Category: Ponderings

It was five years ago this week that I was consoling sobbing Peace Corps Volunteers after telling them they were evacuating to their home of record which would look and feel like an entirely different world than the one they once knew.  Some of the best humans I’ve ever had the privilege of working with, who had committed their lives and time and resources to service and community building and cultural understanding and teaching, had the world tilt on it’s access and were forced to abandon relationships and projects and passions and pets and figure out what on earth returning to the States meant for them.  It was unfair and unjust and was also the right thing to do, while stories of death and panic filled our newsfeeds, flights were being suspended around the globe and countries’ borders were closing with no warning. There was fear and concern and doubt and bewilderment all swirling over an undercurrent of distrust, unrest, and potential violence. We all truly thought South Africa would be shut down for a few weeks or a few months and the Volunteers would be back soon, no one could have guessed that didn’t happen for more than two years.

I was working through that time purely on adrenaline, keeping my emotions in check and logistics organized while trying to figure out what exactly ‘lockdown’ and getting stuck indefinitely in South Africa would mean for me, and for my work in a Volunteer organization that suddenly found ourselves without Volunteers.  The best word I can find is it was bewildering; like every other minute something new and unexpected was being thrown at us, with no history or experience with anything like it at all to fall back on. There was a deep grief and just the very first glimpses into the fact that the life and work as I knew it would never be the same again. The world looked scary and different, the streets were quiet and the shops were empty, the people you did see were all wearing masks and avoiding interactions with others, and it felt like something out of a low-budget post-apocalyptic movie you stumbled across on late night cable.

It was not entirely unlike what I am feeling this week, five years later, as I watch, bewildered, as the landscape of global health, international development, humanitarian aid and support, peacebuilding, public education, and far more are being dismantled and destroyed.  Friends, colleagues from around the world, good people who want to do good work that is needed and valuable to humankind are watching decades and careers of work go up in flames. People who rely on those people for their livelihoods, their families, their health, just abandoned without warning or transition. It’s cruel and inhumane and will have deep, lasting, devastating impacts on millions of people for decades to come.  The world, once again, looks scary and different for millions affected by these decisions and the lasting effects will be felt by every one of us.

It grieves me deeply. This is not who we are.  Except apparently it is, though, so I’m also looking around me in bewilderment and confusion.  I thought we were people committed to serving the least of these, to loving our neighbors as ourselves, to kindness and compassion.  I thought we were, in general, a generous people who believe all human life and flourishing is valuable and worthy of care and investment and support without reservation.  That’s who I am and that’s who I thought we all were, and I can’t help but feel a little bit lonely, all of the sudden.

I know that this that I am feeling is not a new phenomenon.  In fact, it happens in a lot of countries around the world on a pretty regular basis.  A new regime takes over, whether legitimately or not, and the people directly feel the benefits and/or consequences of that. Systems are built and destroyed and rebuilt, regimes and kingdoms rise and fall, lives are built and destroyed. What a humbling privilege I have, to never have considered that it might happen in my own backyard. If I can chisel out the tiniest of silver linings in this whole situation, it’s that I have slightly more understanding and compassion for those who do go through this more often than me.

There is so much I cannot control outside of myself, so in these bewildering times, I have to commit to keep doing what I know to be right.  I am certain that all of the good people doing good things whose world is upside down right now will continue to do good things, and so will I. I will continue to press on towards what I have been called to; generosity, kindness, compassion, love, peace, hope for the future, a life to the full.  

To those directly affected, my heart is with you.  If I can be of support, I absolutely will, please reach out.

To everyone else, I’m not going to debate things like the value of education, public health, or human lives regardless of nationality or ethnicity or race or religion.  And I truly hope I’m proven wrong sometime soon; I hope I’m blindsided by surprise actions that make me realize oh! we ARE a country and people that is generous, kind, and compassionate.  Oh, may it be so.

These boots. Oh, the stories, if these boots could talk.

I bought them in 2002.  I was in my first job, fresh out of college, running outdoor programs at a camp north of Seattle.  It was the first time I lived anywhere but the north woods of Minnesota, and I was loving the cool-not-cold Washington rainy winter.  I sent photos of the brilliant, always-green grass and trees and misty skies to my family after every Minnesota snowstorm, and after a lifetime of sub-zero cold winters that felt like they lasted forever I didn’t mind the constant drizzle.  It wasn’t really rain, only tourists used umbrellas.  I spent a lot of time outside, because if we paused our outdoor programming for rain we’d do nothing for nine months of the year; I would lead groups of students through trust games, ropes courses, nature hikes, field activities, and zip lines, rain or shine.  One thing was awful, though – wet shoes. One short walk thru the field and my feet were soaked and subsequently freezing, and I knew I needed to do something about that.

I don’t think I had ever been to REI at that point either, having not had one in my hometown, and a colleague was always talking up the flagship store in Seattle. So one day a group of us took a road trip to the city and I headed straight for the boot section.  I remember explaining to someone what I needed them for and trying on a couple of pairs before feeling like these, these are the right ones for me. They fit perfectly, were completely waterproof, and guaranteed for a really long time or a lifetime, I can’t remember.  And they were also by far the most money I’d ever spent on an article of clothing. 

I was deep into the post-college trying-to-get-it-together years, where student loans and a car loan and idiot credit card bills I’d amassed while in college were constantly breathing down my neck.  I had to balance payments and bills and feed and clothe myself on a miniscule camp salary, and the majority of the clothes I wore and things that filled the little trailer I lived in were purchased at a local thrift store or were on sale or clearance at a discount retailer.  I can’t remember how much these boots cost, but they were well over $100 which felt like an obscenely high amount to me then, but something in me said go with this and you won’t regret it.  So I did.

And man, these boots.  They were everything the sales person promised they’d be. I wore them every single day and my feet were dry and warm, and it changed everything for me, in that season. And they’ve been my constant companions ever since.  They’ve climbed mountains all over the United States, Europe, and Africa.  I’ve worn them on countless airplanes, because they were big and heavy and, as frequent cross-world travelers know, we wear the biggest, heaviest, bulkiest clothes on the airplane so we can fill that space in our suitcases more efficiently. I’ve bought specialty leather cleaners and conditioners and cared for them well, more so than any other thing I think I’ve ever owned.  I feel like these boots really were different to me, a person who generally bought (and still do, to some extent) disposable, inexpensive things; to invest in something, to commit to taking care of them, to make them worth every penny I spent, was a different experience at that time. 

Fast forward nearly twenty years.  Twenty! Time sure does fly, doesn’t it? These boots came with me to South Africa, and one of the best things about where I live is the abundance of hiking opportunities.  I get so much life from an early morning hike, when the cool is still hanging on near the ground and the pink skies are just starting to edge towards blue.  This was my lifeline during long Covid lockdown weekends, and now I’m loving sharing this experience with my husband.  But something happened a few months ago that I’m still pondering.

I got a blister when hiking.

In the nearly twenty years I’ve had these boots, I have never once gotten a blister. They have been perfect, from day one. 

And also?  My feet hurt.

A lot.

After a few miles, which for some I realize is a lot but in my reasonable physical shape it wasn’t, my feet would just ache as if I’d been standing on them all day long instead of just hiking a few miles.  I would grit my teeth and bear it, assuming they ached because I was out of shape, or out of practice, as no one else seemed to have a problem so obviously it wasn’t difficult terrain or other outside reasons.  I hiked miles and miles, grimacing in pain but trying my best to hide it lest I be forced to admit I was clearly a weakling.  And then when I got a blister, I actually wondered out loud how that was possible, as I’d never had a problem before.   I assumed, as always, the problem was me. Until my friend casually suggested, maybe you need new boots?

It was one of those moments when time seemed to stand still. I was speechless. Maybe I need new boots.  The thought had honestly never once occurred to me. These boots were such a constant part of my life and story and existence, it never crossed my mind they might need replacing. Obviously the problem was me, not the boots – right? Even though the boots were twenty years old and had likely thousands of hiking miles on them?

Huh.

I spent most of my formative early-adult years in a faith community where I learned that the body is not to be trusted.   This skin-enclosed bag of mostly water is weak, easily manipulated by the forces of evil, and is something to be controlled, ignored, or rebuked.   Feelings are feeble and fleeting, desires are sometimes from God and sometimes the enemy leading us astray and somehow we had to figure out which was which, but just to be sure, assume it’s evil until proven otherwise.  I must assume the problem is in me, is my lack of faith, or strength, or focus, or whatever else, and grit my teeth and be strong and courageous and know that whatever my body was telling me was not true because God is bigger and stronger and I can do all things.

Now I look back on that girl with compassion; I am slowly unpacking and unwinding myself from those unhealthy beliefs and learning to trust and be kind my body when she speaks to me.  This old belief system shows up in a myriad of ways, this experience with my painful feet is only one small example. More than just needing new footwear, the bigger question is… What does it truly look like to trust myself? I’m sure I have a long way to go.  But all journeys start with a single step, and in this case, this journey is being made in a pair of new, comfy, pain-free boots. They are not meant to last forever, and our bodies are meant to be listened to, cared for, and believed. I’m grateful to these boots for the stories they tell, the mountains they’ve climbed and the places they’ve seen. And I’m grateful for my body, and friends along the path, who tell me when it’s time to listen, and when it’s time to let go.

Like, honestly, how much disappointment can one person endure?

You work long hours at a feverish pace to prepare for the big thing that is coming, pouring not only your skills and work ethic but your hope and heart and soul and passion into making that big thing a success, making back up plans and back-ups for back-ups so that absolutely everything within your control is considered, documented, and read… and then someone else decides it won’t happen, based on shifty criteria that is outside of your control, and it feels like all of that work, time, energy is flushed down the drain, and you stand there feeling numb as you watch, unseeingly, the water swirl down into the depths, along with your hope, heart, soul, and passion.

You enter into a relationship even though your intuition tells you it might be a bad idea – fear, you think, is what is saying that, and you don’t want fear to run your life so you forge ahead and put your heart out there trusting the words of someone else who makes you feel amazing for awhile. But then, as it turns out, what you’ve thought a million times is too good to be true actually is, and he tramples on your heart like an unfeeling monster and you wonder why did you let yourself think this time it could be, would be different?

You spend an inordinate amount of time and emotional energy trying to prove to others you’re not the enemy; you’re there for them, you support them, you want to do everything in your power to see them achieve success… and then you get an email that feels like a punch in the gut, leaving you breathless and gasping for days and you wonder why you keep pouring your heart out when it seems you’re the only one giving your all to this.

Maybe it would be easier not to feel.

And you start to feel like your reality is just experiencing one disappointment after another, and is it worth it to keep feeling so much? Maybe just numbing out to the disappointment would be the way to go.  

But, by numbing out and not feeling the lows, you won’t feel the highs, either.  And that sounds like a terrible way to live.

Because even though those lows are real, so are the highs:

Snorkeling with seals in Cape Town (video below)

Flourishing avocados grown in lockdown

Being literally pulled outside my comfort zone to surf waves bigger than any I’ve tried before, and loving it. 

Reaching deep down into the wells of courage to ask for something my heart is longing for, and getting a resounding yes in return.

Joining a new community I wasn’t sure about and absolutely loving it and loving the fruit of those efforts in my life.

Getting an email from someone above me in the hierarchy that is complementary, thoughtful, makes me feel seen, appreciated, and so grateful my dream job is still a dream even in the ridiculousness of this last year.

Feeling the excitement of my family all getting vaccinated, so I can plan a trip home that has been a long time in coming.

An old flame is rekindled and fanned quickly into flames of hope, possibility, adventure, excitement, and joy.

This last year has been an awful one.  And it’s been amazing. And once again I’m grateful I can feel because it means I am alive. And that’s really the best way to be. Life, to the full, not life to the happy, means we have the privilege of feeling all the things… and yet, regardless of the moment, we know that truth always wins, love always perseveres, and hope remains though it all.

I remember when my mom turned forty.  We celebrated her summer birthday at the lake, as usual, and I wrote on her card “lordy flordy look who’s forty”.  I remember reading it in a magazine one time and finding it funny, but not truly understanding what it meant or what the world believes (or tries to make you believe) about a fortieth birthday.  I was nine years old. I do remember thinking forty seemed ancient, as anything over twelve seems to feel to a nine-year-old.

Well, here I am.

I think I’m supposed to feel terrible, or depressed, or old. This is the line where single women become spinsters or old maids; this is where I’m supposed to question all my life choices and regrets and have a mid-life crisis.

But the thing is I don’t feel any of those things.  Well, I do feel a little bit sad, but that’s because COVID crazy has limited my ability to throw a smashing party for myself. The reality is I’ve never been one to do what society expects, and I’ve set up a life that looks different and feels awesome.  The older I get the more fun it is – because the older I get the less I feel constrained by what others think of me or what I ‘should’ do or look like or feel, and the more I embrace me for me. 

So bring it on, forty.

And get it together, 2021, so I can go back to my regularly scheduled programming!

I’m not much in the Christmas mood lately.  I guess when you get older, and you don’t have kids around you to make memories with it kind of loses it’s magic.  I have a Christmas tree and ornaments in my garage but honestly? It’s just another thing to clean, and maybe if I was hosting a Christmas party or people over I’d make the effort but to put it up just for me seems like an awful waste of time. Sometimes I’m just so darn practical.  I’m not in a faith community that is celebrating together and I’m avoiding the shopping malls with all their tinsel and decorated trees and Christmas music piped through every speaker.  I started listening to Christmas music a few weeks ago but switched it back over to my “all out 90’s” and “2000’s pop hits” playlists that I’ve been rotating lately after just a few stanzas of the first song. Just call me the grinch, I guess.

But I got a package in the mail a few days ago that had a Christmas CD in it, and the only CD player I have in my life anymore is in my car. So I put it in, thinking I owe the person who sent it to me at least a listen.  The first song irritated me, but the second…. The second one, Oh Holy Night, is one I’ve written about many a Christmas night and has meant so much to me in past years.  And once again it had me in tears, for much different reasons.

The weary world rejoices.

I don’t know how a world could me more weary than ours is right is this moment. Death, long term disability, grief, fear, anger, joblessness, hunger, anxiety, loneliness, division, hurt, the list of things we are all feeling in various degrees is long and depressing.  How I long to feel joy, to rejoice over something.  I had to stop the song and revisit what it is we have to rejoice about…

He appeared, and the soul felt it’s worth.

He appeared, the savior, the one who can defeat death and despair and all the other darkness that threatens to overwhelm us. A human baby with brown skin, born to an unwed mother, in a family of refugees forced to flee their home in fear for his life. This person who was also God who called us to love and give up ourselves for each other, blessed the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and who came that we might have life to the full. Oh yeah. That is worth rejoicing.  That’s something I can get behind.

He taught us to love one another.

Love is something I can really get behind too. But it’s something I haven’t seen much of lately, especially in America. The division, the blatant disregard for human life, for truth, for decency and collaboration and love above all, is truly both disgusting and deeply painful.  I’m struggling to hold on to the faith and the practices that were once dear to me as my eyes are opened to the realities of the hateful and hurtful actions perpetuated in those same communities, by leaders I once trusted. I’m really struggling to navigate friendships that are crumbling because I look at things being said and posted that make me realize that person is truly a stranger to me… one I don’t think I can have anything to do with.  We can agree to disagree on how we take our coffee or on whether a hot dog is in fact a sandwich or not, but I can’t agree to disagree when we’re discussing things like loving others and treating others with kindness and respect. All I can think as I hear this line in the song, over and over, is where is the love???

Fall on your knees.

This feels more like a command this year than an invitation.  Yes, friends, we do need to fall on our knees, and acknowledge we cannot stand without love, without each other, without unity in the pursuit of that which is good, of peace, of gratitude, and hope.

Long ago I decided I would be someone who will be the change I want to see in the world, so I will keep loving, and pursuing peace, and being grateful, and hoping my way through this weary world. May we experience the fullness of this season regardless of where we find ourselves, may we throw kindness around like tinsel, may we rejoice even in our weariness, may we be grateful for extravagant gifts we each have been given as we open our eyes to see them, and may we love freely and abundantly now and for always.

One of my favorite podcasts is This American Life, and on July 17^th they aired a show called How to be Alone. And I can’t get it out of my head. They talk about isolated lives, lives of astronauts and normal humans on earth, and the thing I can’t stop thinking about is this statement from a single woman named Danielle Evans.

It is possible to feel stuck with your choices, even without wishing you’d made any differently.

There’s such an insane bent towards comparison in our humanity, and an underlying assumption that everyone else has it better, even as we’re navigating a global pandemic and recession and life-altering, world-transforming events.  It seems all I hear and see across the socials is moms needing their kids out of the house or married folks sick of their spouses, or single people desperate for any kind of human connection, all extremely valid feelings, and then in the comments someone else desperate for the opposite, accusing others of not being grateful enough and pointing out things that are obvious and desperately unhelpful like, it was your choice to have kids/be single/get married, and now you’re complaining about it?  There are definitely good things that have come from this year, but overall it’s been more bad news than good, and we truly must stop with comparing shipwrecks; in the end, every shipwreck ends badly.

It is possible to feel stuck with your choices, even without wishing you’d made any differently.

I love the permission that this phrase grants to my anxious and lonely heart; that it’s okay for me to feel lonely and hurt even though I’ve set up my life the way that I have. I could have made different life choices that would have left me feeling something other than isolation during lockdown…. But that doesn’t mean it would have been any better.

This morning as I sip my coffee and think about going back to my real non-vacation life in a few days, I started out by listing the things that make life enjoyable; simple things like hanging out with friends, exploring new places, reading a good book while floating in the pool, etc.  And instead of wishing I had someone else’s life, I’m committed to finding and living and loving every morsel of joy I can as my own journey continues to unfold.