Posted by Anne

How do you move past a rough beginning?  Take the following examples…

• The book whose first 50 pages are slow at best, snooze-inducing at worst.
• The first date filled with slight promise, but even more awkwardness.
• The new job that creates anxiety throughout the entire first year.
• A vacation that begins on the wrong foot—with a flight delay, a bad hotel, or a disappointing meal.
• A new town that disappoints you—a town that’s different than you imagined.

How long do we give something—a relationship, a book, a job, a town—before we give up on it?  Do we let these rough (and sometimes disappointing) beginnings taint us before we gather the full story?  And how long do we wait?  How much patience should we allot before making our decision, breaking it off, or packing our bags?

This dilemma has been at the forefront of my mind since moving to a new town—and a new coast—a year and 7 months ago.  I knew moving to the Northwest would be an adjustment, but I was optimistic.  I was ready for a lush green landscape, berry farms, and countless destinations for outdoorsy recreation.  Our town has totally delivered on those expectations.  But culturally, I knew I was in for a change.  And I thought I was ready…excited even.  It’s been harder than I imagined. 

When we first moved here, there were some not-so-pleasant surprises…

• My 2^nd day in town, when someone shattered my car window at a local park (at NOON on a TUESDAY), and stole my purse and computer. (Yeah, I was stupid to leave those in my car…but still…)
• The arrival at our new home—a fine and cute rental, but a street that lacked the kind of Northwest charm I’d envisioned.
• A community that was certainly laid-back and kind, but one that also lacked the outgoing and open friendliness I’d known for my entire life in the Midwest. 

In short, it was a rough beginning.  And after 8 months, I started planning my escape.  Life would be better, I thought, when we moved.  The Douglas Fir trees would be greener, taller, and better in another city. 

But we didn’t move.  The opportunities weren’t there yet, and when push came to shove, we weren’t ready to pick up and start over, or leave the security of jobs we like.  So we stayed.  And people told me, “Give it two years.”  People encouraged me, “It takes awhile to feel at home…the Northwest can be a tough place to break into.”  And they were right.

This August will mark our 2-year anniversary in our new digs.  And since the 8-month mark, our life has changed.  We have friends instead of acquaintances.  And we have more acquaintances that could become friends.  We have a Church, hobbies, favorite restaurants, and favorite neighborhoods.  Those first few months of rough beginnings are still there (and hard to shake), but beginning to fade slightly.  I’m still not convinced this town will be my home forever—I don’t have that sense.  And there are many days I still dream of moving.  But not in the urgent, restless way I did before.  It feels positive to have made it through a rough start, and to make the best of the situation I’ve got.  It feels a little…life in pencil. 

Sometimes a false start can indeed be a sign of things to come.  And our instincts are often correct.  But there’s something gratifying about pushing through the stumbles, and finding something worthwhile on the other end.    

Have you ever experienced a rough start?  When those rough starts occur, do you “put down the book” so to speak, or do you keep plowing through? 

Counting our blessings...

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings.

Posted by Elizabeth

Last Friday I finally got around to doing some much-needed pruning in my yard.   I clipped back the sage bush, a tangled mat of crisp vines supported by a thick carpet of decaying leaves.  I tore at shards of dried iris leaves with my bare hands, strips of coarse raffia removed to reveal tiny green shoots of new growth below.  New life was emerging, unseen and untouched until I folded back the blanket of winter.  March is an elusive month, filled with tentative beginnings. Daffodils and crocus – the front-line soldiers sent out before the rest of the troops – hesitantly shoulder their way out of the hard earth, peeking their fresh heads out for a look around, then seeming to retreat.  One moment the cold wind is howling at our doorstep, and the next the sun is peeping through a curtain of grey.  March is an identity crisis, unable to decide whether it’s time to continue hibernating or come out of our holes.

These days, my life seems reflective of this shift of seasons.  Last week spring fever was in full swing, the promise of new beginnings swirling around me like a happy whirlwind.    The energy and excitement of new writing projects, social engagements, an upcoming trip to Europe, and impending motherhood – all emerging on the horizon – was enough to carry me full-throttle into a new season.  I crossed off items on my to-do list, many of which had languished for months, in an inky flourish, cheerily wondering to myself, “Why did it take me so long to get to this?”  I wrote.  I made reservations.  I researched.  I returned phone calls.  I got a lot done, and as I result I felt happy, alive, and energized.

I planned for an equally productive week, enthusiastically sketching an exceedingly long to-do list on Sunday evening.  But yesterday morning I woke up groggy and out-of-sorts, immediately feeling the shift of energy that had taken place overnight.  I scanned my to-do list, the items of which now seemed daunting and unachievable.  I moped around the kitchen for awhile, then killed time checking my email, feeling that familiar sensation creep in around me.  Now what?

Humans are just like the seasons.  There is no clear breaking point between winter and spring, but a number of weeks on either side of March 20th where the seasons “slosh” back and forth, an ongoing arm-wrestling match until spring finally wins out – and such is the case with new beginnings in our own lives.  There is an uncomfortable push-pull that takes place before new life firmly takes root.  We tend to revel in those spring-like moments of action, clarity, purpose, and productivity, but fight those inevitable small slides back into winter, often characterized by inaction, confusion, and low energy; in other words, mental hibernation.  If we endeavor to live our lives in the present moment, though, we need to learn to accept whatever the day (and the season) brings us – even if it’s not what we would have chosen for ourselves.

As I thought about how I’d like my day to unfold, accepting the parameters that had been given to me, I knew I had a decision to make:  I could retreat back into full winter hibernation mode or step tentatively back into spring.  Here’s what I considered:

1. I needed to embrace the “sloshing point.” Year ago, I took a series of classes at an organization in Seattle called Centerpoint, which teaches clients how to better manage their careers and their lives through periods of change.  At Centerpoint I learned to think about my life as seasons of the year, and the inevitable “sloshing” that happens between stages and seasons.  Even though the sun was shining, yesterday felt more like winter than spring:  so be it.
2. I need to realize that activity has to be balanced with periods of non-doing. Last fall I wrote about the importance of plateaus, those inevitable periods of inactivity that pop up in our lives.  While plateaus can last weeks or months, sometimes I think we experience mini-plateaus that last just a day or two.  After a week of total productivity, I needed to give myself permission to take a mini-break.  In fact, this dip in energy was probably just a natural balancing-out.  New beginnings require both activity and non-doing.
3. I need to set small(er) goals for this week. This week isn’t last week, and my metric for what I accomplished yesterday need not dictate my level of productivity today.  Although I’m not ready for full-fledged spring, at times like these it’s easy for me to slide back into full hibernation, which usually leads me to falling even deeper into winter.  Instead, I decided to take a smaller step into spring, setting more manageable goals for where I’m at today.  Will I get as much done as I did last week?  Probably not, but I’ll get something done, and won’t feel like a slug.  At Centerpoint, I learned to ask myself, “What do I have energy for today?”
4. I don’t need to chastise myself for a waning enthusiasm for these new beginnings. We naturally praise ourselves for being active and productive – as products of the Western world, it’s hard-wired into us.  But last week, I didn’t read, or think, or do any of the contemplative activities that make my periods of activity possible.  So rather than berating myself for not moving in a steady “onward and upward” pattern, I will recognizing that every new period of beginning involves a few steps back.

How about you? What do you find helpful when you’re “sloshing” between seasons – especially between the “winter” and “spring” of your life?  How do new beginnings show themselves in your own life?  How do you “stay in the moment” when the excitement of new beginnings is on the horizon but not quite here yet?

Posted by Anne

Life in Pencil is getting ready to go in a new direction.  We’re not quite yet ready to unveil our new plans, but, beginning this month, we’ll focus on a new topic every month.  Since March is the beginning of spring, a time of new life, this month’s theme will be Beginnings.  How do we live our lives in pencil during that tenuous time when there is new life on the horizon?

Last week, you made me think.  I wrote this post on my life-to-do-list, and several of you admitted similar moments of panic, and asked this question:

What happens when we’ve checked off the items?  What next?

A great question.  A particularly great question when glimmers of spring appear—when daffodils begin peeking through the dirt, and we (or at least I) feel called to begin any one of a jillion different projects. And just as I can generate lists and lists of projects to go along with my new Spring swagger, I can likewise think of about a million (or at least 10) things I’d like to do with my life.  When I truly consider the options for my future, there is no shortage of ideas.  Rather, an overwhelming abundance.  “Beginnings” are everywhere.  I’m sure many of you can relate, and there are probably many reasons I struggle with this unending array of interests.  But there’s one root cause that came to mind last week, after a particularly stimulating counseling session with an adorably enthused student.  As I walked him through the results of his personality assessment, I found myself resonating deeply.  And this is the part where I get all career counselor-y on you, but it’s relevant…I swear.

Remember the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator?  If you weren’t around when I did my previous post on this ubiquitous personality test, then check this out—it’ll provide a little recap.  In that post, I wrote about that pesky part of my personality that’s very addicted to planning.  But last week, as I read your comments and listened to this young student, I realized there’s another part of my “type” (ENFJ to those of you who care) that’s becoming very Life in Pencil relevant these days.  So without further ado…

I’m an Extravert.

Now, pop culture totally screws up the whole “introvert/extravert” dichotomy.  Introverts are not necessarily shy (but sometimes are).  Extraverts are not necessarily loquacious social butterflies (but sometimes are…I’ve definitely got the loquacious part down.)  In actuality, a major difference between the types is where they get their energy.  Warning:  Massive overgeneralization of Myers Briggs Typology coming…Do you feel jazzed and refreshed after a stimulating presentation or conversation?  Extravert.  Do you feel exhausted and crave some major alone-time after you’ve been interacting with others all day?  Introvert.

But there’s another common quality of these types.  Introverts often have fewer interests, and even fewer friends…but really deep ones.  Extraverts?  We like to dabble in many interests, hobbies, and even relationships.  We’re broad.  And sometimes a little more shallow…at least when it comes to how deep we dive into these pursuits.

So…all those multiple interests of mine?  The fact that I can truly see myself pursuing several different options?  The part that’s a fan of beginning new projects?  It’s there—part of my personality.  Of course, maybe it has nothing to do with my personality, but it’s at least a theory.  And in some ways, I like this part of myself.  I believe there’s value in being a “Renaissance Woman”.  But I have to admit…when you’re obsessively calmly trying to craft a new “life-to-do-list”, this trait is also sort of a pain in the ass.  My broad interests regularly collide with the part of myself that’s craving sameness.  My quest for “beginnings” battles my internal need for stability.

I don’t have answers.  But I do have deep thoughts.  Here’s what I’ve realized…

Epiphany #1: This whole “planning your life” thing?  It’s hard when your interests veer in twenty different directions in the course of a single day.

Epiphany #2: Attempting to stick to one vocation is not only uncommon these days, the linear “path” may not fit me as well as I thought it would.

Epiphany #3: When I’m done checking off those massive items on my life to-do-list?  I’m never going to hurt for other options, other hobbies, other interests.  My extraverted personality will see to that.

Epiphany #4: Beginnings are a natural part of our life course, and they appear all the time.  The key is to embrace them, and let them work their magic.

How about you?  Regardless of the introvert/extravert piece of it, are you someone who dabbles in a lot of things?  Or do you maintain a steady few interests/pursuits?  Do you feel overwhelmed by options, or starving for them? Do you get a literal “spring” in your step when March rolls around?

Posted by Elizabeth

I’ll never forget the year I graduated from college, when well-meaning people began peppering me with the inevitable question that strikes fear in the heart of every senior.  “What are you going to do when you graduate?”  The fact was, other than a vague notion that I might move to New York and try to be an actor – with no concrete plan as to how to achieve that goal — I was clueless.  Much like Anne, my life had always fallen along neat timelines, and while my peers would have undoubtedly described me as “goal-oriented” — a phrase I’ve always despised — the fact was that, other than an ability to put one foot in front of the other, I didn’t have any goals.  I suddenly realized that the only item on life’s to-do list was “graduate from college,” which I was about to cross off.  Now what?

Since that uncertain spring ten years ago, my life has taken me down roads I never could have imagined for myself.  I owe part of the adventure to the fact that I’ve never clutched the traditional to-do list, with predetermined milestones to meet at specified times.  In fact, I don’t know if I ever had a life’s to-do list so much as a life’s to-don’t list. I was never interested in setting goals to get married, have children, buy a house, and establish a successful career. (While most of these things have inadvertently happened to me – isn’t that always the way? – they certainly didn’t fall along any self-imposed timelines or according to a plan, perhaps because you’re supposed to place your intention on what you do want rather than what you don’t want, lest the universe get confused and mix the whole thing up.)  While I was comfortable expressing what I didn’t want for my life, I struggled to place any goals on that to-do list.  Looking back, though, it’s clear that I was living my life according to a to-do list; in fact, it happens to be a version of the same one I clutch in my hands today.  It looks something like this:

1. Find spiritual enlightenment
2. Solidify my identity
3. Lead an interesting and exciting life full of mystery and adventure
4. Pursue a career that is the deepest reflection of my soul
5. Figure out my purpose on this earth

Yesterday, Anne and many of you readers expressed frustration at not knowing what to do or how to proceed now that you’ve checked off the major items on your to-do list.  But what do you do when you will never experience the satisfaction of crossing any of the items off your to-do list?  It took me a lot of years to understand that I did have goals – they just happened to be lifelong projects that are so esoteric and abstract that I will never have a chance to complete any of them.  If I could boil down this list into one goal, it would read, “Learn to be human.”  Because each of these goals is some version of learning to be a fuller, more complete being, a task that won’t be completed until the day I die.  Fantastic, huh?

Although Anne and I maintain different sorts of lists, I, too, struggle with the same feeling of foolishly waiting to arrive at “that place;” the location where the puzzle pieces finally fall perfectly into position and I am fully transformed.  I read somewhere once that you should only set goals that are achievable, attainable, and quantifiable; that large goals should be broken down into smaller “action items.”  While this isn’t really my style, I concede that having such mammoth, nebulous items on my life to-do list isn’t really helping me towards my ultimate goal of learning to live contentedly in the now as a fuller human being.  In other words, to live my life in pencil.

Over the coming weeks, I’m going to take a closer look at what’s on my list, examine how these items got there in the first place, and determine if they even belong there.  Along the way I hope to change my relationship to the list, and maybe rewrite it all together.  If nothing else, I plan on making these five items a little more tangible and understandable – not just for me, but for you, dear reader.  It may seem a little silly – even antithetical — to create a list for something as tenuous as living in the now.  But we’ve got to start somewhere on our journey, right?  My hope is that we can teach each other not just the why but the how of living in the now (wow, that could be the slogan:  “The How of the Now”).

Do you maintain a to-do or a to-don’t list?  Are you interested in reexamining or rewriting your life’s to do (or to-don’t) list?  If so, in what way?  What ideas do you have for me as I set about creating more specific goals to live my life in the now?  What topics are YOU interested in surrounding this idea of living in the now?

In other news, my meeting with the specialist went great!  Thank you all for your encouraging words and concern.  As of now (and is there anything beyond what we have right now?), everything looks to be developing normally and healthy with The Blob.  Although, it looks much less like The Blob now.  Check out this latest sonogram!

Posted by Anne

Life is full of to-do lists.  From school to retirement, we often find ourselves at the mercy of a timeline that we follow, and that someone else created.  School.  More school.  Marriage.  House.  Children.  We persist through the journey, crossing off the expected milestones—some fit us, and some may not.  Where do they come from?

Lately, I’ve been pondering my own life to-do lists.  I’ve generally followed them, and frankly these to-do lists have landed me a very good life.  It’s a life that doesn’t need to be completely erased or rewritten.  It’s a life grounded in a loving family, a solid career, caring friends, and really cute dogs.  So why am I always looking ahead to the “next step”, be it home-ownership, babies, or vacations I won’t be able to take for months or even years?

My life-to-do-list smacked me in the face last fall, on a hike with my husband.  The coastal trail we hiked was probably one of the most lush, gorgeous spots I’ve seen since moving to the Northwest.  The weekend had been so perfect—a string of pleasant and memorable moments.  So naturally, I began planning future perfect moments.  And the moments after those.  And suddenly, my mind was months and years ahead of me, nowhere near the majestic cliffs and misty skies right in front of my unappreciative face.  During the first quarter-mile, I asked my husband where he thought we’d be living next year.  I want to be settled, you know.  My husband, who is so darned comfortable with ambiguity, had no answers.  But I kept badgering him.  In the second quarter-mile, I asked him about buying a house.  When would we be ready?  Nope, no answers there either.  My pace quickened.  Oh…how about babies?  When should we start a family?  Silence.   I worked myself into a literal frenzy, until his exasperation came through, and he reminded me that he’s just trying to make it one day to the next.

I had a verifiable planning-addict meltdown on those craggy coastal cliffs.  I’ve since tried to unpack my freight-train of emotional panic because, frankly, it seems pretty unreasonable as I look back.  All I can figure is that my life has always fallen along neat timelines.  Graduate programs, temporary internships, and so forth.  Neat little segments of a life, predictable and finite; not unlike the items on the to-do lists I meticulously create every day, and dutifully cross off.  And now I’m in a phase where it’s become hard (impossible?) to predict how life will unfold.  I still have my life’s “to-do list”, with no clue how to go about checking off the milestones.  And every so often, I’m apparently emotionally unequipped to handle the ambiguity.

I’d venture to say we all have “to-do-lists”, but I wonder to what extent our “to-do-lists” are of our own design?  Is your list packed with domestic goals, travel destinations, or the pursuit of a relationship?  Since my meltdown, I’ve been on a mission (a la life in pencil), to adjust my to-do-list.  Or to at least avoid panicking when I can’t check off an item—when I need to just be patient.  Every day, I try to ignore my existential deadlines, and live.  It’s an ongoing project, and one for which I need the support of friends and family.  Because unfortunately, ambiguity isn’t going anywhere. 

What’s on your life to-do list?  Has your to-do-list given you the life you want?  Or have you ever crossed something off, and found it wasn’t all you expected?

Posted by Elizabeth

Sometime last summer, I made the first mention in these pages that I was thinking I might be ready to have a baby, a tentative whisper into the crashing world of the blogosphere.  And at that time some wise reader told me that not only would having a baby bring change into my life, but that the ability to live one’s life “in pencil” was the biggest prerequisite for having said baby.  These words were very reassuring to me.  As the resident change-a-holic around here, I thought, “I love change.  I understand change.  I embrace change.  And the ambiguity that “life in pencil” presents?  Easy breezy!”  But as my first trimester draws to a close this week I realize, in a stark and scary way, that my understanding of what it means to live one’s life in pencil is woefully incomplete.

During the first appointment with my nurse midwife an eternity six weeks ago, I was asked to fill out a family health history.  Aside from some cancer and heart disease – standard American fare – my background is pretty run-of-the mill.  No chronic diseases or major health issues here!  When I got to the part of the form that inquired about any infant deaths, I had to pause and think.  My dad had a brother who died when he was young from a defect related to malformed lungs, and Maikael’s dad had a son who also died, days old, due to a congenital problem.  These are parts of our family health history that we rarely give much thought to – so much so that we even debated whether it was worth marking on the form – so imagine my surprise when my midwife followed up with a phone call the next day to gather more details about these situations.  At the mention of “genetic counselor,” “perinatologist,” and “just to be sure,” every fiber of my being immediately went on red alert – and I don’t think the alarm bells have turned off since.

Despite my midwife’s repeated assurances that the chances of something being wrong are “remote,” it’s all but impossible to focus on the “what if” scenarios that dance across my mind (if not in the foreground, certainly in the background).  I find them to be particularly acute while dreaming, when my rational mind, who has such catchy phrases as “I’m sure it’s fine” at its disposal during daylight hours, is rendered helpless when the lights go out.  It’s then when nighttime visions of a fully formed fetus, with features as delicate as a seahorse but cast in frightening miniature, quite literally falls out of me without warning.   These are awful dreams that shake me from my slumber in a sweaty twist of sheets in the middle of the night.  It’s these moments where I realize that motherhood is uncertainty incarnate, that the best efforts to explain or pacify are for naught, and that I have no choice but to throw up my hands and say, “We’ll just have to see.”  I know that I am not unique or special.  Just as every life contains a cross to bear, so is every pregnancy touched by something beyond our control.  But it’s how we treat these uncertainties that reveal how well we’re able to live our life in pencil.

This morning Maikael and I are off to the perinatologist for a detailed ultrasound, which feels less like a meeting with a medical professional than an appointment with fate.  Hope will be divined not through the stars but through grainy images that I cannot interpret.  I am both relieved and petrified that this interminable period of waiting is drawing to a close, ready and not-ready to hear the conclusion.  The chances are good that my midwife is right, that I’ve spent the past six weeks worrying over nothing.  But what if she’s wrong?  What if there are no answers, but simply more “I don’t knows,” more “we’ll just have to wait and sees,” more “just to be sures?”  What if? It’s these “what ifs” that show me just how much I have yet to learn about facing the unknown.

Do you agree with my assessment that “motherhood is uncertainty incarnate?”  What situations have you faced in your own life that caused you to realize that you have much to learn about facing the unknown?

In other news, I’m pleased to announce that “Dear You,” my letter to this unborn baby who has already incited such worry in my life, won Momalom’s Love It Up Challenge!  We here at Life in Pencil are honored to have been considered in the company of so many great writers and entries.  Thanks, Sarah and Jen, for this award!

Posted by Anne

No, this post is not about Tom Cruise. He creeps me out.

No, not the movie.  (Sorry I misled you with that picture.)  I’m talking about a different kind of risky business…the professional kind.  The kind that makes us gaze in admiration, and wonder if we’ll ever have the chance (or the guts) to pursue the proverbial “dream”.   We see these stories all the time—people who chuck their “safe” careers, and dramatically switch directions…usually resulting in some very lucky inspiring and artistic professional success.  Sometimes these brave souls even do so at the risk of losing a paycheck, or worse yet, health benefits.  But they go forth.  They say, “So long, law!”  They shout, “Hasta la Vista, Marketing!”  They make it happen.  They become writers, comedians, bakers, and actors.  They take risks.  They follow their passion.  There is both risk and passion.  And so I ask you…

Does Passion = Risk?  Or perhaps more accurately, does passion necessitate risk?

Awhile back, Gale from TenDollarThoughts contributed this guest-post, asking a very similar question.  I think it’s worth revisiting.  First off?  Let’s tackle the word “passion”.  I hear this word quite a bit in a given week.  Enter the sweet, naïve, and slightly bemused freshman.  I ask what brings him or her into my office.  They say—at age 18—“Well, I was hoping you could help me find my career passion.”  Riiight.  Let me get on that.   

Actually, I think these students are sweet.  I shouldn’t judge.  After all, I was one of them about a decade ago.  But this word “passion” gets bandied about so much, I wonder if any of us know what the heck we’re talking about awhen we use it.  Generally speaking, people are “passionate” about activities—pursuits—that they find both interesting and fulfilling.  So…why aren’t we all working careers that embody our “passion”?  A few theories…

1.  Discovering your “passion” is hard.  It’s not something you’re born with.  It’s not something that you discover in a tidy package when you’re ready to declare a college major.  It’s something you have to search for, wait for, and for which you need oodles of life experience.  It’s elusive, this passion thing.  You may have more than one passion.  And it may not come to you with clashing symbols and Oprah-esque inspiration.  But do look for it.   

2.   You’ve discovered your passion, and frankly you aren’t that skilled at it.  Recently, I gave a presentation on careers and passion for a group of students attending a weekend leadership conference.  The student organizers had chosen a video clip for us to watch.  The clip was Wanda Sykes, describing how and why she left a perfectly safe and respectable career to pursue comedy.  As she spoke about taking risks, following dreams, and ditching healthcare for a few years while she got her start, I watched the students around me.  They laughed, smiled, and felt inspired.  And so did I.  But as they reacted to the video and discussed the importance of passion, one lone voice spoke up from the back.  “What if you’re not any good at the thing you’re passionate about?”  Yes, there’s the rub.  What if Wanda Sykes wasn’t funny?  Generally speaking, I think we tend to be passionate about things for which we have at least some skill.  I don’t find a great deal of joy in, say, gardening…probably because I tend to kill plants.  Go figure.  But this student’s point was well-taken.  When the expectation is to make your passion financially viable, we raise the stakes quite a bit. 

3.  You’re unwilling to take the risk.  I asked these same students—“Is it possible to follow your passion with taking some amount of risk?”  Many of them said…no.  Perhaps it’s because we assume someone’s “passion” must be something artistic—abstract—unstable.  And so the option seems to become “either-or”.  And actually, I don’t particularly like this line of thinking.  It says to me…if you like to cook, but don’t want to open your own restaurant/bakery/catering business, then you’re out of luck.  Keep it as a hobby.  And while hobbies are fine, I have to believe there’s a middle ground—a place where we can use our passions and pursue our dreams in a slightly less dramatic fashion.  The writer who writes for their job, for example.  But you know me…I’m a change-phobe. 

I don’t have an answer for this “risk and passion” question, just as I didn’t have an answer for those students who looked at me expectantly—waiting to see if I’d illuminate how they could enjoy a “passionate” and a likewise safe existence.  If you’re working in some capacity that uses your “passion”…good for you.  And if you’re not?  I’m not sure I think it’s because you’re an inherently un-risky person.  Maybe you are.  But maybe that opportunity to blend work and passion just hasn’t found you yet.  Maybe you’re still grappling your way through discovering your passion.  It takes time.  Roll with it.  If it’s time to take a risk, I believe you’ll know.

Okay, readers…does passion necessitate risk?  And how many of you a) know what the heck your “passion(s)” is/are?  And b) Do you get to incorporate your passion into your work?  And c) Do you feel like you had to take a big risk to do so? 

Also, if you’ve got the time and want to check it out, here’s the clip the students selected for the presentation.  Enjoy!

Posted by Anne 

You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.
-Plato

Do you agree with Plato?  I admit—I struggle with this quote.  As someone who thoroughly enjoys a good gab-fest (preferably accompanied by caffeine), it’s hard to imagine anything as effective as conversation when it comes to connecting with another person.  And yet—this quote has been on my mind lately. 

I heard this little Plato nugget for the first time last week at a large gathering for all the Student Affairs professionals at my university.  (You know, the perky people who work for universities—not as professors—but the “life” educators.)  As a group, we gather about 3 times a year to listen to our Dean or Provost talk about our work, our students, and our goals.  There’s usually coffee.  And discussion.  I like these kinds of meetings.  But this one was different.  After the usual “state of the union” (as I call it) by our Vice Provost, we were divided into 3 different groups, and asked to participate in a series of “healthy” activities aimed at creating more “balance” and “self-care”. This may seem foreign to some of you in the corporate world, but to me?  This actually seemed quite normal.  But there was a hitch.  One of the rotations indicated two different options for some form of play.  That’s right…play.  One was even…juggling.  When I read the schedule, I had three immediate thoughts…

1. Isn’t there some alternative option?  Do I really need to juggle this morning to achieve balance in my life? 
2. If I do participate in the juggling, how on earth am I supposed to hold my coffee?
3. Seriously…there’s got to be some other option.   

As it turns out, there were some alternatives.  One on mindfulness and meditation, and one involving some reflection and quiet contemplation.  They were nice and quiet.  I didn’t have to interact with anyone else.  I was able to hold my coffee.  And you know?  They did nothing for me.  Probably because I already do a boat-load of “reflecting” in my life, these activities actually fell a little flat.  And so I wonder—would I have been better off playing?  And even more distressing…

Am I becoming un-fun?

I’ve been thinking about Plato’s words.  The people I know best in this world are the ones who’ve joined me in side-splitting laughter.  Thought I adore a great conversation with my husband, when was the last time we played a game together?  Why must I always connect with people through my conversation? 

No, I’m not going to take up juggling.  But perhaps there are easier ways to begin?  Just a couple days ago, I opened my email to find (hooray!) an e-vite.  And even better…for a totally random evening of fun.  What’s on the docket?  Games.  I’ll be honest.  I didn’t used to be a big fan of “game” parties.  Why can’t we just sip our wine and chat?  But something has happened.  I’m craving play now.  And so my reaction when I read that evite about the prospect of games and laughter was…utter joy.  A perfect opportunity to begin…to add play back into my oh-so-reflective life. 

Today, my sister (in blogging and real-life) posted a lovely entry about Ash Wednesday, and how she’s adding to her routine rather than giving something up.  I’m going to copy her…Icopied her when we were kids, so why not now?  Her “addition” during Lent is far more noble, but oh well…I will act the part of the younger and less responsible sister today.  Because I’m adding…playtime. It will begin on Friday.  I’m going to change.  I’m going to sacrifice a little reflection, and add a little play.  I’m going to be fun as well as reflective.  And I’ll report back next week…

How often do you “play”?  Is it easier to play when you have kids?  Or are you more of a conversation kind of person?

Posted by Anne

There are people who detest Valentine’s Day—who proclaim the pointlessness of the annual “day of love”, and who boycott the Hallmark festivities.  I’m not one of those people.  There are people who adore Valentine’s Day—who devise cutesy gifts and clever outings for their loved ones.  I’m not one of those people either.  No, I’m more Valentine’s-neutral—glad it’s not a source of sadness or loneliness for me, but not eager to jump into all the February hoopla.  But no matter how you feel about it, it’s hard not to think about the L-word at least a little bit each February 14^th. 

Love.  Sometimes I wonder how many times I’ve truly been in love.  I think it’s safe to say I’m ridiculously in love with my husband, but yesterday—as I dove into the ubiquitous, cellophane-wrapped box of Russell Stovers chocolates—I thought about the other loves. The past loves.  The crushes.  And I thought about change.

You see, back when I was single, I wasn’t such a change-phobe.  Desperate (yes, desperate) to find a love of my own, I must have viewed change as a necessary cost of finding that love.  How else can I explain the multiple girlfriend identities I tried on from age 22 to age 26?  I once read a comic little book called The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35.   In it, the author reflects upon the chameleon-like quality of women as they search for love, stability, and identity in their 20’s and early 30’s.  I was no exception.  There was…

Intense-Runner-Girl
I’ll never forget the day I ran 8 miles for the first time.  Sure, I already ran pretty regularly, but only sensible distances—4 miles tops.  When my friends asked why on earth I ran 8 miles and acquired some brutal blisters, I was honest.  “A guy,” I said.  Over the next few months, I was introduced to lycra, ran a half-marathon, lost 8 pounds, and had my heart broken.  I still run.  Just not quite that much.  Some of those pounds found me again—along with my sense of self.  

Indie-Rock Girl
The ability to name-drop bands you’ve seen live.  The ability to pull off hipster clothes from Urban Outfitters. I tried both (with only marginal success on the hipster-clothing part), all for the sake a few dudes who caught my eye and strummed me some tunes on their acoustic guitars.  Man, it was cliché.  But man, I was a sucker for the dude with the guitar.  I developed quite the collection of burned cd’s from these guys—just couldn’t manage to collect a relationship. 

Granola Girl
Yeah, I pretty much tried on this phase whenever introduced to a messy-looking cutie wearing a fleece and khakis of questionable cleanliness.  Meet a guy who camps regularly and loves his trees?  Find an environment science major?  Enter “granola Anne”—sort of an oxy-moron really.  Sure, I’m on the earthy side, but hippie I’m not.  Fortunately, this phase was useful in preparing me for a future life in the Northwest.  Bonus! 

Okay, so I exaggerate a little.  In actuality, I’ve always been someone to maintain a pretty solid sense of self. And when I think about it, those three personas weren’t all that far out in left field.  I do love music.  But I liked many kinds of music—not just indie rock.  And I do like being active.  But I love many forms of activity—not just running my guts out.  And I do love trees and fleece—but I love silk and pearls as well.  In short, I’m like any woman—multidimensional.  So maybe…I wasn’t changing myself for each prospective suitor.  No, I was just limiting myself.  Making myself one-dimensional, when all I needed was someone to appreciate my natural complexity.   

I believe that one reason my current relationship works is because it allows my dimensions.  It allows me to move from hiking boots to sundresses, from hip bands to not-so-hip opera.  It allows the healthy kind of change.   The kind of change I like. The kind that doesn’t box me in to one hobby or one wardrobe.  It allows me just to be.

I hope you had a great weekend, whether you celebrated Valentine’s or not…and that you spent it with people who let you change—or who let you stay the same—who let you just be.  

Did you ever adopt a phase or identity for the sake of potential love?  Anyone do anything fun for Valentine’s?  Or do you sorta ignore the holiday? 

Posted by Elizabeth

Dear You,

How are you?  Can you hear me alright?  I know my voice probably sounds a little muffled, but I have some important words I want to share with you; words that I hope you’ll always remember.

It’s hard to believe that, just mere weeks ago, you were but a glimmer in my consciousness.  But even in that short amount of time you’ve already changed my life.  It’s hard to believe that I was so ambivalent about your existence for nearly 32 years, and that in 12 short weeks you’ve wiped away the slate of doubts.  Before you came along, I wondered what you’d take away from my comfortable life, if the trade off could possibly be worth it.  But I took the plunge, the ultimate leap of faith, reasoning that I had accomplished the big things I wanted to in my life.  I earned my graduate degree, and traveled around the world, and have had plenty of fun and adventure along the way.  It dawned on me one day last fall that you wouldn’t be keeping me from doing anything I couldn’t do with you in tow.  Although having you was never a foregone conclusion — many will undoubtedly be shocked by the news of your arrival — now that it’s happening I can’t imagine it being any other way.  I’ve surprised myself by how quickly I’ve embraced this change, how excited I am for your arrival.  Even though I wasn’t completely sure when I made that great dive down the rabbit hole, I guess I really was ready for you.

Sometimes I lie in bed and wonder what you look like, what you are like.  Are you a boy or a girl (we already have a name picked for you if you’re a girl, but if you’re a boy we’ve got some work to do)?  Do you have your dad’s brown eyes or my blue eyes?  Do you have my thin lips or your dad’s full ones?  My little nose or your dad’s proud one?  Do you lean towards math and science, like him, or English and the arts, like me?  Do you hate olives and seafood and pickles as much as I do?  Do you share your dad’s penchant for spicy foods (after eating that roasted pepper pasta dish a few weeks ago, I don’t think so)?  Are you even-keeled and quiet like your dad, or fiery and impatient like me?  Most likely, you are some of these things…and none of these things.  You are your own person.

We have a lot to learn about one another, and before we get too far, here’s what you should know about me and the life you’re about to be born into.  I love change, a good life project, being goofy, and telling stories, so I think you’ll like me when you’re little.  As you climb into your teen years, though, I suspect your dad might be better at this parenting thing.  I’m more of a morning person than your dad, so go easy on him in that department:  I’ll be up at the crack of dawn with you, but if you’re looking for a night owl, he’s your man.  I tend to worry a lot; in fact, I’ve already done my fair share of worrying about you.  I even worry about worrying about you too much.  It’s just that I don’t want you to grow up to be anxious and neurotic like I am.  When you get older, I know you will roll your eyes and tell me to stop worrying so much.  And I’ll try; I really will.  But just know I worry because I love you.

I love to spend time in the kitchen, and already have dreams of us cooking alongside one another, so I hope you like that, too.  Your dad and I both love to read The New York Times on Sunday mornings, but I have a sneaking suspicion that those days are about to come to a close for awhile (although, if you, too, are a fan, let me know and I won’t cancel the subscription).  We enjoy eating out, and if you’re good, I promise we’ll take you out a lot.  Oh, and we love to travel, and plan to take you everywhere with us.  In fact, you’ve already been to Mexico (weren’t those carnitas from the market fabulous?), and before you’re born you’ll add three more stamps to your passport.

I know it won’t always be easy.  I know our life is in for a monumental change, and that you’ll be at the center of the whirlwind.  I know there will be times when you’ll drive me crazy, when I’ll plead with you to stop crying, when I’ll wonder why you did this or didn’t do that.  I know you’ll probably feel equally frustrated with me, too, wondering why I simply can’t understand.  But through it all, I know that we’ll love each other.

When it’s finally time for you to be born, will you make me a promise?  Will you try to work with me?  Know that I’ll be doing my best, but I’ll need your help, too.  In return, I promise that I’ll do my best to help you to grow into the person you were born to be, not the person I’d like you to be.  Because maybe you’ll prefer playing soccer to being my sous chef.  I’d like to believe that I’ll be always be an open and accepting mother, no matter the circumstance, but the reality is that at times this will hard for me.  In fact, it might be the hardest lesson I have yet to learn in life.

Baby, your dad and I can’t wait to meet you on August 31^st (give or take a few days).  We’ve got a lot to do to get ready for you – turns out, you need a lot of stuff – but we’ll be prepared.  Or, at least as prepared as we can be.    Until then, keep growing healthy and strong, and I’ll do my part to make sure you have everything you need to do just that.  Even though we’ve never met, I already love you.

Love,

Your Mom

PS: Thanks for not making me sick.  I really appreciate it.  I’m sure you’ll think of some way that I can repay you in the near future.

Although I hate to insult the intelligence of our bright readership, in the off chance that you didn’t catch on, The Waiting Game is over!  For those of you who suspected this (and I know there are many of you in this category), I am happy to confirm that I am indeed pregnant, due August 31.  Do you know what a hard secret this has been to keep from you all?  I have been busting at the seams to share the good news with you!  While I’ll strive not to bore you with the details, I hope this new life adventure can provide excellent fodder and many life lessons for all of us who are better trying to live our lives “in pencil.”

Oh, and for those of you who are curious, pictured above is my first ultrasound, taken at about 8 weeks.  Apparently, I am giving birth to The Blob.

This post was written as part of Momalom’s Love It Up Challenge, where bloggers are encouraged to write a “love letter” to someone or something.  I thought this was the perfect way to share the news with you all (and, I hope, will be a happy memento for the baby book).