LESSONS ON CHOICE (LETTING MY ORCHIDS DIE)

My brain is a weird twist of bad science metaphors 

delivered to my conciousness in a fever dream.

I spend a lot of mental capacity trying to chase down these threads

and turn them into something useful but many of them just 

evaporate once I understand them.

A year ago, I started working with a Spiritual Director

and one of the 'fruits' of that connection is that

these ideas 'stick' better.

Our recent session started with discussing orchids.

She has a beautiful one in her new office that was really showing off

and she was understandably proud of it.

I shared that I have recently killed all my orchids and 

I am also proud of it.

Yep, you read that right.

I killed my orchids.

And I'm proud of it.

What?

Not my orchids....

I'm going to explain but before I go further,

I want to be clear.

If you are an orchid owner, if you delight in them

and choose to include them in your space,

I support that one thousand percent.

There are hundreds of varieties of orchids,

they grow all around the world in a lot of conditions.

They highlight the infinite creativity of the Creator

and how much GOD wants us to thrive,

even in conditions that are tough.

Nothing I say next should minimize that-ok?

A benefit of #quitting is I spend my time differently than I used to spend it.

Almost accidentally over the past year, I have managed

to cultivate a robust indoor garden.

I have cuttings in the windowsill,

clusters of old fashioned houseplants littered around every

room that I spend time in, and a running

list of botanical projects that means I spend several

minutes almost every day interacting with this indoor garden.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I have loved plants

my whole life and I've never had a season where I wasn't

growing something, tending to some green tinged space.

I *think* this is at Fairview Garden Center in Raleigh but I can't remember for sure

But if you're not a hort nerd, you might not

realize that I was barely cultivating this joy of mine

-choosing to focus my energy on outdoor efforts because

our modern spaces are NOT designed to support natural life.

Indoor heating dries out plants, air conditioning does the same

but often keeps them burning energy to buffer the chill.

And the light-good LORD the light is insufficient

for all but the most efficient photosynthesizers.

Our homes and offices are dark caves when we aren't present

and we put film on our windows to block out spectrums of light

that plants need.

It's pretty hard on us too if we're honest.

root cutting from a christmas cactus

Orchids though-

many of them can hack it inside our spaces.

These plants have evolved to thrive in conditions that are pretty

harsh and require them to pull moisture and nutrients from the air

with little direct sunlight while grasped onto the side of trees or rocks.

After living on a diet of air,

they produce a dramatically articulate bloom that 

lasts for weeks, sometimes months- a bright flag

waving on a stalk to attract a pollinator.

When the bloom is done, the plant will go back

to a haphazard mass of woody roots and waxy leaves-

unattractive by human standards but a smart use of resources

for a plant in such inhospitable environments.

Sometimes people throw them away after the bloom is spent,

trade them in for a new model that is already blooming

and avoiding the 'ugly stage' of 6-9 months before they 

have enough energy to send up another thin stalk topped with colorful flags.

We've had a few orchids in our garden over the years,

getting them to rebloom pretty often by ignoring them just right.

But last week, I noticed that both of the ones remaining

are on their last leg.

And I decided not to rehab them.

Can you spot the slmost dead orchid here?

In my current iteration, I'm actively working to create a life

that celebrates being nurtured and cared for.

A life that shines light on the black mold of shame.

That actively celebrates abundance, generosity, fulfillment.

I have made great strides in shedding many elements of diet culture

but I am nowhere near at peace with it.

The disordered relationship I have towards my health, my body, eating

and exercise may always be a challenge-an attitude

I have to cultivate actively because the passive protocol is so destructive.

And (for me) every time I look at an orchid, I am reminded

of how our culture has tried to convince me (and every other woman)

that we need to be the most glorious and beguiling

on the thinnest of margins.

How everyone else's joy and delight

is expressed most fully in our ability to bloom in spite of 

denying ourselves sustenance.

How we need to preserve this bloom for as long as possible

or we will be disposable since that's the only

benefit we bring to a space.

Brains are such bizarre things-it is obviously not the entire

Orchidaceae family's fault that I attach human meaning to their biology.

Orchids are truly glorious.

But for now, I don't want them to take up space in my physical

or mental garden.

I only want to see wild orchids, free 

in the environments where they can actually be pollinated

and have a chance to make something else

from all their courageous striving.

I let mine die-so that something new can take up that space.

Finally, I may cultivate orchids again-I may not.

There are no wrong choices really-

just decisions about what takes up space in your 

 (physical and mental) garden.

Since I get to make those choices,

I'm going to surround myself with reminders of the life

I intend to live, ruthlessly editing out anything that inhibits my own

ability to thrive and play.

What are you editing out or pulling into your life?

I'm leaning a little more towards joy every day.

My friend Melanie gave me this cute little ensemble

 

PASSING GRADES (STEPPING OUTSIDE THE RULES)

I'm going to assume that most of you reading this

participated in some sort of school system that gave you

evaluations on your performance in letter grades.

A few of you might have gotten number grades but the premise is still the same.

The best grade you can get is the first letter (A) or the first number (1)

and the further you get in the alphabet or the higher the number,

the worse your performance is being rated.

This also means that there wasn't any higher rating of your performance

(until you get to high school and encounter AP and honors courses)

than all A's.

On the first day of class, everyone starts out worthy and equal

in the eyes of the report system but as soon as the 

first grades start getting logged,

it becomes clear that we're not the same.

The system is rigged of course.

The only way to go is down.

Unless you get a perfect score on every assignment,

which is possible but not likely,

you will know that you aren't perfect

and that you should work really hard to try 

and get back that clean slate.

I mean, of course you don't have to be PERFECT

but you do need to minimize your mistakes to less

than 10% of the questions or you won't be 

able to keep that shiny A.

It's a wonder that anyone tolerates this system

or that it persists given how one-sided

the rewards are for the participants.

That's why the system has to be taught 

early, so we don't actually learn to argue against it too hard.

I only have three instances in my entire academic career

where I got less than all A's on my report card.

And I want to be clear-my all A's were HIGH A's.  

None of this barely squeaking by with a 93 crap.

I am an excellent test taker, a remarkable regurgitator of facts,

and even as a tiny kid, I was organized.

I hit my marks and I just knew that I was better

than a whole lot of other people 

because the system told me I was.

I am not an enneagram 1 but I am leading a class on enneagram in March.  Sign up here.  Also, I cannot figure out who made this meme first so can't give credit.

When I was in second grade, 

I missed a whole week of school because I was sick.

The day I returned, I took a science test on a unit about

clouds and weather patterns, most of which was covered while I was out.

I did not do well.  In fact, I made a 67 on it.  

Ms. Isley wasn't really big on science so

this test was our only major grade for that 9 weeks in science.

She was apologetic when she called me up to her

desk to review the grade and explain why I had gotten such a low score.

She was very clear that I had earned this low grade

because there was only one major test and I had scored so low on it.

She showed me the math calculations,

explained how the two 100's I got on minor work 

wouldn't cancel out the big black eye of that test because of 

the way she set up the weighting logic.

It was all plain as day, right there on her little ledger.

She was sure I would do better next nine weeks.

Seven year old me nodded along with her, confused about how I could have

come so close to failing but never questioning the way 

the system was structured.

(Forty-seven year old me is wondering how I managed to 

get over half the problems correct on that test and 

also wondering about whether Ms. Isley was being bullied by her own administration.  She was a sweet teacher and I liked her a lot but surely

she could have given me a day or two before taking that test?)

The second time I was less than perfect in school,

I had just moved to Burlington after spending two years 

out in Caswell County.

I went from a single class of about 25 students

to a very competitive middle school with 5 times the number

of students in my grade.

My previous grades and test scores placed me in Algebra

with all the other smarty pants.

Accept, I had never seen a variable before

and barely knew long division.  

Square roots? Exponents?  Mythical creatures as far as I was concerned.

I had never used a locker or changed classes either.

I had no friends and my home life was....well, it was 

pretty fucked up.

Still, when I got a C that first nine weeks, I knew it was because

I was the problem and since I was older now,

I didn't need the teacher to explain to me

that I would need to fix it.

My first nine-weeks algebra grade was the only

value below an A I received until after I graduated high

school.

I was as close to perfect as I could make myself.

At least academically.

Which earned me a spot at NC State and that's where I 

encountered my third experience with letter grades not equal to A.

In high school, I had tutored chemistry, so I wasn't

concerned at all when people told me that Chem 101

was a terrible, awful, no good class.

I was different.

Better.

Their worries were not mine.

Except....I barely managed to pull a C out of that class.

And the next semester of introductory chemistry was the same.

I was certain I was going to get kicked out, exiled from college,

set adrift on the sea of mediocrity.

But a C was a passing grade and allowed me to move on to

other, more advanced chemistry.

My TA in Organic Chemistry laughed when I lamented my C in the first

two classes.

"Even chemists don't understand Chem 101 and 107.  That

stuff is all theoretical and confusing." she said.

I still feel a little prick of rage because of her admission

but it's wrapped in a cushion of gratitude for her honesty.

She pulled back the curtain on this system that I thought

was holy, righteous and complete.

It was just a glimpse but it relieved me

from some of the burden.

I turned some old recipe cards into ash after working through some old ideas.

After completing my degree, I applied my academic strategy 

to my professional life.

Almost every year end evaluation I ever received was 

to the tune of exceeding expectations

and had an accompanying raise with an increase in responsibility.

I climbed and I climbed until one year ago today, when I #quit

a job that had a big title, a lot of responsibility, and very little satisfaction.

The only thing I regret about that decision is not doing it earlier.

On the other side of #quitting,

I've discovered that I still really love to work.

I've also discovered that I have enough experience

outside of that system now to ask some questions about my future.

Questions like:

What are my metrics for success?

How will I know I'm on the right path?

Who (if anyone) needs to approve my performance?

What is work that is worth doing?

How can I apply my skills, experience, and perspective

to do good work?

When is succeeding at a job actually failing at your life?

What even is good work?

These are not questions that have finite or even definite answers.

They are nebulous and evolving.

The numbers and the letters are somewhat meaningless.

I have to hold a lot of paradoxes loosely and squint

with my whole body to discern any kind of answer.

It's a little disorienting to be out here in the wilderness

but it's also a relief to take things less seriously.

I have discovered that my actual values sometimes

line up with the work that happens inside those larger systems.

I have also discovered that I don't agree with some fundamental

tenets of that capitalistic world view.

You know, the one that told me to move only in one direction (up)

and to see money as a a replacement for love, or

that MORE is always the right answer.

I care deeply about people and the natural world.

I know my job here, in this time on this planet

is brief and that I'm meant to use it to cultivate connection.

This tree is covered with all the labels I could remember being called.

I've been #playing around for a while now, doing

work that other people pay me money for at varying rates.

Sometimes the hardest, most worthy work

I do for free.

Because it is the most important work and 

I'm the person who needs to do it.

I have space and time set aside specifically for this work

because if I don't, the capitalistic pressure will steal it away, bury the need

in busy-ness and hierarchy.

Sometimes the easiest, least important work

I do comes with the most money.

Because the people who pay me for that work

wouldn't trust the effort without the reward.

Because the work requires all these certifications

and experiences and superlatives I earned inside

that system to understand their language.

It's still worthy work in my opinion,

just framed a little bit wonky inside the lingo of capitalism.

I've developed some new hard guidelines

when I approach work now.

Since my strongest addiction to date is abusing myself in favor

of other people's expectations, I'm going to share some of these

guidelines with you on the anniversary of #quitting.

Not gonna lie, some of these are really hard to write down.

Mostly because I have betrayed myself repeatedly around them in the past

and I know I will likely stumble again as I practice them.

Perfectionism dies hard ya'll.  

I'm going to screw this up AND that is the point of trying.

Nevertheless, here are some of my truths.

I only take on jobs that line up with my values.

I won't work to line white men's pockets

with cash while leaving the rest of us destitute or disenfranchised.

I will bring my whole authentic self to my work.

Work that doesn't allow me to prioritize my personhood is not work for me. 

I will take on work that enlivens me and brings me joy.

I will not conflate money or titles for some representation of my value

or the value of the work itself.

I will acknowledge when I fall out of alignment and take immediate

steps to remedy it. 

A doodle I did while waiting at a local coffee shop

I know that I am privileged to be able to practice

these values right now in safety.

I am not apologizing for that privilege, just recognizing that it exists.

I'm going to have it whether I deserve it or not-

so there's not much use in saying sorry.

I think the best thing I can do with it is to use it 

in a way that builds us instead of devours us.

There is more to this life than hustle culture

and climbing and earning.

Infinitely more.

Real talk though:  The little girl version of me who was so good

at earning those A's needs a lot of support sometimes.

She really wants to develop a new grading system

or a marketing plan to prove that this way of looking

at the world is valid, possible or real.

Sweet little babe-worried and anxious like 

the hen-pecked little performer she was raised to be.

It is already real.

I am already doing it.

Still, sometimes fear causes the world to scream very loudly

that my choices are dangerous-not just to me

but to this beautiful little family I belong to.

When she gets really wound up, I've learned a few tactics to help her calm down.

A hug, a snack, a nap, or a good long walk with the Creator

usually remind her that this wild and precious life

is wasted when we spend our energy on efforts that we don't value.

I hope I see you around soon-

virtually or in person.

I trust that the Creator will set an appointment

on our shared calendar when the time is right.

I'm already laughing at the joy of it.

Valentine's Day present from my very gifted daughter.  

CRABS IN A BUCKET (CLUBS TO QUIT)

My communication toolbox includes heaping portions 

of metaphor, simile or fantastical hyperbole.

It's not like I can't explain something without figurative language 

but it's kind of like eating cake without icing.  

It feels unfinished and dissatisfying to my southern soul.

My spouse is originally from the west coast and 

whether it's a regional distinction or just a familial difference, 

he arrived in his chosen homeland as an eighteen year old

without any natural facility for figurative language.

His mother tongue was literal.  Factual.  He thought people

say what they mean and mean what they say.

Bless his heart.

One of the more amusing aspects of our courtship included

 his almost constant bafflement at how my people speak.

He's come along way over the past 25 years in his ability to translate

the language of the south-eastern united states and he even contributes 

his own imagery and metaphors occassionally.

We were doing our nightly walk and I was telling him about a particularly

gnarly interaction I was having with someone and I pulled out 

the crabs in the bucket metaphor.

I thought for sure I'd used it with him a hundred times

but he made me give him a refresher so he'd be sure to understand

the full context.

Which made me think it might be worth sharing here.

Because honestly, knowing how crabs behave in a bucket

will tell you a lot about certain kinds of human interactions too.

This isn't my creation.  I picked it up somewhere although I don't remember where any longer because I use it so often.

Stone crab caught off Ocracoke Island.

To really understand this metaphor, you need some context about 

how non-professional fishermen go hunting for crabs (aka-crabbing).

If you are on vacation near the coast or interocoastal waterway,

chances are high that there are some tasty crabs swimming around.

I was going to give ya'll a lot of info about how to attract them 

and catch them but it's honestly a little gross and too detailed.  

The thing you really need to understand is that most 

amateur's catch them one at a time and while

one crab is a delightful appetizer, it is not sufficient for a meal.  

You generally need a few of them which means you've got to keep the ones you've already caught contained and alive until you're ready to eat them.

Crabs are tricky right?  

You seem them skedaddling back into their little hidey holes 

on the beach or blitzing away under the water.  

They can climb and cling and sometimes cut their way out of situations.  

It should be hard to contain these little buggers.

But it's not.

All you really need is a 5 gallon bucket

or something similarly smooth sided.

One crab is too small to climb the thick walls so usually 

he just sits at the bottom, 

quietly slandering the last four generations of your family.

A reasonable (if slightly fancy) bucket in which to contain crabs.

Easy peasy.  

One little crab in that bucket doesn't stand much of a chance of escape.

But when you start getting some volume of crabs

in that bucket, they'll figure out a way out....right?

 Surely they could form a little chain of crabs and make it over the wall?

No crab left behind?

Definitely NOT what happens.

Crabs do not help other crabs.

They're smart enough to know the way out

but almost completely self-centered in their focus.

When there starts to be a quorum of crabs in the bucket,

the posturing and scheming starts to ratchet up.

They forget about the overlord on high that dropped them

into this bucket and focus completely on each other.

They're crafty little bugs so they start scaling the sides

or climbing over each other.

As the overlord who wants to keep these guys safe so you can

steam them and serve them with butter, should you worry?

Not really.

The other crabs always

ALWAYS 

notice when a crab is about to get out

and instead of cheering him on, 

THEY PULL HIM BACK IN.

See, they don't want anyone to get out if they can't get out.

What are they thinking?

I guess I can't be sure but it for sure looks like they're committed

 to dying before they let one of their friends succeed.

All of them, unanimously agree, that each individual will get out first

or no one will get out.

It's a little ridiculous because they prove that they can work together

by working against their own interests.

My giant kiddos hunting for themselves on Ocracoke.

Now, this is really helpful if you're looking for a nice dinner on the coast

 and you have several hours to entertain kids.

But it is also helpful when dealing with particularly unhealthy humans.

Humans are pack animals by nature who can work together to 

create something better than our parts.

As long as we're not afraid.

As long as we can put aside our selfishness.

As long as we can focus our energy on the broken systems

or situations that caused our predicament

instead of insisting on scarcity.

Sadly, there are humans that you encounter from time to time

who operate just like crabs in a bucket.

Instead of being glad that you are trying to get out of a shared situation,

they insist on pulling you back into it.

They might tell you something like this to justify their actions:

Don't get too big for your britches.

This is the natural order of things.

You think you're better than everyone else.

You'll get your freedom when this other group has theirs.

There's not enough freedom to go around.

If you get out, then I'll have to stay here alone.

This is for your own good, you don't understand it now but you will one day.

I'm only doing this because I love you.

You need to learn to respect <the person or system who is holding you down>.

This blue crab lived another day because he was too small.  

When dealing with people who hold this mindset

you are dealing with crabs and you need to act accordingly.

It doesn't matter if you're trying to get out so you can throw a rope down.

It doesn't matter if the opportunity to move on was created 

by happenstance, good luck, or intense hard work.

It doesn't matter that you have proven you'll take care 

of those in the bucket even if you can't get them out quickly.

To those confused and broken souls who operate from this mindset,

the only thing that matters is that you might be free 

and they cannot tolerate the idea of your freedom.

Sigh.

I have spent lots of time inside of buckets 

trying to rally my fellow prisoners, educate them, 

give them perspective, help make an organized escape.

Sometimes it works-we escape as a team and celebrate each other.

Sometimes, the escapees go back to the bucket because they missed the certitude of knowing that everything inside 

the bucket is predictably f*cked.

Sometimes, the only thing I can do is nod at the people yelling 

or trying to hold me down like I'm definitely listening to them

while I develop my own, individual escape plan.

Some of ya'll are squinting hard right now trying to imagine what kind

of buckets I've been hanging out in.

Let me try and help for those of you not raised on metaphorical reality.

The bucket is a metaphor for systems or situations.

A bucket might be your family of origin.

Or the family you chose as an adult.

It might be a job.

Or a church.

It might be a political party.

Usually, buckets contain elements that have helped us

feel safe, loved or met some need for us.

It's very possible to wake up one day and realize

that everything you thought was safe and loving

has your bondage or slow destruction at the 

core of it's mission statement.

It's also possible that you just outgrow the bucket.

For local friends:  Got this sticker at Rose and Lee.

I've learned to believe people when they 

show me where their head is living.

If someone is insisting that their liberation has to happen

before anyone else's,

that no one can be free until they get there first,

then they are living in a place of fear and death

 that will cloud everything else.

They will cut off their nose to spite their face,

they will sell their soul to watch you fail,

and they will often actively work to keep you imprisoned.

How GOD puts up with us is a mystery.

If you're in a bucket with a bunch of crabs,

the only thing you can do is to get out of the bucket.

As quickly and safely as you can.

If you care about those crabs in the bucket

it's even more urgent and essential that you get out.

You should never stay in the bucket because you're waiting 

on them to come along with you as a team.

Crabs don't have a team.  

They are selfish and self-centered and they can't help it.

So when dealing with crabs, you have to be a little bit like that too.

None of you are safe in there, no matter how familiar it might feel.

And lastly, if you should get out of the bucket, you should never go back in.

Drop another rope down if you need to do something but don't get down in there.

Not for love or money or whispered promises of team work.

They're still in the bucket because they won't help each other out

and they don't want out.

There are no crabs in this photo.

 

SCHEDULE SITUATION (FREEDOM FEARS)

Almost a year ago, I was discussing my intention 

to leave my employer with my therapist during a session.

She asked me what I was planning to do in the weeks 

immediately following my end date.  

I told her I thought I'd get a job at a local garden center and just spend some time watering plants and soaking in the sun.

She gently reminded me of some things that I'd already told her 

regarding this upcoming change.

I didn't really need the money, I had saved enough to take a 

break for a good long time without much risk financially.

I already work in several gardens around town including my own yard 

so I had access to plants, sun, and water without the garden center.

I was burnt out and exhausted, physically and mentally drained in a way

that made it hard to recognize myself anymore.

What was my reason for rushing to put myself on a timeline again?

What was behind my desire to be once again tied to someone else's schedule?

Therapists are very annoying which is why they are so valuable.

Like usual, my therapist had managed to hone in on exactly the thing that I wasn't willing or able to see inside my own little head.

Quitting my job was fine.

Not having a plan for the future was fine.

Spending time focused on myself was fine.

Exercise and eating right and trying to figure out how to sleep again was fine.

A wide open calendar free of expectation was NOT FINE.

Not even a little tiny bit.

Space that does not need filling

Like, I started to sweat when I thought about how open ended

and available my time would be for the forseeable future.

It wasn't just anxiety or a mild form of unease.

It teetered on the edge of panic; sweaty palms, racing heart

preparing for the worst possible kind of threat.

What the hell right?

Who feels terrible because they have free time?

<clears throat>

Apparently me.

It took me a couple of days to get still and focused 

enough to understand what was happening.

This was obviously a trigger. I've had a lot of experience

exploring those and figuring out what to do with them

so I know how to dig in when they start popping off.

Ultimately I determined that I was scared that 

no one was expecting me to show up somewhere.

If I didn't have an appointment outside of my house

then no one would be aware that something was off with me.

I've said this before but since it's one of the central themes

of my character development, you'll get to hear it at least a few more times.

My over-acheivement and performance habits were developed

as a response to the abusive system of my family of origin.

I was smart, driven and capable because I was rewarded to be that.

It was how I found love and acceptance

AND

it was how I got away from my abusers.

There were two ways to get out of the house when I was young.

Work and school.

Both highly schedule driven.

Both tightly commitment bound.

I spent as many hours at school as I was allowed

and then when I was almost 14, I started working in restaurants.

That was very young to start working

but I would have fought you tooth and nail if you tried to make me stop.

Work was freedom, safety and access.  

Hillary McBride will walk you home.

If I was scheduled to be at school or work, then someone was expecting me.

If I showed up at either of those places visibly unwell,

then there would be consequences and questions.

I was never safe in the confines of my house.

I was never free or able to trust the motivations of those around me.

Life was unpredictable there and I did everything I could do to get out.

My life got much better once I started working and

by the time I was sixteen I was working full time while going to school.

The money I made meant I had access to things like food,

clothing and opportunities that I wouldn't have had without my own income.

I was very successful at this kind of multi-tasking.

My life depended on it (and so did a few other people's)

so even my abusers encouraged that outlet.

So I learned to stack my schedule with as many 'outside of the house'

things as I could possibly fit into a day.

A full schedule meant freedom and safety to teenage me.

There are a lot of things about the human maturation 

process that feel real dumb once you have a little experience with them.

I'm starting to think the definition of a mid-life crisis is refusing to deal

with your childhood wiring in an effective way.

 Those that learn to parent themselves, come out ok in their fifties.

Those that can't learn to parent themselves, 

look like a citrus fruit wearing a bad tupee.

#sorrynotsorry #roevemberiscoming

I've had to do quite a bit of rewiring this wrongly plumbed idea.

A packed schedule did actually mean freedom and safety for me

for about a decade of my life.

However, it doesn't mean that anymore and hasn't meant it 

for about two decades now.

I've created a life of safety and security.

I don't need to run away from home anymore.

I made myself safe finally.

Finally.

But my body didn't know that and 

was having a hard time accepting it.

When we need our body to accept things, we often

have to actually DO them so the body can experience the opposite

reaction and get used to it as a positive experience.

Remember, your body also has to learn to tolerate things that are 

good for you just like you've made it tolerate things that are bad for you.

You can get used to anything.

Even the good things.

Rupi Kaur's book Home Body is gorgeous.

I now have more than six months of experience with a fairly 

open-ended schedule and thankfully, 

it's starting to feel more natural and less scary.

Along with this new perspective on freedom, I've come to 

understand something fundamental that I didn't before.

I need time to take care of myself.

(did you just say duh?  I promise I'm smart in some ways.)

It takes about three hours a day for me to make sure that I am healthy.

Three hours!!!  

Does that seem like a lot to you?

It feels like a LOT to me.

Like who can take a whole three hours away from

all the other needs of the world to take care of themselves?

Except....it does take at least that long.

Sometimes it takes even 

more if I am tryin to thrive 

instead of live my life

like I'm in a combat zone.

I'm working on owning that care as my rightful inheritance

as a beloved child of the Creator because the world 

FOR SURE will not reinforce that for me.

I'm getting there, one long walk and one good night of rest at a time.

View from last week's mid-week grocery walk-10 miles and 25 pounds of groceries are a really good way to spend some workout time.

So what is on my professional schedule for the last few

 months of my year of #quitting?

Thanks for asking.

I've got some things going on that are different

than I would have ever expected six months ago

but I'm really excited about them.

I'll be finishing up my book draft by the end of October and

then I'll move into editing, book proposal drafting, etc.

I am taking on several coaching clients and have space for a couple more.

You can check me out here if you're interested or know someone who might be.

 I think I'm going to try and get a job at a coffee shop 

because I fricking love spending time in them.

I have three other ideas for books including another memoir

and an urban fantasy set in my home state.

I'd like to try and get some short stories published

and get a sense of that industry.

I've got a lot of hiking goals too.  I'm not going to miss

the upclose view to the seasons changing ever again.

Icy cold, sweltering heat, pouring rain, gentle breezes all

remind me I'm alive in a way I'm unwilling to give up.

Just a few things right?

My schedule has space to stretch now

and I can only recognize it as freedom.

Finally.