to actually practice joy. But human nature allows us to often focus on the What Ifs and the But This Could Happens of life. I prefer to dwell on the infinite possibilities of the hidden surprises that life often presents me as a gift. Last night, I looked up while The Boyfriend and I were heading to the garden for late-night tomato picking and I gasped. The stars were stretched out across the sky in a velvet blanket of wishes and dreams. It was magical. And an instant boost to my weary self.

There are a lot of things we can do every day to ease the weariness of life drudgery that makes us want to forego the bucket list and head for the couch. But the main thing is this: take care of yourself. If you are running around taking care of everyone else first and ignoring your own physical, spiritual and emotional well-being, there will come a day when you are introduced to the wall of life. And that wall will quickly force you to your knees. 

So today, take care of YOU. In one small way, take one small step and reclaim your vigor...your hunger for life. Just say no to being tired all the time.  Instead of folding laundry, read a book. Feed your life. And it will, in turn, nourish you.

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Are You Afraid of Change? 4 Ways to Make it Not Suck

“You miss 100 percent of the shots you never take.” – Wayne Gretzky

Forrest Gump faced a lot of changes, too. 

A little over a month ago, I made a decision to make a big change.  Again.  It seems that I am often reinventing myself and my life to make it look just a little bit more like my evolving vision of who I should be and what I should do.  You see, I'm not comfortable with the status quo.  A claustrophobic person by nature, sometimes the metaphorical walls of my life seem to cave in on me and make it so I feel like I can't breathe.  So, I look around and I see what is making me feel trapped or dulled or uninspired and...well...I change it.  

This time, it was work.

The job that I had was amazing.  It was.  I worked with great people and had terrific clients but...I couldn't sleep.  I was up at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. working, working, working.  And it wasn't that I was REQUIRED to work...it was just that I couldn't stop.  I felt continual self-induced pressure to produce.  And that would have been fine with me if I felt like I was making a difference in the world or maybe if I was building my OWN business but...I just felt like I was spinning my wheels.  So, I found another job.  A great job with terrific people.  But I agonized for weeks over it...over making the change and abandoning people who had become friends.  I was horrified at myself for cutting the bonds of loyalty and leaping off into uncharted territory.  But I wasn't scared of the change.  Now that I'm THERE, I realize I probably SHOULD have been (have you ever read the book Modern Hydronic Heating? yeah, I didn't think so...I'm learning more about HVAC, fluid dynamics and heat transfer than any reasonable person should).  

I love change.  And here's why:  changing my circumstances means that I am still growing.  If you stop growing, you might as well hang up your hat right now and just sit and wait to die.  I'm not ready to do that...and you shouldn't either.  So, if you're afraid of change, you can do what I do.  Or not.  

1. Think of the worst thing that could happen if you make a change.  I mean, think of the WORST THING that could happen.  For me, it was "I'll take this job and everyone at my OLD company will HATE me and the new job will be boring and slow."  Then, I think of what I would do if the very worst thing happened.  "Well, I'll just get another job."  Then, as soon as I've faced the worst thing, I'm completely OK with making the change.  And, yes, sometimes the answer has been, "I might die."  And, guess what?  I still do it.  I'm completely comfortable with death.  
2. Think of the very best thing that could happen if you make a change.  "I will love this job SO MUCH that I'll become the KING of the company and people will throw rose petals at me when I walk in the door!" (I never said that I was a realist, ever.)  But, it allows me to free my mind and just start imagining really cool things that could happen if I just let go of what's comfortable and reach outside of my comfort zone for just a moment.
3. Forgive yourself for all the other bad decisions you've made.  I don't know many of us who have made perfect life choices 100% of the time.  Sometimes, dwelling on those wrong choices stymies us and we freeze, unable to move forward or back because of the fear of making the wrong decision.  But then, hey, see tip #1 above.
4. Keep your sense of humor.  I often use humor as a filter. I have been kept afloat during some of the very darkest, blackest hours of my life by just viewing things from a different angle and, yes, laughing through it or at it or in spite of it.  Change doesn't have to be this big, huge THING.  You can just brace yourself, shrug your shoulders and jump in with both feet and hope that somewhere someone has a life raft or that you'll grow wings and fly. 

But what about the changes we DON'T choose?  What if your spouse leaves you? What if you get a serious illness?  What if you get fired or laid off?  Let me propose this:  the above four things still apply.  Every. Single. Time.  Trust me.

I've lived at 34 different addresses in seven states.  I've been through a LOT of therapy for some screwed up stuff.  I had a kid who had a tumor.  I'm divorced.  Trust me...I KNOW change.   And I still move toward it.  I'm captivated by it.  Because change means that I'm learning, growing and, with any luck, becoming a better me.  A better mom.  A better friend.  A better partner.  A better person.

It's nice to sit in the Rockin' Chair for a few minutes.  Peace.

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