Author: buildingalifeofhope

My name is Kim. I believe that life always allows us an opportunity for genuine connections with others. I believe in waking up each day, not with dread about what's ahead, but with the idea to expect the unexpected. What a miracle! There was a time in my life that I became voiceless; I lost my sense of self. Now I am learning how to live out loud and appreciate the small blessings (even the ones in disguise!) that my new life has given me. Through this blog, I hope to promote humor, honesty and humility and share the knowledge that no one is ever alone in any struggle that they may face.

How Yoga Saved My Life

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn YogaLeave a comment

 Do you know what it feels to have the light of love surround you when all the darkness falls away?

Dave Matthews

I love yoga. I love the practice. I love the challenge. I love the sense of feeling grounded as soon as I hit my mat. I am so grateful that it has become a part of my daily life-especially when I am not on my mat.

I was having lunch with my graduate school friends about four years ago when the conversation turned to the topic of hot yoga. Two of my friends had gone to a local studio and were sharing their experience with us.  They turned to me and said, “Trackstar, you’ve got to try it! It is right up your alley because it is so intense!”

Unfortunately, my friends could not remember the exact name of the place. They knew the city where it was located, however, so I began my search. Picture the journey: a rainy, cold and dark November evening in an area that was completely unfamiliar to me. I began having second thoughts when much to my surprise, I arrived at an old house. The studio resided in the basement. I gave it a try that night and then another.  Somehow, in spite of the fact that I liked the experience, something about the studio did not feel quite right to me. In a later conversation with another of my graduate school friends, she shared that she knew of another hot yoga studio in a different part of the city. Maybe this was the one my other friends had spoken about!

The minute that I walked through the doors of the studio, it felt as if I was home. Immediately, the place gave off an aura of warmth and welcome.  Something inside of me understood that this community was a place for healing.  Up to that moment, I had been running twice a day in order to alleviate the stress related to the finality of my divorce process. Well, I wasn’t feeling better at all; I knew that I was risking injury with my current regiment.

When I entered the studio doors, I was also coming to grips with my mother’s diagnosis of Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. In essence,  I was a broken person. I had nowhere to put my dual grief. One of the things that I remember from that period was the amount of time I spent at the studio. Essentially, whenever I wasn’t out running, I was there. It became a chief focus: go to work and go to yoga. I am sure that I took care of other mundane tasks; after all my oldest was applying to college and I had to pay bills, take care of the house and put food on the table. But I was drawn to the practice because I knew that is where I needed to go in order to move through my pain.

I have memories of hard work, sweat and tears during that time.  Hot yoga takes you to a different plane; it peels back the layers of toxicity and negativity that invade your psyche. The beauty of the practice is that while space is shared with others-sometimes just inches away-it is profoundly private. I could let go and no one seemed to notice. When my mother died just 70 days after her diagnosis, I sought the solace of my mat.  My time on it became a divine experience and I am not afraid to say that I felt my mother’s spirit during many practices. I was also grieving the loss of an 18 year marriage; I was beginning to understand that the practice was an avenue for me to move forward into a new life.

Time marched on and I found myself talking endlessly about yoga. When finances got tight for a period of time, I practiced twice a day at home. My sons knew how much I loved yoga and conspired that Christmas to buy me 2 classes.   I remember seeing them with their heads together, engaged in deep conversation while we were buying our tree on a cold December night. Apparently, they were discussing my gift! For my birthday in the spring, two more classes were purchased followed by a Mother’s Day excursion to the studio for more. My youngest attempted the drive himself the day before and got lost!

The studio became another supportive community for me. I cannot begin to explain how each of the instructors helped me to become a more whole person. They are gifted people who have the ability to tune into the needs of their clients. They helped me heal and become a more confident woman. I will never forget the day that Elizabeth came up to me after a session to pay me a compliment. She said that I looked different in the practice now from what I was at the beginning. When I shared my story with her, she said that she could easily see that I was happier.

Yoga is an integral part of my life. It helped me become a better, more peaceful person. It helped me to realize that the ending of my marriage was a gift. It helped me to enjoy a healthy loving partnership with a beautiful man.  When I first entered the studio doors, I walked in darkness, now I walk in light.

Namaste

Transitions

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

A lot of people resist transition and therefore never allow themselves to enjoy who they are. Embrace the change, no matter what it is; once you do, you can learn about the new world you’re in and take advantage of it.

~Nikki Giovanni

This morning I woke up and the temperature in my room was a bracing 56 degrees. Despite the forecast of frost for the night before, I was determined not to turn on the heat yet. October 13 seemed too early to cave in to a little bit of chill. I must admit it was slightly uncomfortable, but I knew that I was going to my Saturday hot yoga class within the next hour so I bundled up in my hoodie and made my morning coffee.

Upon returning home a few hours later, I noted that the house temperature had fallen to 53! “Oh gosh, I said to myself; I‘ll just take a hot shower, put the bathroom heat lamp on and then make a decision about turning up the temperature.” Well, dear readers, my decision was made for me when much to my surprise, I was visited by my oldest son’s girlfriend and three of their friends! They noted immediately that the house was cold and, not wanting to be rude, I obliged and turned on the thermostat! (My thanks to Jenn for helping me reprogram the one in the living area).

I suppose some of my resistance to turning on the heat is due to economics and conservation. In reality, however, it is more than that. I know what’s coming! Cold and darkness are just around the corner. Now, do not get me wrong, I love the changes in seasons. I do not mind the cold for the most part. And I love a good snowstorm because I believe it cleanses the air. But short days and long nights are awful.

I have always found the latter part of fall and early winter to be a time of anticipation; a time of waiting for something new to happen. Right now, though, this month is really a time of transition.  We are raking leaves, putting lawn furniture and hoses away, reorganizing the garage so the vehicles can be parked there during the cold and snow. We’ve taken out the window air conditioners, shut off the outside pipes and brought out the fleece blankets.

Yet, as I think about this particular month in this particular year, I am beginning to recognize that we are all going through a transition on a more personal level as well.  (I think that I have always been aware of it too. )  It was something that was simmering in the background of day to day situations for sure. And, as usual in family life, it manifested itself in a conflict. The details are not important; what is important is the fact that my sons and I were able to put into words where we were in our current stage of life and how and why we were feeling that way. My oldest son is a college senior; he is talking about and making plans for his job prospects in the spring. My youngest son returned home full time eight months ago after living (mostly) with his father for his high school years. He is an apprentice tradesman putting in his time working and going to night school in order to further his career. While I work full time, I am also busy carving my own path. I no longer need to raise my kids. I can now pay more attention to my personal and professional life, carving out more time for exercise, creativity and love. When the dust-up was settled, it was clear to all of us that our individual independence was deeply important to us.

The problem is that neither of the boys is financially independent; they need to live here for a period of time. Rents in our area are the same as a monthly mortgage payment- a challenge for any young person who is making a decent living. But how do we live together as adults without one or two of us feeling too much responsibility for the upkeep and organization of this house and yard? How do I balance my need for help with their need for privacy and independence without getting resentful? How do they practice maturity and responsibility when I leave for a weekend or for a longer vacation?

I confess that I-at times- am frustrated, impatient and even angry with the current transitional situation. I had very much gotten used to and enjoyed my own space and routine. But when my youngest needed to come back (he had been spending more and more time here anyway), I could not and would not say no. He is extremely respectful, polite and grateful. He tries his best to help and take care of things. He certainly is responsible for his own laundry (I trained them both nearly eight years ago). He pays for many of his major expenses. He tries to cook. Unfortunately, he has gaps in the practice of balancing work, home and a social life. I daresay that it comes from the “bachelor” lifestyle that his father exemplified while my son was with him. Now we need to make up for lost time without it zapping our energy and negatively affecting our relationship!

My oldest, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He has always been this way, more naturally organized, etc. He also became more keenly aware of the load that I carry with this house when I went away for 15 days this summer (my youngest was cognizant of this too and was completely overwhelmed by the daunting tasks of maintaining a home, grocery shopping and housework!). The older brother’s take charge persona conflicted with the younger brother’s more laid back attitude.

In my conversations with friends and acquaintances alike, I have noticed that all of us are currently undergoing some major shifts in our lives. My youngest son’s girlfriend recently made a significant decision regarding her education. A good friend of mine lost a job she loved and had to move. Her current living situation does not allow for her to spend any private time with her fiancé.  Plus, they have four jobs between them!  Others that I know have gotten new jobs or have recently become re-employed after a two year job search. Some are facing serious health problems with their loved ones and need to make life-altering decisions. A high school senior that I know is learning to advocate for herself in regards to her own health care as well as her future. Good friends are separating after decades together.

As I sit here and I write this today, I pray that I can embrace this transformation. I hope that the shift and the “waiting” will bring all of us enlightenment, continued patience, and a solid future where we can fully be ourselves and remain rock solid as a family.

Unplugged

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Technology5 Comments

It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.  – K.T. Jong

Yesterday I enjoyed a late lunch with my sweet love and another couple at a restaurant that had a strict no cell phone policy. (They also had a child behavior policy, which, in my opinion, was both honest and bold-good for them!) It was the first time that I had seen one specifically spelled out in a place of social interaction. Often, if I attend a meeting, concert, or lecture, an announcement is made regarding electronic device use.  More often, the request is rudely ignored. But not here! The lunch was delicious, the conversation deep and humorous and the only background “noise” was the appealing beat of Cajun music that befit the restaurant’s cuisine.

Up to that moment, I had (coincidentally) been pondering our culture’s “digital addiction” and its effects on our overall ability to communicate, concentrate and socialize with one another without the nearly constant interruption of a ringing cell or a buzzing text message.

Believe me, I am not against any of the newer ways that we can talk, gather information and stay connected to one another. Without advances in technology, I would not be writing this blog!  Moreover, I like my cell phone. It is not a “smartphone”, however; texting and talking are enough for me! I remember when I first got one. I was 42 and had received it as a birthday present. I wanted it for emergencies only. It was the post 911 and lock down era and I thought a phone was necessary. In truth, I was lucky to have it because I got a flat tire on the way home from work just two days later!  One call to AAA and the problem was solved quickly.

I also like the Internet for various reasons. Besides listening to NPR on the radio, it is the only way that I receive world, national and local news. I love reading the newspapers but I do not have it in my budget to pay for delivery. And, for me, most television news has seriously strayed from true journalism and factual reporting. Now, it is nothing but sound bite and crash and burn nonsense interrupted every three minutes by five minutes of advertising.  I enjoy having access to different sites where and when I am ready to read the news of the day without feeling that my intelligence is being insulted. I also love, love, love online banking and bill paying!  I am a better money manager as a result!

Email, of course, is a terrific tool as well. It helps me communicate efficiently with work colleagues and stay in touch with the  people who I socialize with in my hometown and through my volunteer work.

Still, there are inherent problems with staying “plugged in” day and night, seven days a week – now referred to as 24/7. Where do we draw the line?  For each email, text message or voice mail, there is almost an instant obligation and expectation of a response. Whatever happened to the dinner hour, bedtime, or weekends?  Think of the  oxymoron “working vacation”. WHAT? There is no such thing! If you are working, you are not on vacation!

CNN recently reported on “digital addiction” and the interviews provided an interesting insight as to how we function (or not) because of these advances. Reporter Brandon Griggs featured three “smart phone addicts” and how they use their device for nearly everything in their life. He stated that the phones are time capsules of our lives, dominating our work, our social  interactions, our purchases, our travels, our passions and our guilty pleasures. During the course of one week,  one woman reported that she sent 256 emails (part of it was work), 34 updates and comments on Facebook, 18 “likes”  and 93 “reads” of same. She also spent 9 hours of that week surfing the net. Additionally, she played games, checked her bank account and listened to audio books and voice messages. Another young  man reported that he was a “happy addict” but also stated that he could only go a few minutes without checking his text messages. He became anxious, depressed and even began to get sweaty palms if he forgot his phone at home. Without it, he says that he feels cut off from the world.

And never mind the physical health problems that doctors and physical therapists are seeing!  Doctors are now treating “Text Neck” (think of how you hold your head while looking at a screen) in increasing numbers-most especially in teenagers who now (along with 8-12 year olds) spend an average of 7 1/2 hours a day using entertainment media.

I do not consider myself in any way close to being addicted to my phone or the Internet. But it was this summer that I began to understand my need to break free of others’ expectations that I would  be available to answer emails,texts and phone calls regardless of where I was on this earth.  Having gone through a long divorce and an even longer post-divorce process, I was always in a state of digital alert for communication from either my attorney or my former husband.  I wanted and needed to break free from the unhealthy mind-set that had been dominating my existence for the last few years.

My summer vacation to the West Coast was definitely the impetus for this change.  I needed to free myself from the emotional responsibility for every possible scenario that might happen while I was away. So, I set up boundaries. Simply put: Don’t contact me unless it is an absolute emergency! I would not be checking emails, surfing the net, calling or texting.

Frankly, I had grown weary of the distracting factors that I felt were impeding the forward movement in my new life. I was just plain fed up with allowing another person’s agenda to interfere with my peace of mind. By making this decision, I was freeing myself of the idea that I was accountable for everyone else and their needs.

Now, I no longer have that sense of urgency that used to rule my life on a daily basis. I have learned that things have a way of taking care of themselves in their own way and in their own time. Becoming “unplugged” is liberating. Too many people in this world today spend their time looking down, their face basking in the glow of a screen.  We lose our perspective this way. ( Literally, people are not even watching where they are going! )

Unplug yourself so you can plug-in to see what’s in front of you, plug-in to see what’s above, plug-in to just BE.

Fast Food

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

One of the nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is that we are doing and devote our attention to eating- Luciano Pavorotti

I love food. I love to eat it.  I love to cook it.  I love to talk about it. I love feeding my friends and family.  I enjoy going to specialty food stores so I can take in the atmosphere of freshly made  organic food. I love farm stands and bakeries.  I also love shopping at my local grocery store because the prices are just right for my budget. I love trying out locally owned cafés. Their food is a passion and not a process. I do love my Starbucks too; the baristas always make my soy lattes with loyal dedication!

Food is fuel. Food is medicine. Food is a celebration. Food is love. I guess this is why I cannot understand why we as a culture treat food as an afterthought. I often wonder if we have lost the “taste” for a calm repast. I have observed people shoving food into their bodies while driving or sitting in the car. Or even standing in line! No one seems to take the time to sit and enjoy something tasty and nourishing.  And it also seems that the preparation of food is a stressful inconvenience.

I guess this has become a part of 21st century American living, hasn’t it?  Have we lost the desire to take care of ourselves by not eating healthy snacks or preparing nutritious meals?  Why are we not allowing ourselves the time to digest a wondrous and delicious delight?  How do we feed ourselves and loved ones without breaking the bank or feeling resentful because the responsibility for meal planning is not a team effort?

Too many of us lead ridiculously busy lives that are jammed packed with “must-do” activities for our children and ourselves.  Work schedules and end of the day fatigue interfere with timely and thoughtful preparation for dinners. By then “primal hunger” has kicked in and, there we are, eating out of a bag or box while we either wait for dinner to finish cooking or the take out to be delivered!

I surely have been guilty of this myself.  Just recently, I had to eat “on the run” because my evening was filled with appointments and meetings.  And a mere two nights ago, I grabbed a wrap at a sub shop with my son so we would be on time to see a lecture by a favorite author. Now, let me tell you, both meals were delicious! The former was a turkey, bacon (oh gosh, so bad!)  and avocado whole wheat sandwich from Whole Foods.  And the second was a hot pastrami sandwich. I haven’t had the latter since 1985! It was a shame, though,  that I did not take the time to sit for a bit and enjoy the whole experience.

Feeding ourselves, friends and family needs to be a holy act- a communion.  I have warm memories of my friends inviting me for dinner at times when I was too emotionally impacted to feed myself. My spirit was fed as well as my stomach. Believe it or not, today I am feeding people at three different times for three different reasons.  This morning I got a phone call from my oldest son saying that he was in an accident.  He was a passenger in a car that was traveling on a highway. Despite the fact that the car spun around 180 degrees, it managed to hit the guardrail in the breakdown lane without involving other vehicles and without any injuries!  I quickly went to pick him up, bring him home and provide a bit of sustenance to him, his girlfriend and their friend.  My youngest son’s work as an apprentice plumber is physical labor. This week he worked long hours plus an extra day today. When he called to say he was on his way home and hungry, a warm meal was waiting for him. Tonight, a dear friend will be having dinner with me. I love to cook for her!  She spent three decades cooking for her large family and misses those times with her sons.  She and I will enjoy the company of one another while having a home cooked meal and a glass of wine.

I hope dear readers that you too will continue to partake in the joys of your next meal. Eat Well. Love Well. And Be Well.

Moving from “WE” to “I”

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Independent Woman2 Comments

There you go baby, here am I. You go your way baby and I’ll go mine.
Now and forever ’til the end of time.

It Doesn’t Matter Anymore~ Paul Anka

“When do you stop saying we?” my friend said to me late this summer while we were having dinner. She, like me, had been in a long term marriage with children-although she had been married for 30 years and had twice as many children as I. Essentially, she had spent half her life as one part of a unit.  She was expressing quite cogently what many of us no longer marrieds had felt at one time or another.

When at first your commitment dismantles, you feel a wide variety of emotions. The breaking apart of the “we” is at once nauseating, excruciating and outrageously surreal. Sometimes you get lost in the reverie of various scenes from your marriage that remind you that at one time you and this other person made a life together. Then, once you begin to accept that it is over, you move from loving the “we” to loving the idea of “we”.

I think that this is the part where many of us struggle the most because we live in a world of enforced coupledom. I remember the separation as a time of profound pain and grief. Yet, the first question people asked me was “Have you met someone yet?” Or, “Are you dating anyone?” I wanted to scream! As much as I knew that this person and I could no longer be together, I still longed for my family unit. Outwardly, it had the appearance of happiness and stability and success. So, no, I am not seeing anyone!

Then, of course, if you are not dating yet but your not quite ex-spouse is, you really feel like a loser. It is the ultimate in rejection once you find out that he or she has quickly moved on to another “we”.

But enough of that nonsense!  “We” can be vastly overrated. Especially when the “I” gets lost in the translation. I am absolutely certain that this happened to me over the course of my marriage. I came to believe (and still do) that as long as I was a mirror reflection of my spouse, then everything was fine. I could not ask or do anything for myself or even express myself. So, while the ending of my marriage was at first a failure to me, I began to understand that the best part of myself was about to be reborn.

In lots of ways, I had it easy. I had great a support network- girlfriends, family, my faith community, therapy. I had a terrific and rewarding job. I was in graduate school where I could hone my intellectual skills. It was in the latter that I realized once again how smart I was! Not only had I buried my emotional needs during the last part of my marriage, but I had stowed away all of my intelligence as well. My enthusiasm and energy in graduate school were legendary. I know that it was there that I began shedding the layers of the person I had become. My graduate friends were witnessing all of it and I hope that they found it enlightening and entertaining!

In other ways, though, it was quite lonely. The door had been shut on my old life. I could see the door of my new life at the other end.  But the journey back to myself was like a walk down a long, dark hallway. When graduate school was over, I spent a lot of time alone. My oldest was now in college and my youngest was spending more time with his father. Sunday afternoons were the worst. I had neither the means nor the wherewithal for the middle-aged (jeesh!) bar scene. Hey, I had had a very wild youth anyway. No need to go there again!

But being alone and at times even lonely is a good thing. You are forced to sit with yourself. The time you take to just be without the distractions of dating, drinking and drowning your sorrows in unhealthy choices is really a holy experience. I remember really figuring out what I wanted for the rest of my life AND what I didn’t want.

Then a wonderful man arrived in my life via my late mother. When we first met, I was not sure that I wanted to be in any relationship. When we corresponded and talked on the phone, I still wasn’t sure. I did like him, though. When he visited me for the first time, we spent 11 hours together talking about everything. Then I gave him my “take it or leave it” speech. He called four days later and asked if he could see me again, stating that it was the most honest conversation that he ever had with a woman. I was hooked!

So here “we” are and here “I” am too. Though we live far from each other, we both agree that we like it this way (well,mostly! ) for the time being. I like my space. I like recreating my own life here. But I also like knowing that we are both equally committed to the relationship. I am still amazed and astounded by the level of loving respect, encouragement and support that I receive from him. For me, this is the essence of intimacy. We both get to be “we” and “I” equally. I get to breathe, filling the space between so every little piece of me is seen.*

Thanks to the song, “Breathe” by Michelle Branch*

Happy Birthday, Dad!

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Uncategorized5 Comments

Running is the greatest metaphor for life because you get out of it what you put into it-

Oprah Winfrey

Today my dad turns 77 and I can think of no better present than to dedicate this post to him. My father is a man of pure honesty and forthright integrity. He serves as the perfect male role model for my sons and is a beloved member of his community. As I said before, he was and always will be my best running coach. I have written a poem in two voices for him to honor his special day.  The bold words are my father’s voice and the italicized are mine.

Father and Daughter Stride by Stride

I remember putting on my first pair of running shoes at thirty-two and wondering, can I do this?

I remember you wearing a pair of beige Bermuda shorts and a white t-shirt and not looking like a runner at all, but pounding the pavement and sweating because you were working so hard

I remember feeling transformed, feeling fit, becoming more self-sufficient and confident

You were an inspiration to our family as we watched you become a better person; you were enthusiastic and charismatic

I could not have done it, however, without the support of you and most especially your mother; she was my #1 cheering section

My childhood memories are wrapped up in a large circle of friends gathering at our house for a run, some fun, and lots of delicious food and mom yelling “Come on Bennie!”

Do you remember me waking you up on those early Sunday mornings for long runs?

UGH! You used to turn on the bedroom light to wake me up! The light was as bright as a spotlight at 6 am!

But wasn’t it worth it just a little?

Well, we sure met a lot of people with a zest for life. I know that we were glad to be running with you most of the time even though we were teenagers!  I think all of us never stopped talking to each other on those long runs. We certainly laughed a lot too.

Do you remember the different places that we traveled?

The hikes in the mountains of New England were especially memorable-Mt. Washington in the cold, pouring rain and fog; Twin Mountain at the peak of fall foliage with those bright colors; crossing rivers, trying not to slip on those big, wet rocks.

Today, Kimgirl, it gives me a tremendous thrill to lace up my shoes at seventy-seven to run many miles and discuss all kinds of topics with my children and grandchildren

That makes two of us Dad

The Love Jar

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Family4 Comments

Where there is great love there are always miracles –

Willa Cather

The LOVE JAR. Well, that’s what we call it, anyway. The blue and gray pottery jar with the cork lid sits on the counter near the dishwasher. “Unconditional Love” is engraved across the front. We’ve had that jar for seven years now and it has been incorporated into our family’s language. It was given to us when life as we knew it blew up. Julia’s gift brought me immediate inspiration and became a vehicle for the three of us to experience joy and laughter. When I brought it home to the boys, I told them that the jar would be a means for us to make good memories. Then we came up with an astounding idea:  “Let’s go to New York City!”  So, we devised a plan to put away as much money as possible into our “LOVE JAR”.  Both boys immediately broke open their over-sized piggy banks and poured their change into the jar. I emptied my wallet of loose coins and spare one dollar bills. My oldest son, (who worked at an after school job at the local grocery store) volunteered to contribute a portion of his paycheck to it. My youngest son agreed that anytime he received money as a gift, he would put it in the jar. Spare change from each grocery store excursion was added. We even began to find money on the ground-some in major denominations!  When we told friends about our trip to the Big Apple, they would drop money in the jar whenever they visited.

The jar was magical! When I called my aunt to ask if we could stay with her for four days (she lives in the vicinity), she said that she would be thrilled to have us. We were relieved to know that we would be staying in a safe place with someone who knew and loved us. The trip was to take place right after Christmas- just in time for the school winter break.  And we were ready! We met our savings goal and off we went.

It is difficult to put into words how it felt to be in the warm embrace of my aunt’s hospitality and generosity. Not only were we fed and sleeping in warm beds, but my aunt drove us each day to the train station and presented the three of us with rail passes for the duration. When we went into the city one last time, she handed me cash and told me that I’d better not come home with any change!  The trip was the first of our many happy new memories that we were making during that time. And it would not have been possible if not for Julia’s thoughtfulness.

Needless to say, we came home from the trip with money to spare. It resided in the LOVE JAR where it continued to be depleted and replenished over time. The jar has become a reliable resource for us. We took a second trip to the city six months later, seeing new sights and enjoying warmer weather. It helped us enjoy our “Celebration of Three” party that spring. Part of our recent weekend trip to the mountains was funded by the jar. Sometimes we use it to buy something as simple as a stamp, a gallon of milk, or a loaf of bread. To this day, friends still put money in whenever they visit.

The LOVE JAR is my family’s miracle. It was a way for the three of us to begin to heal from one of  life’s worst heartaches and become a whole family in a different way.  We take care of each other. We rely on each other. We hold one another up. We love one another unconditionally. The LOVE JAR has restored our faith in the meaning of and power in family. THANK YOU JULIA!

My Running Marriage

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Running4 Comments

I always loved running…
it was something you could do by yourself,
and under your own power.
You could go in any direction,
fast or slow as you wanted,
fighting the wind if you felt like it,
seeking out new sights
just on the strength of your feet
and the courage of your lungs.
-Jesse Owens

Well, I cannot say that I have always loved running.  After all, I have been involved with the sport on various levels for forty years. And like all committed relationships, we have had our ups and downs. Because I started running when I was just eleven years old, I really didn’t know what I was getting into-much like a very young bride!  My father was  a very enthusiastic runner of five years when he encouraged my brother and I to enter the sport. I  think that he saw the positive opportunities that running had offered him and wanted the same for us. Also, the early seventies was an especially heady time for young girls and women to participate in races. The support for us was very strong despite the infamous photograph of  Jock Semple’s attempt to pull Kathryn Switzer from the Boston Marathon!

I suppose you could call the beginning phase of my running marriage the “honeymoon period.” At the time, I ran with lots of boys as there were no girl teams during my preteen years. The playing field was equal because many of us were first time runners. There was only one other girl (that I recall) who joined the group and we became fast friends. We ran together every day and the two of us would go on to join future teams as we approached our high school years. In fact, the very first running club that we joined had its own women’s team. I remember being amazed at the ages of some of the women on the team- could women over 30 or even 40 really run?  Weren’t they too old? I believe that these women were the true pioneers of the sport, having entered it later in life as  wives and mothers. Women whose own generation had little or no access to organized sports as young girls.

My teenage years were by far the most intense running period, no doubt. This is just like the first few years of a marriage, really. The honeymoon is over and it becomes time to settle in and get serious. So, I ran every day, logging in 50-70 miles per week  and participating on two teams-one at my high school and one AAU women’s team. (By then,My friend and I had gone on to join a nationally ranked women’s cross country and track and field team.) Also, about half way through high school, our town had finally allowed a separate girls team to participate in league meets. Running on both teams was exceptional-each had a unique running culture. By the time the high school team was formed, I had already gained a reputation as a serious runner, both for running with the boys and also for the fact that I completed a marathon at 14 years old!  Much was expected of me in terms of performance and leadership skills. Also, I had to get used to a different coach as my dad was (and always will be) my first and best coach.

The AAU team was a different entity altogether. There was a core group of girls who were the elite runners. They were highly talented and able to compete and consistently win on the regional and national level. (Eventually the international level as well- one of them won the first women’s Olympic Marathon). It was a privilege to be a part of the team as it allowed for opportunities to travel all over the Northeast region with a van full of like-minded girls and their very dedicated coach.  These were the days before walkmans and ipods so we would often blast music on the van’s radio; we listened to Bruce Springsteen (Born to Run), Queen and other big rock groups from that era. It was a thrill to travel to New York City and compete in the country’s first Bonne Bell 10k in Central Park. Women and girls were IT- Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” was playing loud and proud before the gun went off.  As a result of running with the team, I became a better runner because I was  running with faster women. My hard work paid off and, at 16, I was able to go with the team  to the nationals in California. Eventually, my efforts caught the eye of a college coach as well. Because I was a scholarly student as well as a devoted runner, I was given the chance to apply and subsequently be accepted to an excellent university.

And that’s when things began to shift for me. Sure, I went off to college and joined the requisite team, going to practices, running in races, eating and socializing only with runners. But it started to feel old and stale and repetitive. I was hopelessly distracted by a boy ( a runner like me, but a senior with a reputation as a bad boy) and frankly, I wanted to party on a Friday night and not get up early for practice or a race! By the time I was a sophomore, I was done competing- burned out and physically a mess. All the mileage I had put in as developing teenager had resulted in a painful, degenerative disk in my back. Looking back, as much as it spiritually pained me to leave the sport, I knew that I needed a break.

I suppose you can liken this period to a major transformation in a marriage (illness or the addition of children, for example). How do relate to one another as a result of this major alteration? At first, it was simple: very little exercise as I explored other avenues of interests and friends. Then upon graduation, I cycled a bit and walked everywhere. Still, the nagging back issue persisted to the point where I literally could not move. I have a vivid memory of trying to board a bus so I could go vote and being unable to step up. I was just 23 years old and felt 90!  Luckily, a chiropractor lived in my neighborhood and with his help, I began a very long journey to healing.

Essentially, my twenties came and went without any attention to running at all. I kept in shape by walking, riding a stationary bike and doing occasional weight lifting.  I got married and by the time I was 32, I had given birth to two babies. My back held up during the two pregnancies and subsequent births of two very big boys ( especially #2!!) Plus, I was doing aerobics regularly and pushing a carriage everywhere I went. It was at this point that my then husband encouraged me to start running again.  Coincidentally, this was the same age that my father began his running career! So, I gave it a shot- at first doing the walk/run thing and then eventually working up to Saturday morning runs with other busy moms.

My thirties were certainly the “comeback” period of running for me. I felt a renewed sense of commitment but on different terms than before. I was a grown woman who was able to make her own decisions about where, when and how far she wanted to run. Running was a choice and not the chore that it had become nearly a decade earlier. Eventually, at 38, I competed in a half-marathon. During the training, I never felt lonely and, in truth, felt a great sense of freedom and renewal during those times. I also spent time running with my father again. It was a terrific- we were both adults and our runs were filled with long conversations. I fell in love with running again!

By the time I reached 40, I was learning to balance running with the other parts of my life. When I had the opportunity to return to work full time, carving out a running schedule was a priority. My dedication to the sport was unyielding. I arose before dawn and would run despite the cold and darkness. I learned to be alert for wildlife and was awed each morning watching the sun rise as I finished the last mile. I was not the competitor that I was once was-only entering races sporadically throughout the year. Instead, running took on a different face-becoming my solace, stress reliever and saving grace.

Running in many ways was like taking medication. When my husband wanted a divorce when I was 46, running kept me steady and sane (or as sane as one could be during that upheaval!). I was also in graduate school, working and raising teenage boys at the time. Running cleared my head, organized my thoughts and made me more productive. By the time my forties ended, I had successfully completed graduate school (4.0!), gone through the divorce process, fell in love again and trained for and competed in a half-marathon!

So here I am, happily in my early fifties having caught the half-marathon bug.  The training schedule is not grueling and the race distance is just right for me.  I try to enter two races per year if I can. One of the best parts of the preparation is knowing that I will be running with the man I love. Our connection with one another has helped me to continuously strengthen my commitment to the sport. It is a heart warming feeling knowing that another person is there to support and guide you through the good days and bad days. He helps me keep it real-pushing me when I need it and helping me back off -especially when I am injured.

One thing that I have learned in this long term marriage is the value of patience. Too many times when I was young, I didn’t allow myself to think about what I was doing during races or practices. My body was in the game but not my head.
I didn’t think about how I was feeling and then when I did, I wanted to run from it.  I was tired of the effort. How many of you go through similar feelings in relationships? It is easy to throw in the towel and go on to something else. I think what I was experiencing during that time was a need for a separation. As I said earlier, it hurt me emotionally to leave. But the break was necessary in order for me to begin my journey back. It was the first step in learning to be patient with myself and with the sport. I needed to come back on my own terms in order to create a deeper and lasting relationship. Also, it is  a relationship that allows for balance. Now I supplement running with hot yoga and three days of strength training.  They enhance my practice and at times substitute for it.

Any healthy relationship is one in which you use your heart and your head. Runners do not always use the latter (or else they let it get in the way but it is the same idea). We suffer from a burning desire to move; we want to see how far our legs and feet will take us. As long as we are not running from something it’s okay. Run to please yourself. Run because you find joy in the going. Run with others. Then you’ll know that your heart is in the right place!

Where’s My Space?

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Independent WomanLeave a comment

“Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed, so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must  harness itself to pens and brushes and business and politics.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

The other night I was listening to one of my favorite Pandora Radio stations when an advertisement broke in for an apartment rental search company. The selling point for the ad was that a couple’s search for an apartment together was successful because it had a “man cave for him and plenty of closet space for her.”  I had to stop what I was doing because of its two implied messages. Women need closet space? Men need a “cave”  in order to retreat from their partners and/or children? The ad reeks of sexism and notions of a privileged class. It assumes that women have an overabundance of clothes and shoes and need substantial storage for them, and only men are entitled to an extra room just for themselves.

I don’t know about you, but I have one closet that houses all of my clothes and shoes for every season. When I was married, I shared that closet only by storing my out- of- season clothes in a makeshift hanging area in the basement.  That very same area also housed the family’s cold/wet weather gear. (My home has no closet space on the first floor so when colder weather does arrive, we hang our coats in the mudroom.)  All of my other clothing items are stored in a dresser or in a plastic container under the bed. I believe that this is quite efficient, practical and frugal considering the fact that I am a runner and yogi in a four season climate. Would closet space be a possible selling point for me if I moved to a new home? Sure!  But not because I am a female in search of wardrobe storage!  Seriously, 3 closets for 3 people ( 2 are male) is quite a tight arrangement.

The need for a man cave is a 21st century idea born of the sexist belief that women control all household matters-cooking, cleaning and decorating- and enjoy those responsibilities. Hence, because men now must also be more “sensitive”, it has resulted in their emasculation. They need a space to freely express themselves. Further, this concept presumes that all men are alike-they yearn for a place to hang their deer heads, NASCAR posters and read pornography. It has become so commonplace globally that Ikea opened a store in Melbourne, Australia with a “manland”.  The space was created so that men who didn’t  want to join their partners in shopping could have a place to relax and enjoy themselves in a “manly way”.  There are now man cave websites dedicated to decorating ideas and contests for the best caves, among other things.

The truth is that they are few of us in this world who have the square footage to enjoy a room of our own. Heck, I write this blog from my kitchen table because my desk shares space with the living area!  If someone is watching TV or the boys have company, the only other choice is my bed. And besides, the kitchen table is less crowded than my desk is! Additionally, my yoga mat is on the rug in front of the desk and my strength training equipment shares space with my washing machine, furnace and other basement storage items. We are squeezed but it seems to work.

For most of us living communally is an economic reality- we need help with the rent or mortgage. For others it is a lifestyle choice: marriage, children or one half of a couple. I think the trick is to find a way to have your creative “space” and share it within this realm. Didn’t we learn this in Kindergarten?

I have no doubt that I aspire to a clean and orderly home that is decorated as an aesthetic expression of my life and identity. However, this is not because I am female!  I am the homeowner; I have pride of place just like everyone else.

Truthfully, I have never given a thought to designing a room of my own. Maybe I need to engage in some fantastical thinking. And so do you! When my dream space is complete, I’ll share it with you and invite you to do the same.

Enjoy the reverie!

Renovation, Reclamation, Rebirth

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I give this to take with you. Nothing remains as it was. If you know this you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.

                                                                                      -Judith Minty

I love where I live.  It has taken me at least  two decades to come to this realization and I am glad that it is not too late. I awaken each morning to the quiet of the day and  am guaranteed an encounter with some form of wildlife as I head out for my early morning run.  When I wake up, I love to look out my bedroom window at my vast backyard that bends towards the deep, deep woods. I often will dash outside to see the sunrise and to get a “feel” for the day.

The kitchen sink window is by far a favorite feature of mine. I call it my “perch” for a few reasons. It allowed me to observe my sons playing when they were little and to also keep a close eye on the fire pit antics during their teenage years. It’s a great place to view fireflies in the summer, wild lightning storms during hot, humid days and windy blizzards in the winter. I especially appreciate the refreshing breeze that comes in even on the hottest days of the year.

My appreciation has deepened recently and for reasons that would appear to be paradoxical.  This summer I engaged in my first independent home improvement project!  Usually, home repairs are nothing if not a pain in the neck. At times- in fact, I am having one right now- it is an emergency plumbing situation that leaves you no choice but to buck up and take care of it. This is when I dislike owning a home for sure.

The toughest part of deciding on a renovation is the fiscal investment. For me, money is always tight, tight, tight; I have no second income as back up. Like everyone else, I have the mortgage and college educational expenses that eat up a good chunk of my salary.  As a result, it has taken me years to finally bite the bullet and get something done.  In many ways, I believe that my decision was based on faith alone!

The other piece that makes a renovation difficult is deciding on whom to hire. As a single woman, I fear getting ripped off because of my gender as well as my lack of knowledge. I spent a good amount of time asking around before I decided to hire my handyman.

Anyway, I finally made the decision to repair my decrepit mudroom. The floor was in tough structural shape after it had suffered what was probably years of water damage. Only an expert could fix it. Once I knew that my room was on solid ground, I began the process of picking out paint and flooring. This, my friends, was the best part! Colors, that in the past, I would never I have chosen adorn the walls and floor. It looks so good that I want to sleep in it!  When you enter my home, you immediately get a feeling of comfort, warmth and welcome.

The mudroom is at the back of the house and serves as its main entry. Since we had limited access to it for a bit, the boys had to enter through the front. My old home has a farmer’s porch that is severely underused as it was a reminder of a time when I very sad. I would go there to cry.  When the crying was done, I avoided the porch as much as possible. One day my youngest son called to me, saying, “Hey, we should really clean this up and paint that ceiling white!”
We set to work and in less than a week, the porch is well on its way to renewal. When I sat down during a break from excavating  the moss and mildew, I began to feel a sense of peace and a clearing away of all the sorrow that I had once felt.

So despite the current plumbing glitch, I remain solid in my continued commitment to this place and space . I look forward to the  darkness of this humid night, watching the bats fly about in search of their nightly feast and  falling asleep to the hum of the crickets.