And Then I Jumped……

Recently, I seem to have found joy in watching design shows. This is surprising. I am perplexed at my joy. I have come up with a theory. I don’t love all design shows, I lean towards the shows where the hosts love the people and there is crying involved.

I could spend all day watching the sappy and sentimental shows. I like it when the hosts say things like “we’re going to make sure that they get their “forever” home” and then they give the backstory about how wonderful the family is and some of the hardships they have faced and how they want to do all they can to make sure that the family is happy in their new home….blah, blah, blah. Thirty minutes later, everyone is crying because the home transformation so much more than they ever imagined.

And there it is….I like happy endings. I like the dreams, the challenge and the tears that flow because they never believed it could be true and then it was. Call me corny but I love it when it all works out and I confess to shedding a tear or two myself.

Not all shows hit the mark but one that does is Home Town. This is a definite fave! A super fave in fact. If you haven’t seen it and need some feelings of “feel good“, check it out. www.hgtv.com/shows/home-town

Home Town is about bringing life back into small towns. The show is based in Laurel, Missippi and is about the community that you find within a small town. The magic comes from the hosts, Erin and Ben. In addition to being the most adorable married couple in the world, it’s evident that they live their purpose which is to welcome new people to their town and help these people choose and renovate historical homes to their original glory. It’s a real town with real people.

Ben is 33 and is a skilled woodworker and used to be a former youth minister with a degree in history. He’s also 6’6 and comes across as a teddy bear! Erin is the cutest little pixie of a thing. She’s 31, an artist and a former stationer with a degree in graphic design. They own a store called Laurel Mercantile with four of their close friends. Ben adores Erin and Erin adores Ben and together, they infuse love into the world as they welcome people to join their little town.

It’s delightful and so lovely that some cynics might think that it is all staged. I am an eternal optimist and am completely immersed in what I see to be genuine authenticity that reminds me of all that is good in the world. In my mind, they are the real deal and live from the heart.

“As far as our marriage goes, it’s me and Erin and God. We work everything out together, and everything has worked out so far” ~ Ben Napier, Home Town

Yes, I love this show and love their love of small town and of each other. It gives me hope and a sense of happiness and purpose. “Every town needs their people“. Yes we do Erin. Yes we do.

I moved to my small town over 25 years ago. I arrived and the population was around 2500 people. Today, it’s pretty much the same. There are no stop lights and rush hour consists of having to wait at the Highway 5 intersection behind 4 trucks or cars. People still don’t lock their doors, I know I have left my wallet a million times in the grocery store and they always call me to let me know. I figure if anyone needs to steal from me, well, they need it more than I do in which case, I am happy to give it to them.

People may have street addresses but it’s rare that this is given out. You are more likely to hear things like, “we’re the fourth house down on the right, just after the old McCracken House”. You could live in a house for ten years and it would still be called by another historic family name. “Where do you live?” “We live in the Smith House“. Far more effective than a number address.

When I moved here, I came from the big city. It took me a while to get used to the small town vibe. I came from “bigger is better”. There was a comfort in nobody knowing my name. When I first arrived, I was given a tour of the town and was relieved when my guide said, “let me show you the mall”. Thank goodness. A mall. I can understand a mall. A mall meant that I was still attached to civilization. I was not lost, I was found!

Small problem. A city mall and a small town mall are different. Very different. I had come from the BIG mall with 200 stores that offered everything and anything. The small town mall mall consisted of two banks, a pharmacy, grocery store and of course….the liquor store. And we’re done.

While the lack of diversity was frustrating, it was also kind of soothing. Going “shopping” was an outing. A social outing. Kind of nice. I remember one year, it was December 31st which is Megan’s birthday. We were having a party for her and I had to stock up on the party items. Owen was maybe 2 years old and dragged along. Halfway through my list, he just gave up. He was tired. He lay down in aisle 4 and was having a nap. I assessed the situation. A better parent would have picked him up and taken him home for a nap. I am not that parent. I turned to the Dairy Guy and said, “Owen needs a nap and I need to finish shopping for Megan’s birthday and run to the pharmacy, do you think I could leave him here for 20 minutes?“. No one called the RCMP. In fact, the Dairy Guy took a picture and presented it to Owen on his 10th birthday. He took pride in being one of his first babysitters. I know…..small towns. Go figure. I wonder if I could get away with that today? Probably not. It was good while it lasted. I get a kick out the imagery. People having to step over Owen while he napped to reach whatever they needed and no one thought twice. Dairy Guy just explained I needed to pick up a few more things and everyone just went along with it. I’m pretty sure that by today’s standards, I would be in jail or at least serious rehab.

Over time, there have been changes. A new developer came in and built a new mall with a new grocery store. On opening day, almost the entire town came out to the ribbon cutting ceremony. It was a big deal. Everyone walked through the store with wide eyes. It was so new. So bright. So modern. It was like discovering electricity or the phone or even sliced bread. A big deal.

There is a rhythm in a small town that beats a little softer than in the city. Things are slower. If you need to be somewhere in a hurry, DO NOT stop at the grocery store. It’s impossible to be “in and out” of the grocery store without a 15 minute conversation. Going to the store is a silent understanding that you are going to chat. Some people say that deals get done in the bar, that is true but things also get done in the produce section. I kid you not.

I also love the rural essence of small towns. One of my favourite images is the iconic blue cooler on the side of the road. We have one. It’s our version of a store front to sell eggs. Owen fills the cooler once a week with eggs. He puts a jar in the cooler with “change”. People come by. They pick up their eggs and leave their money. Egg coolers run on the honour system and so far, it works. Inherently, I believe that people take homage in being trustworthy. It is part of the small town code of conduct. “Thou shall not steal from an egg cooler”. I love that.

In a small town, you know your people. I remember being in the bank several years ago. I was standing behind this tiny elderly woman. She couldn’t have been more than 4’10. My eldest son was just a baby and she turned to me and said, “oh how I miss babies“. We started to chat (as you do) and I almost fell over when she told me her story. She was a mother of triplets and regaled me with tales of cloth diapers and homesteading. Remarkable. When it was her turn to go to the teller, the teller asked “can I see your client card?” The woman just couldn’t understand this. “Why do you need to see my client card? You know me. You’ve known me all your life“. True. Small towns don’t need client cards. It kind of kills the vibe.

Despite my homages to the small town, I have to confess that I had always wanted to live in a big city. I took pleasure in the vision of being anonymous yet “important” to whatever “firm” I was going to be working with. When I moved to Clearwater, BC, it became clear that I was never going to be anonymous and never be a part of a “firm”. I was destined to be a part of something more.

When my husband I bought our first house, we lived in a little village called Birch Island which was about 10 km north of Clearwater with a population of barely 200. We had a cute little house on the river. My neigbour was Pauline Gregory. Pauline had served on just about every volunteer organization in the valley. You couldn’t meet Pauline without her selling you a raffle ticket for whatever charity she was representing that month. Even when she broke her leg (in her 60’s!), she still fired up the phone and made everyone she knew come to her to buy raffle tickets that month. Pauline was a force. Her husband was Greg. Greg Gregory. He was a retired railway worker and equally devoted to the community and Pauline. They taught me humility. They taught me that “greatness” often shows up in coveralls. They taught me that a community is only as strong as its people. In a small town, you aren’t judged by the amount of money you make, the car you drive or the “firm” you might work for, you are judged by what kind of a neighbor you are. What do you give back? Humbling.

In January 2005, our family was evacuated from our little Birch Island home after an ice jam caused the North Thompson River to spill over its banks and run right through our living room. The night before, the community was on alert and the local store had organized a phone tree. At 4am, the phone rang. The jam had burst and the pent up fury of the river was on its way towards us. I had put Aiden (8) and Megan (6) to bed in their snowsuits. Once we got the call, Wayne drove up river to figure out how long we had. It was faster than we thought. I will never forget the WHOOSH that took hold of the whole house as water poured over the bank and started to rise. I had to call Greg and Pauline but the water was coming in so fast and I also knew that I had to get Megan and Aiden out of the path of disaster. It was dark and cold and I looked at the kids bundled in their snowsuits and said, “head to the road and take the first car out. You have to go. You will be fine and I will find you.” They held hands and ran down the driveway to get to the road. Our small town invoked this sense of trust. I can hardly breathe as I write this. Our two small children had such faith and their faith and trust was rightly felt. I finally reached Greg and Pauline and got them out. Alas, their house was so damaged, they were never able to return. The river took more that night than I ever could have imagined.

We waited 48 hours before we could get back to the house and see the damage. When we go there, it was like everything was floating. For a flat piece of property, wading into the house in waist deep water will always be imbedded in my memories.

I don’t recall reading “how to survive a flood” when I was in my big city apartment. Thankfully, my neighbors were more savvy than us. It was 9am and I was sitting on a milk crate trying to figure out what was next. Our neighbor from “down the way” came around the corner of the house and saw me sitting on my milk crate. He looked me in the eye and dropped off a 24 pack of beer and an industrial pump. He knew that things were bad, that’s why he brought beer. He knew it was going to be ok, that’s why he brought the pump. We didn’t have to say anything more than that. That moment was enough. I saw his care for our family and I hope he saw my gratitude. It’s what you give that makes you part of a community.

That was a long time ago and yet, that moment was one of many that helped me define a new “me”. I had arrived in this little town with little understanding of how rich life could be. The goodness was had in the giving, the sharing, the commitment to caring. It wasn’t the “stuff” that I had imagined.

This town that I call home is not wealthy. People wear their “best jeans” to ceremonies. Graduation from the high school often takes place in the curling rink. The community lines the streets as the grads drive through en route to prom and we all cheer. We cheer because we were a part of their upbringing. We were part of the community that committed to helping each of them rise to their best ability. This prom, this doorway is where we we hug them and wish them well in their journey. In small towns, our children our raised to leave and it’s hard to watch them go. They need to leave. They need to see bigger horizons and all we can hope is that they remember that they were loved, they were cherished and they come from a place where people showed up when it mattered.

We do show up and our favourite times are when we get to cheer. Small towns love to cheer. We fill our hockey arenas and you would think that we were watching the gold medal round of mens hockey in the Olympics and not just our U18 team playing for first place in the Provincials. I kid you not. Finals for U18 is a BIG deal and everyone comes out. The stands are packed. When we host a tournament, it’s not just the club, it’s the whole community and all hands are on deck. We serve with pride.

While celebrating together is magical, we also come together to grieve. I remember reading a quote that says “everyone is a celebrity in a small town“. I know that to be true. Many a time has the school gym been filled to collectively mourn. Notices of those who have passed are posted outside the grocery store; it’s the truest form of social media. Often a hat is passed if there are financial needs and there is always a flurry of casseroles to be shared. Grief is collective, grief impacts us all. Things stop and the passing is felt not as a murmur but as a whole loss. Someone is missing and it’s not the same.

I love that about my town. The deep sense of “feeling”. It makes up for things that we don’t have. When you come from rural, it’s just normal to accept that you don’t have access to the same amenities found in larger city centres. Our kids learn to swim in the lake, there aren’t any “try outs” for teams because our numbers are so small that “everyone gets to play“. Our high school is grade 8-12. There are less than 200 students. A senior sports team is normally made up of grade 11 and 12 students. In our case, a senior team is anyone who makes practice regardless of age. We’re just excited that there is a team! We’re even more excited when there is a coach too!

What bonds me to this community is the depth of generosity. If there is just cause that needs to be financed, this is a community that gives from heart. This is true in so many cases but especially when it comes to our kids. We know that they are the underdogs but by gosh, any kid that plays, doesn’t play alone.

This was proven a couple of years back. We had a rag tag senior girls soccer team. Many of them hadn’t played before but they were keen. The coach was a volunteer from the community. He saw their spirit which was definitely a little higher than their ability and yet, he was enthusiastic. He was constantly quoted saying, “They can be out-skilled by another team, but they will not be out-hustled by another team.”

The girls hit the pitch every single game with determination. Their uniforms didn’t match (often they didn’t even fit), they didn’t always know the rules but they played with abandon and their goal was to put more balls in the other net than any team could put in their net. Simple. And it worked.

Game after game, they won. Their grit brought them to the final game. If they won, they would make it to Provincials. No girls soccer team had ever made it this far. It came down to a single penalty kick. Here’s the thing. The player that was going to make the kick was in grade 9. She was a beautiful young player and as shy as they could come. The anxiety was overwhelming. The coach called a time out. The team circled the player. She was afraid. The team huddled closer. They told her they believed in her. They said “do your best” and she found the courage to take to the field. We all held our breath. The tension was enormous. We all wanted this so badly. Silence. Total silence and then the kick. Slow motion. We watched the trajectory of the ball find the back of the net and we erupted with enthusiasm! THE WIN!! THE WIN!! THEY WON!!!

While all of this was beyond exciting. There were some financial realities that came with the win. Because no one had expected the girls to win, there was no budget for them to travel to provincials. They had one week to raise over $7500. Many of the girls held down part time jobs just to pay for family groceries. This wasn’t a team where everyone could just write a cheque. This “win” required more.

Here’s the other thing. The team said that they wanted to go to Provincials. The community said “you betcha”. I love my town. When the girls held a car wash to raise funds, I watched cars and trucks stretch for blocks. They waited their turn to be a part of the financial equation and contribution to something “more”. And it wasn’t just cars and trucks, it was logging trucks that lined up too. Everyone came to give their share. Our “girls” needed their “people” and their call was answered. Donations came all up and down the valley. In less than a week, the team raised more than double what they needed. They had what they needed to travel. The extra was put in a fund to help future students cover costs. Why was this incredible? They never said that they could win, they didn’t even know if they could place but they knew they wanted the chance to compete and the town said “Yes, you can“. There was no expectation other than best effort and in turn, the girls gave their very best and more. They didn’t win. I don’t even think that they placed but in our hearts and minds, they won it all.

My town is a giving town. A kind town. A town that tries to give everyone a sense of place and space. My town has endured tidal waves of job losses in the forestry sector. We’ve been ravaged by wildfires, flooding and now a pandemic. And yet, we’re still standing side by side. No one is left behind.

I share these stories because each of us lives in a small town. Maybe our physical address is that of a big city with stop lights and sushi bars but on a granular level, we have our circles of community that work like a small town. We have places where we are seen and heard.

This month marks one year of a world pandemic. One year of change, upheaval and often heart ache. In this year, many of us have had time to re-evaluate what matters, what is important and who is important. For me, I reflect on those early days where a fog of disbelief took over my life. Anna Quindlen refers to moments of losses as “before and after”. I feel that. “Before” the pandemic and “after“. I know I am not the same.

I remember things as a blur but what remains starkly clear is the clamoring to connect. Family. Friends. While family connects in a more natural pattern, it was the connection of friends that I will never forget. I felt like I was floating away and yet, the circling of the wagons brought me back to earth. It was friendship that grounded me, that gave me a centre and reminded me that no matter what I lost in the pandemic, I could not be robbed of my friendships and their power to hold tight in the storm.

I am not the same. I am different and I am richer because of the year. I have loved the unspoken code of conduct of a small town for decades and yet, in this past year, I have lived it more passionately than ever before and in many different circles. I am better because of those that held my hand and held me close while the storm raged. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I needed you. If I had been left alone, I would have become undone. Being a part of community ensured that I was a part of a whole. Thank you.

If anything, what I have learned is that the deep contribution to life is love. It’s not the “stuff”, it’s the people. It’s the glue that holds the messiness together and allows for new steps. I am the sum parts of those that choose to believe in me, care for me and love me. I hope that maybe I have been able to return the gift. All the stories I have told have been of moments that mattered, gifts that build bridges of connection. This is not a story of monetary wealth, rather that of sharing what we have to give to make the world a better place in spite of what happens.

We don’t need “client cards” to show who we are. We need each other. We need our stories, our support, our care, our love and our generosity that gives purpose to being and creates connections that make us strong. “Every town needs its people”. So true. We all need our people, wherever we are.

May we all take time to stretch out, to connect and to ensure that we extend care to all those who make up our community regardless of size or address. For me, I know I used to live to check the boxes and there I wasn’t particularly successful possibly because it wasn’t “real”. What is real is the feelings that connect us and make us better.

To all of you, thank you for being a part of this community. I hope you feel a part of things and feel that it is safe to be brave, courageous and also ok to be afraid before you jump. We can all be part of a small town, community and share with big hearted living.

Here’s to community. To happy endings where we all find our “forever home” where we find place and space with the people we love.

Shelley

I’ve never been one for New Year resolutions; it’s been more of a gateway to “loose promises” and a gentle review of possible lifestyle modifications all which are generally forgotten by January 2nd or 3rd. “Lose five pounds” has been on the list for a few years now demonstrating that I’m not a beacon of hope or a standard of resolution excellence. I’m great for anyone who is looking for a low bar to step over.

January 1, 2021 was different. I was eager to slam the door on 2020. Enough of the COVID chaos, enough with the physical distancing, the travel restrictions, the job loss, stress, worry, financial impacts, social impacts and fight for a balance in mental wellness. Does anyone watch movies and stare in amazement when characters “shake hands“? How bizarre that in less than a year, that this traditional form of social engagement now seems so foreign?

Pandemic changes have been swift and have choked so many connections leaving many feeling alone, isolated and depressed. Hugs were always healing and an elbow bump is not a suitable replacement; rather a place holder for when we can once again be free to embrace all who we love. So much change and so many casualties with various degrees of burns and wounds that have been left in the wake of this pandemic. Yes, I am DONE with 2020.

I wanted to embrace 2021 with enthusiasm, optimism and faith that we were turning the corner. I double locked the door to 2020 and flung open the window to welcome 2021 only to find that little had changed. Delays in vaccines, extended travel restrictions, growing cases, mounting deaths, no gatherings and the proverbial “bubble” concept that hadn’t yet popped. The tide wasn’t changing. The “tide” was merely the building of a “second wave” which I believe is a description for a tsunami. Great. Now I have to buy an umbrella.

All new beginnings need a new notebook. Blank pages begging new story lines. I liked the symbolism and on January 1st, with the sun shining, I headed out early to find a beautiful vista where I could write out new goals and lay out new ambitions. I wrote down phrases that would trigger different actions. On one page, I boldly wrote “make week-ends fun”. The fact that I even had to write that makes me cringe. I often spend week-ends cleaning. Mopping is not a characteristic of a week-end warrior. I have serious work ahead of me.

On my vista, with my notebook, I spent time writing about the usual life topics….health, finances, family, fun, personal goals, professional goals and otherwise. I challenged myself to let go of habits that don’t support goals, redesigning my daily routines to become more productive and motivating myself to say “yes” more than “no”. I also took on a personal challenge and wrote down three words that would describe my best self and contemplated five skills I would like to develop along with five actions that would support all of the above.

By 10am I felt like a new person and was feeling rather invigorated. I headed home.

My 14 year old son, Owen, met me at the door and said “Come hike the ski hill with Dad and me”. This was a hard no. Yes, I know what you are thinking. Didn’t an above paragraph cite a commitment to saying “yes more than no”. It did but hiking the ski hill on New Years Day was only going to make me feel bad. The ski hill is steep. I would be gasping for air. I would likely berate myself and say negative things like “how did you get so out of shape?” or “what the hell have you been doing all pandemic that you can’t walk up a hill?”.

Hiking the ski hill would be a rerun of my 2020 life experience. I had just spent two invigorating hours purging myself of 2020 and planning a new way forward. Sorry Owen. It’s a no. Feeling the suck of the ski hill was not a good way to start 2021. I retreated to the comforts of the couch and wrapped myself up with cozy words that inspired positive vibes. End of story.

Until it wasn’t.

“Mom, you need to come”. I explained my state of not wanting to feel the suck. Owen persevered. “Did you hear about the guy who did 150 pushups?”. I shook my head. Owen continued. “There was a guy who went to a fitness trainer. The trainer told him to do 150 push ups.”

Guy: “I can’t do 150 push-ups”

Trainer: “Can you do 1 push up?”

Guy: “Yea, I can do one push up.”

Trainer: “Good. Just do 1 push up, 150 times”

“Mom, it took the guy an hour and a half but he did 150 push ups. If he can do 150 push ups, you can do the ski hill. You just have to do it one step at a time.”

Seriously? When I wrote about starting fresh, I really meant January 2nd. I saw January 1st focused more on “concept planning” not immediate action and I was sure that motivation was going to be found on a fridge magnet, not in the form of my fourteen year old son.

I put on my boots. I was positive I wasn’t going to love this.

We arrived at the ski hill and I looked up. It was still steep. This was going to suck. Big time suck.

We started up. My husband Wayne is part mountain goat and just powered forward. Owen followed him but being part rabbit, he scampered up and then back to make sure I hadn’t quit or died.

I plugged in my headphones and instead of listening to my usual playlist of “loser” or “can’t”, I listened to Dax Shepard talk about overcoming addiction and moving forward. He told his story of living free of addiction for 16 years only to stumble for 3 months. Whereas many might have focused on the falling, he focused on the success of 16 years and started again. Three months wasn’t going to rob him of 16 years of success; it was just a stumble. Good point Dax. I kept going.

When I reached the top, I felt great. I did something I didn’t think I could do and I happily proved myself wrong. Owen gave me a nod of approval.

Since COVID shut the world down, I have felt bad about myself. Really bad. I’ve written a great deal about my self lamenting and loathing. In March, I watched twenty years plus of hard work die due to the pandemic. To stay afloat, we raided our savings and I wondered if there was any hope for the future. What was a 52 year old middle age woman going to do next? This business had helped raise our family, support our kids in their ambitions and it was financially necessary. Without this stream, what was next? Who would want to hire me? Could I shift the business? How were we going to manage? I imagined a new retirement plan that didn’t come with a cheque, rather a plain wooden box. Wayne would likely have to bury me in the backyard and throw together a homemade tombstone with some cheesy tagline like “and then it was over”. Middle of the night story lines were scary.

Going forward, I needed a new narrative. My thoughts had to shift and my belief system needed a shake up. COVID wasn’t holding me back, I was. My notebook held my goals, hopes, dreams and ambitions but how do I make it happen?

I needed a team so I filled my bedside table with books written by some of the best experts in the world. I needed insight into what others had done and what I could learn from them. It’s a tall stack of books. Jim Collins, Brendon Burchard, Erin Falconer, Mel Robbins and the legendary Zig Ziglar and Dale Carnegie, just to name a few. I have them all; it makes for one heck of an A Team.

Have you ever read these types of books and then said to yourself “well, that’s great for you but how is that going to work for me?” I’ll put up my hand. Sure, they did it and so did all the thousands of people that they reference but how is that going to work for me?

Cue the music, dim the lights…… here it is, the big thing that I have been avoiding…… I AM AFRAID. I am scared that if I actually committed to my goals, I am going to fail again. There it was. Fear. Said out loud.

What if I put everything I have into a new concept and it doesn’t work? What if I apply and get rejected? What if I work my ass off and I screw it up? What if I open my heart, face what scares me and I fail…..again? Ugh.

I wear “Failure” around my neck all the time. It’s so heavy that sometimes I can’t move. Fear and failure; like uninvited guests who come into your house, eat all the food, make a mess and then steal the china. They are not good friends. They are mean.

It was time for a shake down. I needed to get into the ring and face them down once and for all.

“Once we begin to transform, it ceases to be that [failure] any longer…..once we are ready to talk about it, we often call the event something else – a learning experience, a trial, a reinvention – no longer the static concept of failure” Dr. Sarah Lewis

I got in the ring to face Failure and Fear stood right beside me. My eyes were squeezed shut, my knees were knocking and I trembled. I tried to shake off Fear and opened one eye. I gave another shrug and opened the other eye. Standing right in front of me was Failure. Failure was big and menacing. Ugly too. I recalled a line from the book, “We’re Going On A Bear Hunt”: “we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we’ve got to go through it”. Although the book then says “tip toe, tip toe“, I threw a punch.

I punched hard and my eyes flew open wide. I had what Oprah would call an “AHA” moment. Failure isn’t real. It’s not a person. Failure is a descriptive of something that happened. Don’t get me wrong. Failure feels real and it’s a terrible place to be but this is what my A Team has been trying to get me to understand. Everyone who faces the humiliation and shame of something not working out, they work through it and “failure” transforms. “Failure” takes shape to become a lesson or a catalyst. People who have faced the “crash and burn” don’t speak of failures as “the end”, they speak of new beginnings and what they learned. They describe what they gained and how the experience moved them in a better direction. Crushing experiences propelled them to become better versions of themselves. We don’t always learn from winning. We learn from the losses. Aha.

When the business tanked last March, I got scared and allowed my worst fears to take hold deep in my heart. It has been a painful place and I have wallowed wondering how to move forward. Do I have it in me to rise? Am I good enough? Smart enough? Brave enough?

Thunderbolt. Here is my awakening. The business failed in the face of COVID, not me. I am not a failure. For months, I have felt so burdened by humiliation and shame that I could barely breathe. I am not a failure. Once and for all, I can lay that burden down. It’s time to move on.

2021 is my commitment to turning to a fresh page where I get to write a new chapter. It’s a beginning. I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy. Likely there will be times when it sucks. Admitting what wasn’t working is the first step. In truth, I realized that I had allowed myself to become a bit complacent. I chose Easy Street and the trade off was watching joy fade from my life. I lost my sense of purpose. To be really honest, I think part of me had already died before COVID 19 finished the job.

Slowly, I am beginning to see that failures are generous gifts if only we are brave enough to accept them.

I don’t think of myself as a failure anymore but I do think I failed myself when I stopped on Easy Street. I traded in for a sense of comfort and by doing so, lost the creativity that was exciting and invigorating. I played safe and it sucked the life out of me.

There is no creativity without risking failure. I got into the ring and knocked out Failure. Now I have to get back in there and practice courage. That’s my commitment for 2021.

Already, with a changed mindset, I feel a new surge of energy that feels authentic and pretty fabulous. I know what has to be done to make my life changes. Now I just need to do it. It’s kind of like my “loose 5 pounds” goal. Eating cookies doesn’t help me reach my goal. Procrastinating and find excuses isn’t going to help me reposition. Full disclosure, sometimes I pretend that “one cookie” won’t hurt. Same with “organizing my paperwork”. It doesn’t hurt but it sure doesn’t help. What is helping is spending time each day envisioning my future self. It’s a fun exercise but without cardio and having to wear tights.

Will I miss 2020? Not a hope in hell. It was chaos. Every corner of the planet seemed to be fraught with unrest, upheaval, pain, disease, death, social disruptions, angst and divide but some gifts have already arrived which was proven on January 20th, when we watched a brilliant young woman of just 22 years of age take the stage to speak of truth, healing and the possibility of a brighter tomorrow. Gifts after the storm.

Our people diverse and beautiful
Will emerged, battered and beautiful,
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame, unafraid,
The new dawn blooms, if we free it,
For there was always light
If only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

The Hill We Climb –
Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman at the Biden/Harris Inauguration Day

Change is possible for all of us – “If only we are brave enough to be it“. My father is a red Republican and I lean with the blue of the Democrats and yet, the first woman to become Vice President chose purple as a promise to unity. Exhale. Breathe. Feel the promise of fresh starts.

I felt palatable relief watching Joe Biden make his promise and my skin tingled when he said “My whole soul is in….” Here is a man who lost his wife, his daughter and his son. He admits to being broken, of not wanting to stand and yet, he rose to stand and at age 78, he committed to giving his whole self. Gifts to heal the madness.

I am so grateful that he rose and I feel inspired. I hope that I am not wrong. I hope that he is the man he says he is. I hope that his life experience and his pain give him strength to lead with courage, compassion and move the country forward on the many issues that have caused deep divide. I choose to see his humility and I believe him when he says “with my whole soul….”. This is how I want to live again. With my whole soul, even the broken bits.

Now. Don’t think that my rising is that of Presidential stature. It’s far more mild. My challenges are how to build a business plan, learn how to use a flat iron without burning my hair and figuring out how Instagram works and why Twitter is all the rage. I might even tackle the workings of this Blog and learn what a widget is. Yes, there is more. I’ll keep you posted on my aspirations. I have thoughts on non-profits, leaning into the hurt of my community that exists because of COVID and yes, I will even exercise when it sucks.

Owen, I don’t know how you became so magnificent but you are right. It truly is one step at a time.

Here’s to taking the jump, to new beginnings, new narratives and to making 2021 the year of opportunities that see us rise and heal our hurts.

With love,

Shelley