Uncategorized

Matters of the Heart

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My heart has always gotten me into trouble. It is big and loud and lacks any kind of functioning filter. I love without boundaries, without expectations, without limitations, without regard for my sanity. I love with reckless abandon.

And that gets me into trouble. I joke about it with a wry smile, in that insouciant way that people do when referring to regrettable hairstyles or bad relationship choices.

But ever since my father died of a heart attack, like his father before him, I secretly wondered whether my heart would get me into the kind of trouble that I wouldn’t be able to get out of. Read more...

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History

This is how democracy dies

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This is how democracy dies. This is how an autocratic, totalitarian government is born.

When armed insurrectionists disrupt the peaceful transfer of democratic power by breaking into the seat of government.

When the President employs seditious rhetoric again and again and again and calls these insurrectionists “special.”

When millions of Americans have chosen not to respect the democratic process because they would rather believe outlandish lies that have been disproven time and time again instead of accept that they lost. Read more...

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Believe, Loss, Love

Hindsight is 2020

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We lost much this past year.

We lost graduations and weddings and funerals. Backyard barbecues and big Thanksgiving dinners.

We lost our sense of normalcy, our sense of connection – physical and emotional. We lost the security of schools and jobs and routines and the daily interactions we didn’t realize meant so much.

We lost faith. In our institutions, in the people ho were entrusted to run them, in our fellow man. We lost the idea of absolute truth. Of science. Of civil responsibility. Read more...

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Believe, Loss, Love

Love in the time of Coronavirus

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We all have roles that require more of us than we think we have to give. Not because we are martyrs but because there are people and events that are bigger and more important than we are.

This is one of those times.

And while it is tempting – while it is human nature in fact – to curl into a ball on the bathroom floor and curse the fate that has befallen us, we must rather pick ourselves up and simply do what must be done, however best we can do it.

So go ahead and eat all the Oreos and the Doritos and whatever makes you happy. But also eat some vegetables every once in awhile because they’ll make you feel better. Read more...

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Growing Up

Survive

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Some years you just survive

Some years were not meant to win. Some years were meant to survive.

Whether it’s because you are in the weeds with children or nursing a broken heart or mending a struggling relationship or knee deep in illness, some years you have to struggle just to stay above water.

You survive by giving yourself grace to say no to things you can’t do. To let others pick up the slack.

You survive by leaning on your friends. By accepting their offers to bring dinner and their understanding when you can’t show up.

You survive with paper plates, strong coffee, and a really good dry shampoo.

You survive by staying close to the things that make you feel alive – by leaving the Christmas decorations up, by eating all the chocolate, by taking bubble baths or naps or walks.

You survive by praying or meditating or whatever it is that reminds you your existence in this world is not an accident.

You survive by asking your family for help. For understanding. For hugs.

You survive by banishing the voices that tell you you’re failing, the people who chip away at your soul, and the things which pull you down.

You survive by allowing yourself to experience joy amidst the pain.

You survive by remembering that you are doing the best you can, with what you can. That there will be other years to lose the weight or get the promotion or be the life of the party or win the race.

Some years ask questions. Some answer.

Some you just survive.

#LoveHard
#SurviveHarder

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NB

The Evolution of Love

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Love evolves marriage

Today is our 15th anniversary. In those fifteen years, our love has changed many times over.

Love, after all, is not a fixed concept. It bends and adapts and grows to meet the changes in our lives, in our relationship.

And I think that’s where some people get derailed. Those who expect love to be the same at the beginning of a relationship as it is in the middle or at the end are doomed to disappointment and resentment.

Love evolves. But the trick is to appreciate what it has become, not to compare it to its earlier incarnation.

When you first fall in love, you can’t take your eyes off each other. Nascent love is raw and fiery and thrilling. It is all-consuming.

As time passes, love becomes softer. You sink into its comfort, its constancy. You know each other’s fears and you assuage them. You know each other’s faults and you forgive them. You know each other’s weaknesses and you give them safe harbor.

Somewhere along the way, the idea of a softer, gentler love became synonymous with boring. It became the punchline of cocktail party jokes and New Yorker cartoons. But the truth is, there’s nothing boring about it.

Because when you think about it – when you really think about it – that’s the kind of love that we all crave.

Real love isn’t that excitement that you feel on a third date. It isn’t the fire that keeps you awake at night counting the minutes until you see each other again. And it surely isn’t butterflies in your stomach. Don’t get me wrong – those are all great things. But they aren’t love.

And we have to stop thinking they are.

Because knock-your-socks-off love isn’t about the grand gesture. It’s about anticipating the infinite ways to show your utter devotion to another’s happiness.

Love is the hand that claps the loudest at your accomplishments and the one that rubs your back when your shoulders are sagging from the weight of disappointment or sadness.

It is the hand that brings you coffee every morning and the one that does the dishes at night.

It is the hand that pays the bills and the one that tucks your babies into bed.

It is the hand that opens all your doors and the one who twirls you around the kitchen just to make you laugh.

It is the hand that brushes the hair from your face as you lie in the darkness and the one that grabs all the bags of M&Ms from the all-night convenience store when you’ve had a bad day.

It is the hand that rests on the small of your back when you’re nervous and the one that pulls you into the water when the waves seem too big.

Love is the hand that holds yours when they place your baby in your arms for the first time and the one that quietly guides you down the hospital hallway to say goodbye to your father for the last time.

Love never ends. But it does change. It remembers all that you were, reflects all that you are, and anticipates all that you will be.

And that’s not a bad thing. That is everything.
#LoveHard

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NB

Some Days

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Some days I am scared of everything. Car accidents and killer bees and diseases I diagnose myself with while on the internet and whether I am raising my kids to be good human beings or psychopaths. Some days I am fearless, flying by the seat of my pants with the invincibility only a teenager can have.

Some days I am confident about my choices, my self-image, my purpose in this world. Some days I am filled with all the doubt and insecurity of a hormonal middle schooler.

Some days I am the life of the party. Some days I want to stay in my pajamas and hide in my bed.

Some days I have the patience of Job, deftly navigating meltdowns, homework assignments, and deadlines. Some days I snap and bark and mishandle the tender hearts around me.

Some days I eat spinach and chia seeds and drink 8 gallons of water and feed my kids organic, homemade meals. Some days I wash down 8 pounds of chocolate with 8 cups of coffee while my kids eat chicken nuggets from a happy meal.

Some days I am superwoman, being all the things for all the people. Some days I drop balls and miss deadlines and fail.

Here’s the thing though. You don’t have to be one or the other. It’s okay to be a big messy contradiction. So don’t beat yourself up when your life doesn’t look like a photo shoot. Because at the end of the day, the only thing you really have to do in this world is show up, give yourself a little grace, and love hard.

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Believe, History

Armistice and Grace

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100 years ago, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, the War to End All Wars ended in an armistice. But the terms that came out of the Treaty of Versailles months later were not an end at all. They were a beginning. When punitive measures, humiliation, and isolation are the only party favors doled out, you don’t end wars, you simply sow the seeds for new ones.

There was no one who thought Germany shouldn’t be punished for their malfeasance and aggression. There was no one who thought that inclusion – not exclusion- was the way to build a new world order. Read more...

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Growing Up, Parenthood, Summer, Uncategorized

The Beginning and The End

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Beginning of school year

I have always measured time not by the turning of calendar pages from one year to the next, but rather by the beginning of a school year.

Maybe it’s a vestige from having spent the better part of 2 decades in the educational system.

Maybe it’s my stubborn reticence to return to the monotony of obligations and expectations, alarm clocks and routines. God I hate routine.

Maybe it’s because I am a 7 year old trapped in the body of a 42 year old who relishes in the lazy days of summer, the heady smell of sun tan lotion and chlorine, and the simple pleasures of letting adventure find you.

Maybe it’s that my oldest is 11 now and I am all too keenly aware that he has fewer summers left with me than he has already had and, as each one ends, my heart grows heavier than before. Read more...

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Growing Up, Parenthood

Why Participation Trophies Have It Right

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Here we go again. A new crop of smug articles about how participation trophies are creating a generation of entitled brats.

Can we step off the ledge and be honest for a second? You and I both know that a participation trophy isn’t making kids believe that they won something other than…a participation trophy.

Kids aren’t dumb – they know who won and who lost even when you don’t keep score. They can tell you who is the fastest, who is the smartest, who is the best – even if they do so grudgingly.

No. That trophy is about celebrating the willingness to be a part of something. What we should be instilling in our kids is not a desire to win little league but the courage to try new things.

Only one in a million will grow up to be a professional athelete. But that other 999,999 are tomorrow’s doctors, scientists, coders, politicians, teachers. Jobs where having the courage to try something new – to try and fail and try again – will be the difference between stagnation and progress.

I think the kids have it right. How many times have you sat at your desk and wished to be little again? To be unburdened by the things you know. To chase a bubble through the backyard. To go to bed on Christmas Eve and believe that a man in a red suit is coming down your chimney. To feel proud and complete that someone recognized that your participation was worth a piece of plastic and a hug.

I’ll tell you. I think about it every day.

I struggle with how to raise my children to be good people. I struggle with how to adjust to a world without my dad. I struggle every day with how to be a better person myself. I struggle with the laundry.

And you know what I’d like some days? A bloody participation trophy. It won’t bring my dad back. It won’t make me think I don’t have to pay my bills. And it won’t make me feel like I’m entitled to anything other than a recognition that someone, somewhere thinks I’m trying really hard.

Because some days, my friends, that is winning.
#LoveHard
#TryHarder

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Love, Parenthood

You Are Their First Home

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You are their first home lucky orange pants

You are their first home. Your breath is theirs. Your food is theirs. Your body is the sanctuary in which they grow, protected, until they can live in the world.

From the moment they enter this world, arms and feet flailing against the cold brutish air, you are the home of security. Your chest is their first bed, your arms their transportation, your voice their solace. When they can no longer climb into your lap, they will find comfort in the sight of your face across the table, the space you give them to talk without judgment, and your unconditional love.

You are the home of their treasures. Your pockets hold sticks and rocks found at the playground. Your refrigerator doors display their artwork and awards. Your videos store moments of glory on stage, on the field, at a podium. Your heart catalogues all the things they will forget.

You are the home of secrets whispered in the dark, trusted with the most intimate thoughts in their minds.

You are the home of answers. Small questions like “where are my shoes?” and “can I have a snack?” eventually make way for bigger questions about life and death and sex and love. And if you answer them fully and honestly – if you trust in their power to grasp the truth and the consequences of that knowledge – they will always come to you first.

You are the home of tradition. The keeper of memories, the hider of eggs, the wrapper of presents, the baker of birthday cakes, the stasher of money under the pillow in exchange for a tooth, the thrower of balls in the backyard, the picker of pumpkins.

You are the home of comfort. Skinned knees made better with a kiss. Chubby legs curled up in your lap. The smell of dinner wafting through the house. A hand on their back rising and falling with their breath until they fall asleep.

One day they will move from the confines of your four walls. But you will always be their touchstone, their resource, their comfort.

You will always be home. Because you loved them hard. Even when it was hard.
#LoveHard
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Growing Up, Love, Relationships

This is Hard

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This is hard, this season of life.

Marriage is hard. Not hard like when our babies were young. When hard meant tired half-conversations that took place as we passed each other in hallways and meals scarfed down in turns, not together.

No, this season of marriage is hard because when you emerge from that tunnel of exhaustion, you have to re-learn how to have a relationship that involves just the two of you. You can barely remember what you said to each other before you had kids and the problems you have to work through aren’t just overlooking those pecadillos and quirky personality traits. You learn what for better or worse really means in a way that you couldn’t anticipate when you first uttered those vows.

This season of parenting is hard. Not hard like sleepless babies and tantrums. This is hard because you’re navigating big feelings, big confusion, and big questions in bodies too small to accommodate them.

This season of parenting is hard not because you’re holding your baby and you don’t know why they’re crying but because you know *exactly* why they’re crying and you know that you can’t kiss away their their hurts anymore. Because they’re finding out all the ways in which people can hurt each other. The ways the world can hurt.

And that is harder than anything I’ve ever done.

Friendship is hard. Not hard like when you were young and stupid and a careless word or a snub made you feel left out.

This season of friendship is hard because you thought when you got here it would stop. But it doesn’t. And it hurts worse because when you’re this old, people should know better.

This season of friendship is hard because your friends are getting sick. They’re getting divorced. They’re losing parents. They’re losing each other. And you know a mix tape or a collage isn’t going to fix it anymore.

Life is hard. Not hard like when you had student loans and big questions about who you wanted to be and where you wanted to go.

No, life is hard now because you have house loans and car loans and tuition and, according to the calculator on your financial planner’s website, you will apparently never have enough money for retirement.

Life is hard because you have finally gotten what you have been working for. What you thought you wanted. And you honestly wonder if it was worth it. If you still want it. If you sacrificed too much. And those big questions about who you want to be and where you want to go are still there.

Love is hard because you’re going to more funerals than weddings. You are losing your parents, your siblings, your friends. And you know this is just the beginning. And you realize – in a way your younger self could never appreciate – how much you could lose at any second. And like all the muscles in your body, your heart isn’t as flexible as it once was.

Here’s the thing. Every season of life is hard. They’re just different kinds of hard.

And the best that you can do, I think, when it seems too hard, is remember that you once thought another season was too hard for you to bear. But you did. You got through it. And you’ll get through this too.

But only if you talk about it. With your spouse, with your kids, with your parents, with your friends. With yourself. And if you don’t have any of those things, then talk to me.

We have to stop only talking about the parts of life that are pretty and safe and uncomplicated. Those things are good but they are only part of us.

And the truth is, it is in the hard things that we also find the beautiful – the reason we fell in love to begin with, the inexplicable joy that our children gift to us, the comfort of a true friendship.

The truth is, our cuts and bruises and scars are just a reminder that we are still alive. They are the price we pay for loving hard.

This is hard heart shaped scrape

It is through the hard that we love hard and are loved hard in return.
#LoveHard
#LoveWhatMatters
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Loss, Love, Wahoowa

Survive and Advance

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Virginia UMBC lucky orange pants 2018 upset

Friday night, I put on my Lucky Orange Pants for the last time this season. I didn’t know it at the time, although I suppose I imagined it was a possibility. That is, after all, the nature of the post-season. Survive and advance or lose and go home. But truthfully there wasn’t a part of me that believed that Friday would be the end. No, I was intoxicated by the belief that this was the season Virginia was destined to win it all.

But this isn’t a post about basketball. It’s a post about love. About family. About hope.

I have always been the girl who believed, no matter the odds, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how loud the voice of caution rang in the back of my head. I believe that the good guy will always finish first. I believe that love always wins. I believe in the storybook ending.

An old friend once referred to it as innocence. He said it with a slight trace of pity, as if I just didn’t know better. I worry that it will break your heart one day, he said.

And it did. Though not in the way he expected.

It was a doctor who stood in a hospital corridor, looked in my eyes which were begging him to tell me the impossible, and said softly, There was nothing more we could do.

That does something to a person. It did something to me.

I am not talking about the obvious ways you would expect to be changed by the death of a parent or affected by witnessing a trauma instead of just hearing about it. No, I mean the way in which your psyche is fundamentally altered when you have spent the currency of every last hope, every prayer, and every last dream believing in a miracle that does not come.

That is what it feels like to have your heart break.

And in that moment what you need is something to believe in again.

For better or worse, since my dad died, I have placed the full force of my love, the weight of my grief, and the survival of my last shred of hope on the Virginia basketball team. I wore that team like a mantle upon my neck the way my son wears his blanket like a superhero’s cape. They gave me an outlet for all the emotions like joy and hope that seemed to have no place in my new life and, in losing, a conduit to grieve all that I had lost. More than that, they gave me a bridge between my past and my present – a communion of the love that was born on my father’s lap 36 years ago and now courses through the veins of my boys.

And the truth is, in my heart I believed – I really believed – that somehow winning a national championship would be the final victorious chapter in my storybook of grief. A heavenly sign from my dad that I had survived and advanced.

But as the clock ticked down on the greatest upset in college basketball history, I knew there would be no storybook ending.

And when that happens, you can let the loss define you. You can dwell in the misery of wondering what might have been. You can equate falling with failure. You can give up on the storybook ending.

Or…

Or you can remember that success is not measured by a day. That life doesn’t always go according to plan. That loss is an outcome, not the end.

The truth is, sometimes the greatest success is getting back up after we have been knocked down and having the courage to believe one more time. And I would rather be the girl who believes in everything, even if it breaks my heart, than the girl who believes in nothing.

We fall and we get back up and we do it again. And again. And again. Because for every thousand times we fall, there is one where we fly.

Because we remember that falling hard is the price we pay for loving hard.

Friday night at midnight – after we got back to the hotel, after the tears had subsided – the boys decided we should send a text to Coach Ron. Even in their own grief, they knew someone else was hurting more. This is what they asked me to write:

“We know it might not help but we love you and we’re proud of you. You had the greatest season in ACC history. We were here with you tonight and we always will be.”

And for the first time that night, I cried.

Because that’s what real love is, isn’t it? Caring about someone else more than ourself. Allowing ourselves to celebrate the good in the midst of the bad. Knowing that even when we don’t have the answers, sometimes all we need to do is reach out our hand and say “I am here with you. And I always will be.” Believing when it is hard to believe.

This isn’t a post about basketball. It’s a post about love. About hope. About family.

Because even when we lose, we survive and advance.
#LoveHard
#Wahoowa
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Love

Love Hard Challenge | Spread the Love This Valentine’s Day

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Valentine’s Day is my kind of day. Not just because of the proliferation of chocolate or the explosion of hearts cut out of construction paper. No, I love Valentine’s Day because it is a day devoted to loving hard.

I firmly believe that small acts of love and kindness change the world, one moment at a time. One person at a time. I believe in the intimacy of words and the poetry of those small tokens of affection we bestow on friend, foe, and stranger alike.

I understand the allure of random acts of kindness. I appreciate the nobility in gestures big and small offered with no expectation of recognition or reward. But while it is nice to pay for someone’s dinner, to pay for their coffee, or to give anonymously, if we’re honest with ourselves, that’s often the easy way out. We can pat ourselves on the back for doing something good without having to get involved.

But if I’ve learned anything over the last 41 years, it is that happiness begins with the interactions we have with each other every day. And more often than not, what people really need is not a 5 dollar cup of coffee, but 5 minutes of human connection.

While our close relationships with friends and family are paramount to our happiness, it is equally true that our random interactions with strangers and acquaintances make us feel part of a bigger community.

A communion of souls who belong to each other.

When we belong to each other, it is so much easier to shoulder your burdens, to face your fears, to push through your struggles because you know you are not alone.

When we belong to each other, it is so much harder to disparage, to dismiss, to covet, to hate.

When we belong to each other, that is when we start having conversations instead of arguments.

When we belong to each other, that is when we start to change the world.

What if we all decided to be intentional with our love? To share it with everyone we meet instead of a select few. To remember that love isn’t in the grand gesture but in those small moments when we share a piece of our soul with another human being and they have the courage to share theirs right back.

To realize that our everyday interactions have the power to change one person’s day. One person’s heart.

I hope you’ll accept the challenge to spread love this February (click on the picture below for a link to download your free Love Hard calendar). They are simple tasks but they require your intention and your presence. Loving hard is more than bestowing anonymous acts of kindness. Loving hard is about making a connection with the human beings around you.

Loving hard is about saying “I see you. You matter.”

Imagine what we can do if we all love each other hard…

Click on the picture to download your free copy!

PDF version:

Love Hard Valentine Challenge Lucky Orange Pants

.JPG version:

#LoveHard
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Believe, Growing Up, Love

Don’t Wait

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Dont Wait Happiness is All Around You Love Hard LuckyOrangePants.com

We expend so much emotional capital waiting.

Waiting for the weekend, for a new job, for when we have more money, for Christmas, for the right timing, for some magical time and place where the stars align.

But the truth is, friends, happiness isn’t a destination. It isn’t a date on the calendar. It certainly isn’t a notch we check off on the imaginary to do list of life. And all that waiting just blinds us to the happiness staring us right in the face.

Don’t wait for Christmas to make your house glitter with lights.

Don’t wait until you lose ten pounds to put on a bathing suit.

Don’t wait for a special occasion to use your fancy china.

Don’t wait for a birthday to eat cake.

Don’t wait until your kids are older to enjoy their company.

Don’t wait to have friends over until your house is immaculately clean.

Don’t be tricked into thinking I’ll be happy when…

Happiness Isn't a Destination. Don't Wait. Love Hard.

There is no perfect time. There is no magical day happiness will walk up and knock on your door.

Stop whatever you’re doing right now. Just stop. Take a breath and look. It’s all around you.

It’s in unexpected snowfall and lazy days on the beach.

In the first lick of an ice cream cone and the first sip of your morning coffee.

In the hand that rests on the small of your back and the smile of a stranger on the street.

In the Tuesday night impromptu dance party and the kind of laughter that makes your sides hurt.

In the way that your kids make up after they fight and the comfort of a friend who knows what you’re thinking before you can open your mouth.

In the mountain of casserole dishes lining your counters after you’ve had a new baby and the handwritten notes that slip through your mail slot when you lose someone you love.

In the wafting scent of spaghetti sauce from your stove and the sound of rain falling on your roof.

In the puppy curled at your feet and the sight of your parents holding hands.

In the grace of forgiveness and the gift of acceptance.

In those small moments when someone has the courage to share a piece of their soul with you and you share a piece of yours back.

In loving hard and knowing you are loved in return.

That is the greatest happiness there is friends.

Don’t wait. Don’t wait for Friday. For Christmas. For that promotion. For an apology that will never come. For other people to validate you. For a magical date on the calendar.

Don’t wait for the days to pass you by in a blur thinking that something on the horizon will finally be the key to happiness.

Stop waiting. Start looking. Happiness is all around you.

#LoveHard
#LookHarder

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