Ok, so this lesson is not technically one that I've learned from myself. It has come from others, as they read, observe, watch me, know me, and tell me about me. But I'll go ahead and take credit for it, because after all, if I wasn't hard on myself, I wouldn't have the lesson to learn.
Many have expressed that they have enjoyed reading these posts - it's been a humbling and rewarding venture. But several have told me that it feels in some ways less like 30 days of life lessons, and more like 30 days of my shortcomings. I dismissed the first person who told me this - she always tells me I'm too hard on myself; I know I'm not. But within a week, another (unconnected) friend had the identical observation. Maybe I should listen.
To me, the reason these qualify as life lessons is that they are things that others do well, which happen to highlight things I don't do all that well. Without sharing my shortcoming, does the lesson not lose impact? That's how I see it anyway.
This is "Day" 23. Ok, not really day 23. It's entry 23. On day 43. I was due to finish this project January 31st, but it become a bit more than I anticipated it would be, which was actually a pleasant surprise - my very second post was about my friend Josie and the importance of finding opportunities to write about life; this has given me a great platform to do just that.
I'm several (many...) days behind on my project and alas, a few entries short; this will be my last of this series. I left room up front for the possibility that I wouldn't have 30 lessons to document in this way, but it was a project that occupied me for the planned 30 days (fine, 43), even on days when I didn't post. So I will be kind to myself ( ! ) and consider this a success.
In fact, I have decided to heed this observation of my dear friends, and pay attention to when I might consider that I'm being harder on myself than necessary (but really, isn't it always necessary? just kidding). This bit of insight has started seeping into my life in lessons like "it's good enough" and "you picked the wrong one," and I find that as I do cede this outrageous suggestion that I'm occasionally too hard on myself, it gives me a little space to exhale, and refocus my energy on worthy pursuits.
The process of documenting these lessons and observations has drawn me really close to what I appreciate and love about each of those mentioned herein, and has given me an opportunity to know myself a bit better too. And to maybe consider that I could be a little kinder, more empathetic, more forgiving to my own self. In some ways, it has given me a new perspective, has allowed me to see things in a new way - something I always appreciate and think is so important.
There are more lessons to be shared (generosity comes to mind, but there was no way to choose just one friend or family member who demonstrates this to me!), and of course life has many more in store - wisdom and character to be gleaned from those I love and admire. For those in my life who have blessed me with their love, care, stark honesty, wisdom, and little bits of themselves, who have inspired me, who have been voices of reason in my life, I am deeply thankful. Each has moved a tiny outpost into a corner of my soul and will always be with me, and for that, I am humbled and truly grateful.
Kathleen and I have been friends since high school - by senior year, inseparable. Most stories I relayed to her back then - invariably about boys or bitchy high school girls - took place in school, or at parties, or football games, or the beach, and we were usually there together. The stories didn't need background - who was standing where, what I was wearing, the dynamics of the event; Kathleen was already there and was well-acquainted with the players involved.
Then came college - we were separated! Now stories required details! She didn't know the people I knew, she wasn't at the same parties, she didn't have handle on the dynamics. So of course I had to explain them to her! In an inordinate amount of detail. With drawings and re-enactments and minutia no one cared about but me.
This has become a running joke between us - whenever I hear myself slipping into the realm of the only-relevant-to-me, I pull myself back. I remember Kathleen laughing hysterically at the scenarios I would map and that the color of that girls boots or the Giants hat that guy was wearing might - just might! - not make a difference to the overall story.
I have since reined it in. When I do occasionally feel myself slipping into crazy-detail-land (Wait - what was that guy's father's neighbor's name? It doesn't matter to the story!), I check myself. And in fact sometimes go the other extreme, much to the frequent consternation of my family.
Kathleen's influence of not getting hung up on the details has had application in many other (slightly more important) aspects of life. She's a big picture person - when weighing pros and cons, I will agonize over all aspects, all details, all possibilities. She's quick to strike the extraneous ones from the equation and encourage me to focus on the aspects that will actually make a difference. Small lifestyle details can be adapted to; big picture items are the ones that have the potential to change our lives. Dismissing the trivialities that can cloud a larger decision is simply the better part of wisdom. What's the big picture and how does narrowing the scope of analysis help to arrive at an unencumbered decision?
When I start to get hung up on the details - whether telling a story or making a major life decision - her laughter inside my head reminds me to keep the important things important, and don't get hung up on the details.
Ok, so Liz Lemon isn't technically a friend of mine. But dang, if we knew each other, and if she was real, I know she would be.*
On the series finale of 30 Rock, as the show-inside-a-show, TGS, breaks up and the actors-playing-actors head off their separate ways, Liz reflects on getting thrown together professionally with Tracy and how difficult he has made her life; she then says to him "but because the human heart is not properly connected to the human brain, I love you and I'm gonna miss you."
The heart not properly connected to the brain? What? Oh wait - we already know this. Don't we? I think so. In our brains anyway. But our hearts argue. And confuse us. And betray us. And we think that if the two are not in synch, something is wrong.
But I know Liz is right. In those moments of doubt and uncertainty and confusion, Liz Lemon's voice inside my brain reminds me that it is indeed not properly connected to my heart. That brain decisions will cause heartache and heart decisions will cause brainache. I know this. I know this from experience. So I (try to) go in, eyes open, knowing that either way, there will be consequences. Emotional, financial, professional - there will be consequences.
Sure, the brain should always win in a society that takes success and the measures thereof very seriously, but sometimes it just can't. So when I decide to move to Africa, go back to school, spend my weekends surfing the earth .... my bank account reminds me that these are heart decisions; my brain lost these rounds. Do I hate the fact that I probably have to move when my lease is up? Yep. Does deciding between a brake adjustment for my bike and a haircut feel like a decision I shouldn't have to be making at this point in my life? Absolutely. But I remember that my heart won this time, and the rest of me has to be willing to accept all of what that means.
Maybe somewhere in the future, the two will converge. I'd like to think they will. When heart decisions make brain sense, and brain decisions settle comfortably in my heart. I'm not sure what that will look like or feel like or sound like, but I do hope I get to find out.
Until then, I will shore up reason, and remind myself that the two have proven themselves out of synch, and for now - maybe just for now - making life decisions will mean I have to choose.
*From the 30 Rock episode Grandmentor:
Jack (lamenting that public attention to his wife being held captive in North Korea and forced to marry Kim Jong-un is waning): "Liz, the media have moved on ...."
Liz: (stammers, then fans herself) "Media as a plural noun. Oh my!"
(note to the reader: the line is unfortunately misquoted in this link, but the visual was worth including anyway.)
My sister - you would never know it to meet her, but she's been through some stuff. Born with a disability that wasn't fully realized until she was two years old, she spent the better part of her young childhood in doctors' offices, surgeries, technicians' offices, therapy, and general confusion.
Kids are mean. And my sister's classmates were no exception - they made sure she knew they knew she was struggling and made sure to peck at the weak spots. I remember coming home from school often to my sister fighting back tears after schoolmates had given her a rough day.
As time, and technology, progressed she found her way, and things leveled. By high school she was cheerleader - and not just the consolation basketball cheerleader like her sister - a football cheerleader ... the real deal. Go team Jenn.
My sister's natural ability for dance eludes all of the rest of us, and this become her undergraduate pursuit. Hours of daily practice and grueling physical routines surrounded her core studies. This would be her career - the vision was clear. Until she blew out her knee. In a single moment, everything changed; a shattered knee, a shattered dream.
Once again, she would pick herself up and forge ahead. The future saw challenging work situations, the kind that erode one's confidence and invoke self-doubt. Jenn would not be shaken. And somewhere along the way, she developed this ridiculously quick witted sense of humor that somehow felt like Jenn 2.0, and always leaves us laughing hysterically or at least shaking our heads with a smile.
Years of ongoing fatigue and discomfort, undiagnosed, plagued her during this time. Doctor after doctor came up with mis-diagnoses or nothing at all. And finally the verdict was in - lupus. Over a decade-long dance with this disease, for which there is no cure, has had her fighting once again. This time without any hump to just get over - this one will stubbornly stay with her.
As it is with life, new struggles always come our way. As new struggles come my sister's way, it will once again be hard to watch her walk through it, but her fighter spirit will prevail. That's simply a fact.
These tiny glimpses have been abbreviations of the larger dynamic stories, lacking the character and detail known to my family and Jenn's close friends. But they give a picture of a series of hurdles that my sister has handled with grace and tenacity in a way that I not only admire, but will always inspire me to stay strong and keep fighting, no matter the challenge.
The subject of this post could be about many of my friends, but this entry is specific to my dear friend Vonda.
Vonda and I have been friends for years - since we were 18. We have had a great group of about 10 amazing girlfriends since sophomore year of college. You know how this goes - small groups of besties form within the larger group, but Vonda and I were never really paired off back in the day.
When my divorce became a reality, I was all of a sudden free ... in many ways. Not only was I free of the weight and the negative energy in my life, but I was also freed up to see friendships in new ways; Vonda was right there.
She invited me one summer to come stay for a time with her family at her beautiful home, which has become something of an annual tradition for us. She had me come up and bunk with her kids for ski weekends. As I've gone through other significant transitions over the last few years, she has continued to be a support and encourager, always calling to check in, lending and ear or a word of a advice, always with me in my journey. She still calls regularly to check in. She remembers details, and always follows up. I get homemade postcards crafted from goofy photos of her and or kids, that always make me smile, and continue to make me smile from my bulletin board. She never forgets to mark an occasion - or maybe no occasion at all - with a card in the mail. I'm a terrible correspondent, so all of these USPS greetings are even more meaningful to me.
Days before I left for Africa last year, I received a card in the mail. Vonda had sent an iTunes gift card, recognizing that I might need a little taste of home during my trip. But she went further - inside the card was a song pick from each family member. It was so thoughtful and really touched me. She included a fair trade salted dark chocolate bar (my favorite), which kept me company on the long and uneasy flight from Brussels to Bujumbura, all the while reflecting on my thankfulness for her friendship.
I could go on. But suffice it to say Vonda has been a consistent and significant force of support and encouragement in my life over the last several years, in a way that I not only really admire and really hold dear, but also in a way that serves as an example when others in my life are in need of support from me.
