Push Thru It! Breathing Room

Sitting in my tight jeans overflowing with a muffin top of red and green sprinkled holiday cookies and coffee cake, I am squeezed beyond the gripping, hustle bustle of the season, heading for a crash landing into my next sugar-free, mortgage-accelerated, romance-filled, mom-of-the-year chapter of New Year's resolutions. 

I have positioned myself with a Zen book of mindfulness, aware that I am breathing in and breathing out while hearing blasting horns of holiday wrap-up and fumbling for receipts to return ill-fated gifts and bits of sanity.  I am clearing my plate, cleaning my slate, and picking up fallen pine and pieces from a decorated house and life that resemble a Norman Rockwell painting from a fingerprint-smudged window.  I am decluttering my breathing room that has been trashed by a flash mob of stress.        

Breathing room is the gentle space in the home of realistic expectations, life made easier, flexibility, faith and positivity.  Its recent guests have included a neighbor who lifted my fallen Christmas tree and child's spirits; my mother's touch; and, Amazon Prime two-day free shipping.  Gratefulness, peace and joy have also lingered in their soft, fluffy slippers.         

This year, I will paint my breathing room lavender.  I will ensure it is fully furnished.  I will prop my feet up in its easy chair.   I will invite gratefulness, peace and joy for a longer stay.  I will breathe.             

• Where do you need breathing room in your life? 
• What would fill your breathing room? 
• Who or what gives you breathing room?

                  
P.S. Dedicated to my Mom, whose parting gift of home-made turkey soup this week will save me money and anguish at the grocery store perplexed by what to eat for dinner.  It might even help me to better fit into my pants.          

Push Thru It! Grace and Grit

My friend's face showed grace, vulnerable and childlike, as she wiped away a stream of tears, poised to eulogize her 65-year old Dad, who had been killed in a car accident.  "My Dad raised me to have a balance of grace and grit," she shared.  Her stature and presence revealed grit as she spoke with clarity and fortitude as the only daughter of a dearly loved man, whom she proudly called her father.  

My first experience of her grit was when she chastened me for ruminating thoughts following a breakup.  "Shake it off and keep on moving," she declared in passing as she dusted her shoulder of broken relationships and emotional pains which may have slowed her.  Tragically, now, she would forever be shaken and moved to reflect upon the tapestry her father had woven to shape the woman she is today.   

Grace - Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion
Grit - indomitable courage, toughness, or resolution

Grace and grit are the heroes of life's challenges.  Grace is the chin-up propeller for a life of integrity, and grit is the hunker-down fuel to navigate rugged terrains. They are ingredients that make the choice to rise above fiercely determined when it would be easiest to shrink and fold.   Still dizzied by an amusement park visit with my daughter, I reflect on the push and pull of our hands towards the array of colorful rides that promised to soothe or jolt us.  If grace is the polished, steady ride on the cascading merry-go-round at the carnival of life, grit is the sweaty-palmed return to the back of the line for the harrowing rollercoaster of ups and downs, twists and turns, slow approaches and uncertain drops (Okay, so I see why my daughter wouldn't go on the rollercoaster!).  Grace helps you to let go and rise  gently to the occasion; grit helps you to hold on with vigor and conviction.   

• Where is grace important in your life?
• Where do you need grit? 

Dedicated to Dads who raise daughters with grace and grit and daughters who honor them by touching others with their spirit.          

Push Thru It! Discoveries

     In my new house for a month, I was most relieved that my oversized couch fit into the television room so I can indulge in mindless entertainment with my feet up at the end of each day.  Not one for details, I was especially grateful that a dear friend broadened my  world beyond the couch and nightly crime drama with her housewarming visit.  "Oh you have a pocket door!" she exclaimed as she explored the kitchen, pulling the pocket door from its hiding spot unnoticed by me.  "I wonder if I have another one," I exclaimed excitedly rushing to the other side of the room to discover a corresponding pocket door with a shiny brass lock.  "Oh, and I love your sink.  Look at what the nozzle does!" as she freed it to squirt water on what will be the home of many dirty dishes.  We later discovered a composter in the back yard and light switches that corresponded to an array of motion-detected lighting around the house.

     My renewed curiosity led me to the front storm door whose window I learned to pull down to remove composting beetles and replenish the house with fresh air.  Settling in, I had become all too settled, looking no further for amenities of our new digs that would allow us privacy, convenience, the ability to be environmentally conscious while nourishing beautiful plants and a bristling summer breeze.      

Moving too quickly or complacent by comfort, we forge ahead in life, expecting the routine rather than making discoveries that can shape our life or attitudes differently.  It is only through awareness (and good friends who point things out) that we can open doors to living rooms (in my case now) and new discoveries. I will be an avid explorer of my surroundings rather than a coach potato in my own life.

• When have you made a discovery - big or small - that changed your environment, relationships or perspective? 
• Where can you go exploring in your life to find a new treasure?                         
• Who can help you to explore?

A toast to my subconscious and Discovery Vineyards, who capped off my week and reinforced this theme when I inadvertently bought this brand of wine at the grocery store.    

Push Thru It! Obligatory

As I prepared to go to my ex's nieces wedding last night, I dragged my heels despite having a pretty pair of shiny silver ones to make a graceful entrance with my ex, his girlfriend and my daughter  to greet the family I had not seen in four years.  I bought bullet proof Spanx that could have been a scuba diving suit if they were any bigger.  My gut and thighs would be invincible while my butt would have a specially designed, just right lift.  My silver necklace would gleam like the fake smile I would don for the night.  It was different going in four hours than accepting the invitation weeks ago from a member of the family I loved.   

"When we're grown ups, we have to do things that are 'obligatory'," said my friend Tricia, a vital member of my 24 hour-neuroses hotline.   "Like funerals, co-parenting, going to events with exes.  You do it because you have to, it's obligatory."  She was right and with one word, I shifted from kicking and screaming to rising above and being a grown-up.  I would envision obligatory "grown up" checkpoints at the wedding as I tucked my heartache and angst in my Spanx for the night:

• Telling his girlfriend she looked pretty, check.
• Hugging his mom that I miss so much, check.
• Greeting the family I wanted to be a part of, check. 
• Dancing with his girlfriend and my daughter, check. 
• Leaving alone and kissing my daughter goodbye for the night, check. 

Being obligatory was not easy and my heart still sank despite distracted moments on the dance floor synching my steps and soul with carefree twenty-somethings.   Obligatory helped me to detach though and buck up for the next checkpoint. Head on before I would head on to my life again with a greater sense of strength and pride.   I would cry later when I could feel supported beyond gripping nylon and breathe a sigh of relief (not just because I took my Spanx off).             

• Where could a sense of obligatory help you? 
• Where might you need to put your feelings aside to do what is right?

            

Push Thru It! Excavated

Blasting “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on my stereo, I high-tailed it from a blissful wedding to pick up my daughter at her Dad’s while getting psyched for the meaningless late night small talk with his GF and him. I was invincible, dazzling in my purple dress with girdle underneath. Feelings, soul and gut tucked in, securely fastened. I would take the high road and extend hellos and birthday invitations and leave quickly with a lasting impression of regret, mystique, and such awe at our co-parenting that it is hard to imagine we are actually apart. A sure thing, a brief entrance without a moment to reveal my soft underbelly, oozing from my undergarments and psyche.

With my fresh glistening lipstick, I lovingly secured my girl in her seat and began the decline of his driveway and my evening. Wheels stopping, I quickly realized I was entrenched in a ditch. STUCK.

No desperate acceleration or push would free me from this mess. I was in deep waiting for the Triple A excavator while continuing shallow conversation with GF and Ex at the kitchen table. Slightly redeemed by my organizational skills or an answered prayer, I quickly found my Triple A card despite being rattled by my two wheels off the ground. I made a compelling case for a quick response by stressing the precarious position of the car without mentioning my own.

We put on our best face. GF and I exchanged pleasantries, shared summer experiences and moved from shallow to sincere. She comforted me by revealing I was not the first to struggle with the descent, while my Ex calmly problem-solved and joked to help the situation. We were in it together, sharing the drama, odds stacked against us as the petite blond excavator arrived and handed me the damage waiver to sign. We cheered as Jessica B. pulled the car from the ditch and lifted the weight of the situation.

The last circumstance I would have chosen for myself became an opportunity to face what had been difficult and liberate myself from facades and fears in the space of not an option. Humbled, I became my best in the worst and strong, real and dignified in the humanity of a screw-up. Like my car, I became free. No damage done.

•  Where do you need to free yourself? 
• What opportunities might you experience as a result? 

Dedicated to Jessica B. who helped me to get unstuck!

 

Push Thru It! Find Your Strengths (and Stay Away from Obnoxious People)

In the sweltering heat, I volunteered to be a "food wrapper"  at my daughter's swim meet.  I dutifully checked in at the stand with the head wrapper, an eighth grader named Tory, who sent me on my way until the hamburgers were ready to come off of the grill.  I waited to prove my community commitment and utility as a swim team mom.

Tory was a hard-core wrapper with no time for mommys' rapping about fates of the children.  She directed the moms to position the tinfoil just right and not smush the burgers.  The tension was rising, like the heat as the hamburgers feverishly made their way off of the grill into the plastic covered hands of mothers.  

"What's that?" Tory barked, interrupting our assembly of hamburger rolling to single out one of my burgers I had wrapped.  "It's a hamburger," I said.  "Here, take it if you can do it better."  I felt my blood boiling in this hamburger sweat shop as my perspiration tried to refrain from becoming a salty condiment on the burgers.  She later passive-aggressively directed me to reposition the pan, so I gave it to her and told her I would follow her very capable, pompous lead.  Note:  I didn't say it quite like that.   

Eventually rained out, I tried to make a recovery by showing that I could now wrap hamburgers like Christmas presents and volunteer for the rescheduled meet the next day.  "No.  I think we will be okay," said Tory. 

Wrapping was not my bag, and I had much more skill and fun listening to a fellow wrapper, distraught over her son's intense relationship at the ripe age of eighteen. We will likely be acquaintances long beyond the hamburger stand while Tory still buries her head in burgers. 

Dedicated to Tory, whom I hope will lighten up. 

Push Thru It! Hope and Likelihood

I am headed to Las Vegas tomorrow to win big, having just paid big to a plumber and mechanic for worn pipes that backed up my kitchen sink and worn tires that positioned me to skid, crash and burn into 2013 with a glaring "Rejection" sticker on my gleaming  windshield.  I did my research on Craps and accepted my sister's gracious offer to fund me $100 cash in exchange for a postdated check if my $300 burns a hole in my pocket.  This leaves me a cushion (or hot seat) should my luck not kick in until the final stretch.  Or, should I lose my shirt and pants and need cabfare from the airport - the more likely sentiment of my practical sister.  We will outsmart the "house" and my credit card company with an interest free loan that extends my playing time and hope for a windfall.  
                    
My spirits do not dash easily, and my gambling spree is being funded by a short online trading stint this year and what's left of  my $1700 investment in Zynga and Facebook stock that I sold for a tax write-off last week.  Fueled by deep pockets of optimism, this new opportunity affords pay-off possibilities and palpitations that prompt me to think and live big by taking a chance and throwing the dice.  

Feet still planted far from Vegas and its endless indulgence, I am aware of the difference between the hope that keeps me dreaming and likelihood that keeps me grounded.  So, I will be cautiously optimistic while giving it my all (a subjective term, which in this case means spending $300 total or $100 a day and wearing a sparkly shirt).  I will indulge in valuable  time with my family, Blue Men and free drinks at the nickel machine.  No matter what happens at the Craps table, I will leave Las Vegas a winner.  

• Where might having hope and taking a chance benefit you?
• Where might you better balance hope with likelihood in your life? (i.e., "know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em" - Kenny Rogers)  

Dedicated to my Uncle Johnny, who bought Zynga stock but stopped at FaceBook - and who stays "grounded" with tried and true utility stocks.  I look forward to playing Craps with you.  Happy 75th Birthday, Mom!  I love you.        

Push Thru It! High Maintenance

Taking a day off from work to fade into the background, I donned a baseball cap, beat up jeans and smudged glasses to finish my Christmas shopping. At a nearby garden store, two customer service clerks buried in counting inventory failed to peek as I perused the holiday items now 50% off.  I sheepishly approached them, apologizing for being "high maintenance" in my quest to price the brightly lit cardinal centerpiece that was one more distraction from my defined list. 

"You hardly look like you could be high maintenance," said the clerk, in a backhanded (and not compliment) manner to which I quipped, "In other words, it's obvious I haven't taken a shower today."  I self-consciously grabbed my cardinal and rushed to the check-out counter, hoping I didn't have body odor as I made small talk with the attractive, put together lady behind me.

While high maintenance has a visible and entitled presence, low maintenance can seem invisible (except those crumbs on my shirt), undeserving and apathetic, reflecting little need for care and attention (and being waited on!).   While fading was my hope for the day, it also came with a reminder to take pride in my presence and a shower.     

• How do you want people to respond to you? 
• How does your demeanor affect how they may respond?  A little entitlement for the right reasons is not a bad thing. 

P.S. Dedicated to customer service representatives who still make you feel welcome and my friend, Josh, who said I looked "super hot" at his party last week.  While looks aren't everything, I surely want to dispel the glamorous image readers and anyone who saw me today may have of me right now!      




   
      

Push Thru It! Ruts

Granny Panties

A Victoria's Secret angel doesn't need to clock me over the head with her wings for me to know I am in an underwear rut.  My underwear reflects the state of my life, stretched, torn, all too comfortable and often in need of repositioning so others don't see the crack(s).   I have gone from flashy thongs to 100% cotton briefs to insulate me from discomfort and promote ventilation like my dust-covered 1950s ceiling fan. This gradual descent into the underwear comfort zone causes alarm only when I fear passing out or getting into an accident that may lead a hot medic to see my undergarments.  This, perhaps a flashback to my gradeschool days when a boy called me "carrot" for years after catching a glimpse of my orange spotted drawers.  

Today, I was jolted from my underwear undoing when a running partner shared that she wore a garter under her holiday outfit at a party last night.  Her face lit up by the mischief, and it was clear that the garter helped her radiate spontaneity and sexiness at the secret under her skirt.  Quite the contrary, I thought of my own recent decision to forego shaving my legs, resolved that no-one would be reaching under my dress.  My complacence and endorphins overflowing, I decided to take a stand against Granny panties that may be my future.  I will take my wings and fly to the pretty underwear store.       

My new underwear will give me a quiet edge to strut the runway of life again feeling fun, sexy and carefree.  Its impact will be contagious, and I will shave my legs and wear pretty red lipstick.  I will feel confident and deliberate.  I will hold my head high, knowing that I am fighting back from my rut and feeling pretty while doing it.  I will make room in my underwear drawer for new life possibilities.       

What does the state of your life - or underwear - say about you? 
What can you do to break from your rut?  

P.S.  It was worth getting out of bed for today's 7-mile run.  And, I will look better in my new underwear.  Thanks to my fellow runner for today's jogging jolt!       


  







                   

                 
  

Push Thru It! Giving

'Tis the season to be giving, and I have been dodging the flashmob of Salvation Army bellringers like a bullet.  The other day, three Salvation Santas at separate mall entrances barricaded my thoughtless shopping venture with their worthy cause.  Seeing triple red suits and hearing a chorus of pleading bells, I did a driveby and reaffirmed my vow to do all of my shopping online.  I pride myself (mistake #1) on being giving but find myself giving out, bombarded by giving campaigns, Giving Day, the Giving Awards, and "Do you want to give a dollar?" at a dollar store, a request by the cashier holding my bargains for guilty ransom and awaiting my shameful eye contact and "No" response to helping sick children.  

I grumpily retreat, defeated and depleted.  This is icing on the giving cake whose ingredients include working, parenting, and volunteering mixed with high expectations and limited resources.  It is overdone and lacking the sweet seasoning that could be this time of year.   Scraping myself from the rock bottom of the pan, I decide to rally and recharge for a blue-eyed little girl, with sugarplums dancing in her head (and an Elf that is peering at me from the shelf!). 

I change my perspective to the many ways others give to me.  I am grateful for my friend who is teaching us to stir-fry while she could be cramming for her exams.  I make snickerdoodles for the mailman who keeps me connected with family, friends, and all of the Lands' End catalogs (gosh, why are there so many?).  I send a thank you note to a friend whose Christmas plateware gift has fed those I love year after year (most recently red and green sprinkled pancakes for the children next door who are moving!).  Their gifts and TLC fill me up and allow me to give back joyfully.  I give myself a break too; I am realistic in what I can do.   

• Where can you be grateful for what you have been given? 
• How can you replenish and give to yourself? This is a gift for others and you.  

Dedicated to the Salvation Army Santas who give their time to help those in need.  With a clearer perspective, I am grateful that so many Santa suits are filled by so many who care.           


                        

  

Push Thru It! You Can't Make People Play with You.

Cuddling my six-year old daughter last week, she confided her daycare woes of two girls who won't play with her despite repeated "Play with Me!" requests and offputting following them to get their time and attention.  While my heart broke and Mama Bear instincts roared, thoughtfulness and self-control took over when I said, "You can't make people play with you."   

Rolling easily off my tongue, I reflected on my own painstaking rolling over, chasing and trying too hard that preceded my quick wisdom - a long past adolescence Mom who had been too eager to please.  Perhaps, my simple words could save her from doing backflips, going along, feeling the pressure to be "on" or wearing just the right outfit and push-up bra - exhausting or desperate (and sometimes fun and perfectly okay Wonderbra maker) attempts to secure acceptance that can only come from within.  In the meantime, my girl would go to daycare on Monday equipped with resources to rival crayons, puzzles and stickers.  Selfishly, I would have peace for a day as she builds her character, one Lego at a time.             

While maturity (and maybe the law and mental insituations) poises us beyond "Play with Me!" demands, we still may try to force relationships with behaviors that temporarily please but only elicit playing along.  You can only truly play with someone when you are comfortable in your own skin, and when you both choose to do so.   And if someone doesn't choose to play with you, it becomes more their loss than yours when you accept yourself.  You also become okay playing on your own (p.s., and that's also when people want to play with you!).       

• How have you tried to make someone play with you? 
• How can you please and accept yourself? 

Thanks to Barbie Squinkies (12 in a pack!)!  They will temporarily entertain my daughter while life gently thickens her skin and deepens her heart.           



          

Push Thru It! Bulbs

I spent Sunday afternoon finding the perfect spot to plant my bulbs.  The seeds of this tradition were planted three years ago when my Mom asked, "Do you want me to order you bulbs this year?  You plant them before the frost, and they are the first sign of spring after a cold winter."

My Mom has a proven track record of anticipating my needs, slipping me $20 for gas, making the perfect PB & J and surprising me with a new zipper purse that finishes rather than frazzles me like the snapping bag that exposed my chaotic life and array of tampons.  So, while I agreed in a sentimental vein, I was adverse to the 4-month interval between bulb and bloom that challenged my impulsivity, instant gratification and  "I want it now!" Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka mentality.  This same mindset brings me to the 7-11 for a pint of Ben and Jerry Cookie Dough Icecream after a bad day.           

The bulbs are well-worth the seasonal affective disorder wait.  The vibrant pink, orange and yellow daffodils, tulips and amaryllis decorate my yard and lift my spirits when spring arrives.  They prove undaunted by millions of maple leaves, acorns, squirrels and snowflakes and their initial lengthy stay in the trunk of my car after I failed to give them due credit for their full potential outside of their cardboard shipping package. 

I thoughtfully plant and fertilize my promise of spring each year.  I dig past established tree roots and bend cheap trowels to carefully nestle them for their showcase and surprise.  They will break through brilliantly and heroically, when I least expect it. 

The flowers are a fertile, colorful reminder of the value and discipline of the wait.  This contradicts alluring quick fixes that promise instant gratification and a hole (or cottage cheeselike cellulite in the case of the repeated Ben and Jerry's) dug with little promise of growth.  They are the vision realized by doing (and digging) what I can and trusting that life will unfold, and in this case, blossom, when I do my part, wait and let go.      

• Where do you need to plant seeds (or bulbs) and practice patience? 
• Where might discipline help you to resist immediate gratification and cultivate fertile soil that promises growth (and breathtaking flowers)?      

Thanks Mom and John Scheepers, Inc.  I will plant my 25 Single Finest Mix this weekend.                      

               
   
                                                               

Push Thru It! Spider Crickets

Every seemingly together life has its "behind the scenes" and mine, as the weather gets colder, happens to be spider crickets.  They live in the Cricket Metropolis crawl space under the house, finding their way into our home through the pipes of my bathtub, the scene of relaxing bubble baths, Chardonnay and serenity after a long day.  More recently, I have been derailed in my already spotty evening routine by the shrill screams of my daughter shrieking "SPIDER CRICKET!" followed by a leap to a counter to escape the far cry from Jiminy she has come to know through our  nostalgic Pinocchio watching.  "Mommy will take care of it, "  I confidently assure her, despite flashbacks of an early childhood camping trip trauma and sleeping bag fraught with millions of insects "snug as a bug" and tucked in for the night.   I heroically and humanely whisk the gittering, giant, pre-historic bug back to the great outdoors scooping and throwing him like a pair of unlucky dice.  He is one of an unwelcome pack, perhaps a close-knit, extended cricket family paying a visit.  I make my way back to my $5.00 rubber bathtub stopper to put an end to this cricket hot spot for the night. 

The crickets are a mainstay in our life this time of year, similar to fragrant fall candles whose pumpkin aroma fills our home.  I am careful to warn cable guys and electricians who may venture under the house, an appropriate caution after one banged his head several times, jumping higher that the crickets who greeted him - and likely quitting his new job shortly thereafter.  I whip open the shower curtain each morning, having shaken a few loose from my Bath and Body Works decorative liner last year.  I go about my day and my shower, stopper unstopped and confident in their retreat so the water can drain. 

Peaceful, polished and poised, we start our day.  Pretty lipstick and lash lengthening mascara, I am all buttoned up.  Sugar plums dancing in my daughter's head, I tiptoe through the morning routine.    As the temperature drops and the day unfolds, we will await and embrace the hopping reminder that despite careful appearances, we all have our spider crickets.                        

• What lies behind the scenes in your life?  
• How can you embrace and find humor and humanity in it?

Dedicated to my sister, Kathy, who shared the Rehoboth Bay childhood camping trauma  and bristles around bugs to this day.     
   



   

Push Thru It! Dealbreakers (or Short Hair and Da Box)

My Mom always says "Something must be going on in your life.  You cut (or colored or permed) your hair!" when I make my entrance with sheered, frizzed or out-of-the-box colored hair gone wrong based on my Zen belief that the good life follows good hair.  My recent cut, unprompted by life circumstances outside of wiry, poky, gray, mid-forties hair, set a new trend by foreshadowing the unraveling and cutting short of my 7-month relationship when my BF admitted that my now "short hair is something he overlooks about me."  I self-consciously pushed what was left of my impulsive decision behind my ears, asserted that men would like gorillas if they had long hair and jokingly donned a brunette ponytail hairpiece that barely gripped my short layers. 

Thankfully, my new BF and I shifted from superficial locks to substantive digs when he began detailing his plan to convert the back of his 18-wheeler into a home - Da Box, as he called it - when his living situation unravelled.  While we bellylaughed and rapped over Da Box (e.g., "KiDB  - K. in Da Box -  went to McD"), my short hair bristled as my "stable but not egotistical" BF predicted the beginning of the end for us and planned  innovative ways to cut windows in Da Box to see Da sun.  I narrowly focused on what I would tell my friends as he tried to convince me with Youtube videos of Cargo Container Living and unsuccessfully grip my hair in throws of passion.  

Anxiety, red flags and hair growing disproportionately, we tried to make Da Box and relationship work.   Unsuccessfully, or more likely successfully, we took a needed step back to focus on ourselves rather than place the onus on the other to paint a white picket fence, flowing, long hair pretty picture of our lives.  I will regroup and realize where I need growth beyond my "do," hopefully thinking out of "da box" and learning from my contributions to our demise.           

• What do you need to overlook and accept about others in your life? 
• What do your preferences, good or bad, say about you (e.g.,  in my case, I am more shallow than I thought)? 
• What matters so deeply that you need to act and honor the values that are dear to you?  While your answers may mean hard truths, tough decisions, bit lips, loss, or painful growth, your behavior, should you accept the challenge, will allow you to love and embrace others and/or yourself more deeply and unconditionally.                        

P.S. I did not confer with KiDB in my one-sided interpretation of our relationship. So, like a vulnerable Rapunzel without her hair, I will accept perception as reality rather than seek candid feedback about my many faults yet.  Thanks KiDB for the lessons - and much success!  I will look for you on HGTV and think fondly of the person who makes crazy seem normal and normal seem crazy!  I am short-haired and likely short-sided!              


   



   

          

Push Thru It! Be Deliberate

A mullet (a hairstyle that is short in the front and sides, then long in the back that was popular from the 80's to the early 90's and proudly featured on the left) seems a tragic sign of indoctrination into a slow-to-adapt bureaucratic culture in which the wearer commits thirty years to filing into a building, 9-5, head down, not looking up or out into the world to see the possibilities that exist. The other day, I sadly (and fearfully) watched a woman leave her office for the last time, retiring from an unsatisfying job, unappreciated, self-esteem eroded and shoulders slumped with her mullet in tact. She had faded into the background, dulled by cumbersome chains of command, energized only by counting the years until retirement without questioning what was happening to her in the meantime. I nervously made my way to a mirror to ensure my inverted, swinging bob is anything but a mullet, frozen in time. Stuck.

We take shape in response to our surroundings, shining or losing our luster in the wake of the choices we make - i.e. friends, career, partners. Our environment can broaden or narrow our world, make or break our peace, energize or erode our souls. Indoctrination happens slowly, like an aging car that gets dinged, stained and trashed until eventually a junkyard is a palatable choice for the wheels you once treasured.

Perhaps the woman's happy ending or new beginning will be sheered locks and chains from her old life, freeing her to pursue her next chapter with renewed style and vigor. Or, maybe, she went home to a husband who loves her hair and everything about her, in which case my misguided, and just plain wrong, projections were a welcome jolt. I will question the surroundings and choices that highlight the best or worst in me - and take action. And, I will make my next hair appointment.

Be deliberate about the decisions you make and the world that you create around you. Life (and hair... ask my Mom about that one) is meant to be shaped and challenged, not a comfort zone where scared to change, thinking small and mullets exist.

• What choices and surroundings bring out the best in you?
• Where might you be in a comfort zone?
• Where can you be deliberate today to make your world bigger and brighter?

Note: The man pictured with a mullet in the cheesy leather vest is only an illustration to hide the identity of the woman I saw, reflect the sheer versatility of the style for men and women, introduce you to my new BF - and to make you laugh.

Push Thru It! Graciously Receive

As I prepared for my Mom's Christmas visit with a "mother clean and paint," it was my annual opportunity to show her that I was indeed a 44-year old grown-up. I would take care of her, dig out my best casserole dishes for home-cooked meals and ensure beds were made with clean linens and my "Oprah" magazine, a scented candle and empty hangers awaiting my favorite guest. "I can stand on my own two feet," the house would say as 20 bags of raked leaves, my hyacinth bathroom walls, a "Welcome Grammy" sign and Weight Watchers home-made soup greeted her, reflecting my stealth ability to take care of my yard, my house, my daughter and overall health and well-being. I would be a finished product this Christmas, arriving as many of my gifts did at the last minute. And, still scrubbing the final globs of dried paint from my arms.

My bleached, dusted, and semi-glossed life with a fresh pine and holly centerpiece, though, showed signs of wreakage, first evident as Mom tasted my soup, reporting barley that tasted like oatmeal and needed a bit more tenderizing in the crockpot. Staying a step ahead, I explained the missing shower rod, quickly shifting focus to the new brackets I would install following a failed screwdriver attempt with the impacted 50 year-old painted over screws from my not-so-extreme bathroom makeover. "Call Greg. He'll have a drill, " Mom said, suggesting an abdication of my together life to the brother-in-law who also installed my shades and AC window unit, helped negotiate my refinance and, with my sister, programmed my stereo remote when I was not yet so self-sufficient (or senselessly prideful).

I could be defensive, I thought, justifying that the barley was supposed to be chewy and committing to another vein attempt to dislodge the screws and my shoulder from its socket in the morning. Or, I could be open and "graciously receive" despite my desire to help Mom rest in peace someday knowing I have a matching valance and cafe curtain to hide my peeing in the morning. The choice was obvious; I humbled myself to cook our pancakes longer when Mom said they could "stand to be a little browner" and accept her loving guidance and help.

"I'll buy your groceries," Mom said, opening the door to the "5 for the price of 1" Pure Softness tissue special and a second turkey loin that would prepare us for a season of colds and weeks of money saving leftovers beyond just our intended Christmas meal and her brief visit. My cart and heart filled as I agreed to peanut butter and coffee for a rainy day. My sister also surprised me with a pulsating shower nozzle after my Chinese Water torture model confessed further evidence of my subconscious cry for help, failing to rinse her conditioner and give her a pep in her step following a long trip from Delaware.

The seasonal unwrapping and unraveling continued as we capped off the "I am a grown-up" visit with an offer to take my family to dinner. As Mom folded the last pieces of laundry before we departed, we heard a scream. "It's a dead mouse!" she exclaimed. Picking up the final remnants from the dryer, the apparent lint ball was a cooked mouse who made a fatal attempt to come in from the cold. Tail between my legs (and in the mouse's case, on the laundry room floor), we could do nothing but nervously laugh and, of course, humanely dispose of the mouse's remains.

I am an unfinished product, much like the unfinished furniture my Dad stained and made beautiful for sentimental gifts that proudly state "Love, Dad." I have people who love, finish and help me shine when I allow myself to graciously receive. They also accept me along the way - chewy barley, mice, warts and all - and I will do the same for them. Their efforts bear their signature -"Love, Mom; "Love, Lisa" (the list goes on) - and loving impression on my life. They make me better.

• Where might you need to graciously receive? 
• Who can leave a loving impression on your life?

P.S. Mom, I will work on rinsing milk glasses and bowls of pancake batter to make life easier. I am not sure how I will remedy the longstanding towel issue. More to come next year! Thanks for the wonderful "Mother Love"! I love you.

Push Thru It! Take the Pressure Off!

The author of the "Serenity Prayer" must have conceived it while chiseling pecan squares from the bottom of a pan with a plastic spatula. Pecan squares were my chosen holiday dessert for the girls' night at my house this week, following Cherry Jubilee and another homemade recipe, likely handed down from generations, made by the cool, new friends I am trying to impress in our wine and dessert non-book club. The squares also presented a holiday baking opportunity for my 5 year-old daughter and me, the house smelling like apple pie from my Yankee candle as we held the spoon together stirring the oooey goey ingredients to a slow boil. She will remember these days cooking with her mother, I thought. Perhaps, the experience would offset her morning upset for my not putting Willa Wonka on "pause" when we raced to her room to find a brown outfit for Reindeer Day.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change." As I gently unwrapped the foil the next morning to reveal and cut our pecan squares, the start of perhaps a treasured mother-daughter holiday tradition and family recipe, the crust resembled plaster I had just slapped on my bathroom wall to support the structure of my 50 year-old home. My frustration grew with failed attempts to remove the squares with the Gumby spatula erupting a volcano explosion of crust onto my red tablecloth, already decorated for the evening. Optimist that she is, my daughter said "it will be okay" as she nibbled a $7 pecan. I impulsively put the whole dessert under hot water, resolving to find another solution and salvage my stupid Pampered Chef pan.

"The courage to change what I can." I quickly looked up Peppermint Brownies, another holiday dessert featuring Paula Dean's happy face to reflect my creativity and domesticity from the red tablecloth whose volcano crumbs I would suck up with the vacuum cleaner after work. No $1.99 brownie mix would do. I would dash to the store after my day, making time for the 24 peppermint patties I would need to unwrap in matter of seconds before the guests arrived.

"And the wisdom to know the difference." "Oh, you can't do that!" my co-worker laughed when I expressed my desire to make homemade Peppermint Brownies after working 8 hours, being stuck like pecan squares in traffic and cleaning the aftermath of the volcano ashes and a dog that endlessly sheds at home. I breathed a sigh of relief when she accepted my invitation to ditch the domesticity and hightail it to the grocery store to buy a chocolate fudge pie with seasonal Egg Nog Icecream.

When I stopped working so hard, the world opened up. Icecream was on sale, 2 for 1, and I bought Egg Nog and Peppermint Icecream to top the pie. My friends didn't give a rip about the store-bought dessert, caring only about me and laughing at the plight I readily shared when I realized my own internal pressure created the volcano and not anything they would think or say. One girl even ended up in my pajama pants after spilling red wine on her skirt and my chair, admitting later that she also pee'd in them from all the laughing we did that night. We are all human.

• Where do you need to take the pressure off? 
• Where can you be more accepting of yourself?

Get yourself unstuck. Grant yourself serenity, and the world will open up. And, the dessert will taste even sweeter!

Push Thru It! Pumpkin Bars

Taunted by my year-old vow to make pumpkin bars for Ms. Ree, a cook and teacher at our daughter's former daycare, I delivered on my word last week. For the past year, I told her "I'm going to make you those pumpkin bars!""I'm really going to make you those pumpkin bars!" As we said our final goodbyes to the school and her, “I really am going to bring you those pumpkin bars!" Assuaging my guilt with her accepting, “yeah, right” smile, she surely thought I was feeding her bull and not the savory, moist treats.

The unfulfilled promise of pumpkin bars beckoned (and frankly tormented) me as I drove by our girl's old school each day and wandered grocery store aisles seeking Libbie's Pure Pumpkin in season amidst the trance of weekly shopping. Finally, our girl and I broke from our routine to break eggs, stir batter, lick bowls and seal our commitment with sugary, sweet cream cheese frosting. We delivered the pumpkin bars, heads high, smiles on our faces, spoiling the unconditional moment with only a small request that Ms. Ree please return our 9 x 13 pan.

Lingering or compelling tugs at one's soul speak volumes to more than, in this case, pumpkin bars - though they surely stick to one’s ribs and tastebuds! The pumpkin bars fed my appetite for honoring my word, making someone's day, being grateful and teaching our daughter to be thoughtful – the intangible ingredients of this effort and values I hold dearly. Maybe, Ms. Ree’s faith in humanity was also restored bite by bite. Or, maybe, she just enjoyed some damn good cake!

So why did it take a year? Life gets in the way, and, it is easier to put out fires than gather wood, position kindling just right and build a warm, sustainable fire ripe for toasting marshmallows and toes. It’s easier to be dazed than deliberate; fleeting than focused; depleted by constant demands than full on what really matters or literally "takes the cake."

I've since bought several cans of Libbie's Pure Pumpkin to keep within reach in my cabinets and in the forefront of my busy life. While they will surely get buried behind boxes of rice, macaroni and the daily grind, they are within my grasp to help me focus on what's important and create sweetness in life when the opportunity arises. Pumpkin bars, anyone?

• What small efforts can you take to feed your soul?
• What values might they help you honor in your life?
• What gets in your way of doing them?

Push Thru It! Get "In It"

Having just finished my first half marathon, I often told my running partner during milestones of our three-month training program - we're in it now!

When we ran during the torrential downpour of a hurricane - "we're in it!";
When we finished our first seven miles - "we're in it!";
When we waited for the race to begin - "now, we are really in it!"

Being "in it" reflected a growing commitment, the point of no return - the walking (in my case, running, pining for walking or stopping) my talk. The more I said it, felt it, invested in it, the more I would do what it took to do it. Not "in it" no longer became an option! I moved from hunched over to head up, trepidation to determination; cotton to polypropolene (we had to look good too!); from 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to 5 to 6 to 7 to 8 to 9 to 10 to 11 to 12 to 13.1.

In life, we frequently straddle the fence, think the grass is greener, or doubt our abilites, looking for a way out or staying on the fringes rather than fully being "in it". It's safer that way and surely requires less effort. Easier to turn off the alarm and miss the morning run. Easier to blame someone else than take responsibility. Easier to find a new job (maybe not these days!) or partner or quick fix than do the hard work of learning, growing, changing, challenging that being "in it" requires of us. At the same time, we miss the sweet success, realized dreams, toned legs...I mean, new-found confidence or sense that we gave it our all if "out" is the answer.

• Where might you need to be "in it"?
• What does "in it" feel like for you?
• What behavior, discipline or mindset will "in it" require of you?
• What "in it" decision will you make today?

P.S. Get "In It" caution - There are times when we are "in it" when it may not be in our best interest or that of others; resulting problems may be burnout; one-sided relationships; undue hurt in others. Use your "in it" energy for good (or get out)!

Push Thru It! As-Is

Like readying a house for the market, we can spend lots of energy enticing others to like, invest in or desire us. ‘For Sale’ signs that say 'I’m Gorgeous Inside' and ‘New, Reduced Price’ may beckon potential buyers to look further; however, this approach to relationships can lead us into pleasing behavior (e.g., what can I change to position myself better in order for this person to like me?) or lowering our ‘asking price’ or expectations in order to get the response we are looking for, be that love or approval.

I recently advised a friend struggling with financial woes to put a For Sale ‘As-Is’ sign in front of her house, rather than do the maneuvering, fixing and staging to get the house on the market. No overhead, caulking or backflips; just a simple expression of, “Take me as I am”.

Accept yourself ‘As-Is’. Admit your frailties and dare to risk others’ disapproval or rejection. Do the work of self-improvement and embrace your imperfections. Free yourself from trying to shape yourself to fit someone else’s expectations or what you think they want, because this behavior ultimately results in you paying the higher price when the person you are trying to please wants you to be different, etc..

Accepting yourself ‘As-Is’ means that you recognize you are a work in progress. ‘As-Is’ means you treasure the uniqueness of who you are. ‘As-is’ means truly celebrating your value, rather than lowering your asking price to fit others’ expectations.

• Whom are you trying to please?
• In what way might you be lowering your expectations?
• How can you accept yourself ‘As-Is’?