Let us begin

Fall on your knees.

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.

On road tripping in Africa

I wrote a blog post last week from the beach, and I’ve received many questions about what it’s like to road trip in Africa. I’ve posted in previous blogs what it’s like to drive in other countries; land rovers buried up to their axles in mud, terrible roads, horrible traffic. I think many people (rightfully so) assume it’s the same here in South Africa but it can’t be further from reality. So when I was driving home last weekend, I managed to snap some photos so you can join me in the journey! Note, some of the photos are not great, but my priority was driving safely, not getting good photos!! So, all that said, welcome to my road trip! The whole trip is about 7 hours plus time for fueling and bathroom stops.

We start on the Dolphin Coast, or North Coast, the space of coast between Durban and Jeffrey’s Bay. First you have to drive about an hour in a southwesterly direction towards Durban, where you then catch the main highway to Johannesburg/Pretoria.

This area is very humid, lush, green, mostly rolling hills of sugar cane broken up by orchards of what I would guess is some kind of citrus.

As you can see the road is in good shape but there is some road construction in some areas. In this particular spot they are replacing a bridge on the other side of the highway.

This is the view around Durban, as you can see it’s pretty much just like an interstate highway in the United States. The speed limit is mostly 120km/hr, with a chunk in the middle of 100/hr – there are are about a dozen speed cameras along the way which WILL nail you if you’re speeding.

There are a few toll plazas along the way. Pro tip – pay attention so you don’t end up in the credit card only line, as they only take RSA credit cards, not US credit cards. And stay away from this lane, the one right next to the credit card only lane, because when someone gets into that lane by accident, they actually have to back everyone out to let that person move to another lane and they all end up in this lane, the one I was sitting in when I snapped this photo. And also of note, yes, the vast majority of cars in SA are white. Mine is red, of course.

The first time I drove down here (this is the second) Jay was a bit anxious, kind of whiney, never really relaxed in the car, but wasn’t sick or anything. But by the second drive, he relaxed, and now he basically sleeps the whole way.

Once you’re on the N3 heading northwest towards Johannesburg/Pretoria, you go through an area that feels more like a tropical forest.

I don’t know if you can tell in the photo above, but it’s a stretch of road bordered with rows and rows of some kind of tree that is farmed for harvesting.

Oh, I forgot to mention – Pretoria sits at 4,339 feet above sea level, high enough to need high altitude baking adjustments – and of course the coast is at sea level. So most of the drive to Pretoria is uphill. Your gas mileage is much better going the opposite direction.

Anyway, you’re driving through these fields of trees, and then suddenly they’re all gone.

A bit further along and you can start to see the foothills of the Drakensberg mountain range. If it was a clearer day you’d see more peaks in the distance. This is a really beautiful part of the drive. And the sun is more prevalent here as we put more distance between us and the sea.

As we get closer to Johannesburg, the rolling green hills give way to relatively flat farmland.

Johannesburg became a city because of gold mining – much of the city and it’s surrounds are built on or around the piles of earth that were moved for mining.

Finally you can see the skyline of Johannesburg in the distance, and you know you’re almost home!

From there it’s mostly like driving interstate through any big city and the suburbs around it. The freeway gets up to six lanes wide in some places and is very well maintained.

The space between Johannesburg and Pretoria is hilly and brown in the winter, green in the summer. After almost eight hours on the road, I’m so happy to be almost home!

That cell tower is near my house – I’m almost home!!

The final exit from the freeway into Pretoria is called Fountains and it’s a pretty one.

And then we got home! I hope you enjoyed roadtripping with me!

When I don’t know.

Nothing loosens the tightness in my chest like the sea.

No, I’m not talking about a literal tightness, caused by a virus or some other negative health problem. I’m talking about that bit of me that gets so knotted up with anxiety, fear, sadness, and grief that I can’t breathe or find my way back to hope again.

What a season.

A season that I don’t know what to do with.

I don’t know what to do with the anxiety I feel as I watch the virus case numbers explode in my home country. I hear my friends who are also nurses plead with the general public to please consider others wear a mask, while at the same time others, by the thousands, are protesting against leaders and laws requiring them to do so.

I don’t know what to do with the compounding election anxiety that I hoped would dissipate in the first week of November but actually hasn’t, because this election cycle revealed such deep division and hatred and anger and hurt that I don’t know how we come out of it as a nation, a family, a community. I don’t know how to hold on to friendships across this great divide, where I feel a veil has been lifted and I’ve seen the truth about the evils of humanity I haven’t before recognized, not just in ‘other people’ but in people I once would have trusted with my life. I don’t know how to hold on to relationships when they are so angry, or unwilling to dialogue, and I also don’t know how to just let the relationship go without falling to pieces.

I don’t know what to do with my lingering frustrations in a job that I simultaneously love because of it’s potential but struggle because of it’s reality right now. The fact is my day-to-day looks nothing like it should, and while I’m eternally grateful to have a steady job, I can only wish that gratitude would lead to an enjoyment that has not come to fruition.

I don’t know what to do with the grief and the disappointment; another cancelled event, another delay in a start date, another holiday spent alone, another relationship stagnated, another friend sick or grieving, another jump in cases and the increasing uncertainty that comes with it.

And so when I found myself not knowing anything anymore, and feeling like I couldn’t breathe, I came to the sea, because it is here I can find my center again. And it did not disappoint. There’s just something about the relentless crashing of water on sand, the salty spray that leaves my sunglasses foggy, the wind whipping my hair into knots and my heart into a place of peace.

And I think about all the things I don’t know, and they’re still there, but I have the space to remind myself of the things I do know. Things like someday this will be that one season that we’ll remember not as a season of lonely but as a season of quiet. Love is always the right answer, and it will always win in the end. Putting one foot in front of the other and doing the best I can is enough. Letting go of control is scary but also the most important thing I can do. It’s called trust. There are people who love me out there no matter how lonely I feel. I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for. Good things are coming. And I have so much to be so grateful for.

I only hopped down here for the long weekend but I am so glad I did.

On gritting my teeth.

It’s been about ten days since I returned from my beach getaway, where time was abundant and words flowed and anxieties were nonexistent, or at least, shoved to the far recesses of my consciousness and easily ignored.

The time was such a gift, a space to breathe, to not be wrestling and wondering what the future looks like and how to prepare for it and what others need or expect or demand. I came back with a renewed sense of self, of purpose, and a desire to do a better job of organizing my life and my days in a way that didn’t leave me so depleted and gasping at the end of the day or week or year.

And I came up with a few things, that I’ll share in a minute, and I even did a really good job of keeping them in practice for about a whole week. Go me. And then, as these things do, the anxieties and the stressors I managed to hold at bay crept in and took hold and I found myself gasping and feeling paralyzed and so when my 4pm meeting got cancelled I quickly put Jay in the car and we went to our cathedral.

Nature soothes and refreshes my soul like nothing else, and when in combination with burning lungs and legs and scrambling over rocks and trees and whatever else stands in my way, I feel something loosen inside of me and I can breathe deeply again. And when Jay is happy, I am happy. And he was very, very happy.

And I remembered the things that I decided I needed on vacation, and hopefully by writing them down I’m remember them again before I’m in that desperate place.

The thing with this season is we keep thinking it’ll be over soon. At least, I do. And though I logically know it won’t, my behavior and approach is the behavior of someone who is navigating a short-term crisis, not a long-term change of lifestyle. When the pandemic first started shutting down airports and our volunteers got evacuated, we all assumed it would be a few weeks, maybe a few months. I was sure I’d still be able to see my family in August and this covid thing would be a blip but now it’s almost November and we’re looking down a long and uncertain 2021.

And what this unexpected thing did was forced us all to grit our teeth and press through it with brute strength and determination. If we just get through this week or month things will begin to return to normal and we can exhale and continue on with our lives. But the problem is, after nine months of gritting our teeth, our teeth are almost gone. And this thing is not over.

So I’m here to say that gritting my teeth and just grinding through until life returns to normal is not a good strategy for life. It’s not healthy, it’s not sustainable, and it’s not the best version of me that I want to be in the world. We all have such a limited time on this planet, I don’t want to look back and regret the year or eighteen months or longer that were spent navigating between paralysis and determined furor of surviving the upside down world.

So, it’s kind of random, but here’s the really important things I need to remember/do/say/think/be in this season.

Be okay with the fact that there are people that don’t like me, my management style, my approach to anything/everything, and are generally unhappy regardless of my action, inaction, or whatever in between. This has caused me so much stress and anxiety in this virtual world, and the reality is I’m not here to be liked, I’m here to do the best job I know how to do and be my most authentic self in the process. When I was expressing some of the angst I’ve been feeling in this area to a friend she said, if, in leadership, everyone’s always happy with how you’re doing things you’re probably doing something wrong.
Exercise is critical. I know this in my head, and I’ve experienced it over and over; I feel a million times better when I’m exercising regularly and eating well, and yet, somehow, I find myself gravitating to the couch with a packet of Oreos. The best exercise is the one I’ll do, so I need to just schedule in spin classes, hikes, walks with Jay, and other physical activities that I enjoy and won’t flake out on.
Evenings. After a long day of zoom meetings and staring at a computer screen I seem to find myself vegging out and losing hours mindlessly scrolling through social media while dishes and laundry and other things pile up and it’s so unhelpful. Here’s some better things that make me happy and leave me feeling fulfilled that I should be doing in my evenings:
1. Reading
2. Writing
3. Exercise or body movement, especially outdoors
4. Engaging in meaningful connection with other humans, whether virtual or safely in-person
5. Cooking delicious food and enjoying it (and cleaning up the kitchen/dishes afterward like a real adulting human
6. Maybe watching something I enjoy, but, like, one episode. None of this binge watching that sucks hours and hours and you don’t even remember what happens.
7. Yeah, that’s about it. If it’s not one of these things, I shouldn’t be doing it in my spare time.

What other bits of wisdom have helped you to not just survive but thrive in this season?

On Surfing.

I surfed a couple times when I was young but wasn’t ever any good… but for some reason I kept wanting to try again, and again, and again. Somehow, for reasons surpassing understanding, I really love it, even though, as I will endeavor to explain, it’s an absolutely ridiculous thing for me to be doing.

The first reason surfing is a ridiculous thing for me to be doing: I am terrible at it. I mean, really terrible. I am the opposite of a natural, it took me weeks to get beyond the most beginner of waves and I still struggle to stand up on the board even though I’ve had dozens of lessons in many locations and countries. I struggle to get my balance, to pop up fast enough, to read the waves, to trust my body.

But for me, with surfing…. there’s something about intentionally doing something I’m not naturally good at. As kids but even more so as adults we tend to shy away from things we’re terrible at, whether it be because we don’t want to look bad in front of others or we don’t like the feeling of disappointment when we fail, but in general, the activities we are drawn towards spending our time doing are activities where we have a reasonable assumption of skill, or at least we are confident we can hold our own.

And there’s something just raw and honest about going out and doing this thing, with others (I’m always surfing with others who will know if I get into trouble or get eaten by a shark) that I know I’m going to quite possibly be absolutely terrible at, because I like it. Yes, I get frustrated when I have a bad series and can’t seem to get my feet under me or feel I should be doing better than I am. But to get out there and continue to literally fall on my face, get up, and try again, over and over and over and over… it’s good for my ego, and reminds me that even though I’m terrible at something doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it anyway.

The second reason surfing is a ridiculous thing for me to be doing: I am afraid. Every time I face the waves I get that pit of fear deep in my stomach and I have to convince myself once again I am not going to drown.

Now, I know I’m a strong swimmer and I grew up on lakes and in and around water. And I don’t generally surf in particularly dangerous locations. But I am afraid of getting injured (my nearly-40-year-old-body reminds me of the fact that no matter how much I try to imagine I’m still 22 I am not). I know two people in entirely separate incidents who were paralyzed by a freak wave accident and I know many more who have emerged bloody or broken or bruised. I’ve been tossed around in deep water until I couldn’t tell which way was up and I have felt the power of the water crashing over me. I’m afraid of being thrown into rocks or reef, of not being able to find the surface, of the board hitting me in the face, or any one of dozens of other possibilities.

But there’s something about acknowledging the fear and doing it anyways. Not in a reckless way, but in an intentional choice of reducing risk and to not let fear get the best of me. Someone said something once that has always stuck with me; fear is welcome in the room, but not welcome at the decision table. Fear can speak into the conversation, and can be an element in wisdom, but does not get to say yes or no. I think a little bit of fear is a good thing; and as I have to remind myself quite often, fear is not the boss of me, love is the boss of me.

So for some reason I keep doing this thing that I am simultaneously afraid of and terrible at; and some days, like Wednesday, I think to myself maybe I should stop trying to be a surfer. The waves were a bit crazy and I couldn’t seem to get my feet under me and I got frustrated with myself for being unable to do something that seems so easy. But then I have days like Friday, where the water is just right and my body remembers what it’s doing and I catch some really beautiful waves while the dolphins are jumping just beyond, and it’s such a rush that I forget about all the hard days and only look forward to the next good one. There was one day a few weeks ago when I was on the dolphin coast that was amazing, I caught everything and my feet were under me and I was flying the whole day and even after a terrible day the next day, where the conditions were tough and I was thrown into the rocks and left the water less than halfway through the pre-determined session, I didn’t care. Because I was still buzzing from the day before, and even now I think of that day and I get a feeling of accomplishment, and can’t wait to feel that way again.

And there’s something absolutely meditative about surfing; I can’t think of anything else when I’m out there. It’s one of the few times I’m not multitasking or feeling stressed or anxious about this work problem or that relationship or whatever else is running my brain. I am solely focused, body, mind, and heart, feeling my body and mind get stronger with every effort, every fall, every scare, every beautiful wave.

So here I am, emerging from the water with numb toes and ears full of salt water I’m thinking about the next time. I’m strategically planning my strength training sessions to help make the next time easier, stronger, faster, better. And, after a particularly rough day, I remind myself that I have nothing to prove; I am not out there to impress anyone or to be a great surfer. A good day might include a lot of really good waves, and it might also include a lot of really bad falls, because I still showed up and gave it my all.

On feeling stuck.

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.

After the storm

So yesterday it was so windy the howling woke me out of a dead sleep and it didn’t relent the entire day. I spent most of the day being extra lazy, moving from my bed only long enough to feed and relieve myself, until mid-afternoon when I finally extricated myself from the bedroom and wandered down to the beach.

My strenuous efforts were rewarded with huge chunks of coral, sponge, beautiful big shells, and other beachy-storm-detritus-treasure that only reveals itself after it’s been a rough day/night. I’ve been pondering that today, that beauty that is only revealed after a storm, but I’m sure millions and billions of people have already written on the topic and in fact, I just don’t want to.

So here’s a peek into the treasures revealed after the storm. I’m sure if any of my crafty-oriented friends and family were here they’d have plenty of ideas, but I left all that was there to be eaten up once again by the sea.

Parker is the house dog that has kept me really good company this week. He took a liking to this particular coral!

With a limp.

It’s Monday, the third day of my vacation, and I’m trying like hell not to panic that it feels like it’s moving too fast. I’ve read entire novels, watched the waves for hours, surfed, slept, made some new friends, and in general just enjoyed every moment. The fact that I have nearly a week left to enjoy feels extravagant and at the same time desperately needed.

On Saturday I smashed a toe while surfing; nothing catastrophic, but I’m walking with a slight limp. And like a memory long forgotten, or a dream that leaves behind only snips and snatches after waking, as I strolled the beach with coffee in hand, I thought of another guy who walked with a limp.

The story says Jacob wrestled with God all night, and in order to win, in a baffling move, the creator of the universe had to wrench his hip, while also giving him what he wanted – a blessing. Jacob walked with a limp the rest of his life.

Maybe it’s a reminder of our humanity. The frailty of our human forms that can be damaged in the wrestling or the waves, the rest of the body forced to adjust for that bit that is injured. It’s a reminder that we are really, really nothing, and a slightly bigger wave could just as easily take me out completely. A microscopic virus an shut down the entire world and kill hundreds of thousands. A freak storm or fire can destroy everything we’ve worked our entire lives to build. God, if you believe in a deity, can wrench your hip with a finger or turn you to salt for a glance and the reality is we have so little control over our lives it’s almost laughable. Especially for someone like me, who plans and analyzes and prepares for every possible eventuality I can think of, and then I show up to the training site and there’s no power or water, or my instructor was mugged last night and unable to make it, or I show up to the airport and they’re all grounded because of fog or an act of terror or a global pandemic. Sure didn’t see that coming. And we get to be more flexible and resilient that we ever thought we’d need to be.

I’m engaged in my own wrestling match at the moment, and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. I wouldn’t say I’m wrestling with God, per se, because if God is real and loving then God would welcome my questions and struggles and doubts; and if not, then I don’t want anything to do with that kind of deity anyway. I would call it a reckoning of belief vs practice; of belonging, or desiring not to belong in what I once called ‘home’, where my eyes now see the loving, welcoming community I once identified as my own to be exclusive, unwelcoming to some, even hateful to others. Even just writing that I feel a piercing in my heart, a regret, a repentance, a longing for the good from that community without losing myself and my love for all humans, for this earth, for world peace and friendship.

But in the end, we’re all just making our way the best we can through this maze of life where we really have very little control of anything. My limp reminds me to respect the power of the waves, the vastness of the sea, the power of the microscopic universe, the longing to make the most of the little I am and have and offer wherever my journey ends up.

The results are in…

After six months and two samples and a lot of time in transit, I finally got the genetic analysis of my Jay!

Just as a refresher: the shelter I got him from had posted his photo three different times before he chose me; on one they suggested he was a shepherd mix, another a lab mix, and another an Africanis. When I got him, the woman said she guessed he was a shepherd basset cross, which would explain his shepherd coloring and short legs. The vet seconded this guess, so it’s what I’ve been going with. Until now.

Drumroll please….

Yep, he’s a real mutt. The ‘supermutt’ category said he’s probably got a dozen more slivers of various breeds, but very likely some collie, Doberman pinscher, bulldog, and bull terrier.

I was surprised to see so many breeds, and no basset! The terrier accounts for his short legs, but I never would have guessed boerboel, they are huge! One woman who I met suggested Ridgeback when she saw his forehead crinkle up, I guess that’s a ridgeback trait. And I wondered Rottweiler because of his eyebrows.

They can call him my supermutt… I will just call him super.

p.s. I got his DNA kit through Amazon, by a company called Embark. They kept me updated all along the journey, with notifications when they received the samples, how long it would be, etc. I also got a report on various health and genetic conditions I should share with my vet, possible relatives (he has some American cousins!) along with the in-depth breed profile. I’d def recommend their service to anyone!

On letting go.

I am on my first real vacation since January, time and space without responsibilities or stresses or decisions of any kind. A space unreachable for anything work related, a space for writing, and reading, and surfing, and relaxing only; naturally, I came to the sea.

As I usually am, I was awake this morning just after sunrise, long before the rest of the house began to stir, and like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to the waves.

And this morning’s thought that passed in the wind like a whisper to my soul was Pondering things is okay. Obsessing about them is not.

Word.

It’s a fine line, that one. And because I tend to analyze things to death and aim for perfection, especially my work, I can spend an inordinate amount of time hashing and rehashing, analyzing, criticizing, rewording or pre-scripting every past and potential future interaction until I can’t even remember where I started from. And it definitely crosses the line into obsession.

Because having time and space to consider something without interruption is a wonderful gift. But to use this time to feed the anxiety monster bubbling up in my stomach and obsess about things long over or far in a future I cannot anticipate is actually not good or helpful.

So, on this beautiful day, in this beautiful space, I will give myself permission to ponder and not obsess, trust and not fear, relax into being okay with the unknown and not being prepared for every potential encounter and embrace the gift that is being fully present in the here and now.