Tag: Family

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

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.

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!

Sweet Cravings

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn humor5 Comments

Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.

-Erma Bombeck

Anyone that knows me well understands my adoration for dessert. Not a day goes by when I do not plan for or have on hand something that is delightfully sweet. In fact, there have only been a few times in my life that I have gone without it. Childbirth and the stomach flu come to mind.

My love for what I call my “fourth meal” of the day is rooted in my childhood. My father’s father was a baker during the Depression and he would regularly provide to his large brood the day old cakes, etc that did not sell. So, upon marrying my dad, my mom provided him with various confections as well.  The treats were not necessarily fancy either. I think it was just the idea that we could have dessert if we cleaned our plates that may have gotten my brother and I hooked.

When I think of dessert from that era, the following foods come to mind:

Chocolate pudding (stirred on the stove)

Jello 1-2-3 ( I would eat the bottom first because the top was my favorite part)

Jello with Cool Whip (now I hate the stuff!)

Pistachio Cake ( made from boxed yellow cake mix with Jello pistachio pudding mix- it was  green!)

Wowie Cake ( THE birthday cake in our house-chocolate sheet cake made without eggs or milk)

Gingerbread Cake ( warm with whip cream on a cold winter’s night)

My mom’s apple pie (the best)

The first memory that I have from my childhood actually involves dessert. I was four years old when the Blackout of 1965 happened. I clearly remember watching the Art Linkletter Show (holding my ubiquitous yellow blanket) when suddenly everything went dark. I ran into the kitchen sans blanket, to find my mother. She had just made butterscotch pudding. Of course, I was very frightened, and in my haste, I  left the blanket by the television. Then I became more distraught of course. Well, mom got a flashlight and candles and we quickly retrieved my blanket. Something about losing the power that night had the three of us ( my dad was away on a business trip and knew nothing of the situation) understand that we would be without electricity for long time.  So, to make it fun, my mom set up the kitchen table with candles and dessert for us. Well,being the Nervous Nellie that I was, I could not eat it ( Oh, I guess this is another rare time that I missed out! ). My brother, who appeared to take the whole thing in stride, quickly scoffed my share down. I really don’t eat butterscotch pudding anymore either…

My desire for dessert can sometimes be extreme.  I recall a time when my then husband, 14 month old son and I were staying in a hotel. We had arrived late in the evening;  in time to put our toddler to sleep. In order to accomplish the task, we dimmed the lights and took up temporary residence in the  bathroom with a  plan to emerge when he was asleep. Well, of course, I still needed dessert so I sent my husband on a mission to come back with something sweet.  It was a success! I have a warm memory of the two of us sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink enjoying Drake’s Coffee Cakes!

There were many years that my only dessert was ice cream-regardless of the season. I love the coldness and smooth texture of this delight- but I am picky about brands ( I will not name the two that I refuse to eat).  Believe it or not, I used to always use the excuse that it was a good source of calcium! Although I still enjoy it, I have significantly less of it nowadays. But  then again,  tonight I will be having Newman’s Ginger-O’s with a bit of french vanilla-the best flavor accompaniment.

My dessert list today is very different from that of my young life.  Here’s a list of favorites:

Chocolate ( no surprise)

Key Lime Pie ( the real deal only)

Chocolate Cream Pie (also must be authentic)

Brownies (sometimes with ice cream but never with nuts)

Cupcakes (Trader Joe’s french vanilla with homemade frosting-yum!)

Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies (they never last long!)

The only rule that I have regarding dessert is that it must be eaten after supper. Dessert is my reward after I have put in a long hard-working day, done my exercising  and eaten very well. There is also something sacred about ending the day on a sweet note.

So I say this to you: Carpe Diem! Grab a cookie or two -one in each hand for balance- exhale, smile and enjoy!

What is Your Cultural Groove?

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn FamilyLeave a comment

Upon first glance, working class suburbia would seem a place devoid of an authentic culture.  After all, my childhood hometown was, and continues to be, a place that is overwhelming white, filled with small ranch houses, older capes, and a main thoroughfare that is packed with strip malls and small office buildings. However, if I were to define my culture based on this shallow exterior, I would be doing it an injustice.

Both my parents grew up in two different small cities just outside of a larger city in the Northeast. Like all young couples that married in the late 1950’s, they were drawn toward dreams of homeowner-ship. Within seven months of my birth, they left their small apartment behind and moved to the town that my brother and I were to grow up in.

I have come to realize over the years- through stories that my mother told me and through example-the great sacrifices that my folks made in order to offer us a better life. Early on, my father needed to work two full-time jobs so that he  could support his family. Back then, of course, it was nearly unheard of that women worked outside the home once the children were born.  But for many working class households, it was an absolute necessity to have a second income. Frankly, I have always wondered why this past phenomenon isn’t  part of a larger public discussion today. These days we always talk about the need for both parents to work. In my day (gosh don’t I sound old!),  the money was needed for food and the  mortgage for the small ranch house- not for lavish vacations and other material items. Please don’t get me wrong- I know that the need for two incomes just to feed your family still exists today.  But I also see the pursuit of more tangible things in my generation- a great shift in the overall culture to be sure.

But I digress. The better life that  I am speaking of included endless times of running around in the woods with the neighborhood kids, swimming in the pool and long bike rides to lakes and the coast. And along with the traditional culture of 1960’s and 70’s suburban childhood, came a more subtle change-one that broadened my family’s horizons. Since the work my father did was closely associated with a university and since he also was becoming a dedicated runner, our family crossed paths with people from all generations and ethnic backgrounds who enjoyed the sport as well. Our home became a haven for hungry graduate students and other idealistic youth as well as people old enough to be my parents’ parents! Because my brother and I met so many different kinds of people, we learned compassion for, and an understanding of, others who existed beyond the borders of our little town.

These changes set the stage for  a newer definition of culture and its accompanying values for my family as well as myself.

So, as I was growing up, running became our focus for family time as well as our social network.  It was especially  exciting to be a female runner in those days! Women were just beginning to become more visible in the sport and I can say for certain that running gave me strong self-confidence and leadership skills in other areas of my life.  Moreover, I witnessed my father sacrifice his own running career in order to provide increased opportunities for my brother and I. Additionally, both my parents helped to support various youth in the neighborhood and town in their running endeavors.

My parents taught me that culture is not just about your ethnic heritage and where you live but how you live.

Therein lies the “groove”!

Certainly, too much of the 21st century’s “busy and distracted” and selfish culture creeps into our lives today and attempts to throw us off track. But even if it has, it doesn’t mean that we’ve lost our groove! Sometimes it just gets put in a pile of someone else’s agenda for a while.

The trick is that you have to learn to create a way of life that fits you and those you love. It means staying grounded and resolute in that idea. What is it that you value? How do you want to live your life?

When I think of how I grew up, it can be summed up in two words: Building Relationships. Now, I cannot say the my life thus far is an exact replica of my parents’ . That is impossible.  I can only  say for sure that I wanted that life and tried darn hard to bring in some of the same experiences. In truth, it has only been in the last five years that I can say my life fits into this mold. And guess what?  It came from letting go of all that I had known in my adult life.  The life that I once lived was shallow and not what it appeared to be.  I had a hand in making sure that it looked perfect because I was too afraid to face the fact that I thought I had been a failure.

But good gosh! It wasn’t failure; I had lost my groove. I wanted it back- not just for myself but for my kids. They deserved to enjoy a legacy where they had an opportunity to understand that life is about relationships with others. They needed to know that Community-, whether it is a faith-based, family-based ( in any incarnation), school- based, town- based, athletically- based (or all of the above)- was where it’s at.

Sometimes finding your cultural groove means risking the end of relationships that are detrimental to how you want to live. If it is harming you, then it will harm those you love in the long run ( no pun intended). Pick it out of that pile and make it your own again my friend!

I have come to understand that you have to ride the rough waves at times -and for a lot longer than you want to- in order to find that spot on the shore that allows you to live more honestly and freely.

And yes, it is absolutely worth it.  I guess you could say that I’ve reclaimed my spot on the beach. Boy,  it feels good to sink my feet in the sand!