Dear Readers,
It's a new year. It shouldn't be such a surprise to me, seeing as how it happens every year. It doesn't really feel like a new beginning this time around, which makes me wonder if I'm getting old or apathetic or both? Regardless, instead of resolutions, I've decided to make changes. Nothing huge or unattainable. Rather, a few minor things that I'm hoping will result in me being a better person. Without further ado, here are my 2011 goals:
1: Eat in a healthy fashion. I eat healthy food for the most part. My problem is, I don't eat on a consistent basis. I don't like breakfast, I rarely eat lunch, and by the time dinner comes around I eat more than my share. From what I understand, there's a better way to do this. So I'm going to force myself to eat food at regular intervals. What will this improve? I'm not sure. But it couldn't hurt to try.
2: Focus on what's working right with my body, not what's going wrong. Most of you that know me know this, but I have an auto-immune disorder called connective tissue disease. If Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis had a baby, it would resemble me. It causes me to be exhausted most (if not all) of the time, chronic pain, and the ability to live my life like I used to. However, I'm a couple years used to it now. Is it ideal? No. But it could be a lot worse, and I know that. Keeping that in mind, I'm tired of letting my disease dictate my life. I have a good doctor, I have ready access to medication and I have a very supportive husband, boss, and group of friends that don't allow me to feel sorry for myself. So now, in a further attempt to make my life as normal as possible, every time I have a gripe about what's going wrong, I will remind myself of what's going right (ie: "my hip hurts" will be matched with "my boobs look great today", or "every time I eat I want to throw up" will be countered with "my lungs work awesome!").
3: Do something compassionate every day. Explains itself.
4: Don't drink coffee after 11:00am. No one should drink as much coffee as I do. Thanks, Starbucks. Hopefully this will help promote goal number 1.
5: Do the best job you can do, whatever it is. I love my job, and I want to be the best at it. I would like this to fall into all areas in my life: laundry, dishes, whatever the chore, I want to do the best job I can.
6: Learn to be okay with the fact that not everyone is going to like me all of the time. I'm a pleaser. I will do just about anything to make sure that everyone around me is happy and likes me. It's ridiculous. If I'm meeting goals 3 and 5 and someone still doesn't like me, I'm sure there's not much more I can do to convince them that they should, and I'm going to just be okay with that. Well, probably not. But I'll do the best I can.
7: Every morning when you wake up list 10 things you're grateful for. Some people pray; I make lists.
8: Replace anxiety with peace using the mantras "I forgive myself" or "I'm alive and well". I find that I carry a lot of guilt, which is the trigger for my anxiety. Forgiving myself allows me to let go of a lot of that guilt. Reminding myself that I'm alive and well allows me to let go of the anxiety.
9: Be with my family as often as I can. I don't just mean being at home, but rather being present at home. It's fine if I go out once in a while, and it's okay if I want to be alone once in awhile. But while I'm with Shay and Lucas, I want to pay attention to them and be a family.
10: Let the people that mean the most to me in my life know they mean the most to me. Sorry friends, it looks like it will be a sentimental year. Look forward to getting lots of love from me!
There you have it. 10 goals that probably reveal more about me than you'd prefer to know. I look forward to the improvements I'll be making though, and am really happy they don't involve intense workouts or making more money.
Sincerely,
h.
1.02.2011
11.07.2010
Confessions from a Guilty Soul
Dear Readers,
When I was twelve years old, I was sitting in Bishop Robinson's office having a very serious talk about my future with the Church (the LDS Church, that is). I had been called into his office because a Young Women's leader of mine was concerned about some overly feminist questions and accusations I had brought up in our Beehive class. Bishop Robinson was and still is a favorite leader of mine; he was my soccer coach, as well as one of the most encouraging adults I knew as an adolescent. Because of that respect I had for him, I took it very seriously and to heart when during this meeting he told me that I was becoming a "cynic", and how that concerned him and my ability to stay a faithful member.
To this day, I replay that conversation over and over in my head. My Catholic friends think that they understand guilt, but I am quite sure at this point that guilt hath no friend quite like a Mormon.
Mormonism and my family go way back. I have ancestors that were members from the early beginnings of the church, that walked across the country to settle in Utah and later Idaho. One was a personal assistant to Brigham Young. They helped build and create towns and communities, settle land and to find a place for a people who had faced harsh discrimination and torment to finally find peace. My dad continues to do research on our family, defining our roots more and more. The stories are fascinating. The faith and diligence of my ancestors and other early members is both admirable and incredible. It is with guilt that I say, I don't think I would have lasted five minutes with this group.
When I was 17, I graduated from high school and moved to Logan, UT to attend Utah State University. I had never given much thought of leaving the church up until this point. Honestly, I think I stopped attending church more because it was an inconvenience to my sleeping in rather than it being a movement of conviction or lack of faith. I ended up becoming friends with non-members, because honestly they were more interesting than the members I met. Not long after that I moved to Washington D.C. It was at this time that it occurred to me for the first time in my life that being a Mormon was not a normal thing. Having been raised in Southern Idaho and making the short move to Logan, I had lived my entire 19 years in areas densely populated with Mormons. All of the sudden I found myself in a city that had more people than the entire state of Idaho, and very, very few of them were members. I was amazed at the ridiculous questions that were asked, the assertion that my people were part of a "cult", and the assumption that I was raised in a polygamist family. Honestly, it was somewhat upsetting, but at the same time it was very eye opening.
After moving to Boise, I went through a really rough period where I had little friends, a lot of responsibility (I was working 3 jobs and going to school full time), and a conscience carrying more guilt than an inmate on death row. I hadn't been going to church for quite some time, and I wasn't articulate enough to explain why. I was majoring in philosophy, so I was using all of the these big words to try and fill the void that was at one time faith. I ended up going back though, and in classic Heather fashion I returned with full intentions of being the best dang Mormon ever! I was going to a student ward, had a calling, and was trying to make plans to go on a mission. I even dated a return missionary. I was doing everything I could to insure that I would set a great example as a member. But the whole time, a little over a year, that I was trying so very hard to fit into the classic Mormon-girl mold, I was miserable. I thought it was a lack of faith bringing me down, but in retrospect I was miserable because I was trying so very hard to be a person that I wasn't at all. "Hypocrite" is the word used to describe the person I was.
After I left again, I took a different route then before. Rather than be a "jack mormon", I was going to make sure I was leaving for the right reasons. I read the Bible and Book Mormon in their entirety. I prayed constantly. I read articles and church publications. And I came up empty. At the same time, I started dating Shay. We attended a few non-denominational churches together, but I kept getting the feeling that I didn't belong, and that I was lying to everyone trying to be something I wasn't. The minute Shay and I stopped attending churches, our relationship flourished and we got along better than ever. We have raised our son outside of church, something that I've lost a lot of sleep over in the past. Anymore I realize that he wouldn't learn anything more about the things we feel are important at church, and that he is naturally one of the most loving and compassionate humans I've ever met.
I continue to do research into the LDS Church, for several reasons. I think keeping the connection to my family (immediate, extended, and ancestrally speaking) is important. I find early church history, particularly anything pertaining to Joseph Smith to be fascinating. I have no desire to speak ill of, or bare false witness to the LDS Church, its members, or its practices. I have a huge respect for their humanitarian work, a great admiration of their business and welfare practices, and will always be proud of my family and their involvement in their rolls.
I admire faith. I simply am not capable of having it. I've quoted this song before, but my friend Loren covered my beliefs and sentiments in a song he wrote that says, "I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...I find it a little bit hard to believe in the mystical." Bishop Robinson was right to be concerned about my questioning nature as a pre-teen. However, "cynic" was the wrong word to describe me. I don't doubt the intentions of people (well, most people anyway). "Skeptic" would have been a more appropriate word, as I am skeptical to the marrow of my bones. I am fortunate though. In my leaving the church, I was able to keep most of my relationships in tact. I did lose some friends, and I do have some family that insists on bothering me about it. My my parents, my sisters, and a few select friends have been willing to allow me to still be a part of their lives, and I will always be grateful for their love and support. I know it's not an easy thing for them, and it is for them that I write this blog.
It's weird to put all of this out there, not knowing who will read it and what their reaction will be. But I'm glad to do it, if for anything else to allow myself to get rid of some guilt and move on with my happy little life.
Sincerely,
h.
When I was twelve years old, I was sitting in Bishop Robinson's office having a very serious talk about my future with the Church (the LDS Church, that is). I had been called into his office because a Young Women's leader of mine was concerned about some overly feminist questions and accusations I had brought up in our Beehive class. Bishop Robinson was and still is a favorite leader of mine; he was my soccer coach, as well as one of the most encouraging adults I knew as an adolescent. Because of that respect I had for him, I took it very seriously and to heart when during this meeting he told me that I was becoming a "cynic", and how that concerned him and my ability to stay a faithful member.
To this day, I replay that conversation over and over in my head. My Catholic friends think that they understand guilt, but I am quite sure at this point that guilt hath no friend quite like a Mormon.
Mormonism and my family go way back. I have ancestors that were members from the early beginnings of the church, that walked across the country to settle in Utah and later Idaho. One was a personal assistant to Brigham Young. They helped build and create towns and communities, settle land and to find a place for a people who had faced harsh discrimination and torment to finally find peace. My dad continues to do research on our family, defining our roots more and more. The stories are fascinating. The faith and diligence of my ancestors and other early members is both admirable and incredible. It is with guilt that I say, I don't think I would have lasted five minutes with this group.
When I was 17, I graduated from high school and moved to Logan, UT to attend Utah State University. I had never given much thought of leaving the church up until this point. Honestly, I think I stopped attending church more because it was an inconvenience to my sleeping in rather than it being a movement of conviction or lack of faith. I ended up becoming friends with non-members, because honestly they were more interesting than the members I met. Not long after that I moved to Washington D.C. It was at this time that it occurred to me for the first time in my life that being a Mormon was not a normal thing. Having been raised in Southern Idaho and making the short move to Logan, I had lived my entire 19 years in areas densely populated with Mormons. All of the sudden I found myself in a city that had more people than the entire state of Idaho, and very, very few of them were members. I was amazed at the ridiculous questions that were asked, the assertion that my people were part of a "cult", and the assumption that I was raised in a polygamist family. Honestly, it was somewhat upsetting, but at the same time it was very eye opening.
After moving to Boise, I went through a really rough period where I had little friends, a lot of responsibility (I was working 3 jobs and going to school full time), and a conscience carrying more guilt than an inmate on death row. I hadn't been going to church for quite some time, and I wasn't articulate enough to explain why. I was majoring in philosophy, so I was using all of the these big words to try and fill the void that was at one time faith. I ended up going back though, and in classic Heather fashion I returned with full intentions of being the best dang Mormon ever! I was going to a student ward, had a calling, and was trying to make plans to go on a mission. I even dated a return missionary. I was doing everything I could to insure that I would set a great example as a member. But the whole time, a little over a year, that I was trying so very hard to fit into the classic Mormon-girl mold, I was miserable. I thought it was a lack of faith bringing me down, but in retrospect I was miserable because I was trying so very hard to be a person that I wasn't at all. "Hypocrite" is the word used to describe the person I was.
After I left again, I took a different route then before. Rather than be a "jack mormon", I was going to make sure I was leaving for the right reasons. I read the Bible and Book Mormon in their entirety. I prayed constantly. I read articles and church publications. And I came up empty. At the same time, I started dating Shay. We attended a few non-denominational churches together, but I kept getting the feeling that I didn't belong, and that I was lying to everyone trying to be something I wasn't. The minute Shay and I stopped attending churches, our relationship flourished and we got along better than ever. We have raised our son outside of church, something that I've lost a lot of sleep over in the past. Anymore I realize that he wouldn't learn anything more about the things we feel are important at church, and that he is naturally one of the most loving and compassionate humans I've ever met.
I continue to do research into the LDS Church, for several reasons. I think keeping the connection to my family (immediate, extended, and ancestrally speaking) is important. I find early church history, particularly anything pertaining to Joseph Smith to be fascinating. I have no desire to speak ill of, or bare false witness to the LDS Church, its members, or its practices. I have a huge respect for their humanitarian work, a great admiration of their business and welfare practices, and will always be proud of my family and their involvement in their rolls.
I admire faith. I simply am not capable of having it. I've quoted this song before, but my friend Loren covered my beliefs and sentiments in a song he wrote that says, "I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...I find it a little bit hard to believe in the mystical." Bishop Robinson was right to be concerned about my questioning nature as a pre-teen. However, "cynic" was the wrong word to describe me. I don't doubt the intentions of people (well, most people anyway). "Skeptic" would have been a more appropriate word, as I am skeptical to the marrow of my bones. I am fortunate though. In my leaving the church, I was able to keep most of my relationships in tact. I did lose some friends, and I do have some family that insists on bothering me about it. My my parents, my sisters, and a few select friends have been willing to allow me to still be a part of their lives, and I will always be grateful for their love and support. I know it's not an easy thing for them, and it is for them that I write this blog.
It's weird to put all of this out there, not knowing who will read it and what their reaction will be. But I'm glad to do it, if for anything else to allow myself to get rid of some guilt and move on with my happy little life.
Sincerely,
h.
11.04.2010
Empty-Nest Syndrome
Dear Readers,
Growing up, my family used to make fun of me for my ability to make friends. Yes, it is weird, isn't it? Rather than say, "Good for you! We're so happy you're socially adept and fun to be around!" they'd make snarky remarks about how retarded I am. Even today I get snide remarks from not only my sisters and parents, but from my husband as well. When looking at my Facebook page the other day, and seeing that I had over 300 "friends", he challenged me to tell where I knew each person from, and I not only accepted and completed his challenge but was able to tell him stories at length about most people. He'll never do that again, if for any other reason the sheer boredom he experienced.
I think I developed my ability to meet people through watching my Aunt Ruth. Ruth has always been a favorite person of mine, and from a very young age I found myself trying to pattern my own personality after hers. For instance, my favorite color is yellow. It's also Ruth's. Well, when I put it like that it doesn't seem too significant, but I assure you that at the age of 5 when I made yellow my official favorite color, it was a huge deal. Anyhow, I remember staying with Ruth during my vacation (one week in Boise every summer...I still don't look forward to anything the way I looked forward to that week), and going to Albertson's with her for a gallon of milk, but spending a half hour talking to the several people she knew. And then, while waiting in line to check out, she'd make friends with whoever was next in line. I loved this about her. And now, when I go to Albertson's, the same thing happens. However, Shay and Lucas don't find this to be endearing, but rather annoying. "How do you know these people?" Shay will ask, to which my reply will be a long explanation about how they know so and so and I met them at so and so's party and blah blah blah. "Nevermind" is his general reply.
Beyond my social grocery shopping encounters, I have my friends and then I have my "best" friends. Most people have just one, singular, best friend. I, on the other hand, describe several people with that title. Monica Maxwell is my best friend from growing up. Jessica Knickerbocker is my best friend from college. Scot Klein is my best friend from age 20-21. My cousin Adriana is my best friend for life. And my friends Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron are introduced or described as my "best friend". Who could forget Shay? The ultimate husband best friend. It's a tad ridiculous, I know. But how else would you describe them?
Earlier this week, I had a revelation about myself that kept me crying all night. The last group of people I described as besties, Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron, are people that I have upgraded from "friend" status to "family". When I think about who I want around me for the rest of my life, it's these people (don't worry blood family, you're included in that too). But what I realized was, I've surrounded myself with a group of extremely talented people who have the ability and the potential to follow their passions strait out of my life and into a glorious and famous life beyond Boise. At the same time, my dear sweet baby boy, Lucas, reminded me that he turns 7 next week, and "...isn't that old?". At that point, at the tender young age of 31, I went head long into a menopausal "empty-nest" panic attack. One that ended up requiring a sedative, and will probably require more (keep that Valium coming, doctor!). It's taken three long conversations, one with Andrew, one with Chris, and one with Shay, to assure me that I will never be out of the picture and regardless of what roads they go on (Andrew and Chris, that is. Shay's legally obligated to be in my life), I will always be a part of their lives. Of course I haven't confirmed this with the rest of our group, but I'm going to make an assumption that it will be the same with all of them. My mom told me today that should these amazing people leave my life, I could always make new friends. I suppose she's right. But the idea finding and making new friends at this caliber is an exhausting one. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to find me endearing...I'm foul mouthed, opinionated to a fault, known to force baked goods down your throat all the time, demand a lot of attention, and will make you help me move. Who wants that in their life?
My family will continue to make fun of my social abilities probably until the day I die. After that, they'll find it charming I'm sure. It doesn't bother me so much anymore though. My obnoxious friendliness has enabled me to have a charmed life, full of great jobs (because of people I know), great experiences (because of people I know), opportunities to travel and meet important/famous people (because of people I know), and the comfort of knowing that if I ever need to have a nice conversation I can head to any grocery store or coffee shop in the Boise area and count on finding a friend.
Sincerely,
h.
Growing up, my family used to make fun of me for my ability to make friends. Yes, it is weird, isn't it? Rather than say, "Good for you! We're so happy you're socially adept and fun to be around!" they'd make snarky remarks about how retarded I am. Even today I get snide remarks from not only my sisters and parents, but from my husband as well. When looking at my Facebook page the other day, and seeing that I had over 300 "friends", he challenged me to tell where I knew each person from, and I not only accepted and completed his challenge but was able to tell him stories at length about most people. He'll never do that again, if for any other reason the sheer boredom he experienced.
I think I developed my ability to meet people through watching my Aunt Ruth. Ruth has always been a favorite person of mine, and from a very young age I found myself trying to pattern my own personality after hers. For instance, my favorite color is yellow. It's also Ruth's. Well, when I put it like that it doesn't seem too significant, but I assure you that at the age of 5 when I made yellow my official favorite color, it was a huge deal. Anyhow, I remember staying with Ruth during my vacation (one week in Boise every summer...I still don't look forward to anything the way I looked forward to that week), and going to Albertson's with her for a gallon of milk, but spending a half hour talking to the several people she knew. And then, while waiting in line to check out, she'd make friends with whoever was next in line. I loved this about her. And now, when I go to Albertson's, the same thing happens. However, Shay and Lucas don't find this to be endearing, but rather annoying. "How do you know these people?" Shay will ask, to which my reply will be a long explanation about how they know so and so and I met them at so and so's party and blah blah blah. "Nevermind" is his general reply.
Beyond my social grocery shopping encounters, I have my friends and then I have my "best" friends. Most people have just one, singular, best friend. I, on the other hand, describe several people with that title. Monica Maxwell is my best friend from growing up. Jessica Knickerbocker is my best friend from college. Scot Klein is my best friend from age 20-21. My cousin Adriana is my best friend for life. And my friends Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron are introduced or described as my "best friend". Who could forget Shay? The ultimate husband best friend. It's a tad ridiculous, I know. But how else would you describe them?
Earlier this week, I had a revelation about myself that kept me crying all night. The last group of people I described as besties, Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron, are people that I have upgraded from "friend" status to "family". When I think about who I want around me for the rest of my life, it's these people (don't worry blood family, you're included in that too). But what I realized was, I've surrounded myself with a group of extremely talented people who have the ability and the potential to follow their passions strait out of my life and into a glorious and famous life beyond Boise. At the same time, my dear sweet baby boy, Lucas, reminded me that he turns 7 next week, and "...isn't that old?". At that point, at the tender young age of 31, I went head long into a menopausal "empty-nest" panic attack. One that ended up requiring a sedative, and will probably require more (keep that Valium coming, doctor!). It's taken three long conversations, one with Andrew, one with Chris, and one with Shay, to assure me that I will never be out of the picture and regardless of what roads they go on (Andrew and Chris, that is. Shay's legally obligated to be in my life), I will always be a part of their lives. Of course I haven't confirmed this with the rest of our group, but I'm going to make an assumption that it will be the same with all of them. My mom told me today that should these amazing people leave my life, I could always make new friends. I suppose she's right. But the idea finding and making new friends at this caliber is an exhausting one. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to find me endearing...I'm foul mouthed, opinionated to a fault, known to force baked goods down your throat all the time, demand a lot of attention, and will make you help me move. Who wants that in their life?
My family will continue to make fun of my social abilities probably until the day I die. After that, they'll find it charming I'm sure. It doesn't bother me so much anymore though. My obnoxious friendliness has enabled me to have a charmed life, full of great jobs (because of people I know), great experiences (because of people I know), opportunities to travel and meet important/famous people (because of people I know), and the comfort of knowing that if I ever need to have a nice conversation I can head to any grocery store or coffee shop in the Boise area and count on finding a friend.
Sincerely,
h.
9.30.2010
The Stress of Stress
Dear Readers,
I recently watched a National Geographic documentary on stress. It was absolutely fascinating. Even the hippie from Berkley who has made more advances in the studies of stress then anyone else alive was fascinating to me. I learned several things, such as baboons are just as obnoxious as humans, that mother's of young or disabled children produce more stress hormones than anyone else, and that fat bellies are stress induced. But wait! There's so much more I have to tell you about this! I promise I have a point.
One thing that the smart hippie figured out, and has been proven several times over now by several scientists, is that stress causes the destruction of the cap on DNA helix's. Because I have a short memory for scientific jargon, I can't remember what the cap is called. However, it's very important, as it helps control the rate by which we age. Stress eats away at these caps like Badger girls at Thanksgiving dinner. The faster they deteriorate, the older your body becomes. So, for instance, woman with small and/or disabled children have so much stress that they are actually aging 6 years to every 1 year they live, and have a higher mortality rate at a significantly younger age than mothers of non-disabled kids. But, the hippie and scientists have found a way to combat the ill effects of stress, and actually physically slow down the breakdown of helix's and promote a less stressful lifestyle. Are your ready for this? Alright, here's the secret: compassion.
Doing good works, living the "golden rule", loving thy neighbor, and all that other crap helps to produce dopamine and serotonin as well as several other chemicals that help to rebuild the little caps that help us age at a slower rate. Remember how good it feels when you help someone out? That's because your brain recognizes that you were nice and rewards you with tasty, happy chemicals.
On a completely different note, my mother-in-law, Paula, stopped by earlier this evening. I have to say that I really lucked out when it comes to my husband's mother. She's awesome. She laughs at my jokes, enjoys eating my chocolates, loves my son more than anyone else on the planet, and doesn't yell at me for swearing in front of her. Being around Paula is like being around a good friend that I'm always happy to see. She's also very pretty, extremely kind, and has always (ALWAYS) been there for Shay, Lucas and I. Today she came over to visit and we had a great time talking and catching up a bit. Shay had mentioned some funny financial problems we've been having lately. Well, not lately. Let's just say that we're pros at being broke. But anyhow, it was just mentioned in passing and in no seriousness. Later, after Paula left, I went to give Lucas his dinner, and notice that Paula had quietly left a little financial help on the table. Upon seeing this, my heart filled with gratitude and my eyes filled with tears. It's funny because it's not even the money that matters. I hate money. Rather, it's the unassuming selfless nature of Paula wanting to help that touches my heart. And the thought crossed my mind that she probably has the youngest, healthiest DNA helix's of any one I know.
In closing, I want to have less stress. I also want to be a better person. It's so convenient that I can achieve a more peaceful life by helping others find peace as well. I don't have the means to leave gifts on coffee tables, but I do have the ability to make little differences every day. So if I see you, and I'm mean or obnoxious, just whisper in my ear that I'm starting to resemble an old hag, and somewhere inside I will find the kindness I need to hold myself back from punching you in the face.
Sincerely,
h.
I recently watched a National Geographic documentary on stress. It was absolutely fascinating. Even the hippie from Berkley who has made more advances in the studies of stress then anyone else alive was fascinating to me. I learned several things, such as baboons are just as obnoxious as humans, that mother's of young or disabled children produce more stress hormones than anyone else, and that fat bellies are stress induced. But wait! There's so much more I have to tell you about this! I promise I have a point.
One thing that the smart hippie figured out, and has been proven several times over now by several scientists, is that stress causes the destruction of the cap on DNA helix's. Because I have a short memory for scientific jargon, I can't remember what the cap is called. However, it's very important, as it helps control the rate by which we age. Stress eats away at these caps like Badger girls at Thanksgiving dinner. The faster they deteriorate, the older your body becomes. So, for instance, woman with small and/or disabled children have so much stress that they are actually aging 6 years to every 1 year they live, and have a higher mortality rate at a significantly younger age than mothers of non-disabled kids. But, the hippie and scientists have found a way to combat the ill effects of stress, and actually physically slow down the breakdown of helix's and promote a less stressful lifestyle. Are your ready for this? Alright, here's the secret: compassion.
Doing good works, living the "golden rule", loving thy neighbor, and all that other crap helps to produce dopamine and serotonin as well as several other chemicals that help to rebuild the little caps that help us age at a slower rate. Remember how good it feels when you help someone out? That's because your brain recognizes that you were nice and rewards you with tasty, happy chemicals.
On a completely different note, my mother-in-law, Paula, stopped by earlier this evening. I have to say that I really lucked out when it comes to my husband's mother. She's awesome. She laughs at my jokes, enjoys eating my chocolates, loves my son more than anyone else on the planet, and doesn't yell at me for swearing in front of her. Being around Paula is like being around a good friend that I'm always happy to see. She's also very pretty, extremely kind, and has always (ALWAYS) been there for Shay, Lucas and I. Today she came over to visit and we had a great time talking and catching up a bit. Shay had mentioned some funny financial problems we've been having lately. Well, not lately. Let's just say that we're pros at being broke. But anyhow, it was just mentioned in passing and in no seriousness. Later, after Paula left, I went to give Lucas his dinner, and notice that Paula had quietly left a little financial help on the table. Upon seeing this, my heart filled with gratitude and my eyes filled with tears. It's funny because it's not even the money that matters. I hate money. Rather, it's the unassuming selfless nature of Paula wanting to help that touches my heart. And the thought crossed my mind that she probably has the youngest, healthiest DNA helix's of any one I know.
In closing, I want to have less stress. I also want to be a better person. It's so convenient that I can achieve a more peaceful life by helping others find peace as well. I don't have the means to leave gifts on coffee tables, but I do have the ability to make little differences every day. So if I see you, and I'm mean or obnoxious, just whisper in my ear that I'm starting to resemble an old hag, and somewhere inside I will find the kindness I need to hold myself back from punching you in the face.
Sincerely,
h.
7.10.2010
Thirty-One? Thirty-Fun!
Dear Readers,
In a few short days, another one of my birthdays will roll around. I was telling my friend Jenny this the other day. She asked how old I would be, and I begrudgingly replied "31", which she immediately followed with, "Thirty Fun!".
Jenny's stellar rhyming abilities helped spark some happiness in my mind about getting older. I mean, why should I have to feel bad about something that I can do absolutely nothing about? And let's face it, I don't look a day over 24 (after a lot of time in front of the mirror strategically dressing myself and doing my hair and makeup). So in tribute to turning thirty-fun and to continue to feel good about where I am in life, I thought I would list 31 things that I am happy, thankful, or just generally amused with in my little life. By the way, it won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this. I know it seems like a journal entry my shrink would recommend.
Here it goes:
31. Having two KitchenAid mixers.
30. Knowing and understanding more about everything than anyone else.
29. Making it this far without getting a tattoo.
28. Facebook.
27. Being old enough to understand that when it comes to extended family, there's going to be some that you just don't like and that you can avoid for years at a time if you want.
26. Finding some new music interesting, but knowing in my heart of hearts that it will probably never get better than what we've had for years.
25. I can still drop it like it's hot on the dance floor.
24. That I haven't learned to play my guitar yet, but I'm going to if it's the last thing I do.
23. I still worry that no one will show up to my birthday parties, but they always do,
22. The next big thing in life I'm really looking forward to is retirement.
21. No matter how old I become, one of my favorite things to do is drink coffee and have intellectual conversations with a friend. However, the older I get, the less intellectual I become.
20. Had it not been for Aunt Ruth (not to mention Jorge, Anthony, Mike and Ana) I may not have survived my youth. She continues to be one of my very favorite people on the face of the planet, and the world is a better place for having her in it.
19. I don't need to do any sort of extreme sport anymore. Keep your mountain biking, rock climbing, and week long backpacking trips! I'd rather take a hot bath and read a book!
18. Being nice matters.
17. Knowing that you can't help someone who is not willing to help themselves.
16. I love to travel, but I hate being a tourist, and automatically hate all other tourists when traveling.
15. Understanding that even after years of them being gone, you'll still occasionally feel the sting loss when remembering the people you've loved so much but are no longer with you.
14. I've learned that feeling sorry for yourself for more than 15 minutes in a day is a waste of time and energy. There's always someone out there who has a sadder story than you, and wallowing in self-pity isn't going to make things better.
13. Integrity is a rare and valuable commodity in a person, and I admire and try to model myself after people who are willing to take responsibility for themselves and their action.
12. When I can't count on anything else in the world, I know the cheddar vegetable soup at the Brick Oven Bistro in Boise will be just as awesome as always.
11. In retrospect, growing up in a small town taught me more about life than I previously would admit.
10. High school was horrible, but I think I'm finally over it.
9. My teacher's used to say that I had tremendous potential, if I would just apply myself. I now think that they may have been mistaken, and I've always been meeting my potential and fooling people into believing that I'm capable of doing more. Maybe that's why I wanted to be a politician so bad...
8. I'm a book snob, a coffee snob, and a baked goods snob, and none of these things will ever change.
7. I have wonderful parents, and am thrilled that as of this year I'm able to talk to them as if I'm an adult and feel like we're closer than we've ever been.
6. I have wonderful sisters who have not only provided me with a gaggle of amazing nieces and nephews, but who have always been honest and forthright with me (whether I've wanted them to be or not).
5. I have incredible in-laws who handed their son over to me without thinking twice, and have welcomed me into their lives with open arms.
4. Over the years I've had friends come and go. But I have an incredible first string line-up that I know without a doubt will be in my life until I'm dead and gone. I'd list you all, but I don't think you need me to.
3. My mom was right when she said that we were rich in the important things.
2. When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas, I was mortified. I thought I was too young. Now I know, that had I not had him then, I probably never would have been able to. He is everything that is good in Shay and I, and he amazes me with his compassion and sincerity. I'm so grateful for my son, and for being a mom!
1. I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm extremely independent and opinionated. I need my space and time. And I was lucky enough to find a person that doesn't mind any of these things at all, but finds them to be endearing. Shay changed my life, and gave me a reason to want to be a better person. I've never known unconditional love like he gives me. And I know that whatever my age, he'll always be 6 months older than me.
So there you go. I didn't make it through the list without crying, even though you probably did. Here's to me and my 31 years of mistakes and good decisions, awkward moments and bits of inspiration, of love with family friends, and may the next 31 be similar but with more baked goods.
Sincerely,
h.
In a few short days, another one of my birthdays will roll around. I was telling my friend Jenny this the other day. She asked how old I would be, and I begrudgingly replied "31", which she immediately followed with, "Thirty Fun!".
Jenny's stellar rhyming abilities helped spark some happiness in my mind about getting older. I mean, why should I have to feel bad about something that I can do absolutely nothing about? And let's face it, I don't look a day over 24 (after a lot of time in front of the mirror strategically dressing myself and doing my hair and makeup). So in tribute to turning thirty-fun and to continue to feel good about where I am in life, I thought I would list 31 things that I am happy, thankful, or just generally amused with in my little life. By the way, it won't hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this. I know it seems like a journal entry my shrink would recommend.
Here it goes:
31. Having two KitchenAid mixers.
30. Knowing and understanding more about everything than anyone else.
29. Making it this far without getting a tattoo.
28. Facebook.
27. Being old enough to understand that when it comes to extended family, there's going to be some that you just don't like and that you can avoid for years at a time if you want.
26. Finding some new music interesting, but knowing in my heart of hearts that it will probably never get better than what we've had for years.
25. I can still drop it like it's hot on the dance floor.
24. That I haven't learned to play my guitar yet, but I'm going to if it's the last thing I do.
23. I still worry that no one will show up to my birthday parties, but they always do,
22. The next big thing in life I'm really looking forward to is retirement.
21. No matter how old I become, one of my favorite things to do is drink coffee and have intellectual conversations with a friend. However, the older I get, the less intellectual I become.
20. Had it not been for Aunt Ruth (not to mention Jorge, Anthony, Mike and Ana) I may not have survived my youth. She continues to be one of my very favorite people on the face of the planet, and the world is a better place for having her in it.
19. I don't need to do any sort of extreme sport anymore. Keep your mountain biking, rock climbing, and week long backpacking trips! I'd rather take a hot bath and read a book!
18. Being nice matters.
17. Knowing that you can't help someone who is not willing to help themselves.
16. I love to travel, but I hate being a tourist, and automatically hate all other tourists when traveling.
15. Understanding that even after years of them being gone, you'll still occasionally feel the sting loss when remembering the people you've loved so much but are no longer with you.
14. I've learned that feeling sorry for yourself for more than 15 minutes in a day is a waste of time and energy. There's always someone out there who has a sadder story than you, and wallowing in self-pity isn't going to make things better.
13. Integrity is a rare and valuable commodity in a person, and I admire and try to model myself after people who are willing to take responsibility for themselves and their action.
12. When I can't count on anything else in the world, I know the cheddar vegetable soup at the Brick Oven Bistro in Boise will be just as awesome as always.
11. In retrospect, growing up in a small town taught me more about life than I previously would admit.
10. High school was horrible, but I think I'm finally over it.
9. My teacher's used to say that I had tremendous potential, if I would just apply myself. I now think that they may have been mistaken, and I've always been meeting my potential and fooling people into believing that I'm capable of doing more. Maybe that's why I wanted to be a politician so bad...
8. I'm a book snob, a coffee snob, and a baked goods snob, and none of these things will ever change.
7. I have wonderful parents, and am thrilled that as of this year I'm able to talk to them as if I'm an adult and feel like we're closer than we've ever been.
6. I have wonderful sisters who have not only provided me with a gaggle of amazing nieces and nephews, but who have always been honest and forthright with me (whether I've wanted them to be or not).
5. I have incredible in-laws who handed their son over to me without thinking twice, and have welcomed me into their lives with open arms.
4. Over the years I've had friends come and go. But I have an incredible first string line-up that I know without a doubt will be in my life until I'm dead and gone. I'd list you all, but I don't think you need me to.
3. My mom was right when she said that we were rich in the important things.
2. When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas, I was mortified. I thought I was too young. Now I know, that had I not had him then, I probably never would have been able to. He is everything that is good in Shay and I, and he amazes me with his compassion and sincerity. I'm so grateful for my son, and for being a mom!
1. I'm not an easy person to live with. I'm extremely independent and opinionated. I need my space and time. And I was lucky enough to find a person that doesn't mind any of these things at all, but finds them to be endearing. Shay changed my life, and gave me a reason to want to be a better person. I've never known unconditional love like he gives me. And I know that whatever my age, he'll always be 6 months older than me.
So there you go. I didn't make it through the list without crying, even though you probably did. Here's to me and my 31 years of mistakes and good decisions, awkward moments and bits of inspiration, of love with family friends, and may the next 31 be similar but with more baked goods.
Sincerely,
h.
7.06.2010
A Blog About Andrea
Dear Readers,
When I was in junior high, I was introduced to a singer/songwriter named Juliana Hatfield. Although she's far from a musical genius, and was better known for singing backup for The Lemonheads than for her solo work, she did produce a song that still haunts me to this day: "My Sister". This song was meaningful to me because it did and it does represent my own sister, Andrea.
I am the middle of three sisters. Andrea is my older, and Kate is my younger. Despite our better judgement, we have grown up to be quite good friends. Of course, it took several years even as adults to admit this. Anyone who has known us our whole lives will know that we spent the better part of our youth in physical and mental brawls, always trying to make one more miserable than the other. But this blog isn't about the three of us. Per her request, this one is dedicated to Andrea (don't worry Kate, I'll write one for you soon enough).
When we were very young, my sister Andrea watched me when my mother was at work. Every day she would walk from Big Valley Elementary and pick me up at Memorial Elementary and we would walk to the Rupert Square, where my mom worked at First Security Bank. We would check in with her, get some change, and walk across the street to the bakery to get a mexican pastry. From there we would walk home, where the next two hours before my father got home were filled with screaming, fighting, and mild forms of torture.
Always quick to remind me that she was older and in charge, Andrea used her power over me to carry out her genius plans. Remember when we were held hostage on the freeway by a gaggle of angry truckers? That was Andrea's idea, carried out by yours truly. Once when playing "Police Sisters" (we would ride our bikes around our neighborhood making siren noises and protecting Rupert from evil), Andrea told me I wouldn't be an official police sister until I vandalized some freshly poured cement with our initials. I started to carry out the plan, when Andrea disappeared and the owner of said cement pulled up in his car, and took out all of his anger on me. Even after being screamed at and scared to death, Andrea still told me that because I didn't complete the mission to her liking, I would not be made an official Police Sister.
When I reached junior high, Andrea was in high school. I don't know why, but I was always attracted to her friends and wanted to be included in her group, particularly during her senior year when she had become a member of the Vincent Van Gough Memorial Visual Arts Club. Mind you, it was rare when any of her friends treated me remotely human, but none the less I was drawn to them and wanted to be a part of their clique. To this day I find myself intimidated by them and am still concerned of their opinions of me.
Around this same time, Andrea was planning on joining my dad on a trip to Europe. Surprisingly, her plans were never confirmed (we think my dad might have a secret agenda to keep us out of Europe as long as we live), and she was left with a handful of cash and no where to go. My mom arranged for us to go and visit my cousin Brent in Seattle as a way to appease her. Andrea was 16 and I was 13. Brent at the time was a bachelor who really didn't know how to handle two teenage girls, did what any sensible adult would do and dropped us off downtown by ourselves to explore and waste all of our money. It was AWESOME. Andrea and I enjoyed the freedom that we had, visiting all the hotspots together and going crazy in the Disney Store. When at Brent's house we found a lot of enjoyment in cleaning his kitchen, mulching his lawn, and watching stolen cable. That trip is still on my top 5 vacations of all time.
When Andrea graduated high school, she went off to spend a semester at Utah State University. She came home every weekend to visit her sweetheart Jeremy, except for one. On that one weekend, I got to go and spend it with her. It was one of the highlights of my sophomore year of high school. Sleeping in the dorms, meeting her cool college buddies, eating crap food and staying out all night...it was everything I had imagined college to be and more! On the ride home, Andrea let me drive the Omega (which only contained an AM stereo so we had a battery powered cd player that we held on our laps), and she read Edgar Allen Poe to me to entertain me. I went home with a firm plan in mind of what my first year of college would be like (and I was damn sure it wouldn't include coming home every weekend), and as far as I can remember I was able to carry it out ver bad-um.
We've shared many unique experiences with each other, from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins play at the Record Exchange to meeting John Maher backstage at his concert. We've said some really horrible things to each other. We've laughed, cried, swore, and cheered at each other's expense. But this I know is true: my life would be missing something great if I didn't have Andrea in it. I'm sure when she reads this, she'll be sure to comment on my writing style and point out any mistakes I made. But underneath the criticism and judgement will reside a thin layer of love and appreciation. As reluctant as she might be to say it, I know she loves me and is happy to have me for a sister. But it is something I'll admit willingly...I love you Andrea, and I'm happy to have you for a sister.
Sincerely,
h.
When I was in junior high, I was introduced to a singer/songwriter named Juliana Hatfield. Although she's far from a musical genius, and was better known for singing backup for The Lemonheads than for her solo work, she did produce a song that still haunts me to this day: "My Sister". This song was meaningful to me because it did and it does represent my own sister, Andrea.
I am the middle of three sisters. Andrea is my older, and Kate is my younger. Despite our better judgement, we have grown up to be quite good friends. Of course, it took several years even as adults to admit this. Anyone who has known us our whole lives will know that we spent the better part of our youth in physical and mental brawls, always trying to make one more miserable than the other. But this blog isn't about the three of us. Per her request, this one is dedicated to Andrea (don't worry Kate, I'll write one for you soon enough).
When we were very young, my sister Andrea watched me when my mother was at work. Every day she would walk from Big Valley Elementary and pick me up at Memorial Elementary and we would walk to the Rupert Square, where my mom worked at First Security Bank. We would check in with her, get some change, and walk across the street to the bakery to get a mexican pastry. From there we would walk home, where the next two hours before my father got home were filled with screaming, fighting, and mild forms of torture.
Always quick to remind me that she was older and in charge, Andrea used her power over me to carry out her genius plans. Remember when we were held hostage on the freeway by a gaggle of angry truckers? That was Andrea's idea, carried out by yours truly. Once when playing "Police Sisters" (we would ride our bikes around our neighborhood making siren noises and protecting Rupert from evil), Andrea told me I wouldn't be an official police sister until I vandalized some freshly poured cement with our initials. I started to carry out the plan, when Andrea disappeared and the owner of said cement pulled up in his car, and took out all of his anger on me. Even after being screamed at and scared to death, Andrea still told me that because I didn't complete the mission to her liking, I would not be made an official Police Sister.
When I reached junior high, Andrea was in high school. I don't know why, but I was always attracted to her friends and wanted to be included in her group, particularly during her senior year when she had become a member of the Vincent Van Gough Memorial Visual Arts Club. Mind you, it was rare when any of her friends treated me remotely human, but none the less I was drawn to them and wanted to be a part of their clique. To this day I find myself intimidated by them and am still concerned of their opinions of me.
Around this same time, Andrea was planning on joining my dad on a trip to Europe. Surprisingly, her plans were never confirmed (we think my dad might have a secret agenda to keep us out of Europe as long as we live), and she was left with a handful of cash and no where to go. My mom arranged for us to go and visit my cousin Brent in Seattle as a way to appease her. Andrea was 16 and I was 13. Brent at the time was a bachelor who really didn't know how to handle two teenage girls, did what any sensible adult would do and dropped us off downtown by ourselves to explore and waste all of our money. It was AWESOME. Andrea and I enjoyed the freedom that we had, visiting all the hotspots together and going crazy in the Disney Store. When at Brent's house we found a lot of enjoyment in cleaning his kitchen, mulching his lawn, and watching stolen cable. That trip is still on my top 5 vacations of all time.
When Andrea graduated high school, she went off to spend a semester at Utah State University. She came home every weekend to visit her sweetheart Jeremy, except for one. On that one weekend, I got to go and spend it with her. It was one of the highlights of my sophomore year of high school. Sleeping in the dorms, meeting her cool college buddies, eating crap food and staying out all night...it was everything I had imagined college to be and more! On the ride home, Andrea let me drive the Omega (which only contained an AM stereo so we had a battery powered cd player that we held on our laps), and she read Edgar Allen Poe to me to entertain me. I went home with a firm plan in mind of what my first year of college would be like (and I was damn sure it wouldn't include coming home every weekend), and as far as I can remember I was able to carry it out ver bad-um.
We've shared many unique experiences with each other, from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins play at the Record Exchange to meeting John Maher backstage at his concert. We've said some really horrible things to each other. We've laughed, cried, swore, and cheered at each other's expense. But this I know is true: my life would be missing something great if I didn't have Andrea in it. I'm sure when she reads this, she'll be sure to comment on my writing style and point out any mistakes I made. But underneath the criticism and judgement will reside a thin layer of love and appreciation. As reluctant as she might be to say it, I know she loves me and is happy to have me for a sister. But it is something I'll admit willingly...I love you Andrea, and I'm happy to have you for a sister.
Sincerely,
h.
5.28.2010
I've Got The Whole World In My Hand...Who Wants It?
Dear Readers,
Remember when I was going to save the world? When I had crazy mad ambition, and a laundry list of causes to champion? I do. And just thinking about it makes me tired.
Politics? No thanks.
Orphans in Africa? Sad, but untouchable.
Poor spelling? It's an epidemic beyond my control.
In my wise old age, I've come to the conclusion that I want things to be as easy as possible. I want a good, healthy meal cooked in less than 15 minutes. I want to read and book and take a bath instead of participating in some inane political debate that will never even leave my dining room table. I want a maid.
Have I become lazy and/or complacent? Perhaps. It's been over a month since I've last blogged, for Hell's sake. Regardless, I feel more at peace now than I think ever have been before. Maybe Shay's Taoist principles have rubbed off on me. I'll just sit back and let the Universe take the reigns, all I have to do is wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night, while putting minimum effort into the goings on during the day.
If I'm really being honest with myself though, there is this part of me that is taking this peaceful route kicking and screaming. I can feel it start to swell up when I listen to NPR about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. It claws it's way up my throat to try to scream for me when I remember that civil rights are given to everyone except gay people, poor people, and underprivileged areas of the nation. And what about Tyra's pick for America's Next Top Model this season? Atrocious!
Okay, so maybe I do still have the spark. But I'm limiting it to just that. I can't change the world, I can't change humanity, I'm not even sure I can convince my 6 year old that changing his underwear everyday is a good idea. But I will do my best to be a nice and gracious person, master making the perfect pie crust, and promise not to listen to partisan radio talk show hosts.
Sincerely,
h.
Remember when I was going to save the world? When I had crazy mad ambition, and a laundry list of causes to champion? I do. And just thinking about it makes me tired.
Politics? No thanks.
Orphans in Africa? Sad, but untouchable.
Poor spelling? It's an epidemic beyond my control.
In my wise old age, I've come to the conclusion that I want things to be as easy as possible. I want a good, healthy meal cooked in less than 15 minutes. I want to read and book and take a bath instead of participating in some inane political debate that will never even leave my dining room table. I want a maid.
Have I become lazy and/or complacent? Perhaps. It's been over a month since I've last blogged, for Hell's sake. Regardless, I feel more at peace now than I think ever have been before. Maybe Shay's Taoist principles have rubbed off on me. I'll just sit back and let the Universe take the reigns, all I have to do is wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night, while putting minimum effort into the goings on during the day.
If I'm really being honest with myself though, there is this part of me that is taking this peaceful route kicking and screaming. I can feel it start to swell up when I listen to NPR about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. It claws it's way up my throat to try to scream for me when I remember that civil rights are given to everyone except gay people, poor people, and underprivileged areas of the nation. And what about Tyra's pick for America's Next Top Model this season? Atrocious!
Okay, so maybe I do still have the spark. But I'm limiting it to just that. I can't change the world, I can't change humanity, I'm not even sure I can convince my 6 year old that changing his underwear everyday is a good idea. But I will do my best to be a nice and gracious person, master making the perfect pie crust, and promise not to listen to partisan radio talk show hosts.
Sincerely,
h.
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