Make Room

“If you give yourself some space, I promise God will whisper”, my mentor and friend stated just two minutes before dropping me off the airport.  She gave me no time for rebuttal. 

The words she spoke felt as confusing as my 101-level astronomy class when we were measuring the distance to stars with color.  I looked around at other classmates giving them the, He’s making this up, right?! look. They did not reciprocate my eye roll. I was perched on my front row island in the lecture hall all alone.  Despite meeting with the professor during his office hours to prove my ambition to learn about space, I’m sure the tube-socks wearing, cargo-shorts sporting, 30-years of tenure teacher thought I was the dork.  And I was (am).

My retention in the class was so low that all I walked away with was an aspiration to do life over again as a fuzzy-haired-Bette-Midler-in-Hocus–Poscus-looking scientist. Even so, the solar system, worm holes, and supernovas are intriguing in ways that make me want to keep learning about science, even if the ideas are larger than my almost almond-sized brain can handle.

On most days God and the concepts around God seem so far that even color can’t measure it.  In those moments when I feel overwhelmed by not being smart enough or having things figured out enough, I just try to give myself some space.  I don’t think God is asking to be ‘figured out’ or measured.  I think God is just asking for a little (maybe a lot of) space in your life and my life. 

Energy Came & Went- And I’m Still Okay

Staring at the pile of folded clothes crammed tightly into the laundry basket, I wondered what I should wear today.  Although the clothes were shoved into the basket like a tangled cotton octopus, I could still make out heels of socks and elbows of shirts that were trying to sneak their way to the edges- for they are claustrophobic.  I think.

I didn’t anticipate my first real day after leaving my job to be so gray.  The light coming in from the windows didn’t even have enough glow to make shadows.  It was just plain and cold.  Winter days in April are difficult, even when you know what to wear.

When was the last time you were emotionally released from a role?

“I have the very strong belief that we are called to do what we do, and when we’re called, we’re given energy.  And when we’re no longer called, we will not have the energy.” –Frances Hesselbein, Founder of Girl Scouts

Deep down I wanted leaving my job to be more difficult. I felt as if normal functioning adults would begin to second-guess the choice I made to leave one job and exchange it for unlimited free time.  No job lined up.  But the thought about second-guessing my decision was fleeting.

When I finally quieted the murmuring to-to list vying for my attention, I discovered leaving was simple.  I lost energy.  After weeks of going through the imperfections that plagued my organization, finding ways to blame my leaders, and going over the what’s wrong with me thought process, my conclusion was unemotional and realistic. I was (am) okay, my leaders were (are) okay, and the organization was (is) okay. I simply lost energy.

When people leave an organization, often the focus is on the why a person looses energy.  And there’s value in talking through the root triggers of energy loss.  But what’s more important, at least in my case, is that I lost energy.

I’m untethered and free. While freedom can be liberating, it can also be the root of chaos.  Questions about identity, and role, and purpose all swirl up into one gigantic realization: I have time to think about this stuff.  And this is bigger than my inability to decide what to wear on a non-work day.  This is about working through fundamental questions about how to spend my time, who to invest my energy in, and where to live. The trifecta.

I’ll be spending my next days and weeks with thoughts about my purpose. Encouragement and advice always welcome 🙂

Energy Came & Went- And I’m Still Okay

Staring at the pile of folded clothes crammed tightly into the laundry basket, I wondered what I should wear today.  Although the clothes were shoved into the basket like a tangled cotton octopus, I could still make out heels of socks and elbows of shirts that were trying to sneak their way to the edges- for they are claustrophobic.  I think.

I didn’t anticipate my first real day after leaving my job to be so gray.  The light coming in from the windows didn’t even have enough glow to make shadows.  It was just plain and cold.  Winter days in April are difficult, even when you know what to wear.

When was the last time you were emotionally released from a role?

“I have the very strong belief that we are called to do what we do, and when we’re called, we’re given energy.  And when we’re no longer called, we will not have the energy.” –Frances Hesselbein, Founder of Girl Scouts

Deep down I wanted leaving my job to be more difficult. I felt as if normal functioning adults would begin to second-guess the choice I made to leave one job and exchange it for unlimited free time.  No job lined up.  But the thought about second-guessing my decision was fleeting.

When I finally quieted the murmuring to-to list vying for my attention, I discovered leaving was simple.  I lost energy.  After weeks of going through the imperfections that plagued my organization, finding ways to blame my leaders, and going over the what’s wrong with me thought process, my conclusion was unemotional and realistic. I was (am) okay, my leaders were (are) okay, and the organization was (is) okay. I simply lost energy.

When people leave an organization, often the focus is on the why a person looses energy.  And there’s value in talking through the root triggers of energy loss.  But what’s more important, at least in my case, is that I lost energy.

I’m untethered and free. While freedom can be liberating, it can also be the root of chaos.  Questions about identity, and role, and purpose all swirl up into one gigantic realization: I have time to think about this stuff.  And this is bigger than my inability to decide what to wear on a non-work day.  This is about working through fundamental questions about how to spend my time, who to invest my energy in, and where to live. The trifecta.

I’ll be spending my next days and weeks with thoughts about my purpose. Encouragement and advice always welcome 🙂

Three Orders of Fries and No Ketchup

Some fast food is gross in ways that prevent me from
ingesting it but I get truly excited for In and Out Burger—like I used to get
excited about ice cream cones.  Butterflies
in my stomach erupt into a mad flutter on my way to the restaurant. Once I walk
through the doors I can feel a warm smile shift to my belly that even the
greasy floor can’t slip up.  My stomach
feels happy with just the sight of a worker in a white-held-together-by-oversized-safety
pin-apron who is carelessly placing potatoes in the slicer (aka French Fry
Maker).  I’m going to eat you soon I whisper to my little potato sliver
friends soaking in a water bath on the other side of the counter.  In and Out Burger is good fast food.

A good fry is always worth the calories. I’ve maintained a
long-standing love affair with French fries. 
They have been a part of my life ever since I can remember and they have
always been there for me. And nothing could come between me and my fries, not
even ketchup. So when my dad, uncle, and I visited In and Out Burger today, I
proudly announced I didn’t have to waste time at the ketchup pump filling 1-ply
paper cups.  I asked if my dad and uncle
needed ketchup though… both said a definitive no.  And that was that. 
I am my father’s daughter. 
I am my uncle’s niece. 
Within 10 minutes of my dad and uncle picking me up from LAX
2 days ago, I began to worry.  Would a
week hanging with my dad and his brother turn me into them?  The ketchup incident sealed my fate.  I have never met anyone who despises ketchup
on fries as much as I do, until today. No amount of intentionality or cognitive
behavioral therapy would keep me from the DNA that has already built me. 
I have to admit—this front row seat to my family the past
couple days gives me both a sense of hope and concern. Sometimes my family is
all starting from the same common beautiful language and we’re the only ones
who know all of the words.  And other
times, I feel like I’m speaking my own language and I’m screaming but no one
around me can hear any sound. 
It’s been a learning process.  I learned I have come from a generous
family—one that goes out of their way to include and love all people, except
for jerks.  I haven’t seen anyone in my
family love jerks.  I come from
smart-cynical-get-stuff-done-contribute-to-society kind of people.  I also come from
bury-your-feelings-don’t-confront-protect-yourself kind of people.  It’s been a healthy realization of who I have
come from and it keeps me grounded.  I
love my ketchup-apathetic dad and uncle. 
And I love becoming my own person. 

Three Orders of Fries and No Ketchup

Some fast food is gross in ways that prevent me from ingesting it but I get truly excited for In and Out Burger—like I used to get excited about ice cream cones.  Butterflies in my stomach erupt into a mad flutter on my way to the restaurant. Once I walk through the doors I can feel a warm smile shift to my belly that even the greasy floor can’t slip up.  My stomach feels happy with just the sight of a worker in a white-held-together-by-oversized-safety pin-apron who is carelessly placing potatoes in the slicer (aka French Fry Maker).  I’m going to eat you soon I whisper to my little potato sliver friends soaking in a water bath on the other side of the counter.  In and Out Burger is good fast food.

A good fry is always worth the calories. I’ve maintained a long-standing love affair with French fries.  They have been a part of my life ever since I can remember and they have always been there for me. And nothing could come between me and my fries, not even ketchup. So when my dad, uncle, and I visited In and Out Burger today, I proudly announced I didn’t have to waste time at the ketchup pump filling 1-ply paper cups.  I asked if my dad and uncle needed ketchup though… both said a definitive no.  And that was that. 
I am my father’s daughter.  I am my uncle’s niece. 
Within 10 minutes of my dad and uncle picking me up from LAX 2 days ago, I began to worry.  Would a week hanging with my dad and his brother turn me into them?  The ketchup incident sealed my fate.  I have never met anyone who despises ketchup on fries as much as I do, until today. No amount of intentionality or cognitive behavioral therapy would keep me from the DNA that has already built me. 
I have to admit—this front row seat to my family the past couple days gives me both a sense of hope and concern. Sometimes my family is all starting from the same common beautiful language and we’re the only ones who know all of the words.  And other times, I feel like I’m speaking my own language and I’m screaming but no one around me can hear any sound. 
It’s been a learning process.  I learned I have come from a generous family—one that goes out of their way to include and love all people, except for jerks.  I haven’t seen anyone in my family love jerks.  I come from smart-cynical-get-stuff-done-contribute-to-society kind of people.  I also come from bury-your-feelings-don’t-confront-protect-yourself kind of people.  It’s been a healthy realization of who I have come from and it keeps me grounded.  I love my ketchup-apathetic dad and uncle.  And I love becoming my own person. 

Love Thyself

Is it human nature to want what you don’t have?  When I was a kid I desperately wanted long
locks of blond flowing hair.  My hair is
brown…and short.  And I used to have
uneven bangs thanks to my mom’s bang-cutting guide: masking tape. 
In an effort to obtain curls, the Pepto-Bismol pink curlers that
clicked into place around their deteriorating foam inside were sometimes part
of my bedtime routine.  After my shower, I
would pull the box of them out from under the bathroom sink and begin to twirl
each curler around as much of a chunk of my short damp hair as would fit.   Then I would go to bed with bubbling
excitement knowing that I would wake up in the morning to curly model-esque
hair.  Foam rollers at their best.  The result looked strange. And it wasn’t me.  Wiry kinks of hair poked out of the curls
giving my locks a stronger semblance to barbed wire, not a magazine
worthy hair job.  The amount of hairspray
I used to tame the non-conformist fly-aways also provided my hair with  a noticeable unnatural clumpy
shine. 
Besides curls there are other things that I want(ed) too.  I’ve always wanted an older sister, a home in
Florida, a Hispanic complexion, a green thumb, the ability to track and retain
details, a deep knowledge of art history, a childhood that included more
friends, a louder voice, cuticles that look effortlessly perfect, and a nose
that doesn’t create giant sweat beads when I eat spicy, sour or tart
foods. 
But no amount of wishing will change any of those things.
Wanting what I don’t have is a hopeless depressing endeavor.  So I’ve decided to know thyself and love
thyself. 
Each day I look at myself in the mirror and whisper sweet
loving words to the tired-eyed confused woman staring back at me.  She’s not used to this kind of positive
attention.  Like an athlete starting to
train for a race, the starting feels uncomfortable.  But slowly, with each day, the body starts to
relax into the new rhythm.  Fighting
human nature to want what you don’t have is difficult but I’m practicing a
little positivity today and wishing myself different a little less. 

Love Thyself

Is it human nature to want what you don’t have?  When I was a kid I desperately wanted long locks of blond flowing hair.  My hair is brown…and short.  And I used to have uneven bangs thanks to my mom’s bang-cutting guide: masking tape. 
In an effort to obtain curls, the Pepto-Bismol pink curlers that clicked into place around their deteriorating foam inside were sometimes part of my bedtime routine.  After my shower, I would pull the box of them out from under the bathroom sink and begin to twirl each curler around as much of a chunk of my short damp hair as would fit.   Then I would go to bed with bubbling excitement knowing that I would wake up in the morning to curly model-esque hair.  Foam rollers at their best.  The result looked strange. And it wasn’t me.  Wiry kinks of hair poked out of the curls giving my locks a stronger semblance to barbed wire, not a magazine worthy hair job.  The amount of hairspray I used to tame the non-conformist fly-aways also provided my hair with  a noticeable unnatural clumpy shine. 
Besides curls there are other things that I want(ed) too.  I’ve always wanted an older sister, a home in Florida, a Hispanic complexion, a green thumb, the ability to track and retain details, a deep knowledge of art history, a childhood that included more friends, a louder voice, cuticles that look effortlessly perfect, and a nose that doesn’t create giant sweat beads when I eat spicy, sour or tart foods. 
But no amount of wishing will change any of those things. Wanting what I don’t have is a hopeless depressing endeavor.  So I’ve decided to know thyself and love thyself. 
Each day I look at myself in the mirror and whisper sweet loving words to the tired-eyed confused woman staring back at me.  She’s not used to this kind of positive attention.  Like an athlete starting to train for a race, the starting feels uncomfortable.  But slowly, with each day, the body starts to relax into the new rhythm.  Fighting human nature to want what you don’t have is difficult but I’m practicing a little positivity today and wishing myself different a little less. 

The Gift of Friendship

The best gift is the surprise gift. Not the kind of surprise
that jumps out of dark closets and clobbers you with balloons being held by the
loudest versions of your closest friends though. The most wonderful and gentle
kind of surprise comes bearing gifts you didn’t know you wanted. 

In the past week, I finished my last day of my job, flew
myself South to help my grandma move, and entered into the chaos of her world.
Her world is filled with slowly unpacking and moving and removing and arranging
and rearranging all of the items she’s held onto for her 79 years of life.
My effort to bring order to the chaos of vases, notepads,
cooking utensils, and Christmas decorations fell into the sea of unpacked
Rubbermaid tubs forming bulky islands across my grandma’s living room
floor.  I was starting to feel bad for
the kitchen counter, which had been suffocating under clutter for at least a
week.
So after helping move, I left grandma to visit a friend and
mentor—and meet with her team at work. My full day of meeting new people,
sharing ideas, and being ‘on’ left me wondering how much more energy I could
muster.  But after dinner, we arrived at
my friend’s home and I experienced two surprising gifts—giving me new found
mojo. 
The first.  Oh. My.
Gosh. It was organized. Things were in place. 
It was as if Christmas had just visited and only left it’s glowy lights
in every corner giving off warmth.  The
counter was clear.  The bathroom was
mine.  And I didn’t have to push anything
out of the way to make space for me. 
Everything was thoughtfully placed and exactly where it needed to
be.  Realizing how much I like my world
somewhat orderly, the gift of perfectly lit organized space slowed me down in
all the ways I needed to be slowed down.   
The second gift came in the form of words. This friend has
known me since the 10th grade. 
She was the first one to claim leadership as something I did and
had.  She spent years teaching me and
giving me a solid leadership foundation. 
After meeting with her team and leading through some communication
issues they had been experiencing, she said the simple but powerful words: I am proud of you.
I was good.  In 2
brief unexpected moments I had intentional order to my world and the loving
encouragement of someone who spent years building into me. My shoulders
unscrunched and I could now rest my weary head. 
Here’s to you finding a surprise gift today.
Love, Hanna

The Gift of Friendship

The best gift is the surprise gift. Not the kind of surprise that jumps out of dark closets and clobbers you with balloons being held by the loudest versions of your closest friends though. The most wonderful and gentle kind of surprise comes bearing gifts you didn’t know you wanted. 
In the past week, I finished my last day of my job, flew myself South to help my grandma move, and entered into the chaos of her world. Her world is filled with slowly unpacking and moving and removing and arranging and rearranging all of the items she’s held onto for her 79 years of life.
My effort to bring order to the chaos of vases, notepads, cooking utensils, and Christmas decorations fell into the sea of unpacked Rubbermaid tubs forming bulky islands across my grandma’s living room floor.  I was starting to feel bad for the kitchen counter, which had been suffocating under clutter for at least a week.
So after helping move, I left grandma to visit a friend and mentor—and meet with her team at work. My full day of meeting new people, sharing ideas, and being ‘on’ left me wondering how much more energy I could muster.  But after dinner, we arrived at my friend’s home and I experienced two surprising gifts—giving me new found mojo. 
The first.  Oh. My. Gosh. It was organized. Things were in place.  It was as if Christmas had just visited and only left it’s glowy lights in every corner giving off warmth.  The counter was clear.  The bathroom was mine.  And I didn’t have to push anything out of the way to make space for me.  Everything was thoughtfully placed and exactly where it needed to be.  Realizing how much I like my world somewhat orderly, the gift of perfectly lit organized space slowed me down in all the ways I needed to be slowed down.   
The second gift came in the form of words. This friend has known me since the 10th grade.  She was the first one to claim leadership as something I did and had.  She spent years teaching me and giving me a solid leadership foundation.  After meeting with her team and leading through some communication issues they had been experiencing, she said the simple but powerful words: I am proud of you.
I was good.  In 2 brief unexpected moments I had intentional order to my world and the loving encouragement of someone who spent years building into me. My shoulders unscrunched and I could now rest my weary head.  Here’s to you finding a surprise gift today.
Love, Hanna

The Only Way To Do It

I have a grandmother (the grandkids call her baba) who
turned in her gray hair for a red-brown dye job.  Instead of sweet loving words, she cusses a
lot and has an inordinate amount of energy. Her tiny frame carries enough
energy to match two 5 year-olds jacked up on mountain dew and Pixy Sticks. 
A friend of mine has a photo of Amelia Earhart with the
quote, 
“The only way to do it, is to do it.” 
 
That’s my grandmother’s anthem. 
So when she decided to move, she did it. Like the seaweed
clumps tangled in the shallow water along the beach, the dysfunction in our
family floated to the surface. As my grandmother leaned in and out of reality,
the rest of the family struggled to engage in real relationship.  Unwilling to give up her independence or
matriarch status, my grandmother dug her heals deeper into the slipping sand
beneath her feet. 
Seven of us (‘us’ being my family) came to Florida to help
her move so I’ve been here for a few days now. 
Long enough to have some good stories but short enough to still
appreciate her.  Earlier tonight I grabbed
my phone and let her know I’d be walking to the end of her street (about a half
mile).  She asked if I wanted to take a
whistle.  I didn’t want a whistle—she
lives in the geriatric version of the Truman Show.  No whistle needed.  What I did needed was some fresh air and a
listen lady.  So I called my mom and
exploded with all of the stories from the past days.
During my short walk, my grandmother called twice to see
where I was.  Concerned she declared if I
didn’t answer my phone she was going to call the police.  I told her I was at the end of the street and
on my way back.  Five minutes passed and
I received another phone call. 
Exasperated she exclaimed: Where
are you?! Why didn’t you take my whistle?!  
Still trying to redeem the original intent of my walk, I
called my mom back.  I told her that I feel
sort of numb.  And she said that’s how
you have to survive there.
And there is truth to that. Some relationships require
protection and numbing.  But what if
you’ve become so good at numbing that you are afraid to do the feeling part?
Most times my grandmother is her jovial-loving-life self and
other times she shows despair or anger or confusion for irrational
reasons.  And I don’t always know what
version of my grandmother I’ll be talking to. 
Which makes this more complex because my heart has grown up knowing her
as safe and thoughtful.  And every time
she does something a little strange—a little uncharacteristic—I have to fight
against a tiny brick being put up around my heart to protect me from her. I
love her and I choose patience most of the time.  I don’t want a brick wall around my heart to
keep me from her. What I want is this change to not happen right now.  What I want is things to go back to the
‘normal’ that I was used to.  But that’s
not reality either. 
This week I learned that navigating clumps of dysfunction and change
takes time—and love. The only way to do it, is to do it… one damn (that word’s for you, baba) step at a time.