2015--An analogy.

Last winter, my extended family and I took a trip to Mexico. My husband is not a "beach sitter" like his wife. I could waste a week on a chair, in the sun under a palapa, drinking icy drinks and reading. This man needs adventure. 

We decided that we would spend an "adventure" day--zip lining. Sounded like a good idea-the kids were excited, Mr. was thrilled, and Grandma + Grandpa agreed. 

We arrived at the park, waited in line to get harnessed up, and were given direction to choose course A or course B. We chose Course A and skipped off to get our adrenaline rush for the day. 

The thing about zip lines, that I must've temporarily blocked out, is that they are really high up in the air and this little harness and a steel cable are all that prevented us from plummeting to our death. I don't like risk or heights. Why would I ever agree to this?

We started the climb to the first tower, a spiral staircase millions of miles (or so it felt) up in the air. With each wind of the steps, I heard that voice in my head. The one shouting, "ABORT. ABORT. Turn around NOW. No. NO.NO." (My palms are sweating even now re-telling this story.) 

We continued to wind our way up--the voices still shouting and me, practicing taking deep breaths. We made it to the entrance of the tower. We had to get in line. (Which allowed additional time to think about what I was about to do AND the ability to watch others take their turn.) 

I lost it. The moment I realized I had to step out onto a platform beyond the walls where I was currently standing, with nothing in between me and the Mexican air. There was a half a second of time where you remained untethered and outside the safety of a barrier wall standing at an angle with wet shoes. Lord God help me, I cannot do this. 

I took one look at my husband, and started sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm turning around, I'll meet you at the bottom." "I can't do this." He started to giggle and told me, "You'll be ok." I insisted I wasn't ok. (Meanwhile, everyone in line is staring at me wondering what my problem is. A few random strangers even offered their advice. "You're going to love it. You'll be ok.")

Still convinced that these were my last minutes on earth, and with my children ahead of me in line looking so excited to be here, I focused on watching their expressions when it was their turn to go.  

Be brave. You can do this. I was going to show this family of mine, that I wasn't the "fun killer" they often accuse me of. Shaking in my boots, I stepped over the wall. (Every expletive was screeching in my head and repeating itself over and over again.) The tower guard stopped the voices when he said, "Sit down and enjoy your ride". I sat, and he gave me a little push off the platform.

I looked out above the trees into the sunny Mexican sky, smoothly sailing down this steel cord, and thought to myself. I was terrified of this? I lived. Enjoyed it. and proceeded to do Courses A and B. 

This is me: Tower 3. 

Smiling. With the ability to say, " I did this. I survived. I kicked Fear that day."

This is how I want to feel in 2015. Brave. Fear cannot be the excuse.

I can't remember the movie I was watching, but this story and this quote is a good reminder for this year. 

"Danger is very real. But fear, is a choice." 

(Here's the movie clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4xXrREkmvQ

Happy New Year!

 

What if you changed your perspective?

In what I like to call my "big girl life", I work for a large food company. I spend a lot of time sitting in meetings learning about macro trends in the world. The economics of the average family and how much (or little) they have to spend on groceries.

Our office building is smack dab in the middle of a major city. Walking down the street, I am often stung by the irony of corporate executives stepping out of the way for the legless, homeless man to navigate the city sidewalks in his duct taped wheelchair.

The homeless lady who yells obscenities at the wind.

The trumpet guy with his dirty instrument case, entertaining the more financially fortunate on their lunch breaks for an hourly wage of $3.18-all in change.

How does this happen?

All I know is that when I think about changing my life, I know this. I like a warm bed in my cozy house, a shower whenever I want, medical insurance, a foofoo cup of coffee every now and then and not worrying if I spend more than $1.38 per person per day to feed my family. I know, my chaos is someone else's heaven. #getoveryourself

Every "big girl" career decision I've ever made has been mostly about the salary. In my twisted thought process; the larger the salary, the less I have to worry. (Which for the record, I'm fantastic at.)

I often justify this head job by thinking; your kids can go to college, they can get new shoes when they need them, you don't have to wait until the next paycheck, they can join obnoxiously expensive show choir, they can go to camp.

By doing this job and trading my life hours for a paycheck, we turn can'ts into cans. I can give them opportunity, knowledge, experience and choices. 

That's a lot of power and responsibility given to a j-o-b.

So you can understand how the thought of wanting to quit isn't just about the job.

If I quit, they suffer. I worry. We become the statistics. I become the wind yeller.

Only, what if we don't?
 

http://youtu.be/je3rQevW-cw

 

 

The last 6 weeks..

A whirlwind. Somewhere between April and now, I've realized that a.) I haven't posted here in like forever and b.) I've turned 40. 

40 is supposed to be a big deal but if truth be told, I feel like a surer version of 22 year old me. Only 22 me didn't have these random chin hairs....and 22 me didn't google "brain food" because I can't spit out a coherent sentence. (Btw, Celery, blueberries, & almonds).

My sabbatical went way too fast...I'm not even sure that I got in the groove until week 3. I'm back at work these days determined to just breathe and trust that my life dots are connecting.(easier said then done.)

In the meantime, I'll just keep doing what I do. 

An art-y pictorial recap of the last 6 weeks..

Me. As a fox.  On a Monday.

Wall art week.

Printed my illustration on fabric: I've called this series, "mama propaganda."

My hyper lush pencil case.

Dang Mary Oliver and her truth. That's me practicing calligraphy.

This 17 year old makes my day. 

Sewing my junk finds into something useful. ( I am obsessed with yarn tassels.)

More lettering practice.

Meditating. (Er, not--just drawing someone doing it.) I'm here: page 3.

http://bootcamp.lillarogers.com/bootcamp-may-2014-gallery/

And spending time with my favorite people.

#thisis40#lifezoomingby