You Know You Want To

It's probably pretty safe to say that most of us have been inspired by another human being at some point in our lives ... someone who's survived their own personal encounter with hardship or illness or family tragedy or someone who's experienced great success in their relationships or community or business. Unless you have a heart of stone, it's over-the-top inspirational to witness a person who's been to hell and back venture outside of their own pain and suffering to share their experience with the hope that they might help someone else to know that there's a light at the end of every tunnel. And who isn't inspired by a great success story, right? Whether it's the story of deep and lasting friendship or leading a community drive to help a family in need or building a thriving company, it inspires and gives hope to others to hear about the good. I did a little research on the criteria for being an inspiration, and one word kept popping up time and time again ... communication. According to the Google, it's super difficult to inspire others without communication ... go figure.

Last Wednesday, my favorite life coach, Jenne, was in our office conducting various training classes, and it just so happened that I attended the one on communication skills. Jenne always inspires the heck out of me ... I've never come away from one of her classes without being challenged to think about things in a new or different way. Last week's class included a discussion about the various types of communication, the way different personalities process communication and differing communication styles. As is always true in Jenne's classes, I generally can't write fast enough to get all of her great wisdom and insight down on paper. For all of her classes I've attended, there always seems to be at least one important truth buried within all of the information I'm desperately trying to capture on the pages of my notebook. Last week's class was no exception, though it took me a bit of pondering and digging to uncover just what that truth was.

"We are all desperate to connect."

I must confess that my first thought when Jenne uttered that statement was, "Well, duh. Of course people want to feel connected. No one wants to be alone or on the outside looking in. Duh, duh, duh." But then she starting talking about things that need to happen in order for people to connect with each other ... things like trust and vulnerability, and give and take, and talking and listening, and getting past the social niceties, and really opening up to other people, and get this ... asking for help. FYI ... I put a star by the "asking for help" one, not that I have a problem with that ... nope, not me, not at all, not even a little bit, nope, nope, nope. I must have starred it because I have a friend who finds it almost impossible to ask for help ... yep, yep, yep, that has to be the reason I starred that one for sure. Alas, please forgive me as once again, I digress ... back to what has to take place if we want to connect with others.

After much pondering and mulling over and deep thinking, I've come to the conclusion that Jenne is indeed correct ... we really are all desperate to connect. And after significantly much more pondering and mulling over and deep thinking, I've also come to the conclusion that the good life coach is also correct in saying that connection can only take place when there's communication. And communication ... effective, real, honest communication ... involves both sharing and listening. Thinking that one-way communication will lead to a deep and lasting connection with another person is like thinking Frosty the Snowman won't melt if you put him in a 400-degree oven. It's tough, if not almost impossible, to connect with someone who expects you to be an open book when they are a closed encyclopedia. 

I know how much I want to be connected to other people ... I know how dangerous it is to feel disconnected and alone and isolated. So what's say we try harder to communicate? What's say we open up and trust each other more? What's say we admit that we really do need each other? Be uncomfortable ... be real ... be connected. You know you want to ... you know you really, really, really want to.

If I Could, I Would

Just in case you're new to my blog, there's something you should know ... I truly, truly, truly hate stormy weather, especially springtime stormy weather in Kansas. Yes, I know that hate is a strong word, and it's rare for me to say that I truly hate something, but it's really the only word that comes anywhere close to describing how I feel about springtime storms in the Midwest. I don't hate them because I've been injured while one was occurring or because I've had a car accident due to one or because I've seen a tornado. I hate them because of the overwhelming anxiety that they produce in me ... anxiety that makes my heart feel as though it's going to beat right out of my chest ... anxiety that causes me to feel nauseated and my head to pound ... anxiety that threatens to squeeze all the oxygen out of my lungs ... anxiety that absolutely, totally and completely consumes me the minute the weather guys talk about severe weather or the TV beeps and the words "severe thunderstorm watch" start scrolling across the screen. And when the tornado sirens sound? Multiply all of the aforementioned physical reactions by a gazillion and that might put you somewhere near the ballpark as to just how bad my storm anxiety truly is.

If you've seen the news in the last couple of days, you know that springtime stormy weather has officially arrived in Kansas. There have been several tornado touchdowns in the state, including a couple close to KC this afternoon, and we're under a tornado watch until 10 p.m. tonight. As I type, the thunder is rolling and it's pouring rain ... did I mention that I truly hate springtime storms in the Midwest? Thankfully, the weather guys say the tornado threat is lessening and that the biggest danger tonight is flooding ... just in case you're worried, let me assure you that I have zero anxiety about being washed away in a flood. I'm not consumed with anxiety when it's thundering and lightning ... until, of course, those two forces of nature decide to hook up with the hail and the wind and those horrible swirling things that drop down out of the sky.

This afternoon while I was at work, the sky turned dark and the radar on my computer screen ... of course I was keeping an eye on the radar, duh ... was suddenly covered with one of those red boxes that indicates a tornado warning has been issued. For those of you who've never lived in tornado country, a tornado warning is a lot different than a tornado watch. A watch means conditions are favorable for tornado development and you should keep an eye on the weather just in case. A warning means either that a tornado has been indicated on radar or that one has been reported by a trained spotter or storm chaser ... which, by the way, begs the huge question in my mind as to why in the hell anyone would ever choose to be a trained tornado spotter. And even more insane to me is that a person would actually chase a storm hoping it will form into a tornado ... I'm telling you right now, those are the people who need to spend a serious amount of time with a head doctor. Alas, I digress ... back to this afternoon's tornado warning.

You can bet I was already packing up my things when the email came telling us to all head to the bottom floor of our building, and I wasted no time in doing just that. I should probably back up here and tell you that I had already been ... ummm ... fairly vocal in informing the folks who sit near me about the weather situation. Translation: I had already been freaking out for several hours before the warning was even issued, and everyone sitting within earshot was well aware of my steadily increasing anxiety. Most of my co-workers and I spent about 45 minutes on the first floor until leadership said it was safe for us to head back upstairs. I went back to my desk, finished up a couple of projects I had been working on, looked at the radar and decided to take advantage of the small storm-free window and make a mad dash for home. Though the wind almost blew my car off the road a couple of times, I made it home just before the thunder, lightning and rain ramped up again.

Now before I say what I really want to say tonight, let me say this ... I'll be the first to admit that my storm anxiety was in high gear this afternoon, and I get it that if someone has never experienced anxiety firsthand, there's really no way they can fully understand what it feels like. I get that ... I really and truly do. But what I don't get is when someone teases me when I'm deep in the throes of those very real ... and yes, I do mean very, very, very real ... physical manifestations of anxiety. I mean seriously ... if I could make my heart beat normally ... if I could stop myself from feeling like I'm going to hurl ... if I could get rid of the hammer pounding inside my head ... if I could pry the vise off of my lungs ... if I could somehow make the anxiety disappear, I most certainly would. 

See here's the thing, friends ... telling me that I'm being a drama queen or that I need to chill out or to just get over it or calling me names does only one thing ... it makes me feel even worse about my stupid, irrational, over-the-top fear of storms. No, wait ... when someone makes those types of statements to me right in the middle of a full-blown anxiety attack, it does something else, too ... it makes me feel like a total and complete failure because I can't make it go away. But ... but ... but ... for every person who didn't get it today, there were a whole lot more who did. They were patient and kind to me ... they kept me updated on the exact location of the storm ... they didn't poo-poo my fear ... they hugged me and assured me they would take care of me. And in doing so, they made me feel like maybe I'm not such a freak after all. They didn't label my storm anxiety as a big fat fail ... they didn't tease me or call me names, they saw my very real and obvious fear and made a conscious decision to help me through it. 

I was drowning in anxiety this evening as I drove home this evening ... the closer I got to home, the sky was getting darker and darker, and the clouds were doing a weird swirly thing. You'd better bet I did some intense praying those last few miles, and I'm not sure I've ever been so glad to walk into my house and scoop Ollie the wiener dog up in my arms. It's still raining like crazy, and the weather guys are saying there will be thunderstorms off and on all night and most of the day tomorrow. But for tonight, the tornado watch has been allowed to expire, and I've got a sweet little wiener dog stretched across my lap snoring like a bear.

Stay safe tonight ... and be kind to one another. Be compassionate. Be understanding. Be patient. Be there for someone who needs you, friends ... be there ... you have no idea what a difference you may make.

What's in Your Wallet?

Though the title of tonight's post probably caused many of you to immediately think of the famous advertising slogan of Capital One credit cards, my subject matter this evening concerns something far more serious than the highly successful marketing campaign that launched 16 years ago. While I will be writing about something I've carried in my wallet for the last few years, I can assure you that you won't be reading about anything even remotely related to credit cards or banks or a person's personal financial situation. Tonight, I'm writing about what's in my wallet with the hope that it will help someone who thinks that the only way out of the darkness they're in is to commit suicide. And by the way, I've only told one person about this particular item tucked inside my brown leather wallet ... and I just told her today. 

Last night I received a text from one of my dearest friends telling me that her adult daughter's best friend had tried to commit suicide a couple of days ago and that she had been admitted to a psychiatric facility. I count my friend's daughter among one of my dearest friends right alongside her mom, and as I messaged with her today, the heartache she's experiencing today bled through her written words and dripped upon my very soul. Her friend had attempted to kill herself by taking an overdose of antidepressants and painkillers. From what I understand, she came very near to succeeding ... thankfully, someone found her in time and she's now receiving the care she so desperately needs. 

People often ask me what I was thinking in those last minutes when I was sitting at my kitchen table with the pills in my hand ready to end my life, and that question is one that I believe may haunt me for as long as I live. The reason that question haunts me is that the answer people want to hear is far different from the truth. People want me to say I was thinking about the people who love me ... they want me to say that I was thinking about the pain my death would cause them. But that's not the truth ... the truth is that the only thing I was thinking in those last few minutes was that my own pain would soon be over. I suppose the closest I came to thinking about how my death would affect the people who loved me was when I thought of how much better off they would be without me.

I've said it countless times in my posts, but I feel like I should say it again tonight ... depression is a nasty beast that can rear its ugly head when you least expect it. I've likened it to a wolf that is forever just outside my window, and I've talked about how it often feels like I'm wrestling an octopus. I've tried to be open, honest, real and transparent about my own personal challenges of managing such a nebulous disease because I know how slippery the slope of depression can be, and I know how important it is for someone to be willing to grab my hand and keep me from falling. But for all the things I've shared, I've never talked about my list ... until now.

Though I can't recall exactly how long it's been since I made the list, I do remember where I was sitting when I penned it ... I was sitting at my kitchen table. I wish I could tell you that I never have a day anymore when the thought of the people I love being better off without me, but I do. While those days don't happen nearly as often as they used to, I am very much aware of how dangerous they can be when they do decide to show up. It was during a time when I'd had a bunch of those days in succession that I wrote my list ... my list bearing the names of the people whose lives I would damage forever if I chose to give in to the beast. When I feel the darkness trying to wrap its tentacles around my heart and mind, I pull out my list and read the names aloud, and as much as I hate to admit it, there are some days when I need to read it over and over and over again. My list of the people who love me ... not some idea of me, mind you, but people who love the real me. I read the list until the darkness starts to fade away ... I read the list until I know the thoughts have disappeared ... I read the list until all I can think about is them instead of me.

Maybe, just maybe, you need a list like mine in your wallet, my friend ... maybe you need to be reminded of the people who would be lost without you. Maybe we all do ... maybe we all do indeed.

What's in your wallet, friend?

The Lesson of the Tag

To some people, speaking in front of a group is worse than being doused in maple syrup on a camping trip in grizzly bear country. They are so terrified that they break out in a cold sweat ... their hands tremble and their voice cracks ... heck, some have even been known to bolt off the stage, hightail it to the nearest restroom and proceed to toss their cookies. Even though I know down deep inside that speaking is my true calling, I'll readily admit that I'm always nervous before a speaking gig. I'll even admit that there have been more than a few times when fainting or puking on stage seemed to be a very real possibility. I can certainly empathize with folks who are afraid of public speaking, but you know what's even worse for me than having a bad case of nerves when I'm standing in front of a group of people? It's when I walk on stage and realize that my fly is unzipped ... or I've got a piece of food stuck in between my front teeth ... or horror of horrors ... I have a piece of toilet paper attached to the bottom of my shoe. Call it vanity if you will, but I'd much rather be nervous in front of a bunch of people than I would to be embarrassed.

It seems like the last several times I've met up with my friend Aimee to go for a walk, one of the first things she says to me is, "Your tag is showing ... here, let me fix it." Though I'm not sure why all of a sudden I apparently can't put on a t-shirt without having the tag hanging out for all the world to see, I am completely sure that I'm beyond thankful for my friend Aimee. She could choose not to tell me I look like a dork with my tag on display ... she could just let me prance right on down the trail while she secretly laughed at how ridiculous I looked. She could think it was too much trouble to let me know I was "tagging it" once again ... she could think it takes too much time to stop and tuck my tag in for me. But she doesn't do or think those things and instead does what only a real and true friend will do ... she sees that I've got a problem and she does what she can to help me fix it. Yep, my dear friend Aimee not only tells me my tag is showing, she tucks it back inside my shirt where it belongs ... every single time. 

The lesson of the tag is a big one, you know, and it's about way, way, way more than a silly piece of fabric in the back of my t-shirt ... at least it is for me anyway. It's about the importance of honesty in friendship and being able to tell each other when something's out of place or not quite right. It's about taking time out of my own walk to help my friend have the best walk she can possibly have. It's about knowing when my friend needs help and then actually stopping long enough to help her. It's about seeing the tags that are hanging out on the shirts of the people I love and care about ... tags of stress ... tags of illness ... tags of sadness ... tags of loneliness ... tags of fear ... tags of loss ... tags of despair ... tags of failure ... tags of isolation ... tags of grief. It's about looking outside of myself and not just seeing the needs of others, but actually doing something about them.

"Your tag is showing ... here, let me fix it."

The Circle of Trust

There's a good chance I may have done irreparable damage to my relationship with Ollie the wiener dog tonight. But before I tell you why my normally loving and affectionate hound is stubbornly sitting a few feet away from me giving me the stare of shame, I feel that I should tell you what precipitated my furry little friend's icy rejection.

If you've been reading my blog for even just a few weeks, you know that I'm a freak when it comes to any type of disturbance in the atmosphere during the spring months. So of course, because the skies were cloudy and gray, the first thing I did when I arrived home this evening was to hop on the website of a local news station and watch the 6 p.m. weather report from my favorite weather guy. When he said it would be a while before the rain arrived, I quickly changed clothes, grabbed Ollie and his leash, and headed out for a walk. I alternated between checking the time and watching the sky while Ollie pranced along by my side, peacefully oblivious to my concern about getting caught in the rain.

Since we were moving at a pretty fast pace, I decided we had time to walk our normal route ... the route that takes us around an hour to complete. We were about 30 minutes away from home when I felt the first raindrop plop on my arm ... five minutes later, that one drop had invited about a million of his friends to join him in soaking Ollie and I from head to toe, or tail as the case may be. For a brief moment, I thought that maybe I should pick my wet dog up and just run home ... yeah, right ... I'm a walker, not a runner. By the time we finally made it home, I'm not sure which one of us looked more pathetic ... or which one of us was the most drenched.

Ollie wasted no time in demonstrating his disdain toward me once we were inside the house ... he shook his smelly dog rain all over me. Then just to prove how truly disappointed with me he was, he ran and jumped in my bed and wriggled his wet little wiener butt all over the sheets. When I told him to get down, he proceeded to burrow himself under the covers to ensure that my bed that my bed would smell sufficiently like wet dog. He finally emerged a few minutes ago and now he's ... well ... that leads me back to the beginning of my post. Ollie hasn't budged from his spot in front of me, and his stare of shame has seemingly intensified since I first began typing.

Curious as to why I'm telling you about my adventure in the rain with Ollie and his subsequent standoffish attitude? I must have said out loud to Ollie a hundred times during the first half of our walk that it wasn't going to rain. And I said that to him because I know how much he dislikes the rain ... picture me standing outside in the rain holding an umbrella over my wiener dog so that he can go potty without getting rained on. I trusted my favorite weather guy regarding the timing of the rain's arrival, and Ollie trusted me when I told him we'd get home before the rain set in ... there was a serious circle of trust going on there, friends. You can bet that before we hit the trail again on a gray and cloudy evening, I'll do more than watch a weather report that was posted an hour earlier ... you can bet I'll be checking two or three different radars to see just how close or far away the rain is. You can also bet that Ollie will probably think twice before he trusts me to not let him get rained on.

So here's the thing, friends ... it's a precious gift when someone trusts you, whether that someone is a human or an animal. My dad always told me to think of a person's trust in me as a valuable diamond that I was carrying as I walked across a swinging bridge made of rope. He said I should guard the diamond with my life and that I should always keep it close to my heart. My dad was a smart man ... the smartest man I've ever known when it came to doing the right thing or keeping my word. 

Wait ... who's that climbing up on the couch and snuggling in beside me? That's my little furry pal who understands what it means to forgive ... he surely, surely does.

From the Cradle to the Grave

With age often comes forgetfulness ... at least it does for me. Thankfully, my forgetfulness is pretty much limited (for now anyway) to my short-term memory. My ability to recall things from way back when doesn't seem to have been adversely affected by the aging process ... if anything, I think my long-term memory has actually improved as I've grown older. Personally, I think that what we do or don't remember as we grow older has little to nothing to do with the passage of time and pretty much everything to do with learning to appreciate the stuff that really matters. Here's a bit of advice for you younger folks: It's not the stuff you accumulate or the work you do or the degree you have or the events you attend that you'll want to remember one day ... it's the people. It's the people who are part of your journey ... it's the people with whom you share both joys and sorrows ... it's the people who stand by you when everyone else walks away ... it's the people who challenge you to do your best ... it's the people who pull you out of the mud, clean you up and push you to try again ... it's the people who teach you what it means to love unconditionally. Trust me on this one ... it's the people who love you and whom you love that you'll want to remember farther down the road.

If you were to ask my sister and her best friend when they first met, they would quickly tell you that it was when they were placed in a crib together in the nursery at church ... more than 70 years ago. They would also tell you that was the day their friendship began, and you can just forget trying to tell them that babies can't be friends. According to the two of them, they have been the best of friends for more than seven decades, almost from the day they were born. Those two have done a whole lot of life together in their 70 years ... they've celebrated the births of children ... they've grieved the deaths of siblings and parents and husbands ... they've gone on road trips ... they've eaten enough pancakes to, as my mom used to say, "float a battleship." My sister and her pal have cried countless tears together, and they've shared mountains of laughter together. They've talked on the phone almost every day of their lives, and they've never doubted their loyalty and commitment to one another. They're really more like sisters than friends ... they know that no matter what may come their way, they will always be there for each other. From the beginning of their lives until they draw their final breath, the beautiful friendship shared between my sister and her best friend will never fail.

This evening as I type, my sister's friend is in intensive care fighting for her life. She was diagnosed a couple of days ago with stage four colon cancer and underwent extensive surgery yesterday with the hope that it will reduce her pain and prolong her life. I'm sure I don't have to say that she needs your prayers, but I'm going to say it anyway ... she really needs your prayers, friends. And I'd also ask that you please pray for my sister as well ... I spoke with her this evening, and she sounded so very tired and so very alone. Our call ended as it always does with her saying, "Okay ... I love you, hun ... love you, bye-bye" and me telling her I loved her. Those words were extra special tonight for both of us ... tonight we recognized the importance and meaning within them ... tonight we were so very thankful that we have been given the precious gift of being able to still say them to one another. 

If I could burn one thing into your hearts and minds tonight, my friends, it would be this ... don't take one single moment with the people you love for granted ... not one single moment. Be kind to each other ... love each other ... listen to each other ... care for each other ... don't take one single moment for granted, not one.

Filling in the Blanks, Yo

Last week, Ollie the wiener dog and I shared our humble little abode with a most polite and conscientious house guest. She didn't complain one single time about one single thing during the time she was with us. She didn't nag me to wash the dishes or pick up my dirty clothes or mow the yard. She didn't do anything to piss me off or to upset me in any way. She didn't criticize the clothes I wore or how my hair was styled. She wasn't whiny or demanding or pushy or clingy. She did, however, listen to me without judgment. She was overjoyed to see me when I came home and she appreciated every moment we spent together. She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder. She made me laugh until I couldn't breathe. She walked with Ollie and I each evening and kissed me goodbye each morning when I left for work. She slept next to me and reminded me once again how important it is to be thankful for the simple things in life. She's beautiful and funny and smart ... she's really perfect in every way, and I've missed the heck out of her since she left yesterday.

Based on the preceding description of my lovely house guest, it sure seems as though I've finally met the woman of my dreams. Some of you are planning out your congratulatory notes and wondering what you'll be wearing to my wedding, while others of you are contemplating what you'll add to your normal "You're an abomination and will burn in hell for all eternity" messages that you send me on a weekly basis. The funny thing to me is that whether you count yourself among the "it's party time" group or the "she's gonna burn" group, you're all part of the same group ... the "filling in the blanks" group. Now lest you misunderstand and think that I'm labeling you, I most assuredly am not. I openly confess that there are most assuredly times when I do the very same thing ... times when I don't have all the information and I'm quickly filling in the blanks.

Perhaps it's just human nature, you know? Perhaps there is something within us that forces our minds to fill in the blanks ... to create our own version of reality even though we're often wrong more than we're right. Well, at least I am anyway, especially if the blanks I'm filling in make me the bad guy in the story. Whether it's the result of human nature or unquenchable curiosity or lack of self-esteem, I'm thinking there's way too much of negative filling in the blanks and way too little of assuming those blanks are placeholders for something amazingly good. That's important when the blanks to be filled in are in regard to a set of circumstances or an event or situation, yes ... but it's so very, very important when those blanks are in regard to a person.

I've obviously given the filling in the blanks dilemma a great deal of thought, and here's the thing ... if we're truly open, honest, real and transparent with each other, then there shouldn't be any blanks to fill in. But since it's unrealistic (and maybe even a little bit insane) to believe that everyone really will be ... open, honest, real and transparent, that is ... then we need to do everything we can to ensure we're filling in the blanks by assuming the good rather the bad. We really are on this journey together, friends ... what's say we give each other the benefit of the doubt? What a better world we would have if we did that one small thing ... what a better world indeed.

And my beautiful, well-mannered, perfect in every way house guest? Her name is Tashi, and she's a princess from Germany ... I'm not kidding, she really comes from a royal bloodline in Germany. She has black and white hair that she sometimes wears in a pony tail, and she will never ever kiss and tell. Oh, and just because I don't want you to get stuck in an endless loop of filling in the blanks that will keep you awake all night, Tashi is a dog.  

A Seat at the Table

Almost every Sunday evening around dinnertime, I'm sitting on my couch Skyping with my granddaughters. I'm not quite sure how or why we decided that would be our official Skype time, but we did. That's not to say that we don't Skype at other times now and then, just that it's pretty much a given that we'll be computer chatting on Sunday evenings. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how much I look forward to my Skype time with my littles ... it's hands-down the best hour of my week. It's always extra special for me when we happen to Skype while we're eating dinner, because I have a "seat" at their table. And I love, love, love it when Coraline says, "Ghee, you will sit here because this is your seat for family dinner night." I always get teary when my sweet granddaughter says those words, and my tears have absolutely nothing to do with eating dinner and absolutely everything to do with knowing that I'm welcome at their table.

I mentioned in a post a couple of weeks ago that I had been asked to participate as a panel speaker at a conference for mental health professionals, and that event took place last Friday. I'm still not sure why they asked me to participate ... the other four people on the panel were absolutely incredible. We were asked to speak on the topic of diversity and inclusion in the workplace, and more specifically, about our own personal experiences. My emotions swung between overwhelming sadness to total outrage as I listened to my fellow speakers talk about the mistreatment they've endured while at work. From verbal abuse to physical acts of violence to being fired from their jobs ... still today in 2016, even with laws in place that supposedly protect against discrimination, hate is alive and well in many workplaces and its devastating effects continue to permeate society as a whole.

While there were many things said last Friday that made a deep impact on me, I think perhaps the most powerful were the following words from one of the other women on the panel. We were discussing the differences between tolerance versus inclusion when she said, "It's like being invited to a party but not asked to sit at the table." Her words struck me like a bolt of lightning because they are completely and totally true. Being tolerant of those who differ from you in race or religion or age or sexual orientation or gender is in no way the same as being inclusive. Businesses or churches or schools or other organizations that cover themselves with the blanket of being open and accepting but don't want or allow those whom they've labeled as different to get under the blanket with them are far, far away from truly being inclusive.

See here's the thing ... here's the thing I'd like for you to take with you from tonight's post ... the thing I hope you'll mull over for a long while to come. The words you say don't mean anything if you don't back them up with actions ... inviting someone to your party but then telling them there's no place for them at your table is wrong. It's hurtful. It's disrespectful. It's mean. And ... it means you're living a lie.

There's no halfway when it comes to honoring diversity and being truly inclusive of others ... in your business, in your place of worship, in your school, in your home and most important of all, in your heart. Everyone deserves a seat at the table, my friends ... everyone.

Two Hearts, One Beat

I'm pretty darn sure I'm not the only person who has at one time or another had the urge to say, "I was right!" or "I told you so!" I'm also pretty darn sure I'm not the only person who has practically had to sit on my own tongue to keep myself from doing just that. I wonder why humans are like that, you know ... why so many of us have this overwhelming desire to prove we're smarter or richer or wiser or more powerful than someone else. Pride maybe? Actually, I don't think it's pride at all ... I think it's insecurity. I think it's feeling unworthy or not good enough or less than someone else that causes people to constantly feel the need to prove themselves smarter or richer or wiser or more powerful. Having said that, I must rank off the scale in being insecure because I'm itching like a dog with fleas to shout a gigantic "I was right!" followed by an even more loud and gigantic "I told you so!" to everyone who's told me I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal for feeling such a strong heart connection to the extra special dogs who've been a part of my life.

A week or so ago, there was a lot of hype in the news about a recent study concerning the heartbeats of dogs and those of their owners. According to the study, the hearts of dogs beat with the same rhythm as those of their owners when the dog and the owner are together. Finally ... scientific proof that says Ollie's heart beats in sync with mine, which means ... wait for it ... I was right! I guess technically the study doesn't specifically mention Ollie and I, but it does say that the heartbeats of dogs and their owners sync up. As far as I'm concerned, that's the same as saying that my heart and Ollie's heart beat together as one. And guess what the study says happens when a dog and its human companion are separated? Yep ... the rhythm of dog's heartbeat changes drastically. And get this ... it only takes a few minutes for the dog's heartbeat to get back in sync with its owner's when they're reunited.

Whether you're a dog person or not, the whole hearts beating in sync thing is just pretty flipping cool. Ever since I read about the study, I keep wondering why it happens ... what causes the dog's heart to beat in sync with the heart of its owner? Is it nothing more than a physical response of some unknown origin? Or could it be possible that there really is a heart connection between dogs and their owners? And could that heart connection exists because of the unconditional love a dog has for its owner? You know what I think? I think unconditional love wields far more power than any of us humans can even begin to comprehend. I think unconditional love can bring about remarkable changes ... like replacing anger with forgiveness ... sorrow with joy ... selfishness with compassion ... ignorance with understanding ... fear with hope ... and yes, hate with love. 

You know what else I think? I think the world would be a much better place if people were more like dogs. Just think about it ... if our hearts could beat in sync with one another's ... if we could love others more than we love ourselves ... if we could be happy each time we see each other ... the possibilities are truly endless, friends. Just think about it.

Don't Hush the Mush

I've read a lot of motherly tributes and memories on Facebook today, and it's made me think back to the days when my two sons and only daughter were born. It's difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that around 6 a.m. 27 years ago yesterday, my only daughter made her entrance into the world. Anytime I think about the days my three children were born, there's one thought that always takes precedence over all the others ... how perfect they were. As is true with all parents, I counted toes and fingers, looked into their deep blue eyes and checked out their tiny arms and legs ... each one of my children was completely perfect from the tops of their little heads to the ends of their teensy-weensy toes. I remember the love that swept through me ... there really is no love that compares to that of a mother for her child.

I spent the day yesterday with my daughter Meghann and son-in-law Barrett having a dual birthday and Mother's Day celebration ... early morning 5k, bagels and Starbucks for Meg and dinner and a movie for me. I received my traditional at-the-stroke-of-midnight "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" text from Brad, followed by a second text telling me to check my Paypal account. Upon doing so, I cracked up when I read my middle kiddo's attached note ... "Buy yourself something real nice, Clark." A sweet text from Shelby telling me how much she loves and misses me brought tears to my eyes. A few minutes later, I got a message from Matt, who's under the weather today. And then this evening, I got to spend some time Skyping with Becca and my littles. As wonderfully awesome as it is to have my children wish me a Happy Mother's Day, there's something extra special when I hear Coraline's loud and boisterous "Happy Mother's Day, Ghee!" followed by Amelie's much quieter version. I'm closing out today feeling very lucky and blessed ... very lucky and blessed indeed.

It's been a rainy, thundery, soggy Sunday here in KC ... thankfully no severe weather, just lots and lots of rain. I took Ollie for a long walk this morning, and we made it back home just a few minutes before it started pouring. We had just started to cross the first bridge on our way back home when Ollie stopped dead in his "Who's bridge is this?" game, staring intently at the creek below. I peered over the metal railing and immediately saw what had garnered his rapt attention ... a mama duck and her 13 baby ducklings. Neither Ollie or I made a sound as we stood there together watching the little ducks swim behind their mom until they swam out of sight. I wonder what the odds of our duck sighting being completely random ... me seeing a mama duck with all those babies on Mother's Day? I'm not so sure I can randomize that, friends ... I'm not so sure I can at all. But I am sure that it was beyond cool, standing there on Ollie's bridge on Mother's Day watching the family of ducks swimming effortlessly through the water below us. 

As we finished out our walk, my mind was filled with thoughts of the people in my life ... my children, my family, my friends. I thought about how many times I've hesitated to tell them how much I love and cherish them, often because I'm afraid they might think I'm being too mushy. And I've thought about that all day long, friends ... about how I try so hard to not be mushy ... and I think I've come to a conclusion. I think it's high time I (and probably some of you as well) stop caring so much about the labels other people might stick on our foreheads and start caring much, much more about saying the mushy stuff we should be saying to each other. You can't assume that someone knows you care about them ... you need to tell them. I love that my kids showered me with love and special gifts today, but I love so much more that they love me unconditionally every single day and that they aren't afraid to tell me. Just as I was typing this post, my daughter texted to let me know that a woman from their church passed away suddenly this afternoon from a massive heart attack ... a woman only 6 years older than me. 

Don't hush the mush, friends ... tell people you love them ... hug them tightly and tell them you're proud of them ... let them know how much you value and appreciate their friendship. Be mushy ... be vulnerable ... don't let one single opportunity pass you by. Don't ever, ever, ever hush the mush, my friends ... don't ever hush the mush.

Cheers to Clean Ears

You have no idea how badly I wanted to be pun-ny with the title for tonight's post, but out of respect for those of you who hate puns, I restrained myself. I truly do not understand, by the way, how anyone can't be a fan of a well-placed pun. I so wanted to write "Chears" instead of "Cheers" ... get it? Chears to Clean Ears ... hilarious, right? You do get it, right? Ch"ears" to Clean "Ears" ... ears to ears? Don't worry, I know what you're thinking ... you're thinking "Terrie is without question the cleverest, most hilarious person in the history of the world." Now that I know so many of you are completely mesmerized by my pun-ny cleverness, perhaps I should change the title. But if I change the title then I'd have to dump this amazing intro paragraph and another one. And even more devastating, I'd be forced to live out the remainder of my days bearing the guilt that would most assuredly come from knowing I had denied you the pleasure of reading it. Oh, the importance of the decisions to be made by those of us who suppose ourselves to be writers. Seriously ... stop laughing.

Though I wish I could convince those of you ... and myself, for that matter ... that my proclivity to having irrational fears that may or may not at times cause me to come to potentially even more irrational conclusions is a rather recent development for me, I simply cannot. You have no idea how much I wish my irrational fears of flying or thunderstorms or sinkholes or the furnace exploding or waking up to discover that all my fingernails dissolved while I was sleeping (that's a new one for those of you who are keeping a record) could be attributed to aging or being alone or medication or diabetes or some other more recent change in the chemistry of my brain. But the truth is that irrational fears aren't really new to me at all.

My mom was deaf in one ear for as long as I can remember, and she often complained about the sensation she had in that particular ear. True to Mom's gift with words, she would describe her deafness like this:

"Lord, help, it feels like I've done been sunk down in a barrel of water and they've done put the lid on me. All I feel in that ear is like it's full of water and it's a sloshin' around in there. It's enough to drive a person smack dab crazy, that's all."

Hence, I grew up being completely terrified of going deaf, even if it was only in one ear. As I got older, I convinced myself that losing my hearing was simply inevitable and that it was only a matter of time until I would be living in a world of total silence. And then it happened ... I woke up one morning and I could barely hear, and it was just like Mom had described it. It was as if I'd been submerged in a barrel of water and the lid had been sealed. Every turn of my head proved Mom's description of the sensation of water sloshing around to be completely accurate. Now a rational person would have assumed a sudden deafness such as I experienced to be caused by an ear infection or swimmer's ear, and would have quickly made an appointment with a doctor to get it checked out. But what did I do? I waited a couple of weeks before going to the doctor because I was so certain I already knew what the outcome of the appointment would be.

I can't even begin to tell you how embarrassed I was when the doctor told me I'd be able to hear just fine after he used a machine to suck out the wax I had managed to get lodged in both ear canals ... most likely caused from doing what I'd always been told not to do. Stupid Q-Tips. The doctor was correct when he said that once the machine pulled out all the impacted wax from my ear canals I'd be able to hear again, and you can bet the sounds of my children's voices were extra sweet to me for a long time after that experience. You can also bet that I will never ever let a Q-Tip come anywhere near my ears again ... I don't ever want to have to experience the ear wax sucking machine again. Trust me when I tell you it was not at all fun or pleasant.

See here's the thing, friends ... I couldn't hear until the doctor cleaned out my ear canals. I couldn't hear because there was something blocking the way and keeping me from hearing. Let me say that again because it's important ... I couldn't hear because there was something in the way, something blocking the way that was keeping me from hearing. Here's what I think ... I think all too often we let something get stuck in the pathways of our hearts, something that blocks the way to us being able to hear each other. Sometimes what's in the way of us really hearing each other is fear ... sometimes it's jealousy ... sometimes it's anger ... sometimes it's selfishness ... sometimes it's busyness ... and sometimes it's just plain old lack of concern for those around us.

I'll leave you with this thought ... had I not had the wax removed from my ears all those years ago, I would most likely have suffered permanent hearing loss. If I don't get all the excuses removed from my heart, eventually I won't be able to hear the hearts of others. Keep your Ears Wide Open, friends ... keep them clean and keep them wide open.