The Atlantic

She draws me in and speaks to my soul. There is a connection I never knew existed. Sitting beside her, I pause and breathe in, closing my eyes I bask in the sun as her warmth kisses my cheeks. It has been an adventure. I have felt exhausted, exposed and at peace all at the same time. Listening to the beautiful Atlantic, watching the sand roll in and out, I allow her song to soothe me and am thankful for these moments. The clouds majestically bank in three directions and the sun shines through. The music of the waves gives voice to the strong rhythm of a woman on a mission. Every day she moves, one moment calm and soothing with the undulating quiet of rolling wave after wave and the next churned up, dirty and angry. Within her are thousands of lives; they depend on her, believe in her and are thankful for what she brings. 

Regardless of what storms come, the beautiful mother ocean will continue. I stood in her small waves, being respectful of the big waves full of strength, power, and determination, and wonder if I have that in me. Do I have the power of the ocean? Does she share her power as she caresses my toes? Does she share with me the strength of the life she supports? For the first time in ages I feel calm and at peace. I realize I missed and needed the Atlantic when I hadn’t even met her. I needed the music and beauty, the ever changing canvas on the horizon, moment after moment of waves. 

Her life force moves in first one direction and then next. Watching her I feel, deep in my heart, the constant motion, not content to be still, not content to simply watch, but to move, wave after wave every second. Pipers, on spindly legs, play tag with the waves, finding life within the foam. She shares the water and then draws it back as they burrow their beaks in the sand capturing food. Pelicans ride the gusts, soaring into the grey sky and then dipping down to tickle the waves. Seemingly with ease they feed from the Atlantic plucking fish from the constant motion. From darkest depths to the white capped waves it is a circle, life never more present than this single moment. Even when the beach is quiet and night shrouds her beauty she moves restlessly, calling, soothing, challenging. I want to share her energy and strength, the love she carries deep within in her soul. 

The Atlantic has no favorites in the world she forges. She provides for all as they need, encouraging and pushing for them to rise up and fight for what they want. Life is not easy and is full of challenges within the Mother Ocean. Shell after shell drifts in, exoskeletons of tiny squid and crabs all become part of the sand, evidence of life that didn’t survive. The skimming of a dolphin, the graceful soaring of a fish and the tiny burrowing of a crustacean are beautiful examples of those that have survived. A squadron of pelicans in a perfect V formation flew over, headed who knows where. The silhouettes beautiful and precise against the backdrop of the sky. A solo bird trails further behind, trying to catch up or maybe flying to his own rhythm. 

My time here has been precious but difficult, unpacking things buried deeper than the depths of the Atlantic.  With each thought, memory and experience I realize there are some I need to keep and some I need to let go. I release those that have shaped me, but no longer serve a purpose, acknowledging the part they played in my life. I am thankful for the time to reflect and be me, understanding I don’t need to hang on to everything. The Atlantic doesn’t keep every shell within her depths. When they have served their purpose she discards them on the beach and continues to move on. I realize those things I have unpacked are the same way. They will always be part of me, but they do not need to control me. 

For the first time in forever I release fear based patterns and think about not trying to fit everyone else's expectations. Nobody expects a pelican to climb a tree, a bear to soar in the heavens or the Atlantic to stop her music. I am thankful for these moments of discovery, to dance with the waves and share in this circle. The moments on this beautiful sand, wanting to capture every shell, feel every tiny grain of sand that at one moment could have been at the bottom of the ocean and is now stuck between my toes. My time with the Mother Ocean has helped me know I am not a mistake nor am I a burden. I have purpose and a place. As I sink my hand into her warm waves, running wet sand through my fingers I finally give myself permission to be unapologetically me.

I have to say a big thank you to my beautiful friend Angie Krey who captured stunning images during my time, to Mel Charbonneau for challenging me to find the best version of myself and to the amazing Jen Patterson for opening her heart and home to me! 

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Butterfly

Unlocking the front door and stepping out into the darkness, the heavy air enveloped me. Cuing my music to low, I stepped out of Just Breathe for my last morning run at this address. Houses were dark, corners softened in the lazy, muggy morning.  Heading west my tie dye shoes contrasted with the black, wet asphalt. I let my legs ease into the short run, soaking in every house, every black and grey cloud, every single moment. A heavy, misty rain began to fall flashing like tiny diamonds in the streetlights. Wind scurried in from the Atlantic, tossing drops across the path, splashing me as I ran. It was glorious.

Finding my rhythm, I began to think about the last few days, the culmination of work that started a long time ago. My soul was healing and the static that usually filled my mind was quiet. I knew in my heart this was the final stop on this road of my journey. For years I have wandered, struggling with direction, feeling powerless at times and in a constant state of chaos. The last eight months magnified the feelings. My mind has been working overtime to free my soul and find direction.

As my body warmed up, I smiled out of sheer pleasure. My pace was slow, imprinting every aspect of my surroundings, feeling the humidity on my skin, and listening to the song of the Atlantic. In the rows of sleeping beach homes, a few broke through the darkness with warm lights. Cars were running with open trunks as they loaded bags preparing to leave. I empathized as I knew I would be doing the same thing in 8 hours. This was my last run on the island.

Four days ago, after arriving, I said hello, dropped my bag, and ventured to the beach. I savored the feel of the sand between my toes, the sound of the waves crashing and the distant cry of the sea birds. The clouds were building on the horizon as the water became choppy with white caps. Rain was coming and I embraced the heavy, wet, warm air. Enjoying the freedom of exploring, I watched the sand, kicking shells over until I found a tiny shell, shaped like a butterfly. It spoke to me more than any other shells that littered the beach. Carrying it carefully in my hand, I protected it as the sky decided to open up and cleanse the beach.  I smiled like a crazy person as the rain soaked me. I was truly getting a fresh, clean start.

My toes danced with the road, as I realized how deeply the butterfly shell spoke to my journey.  For years I have felt like the sluggish caterpillar, wandering in search, but not quite sure what I was searching for. I would shed versions of myself as I grew and changed, but I always seemed to be searching. Fear shaped decisions and life-long insecurities dictated the woman I saw every morning in the mirror. Time continued to pass as I existed, fighting fears, battling darkness, but showing up and doing what needed done.

Two years ago, I moved from the wandering caterpillar to the protected, hidden, and isolated chrysalis. I retreated from the noise, the anger, the sadness, the darkness, I retreated from all of it to protect my heart. The shell formed, protection against the storms of life that battered incessantly. Eight months ago, the storms reached a pitch that couldn’t be ignored.

The morning embraced me while my footsteps echoed in the quiet. I thought about the last few days on Emerald Isle. I arrived, seemingly protected in my chrysalis, with only small cracks left from storms and my feeble attempts to break free. I understood like real butterflies we need to experience our own breakthrough. If someone else removes our shell before we are ready, we are left with crippled wings, unable to fly. If we don’t tackle the strength of the shell and the issues we hide from on our own, then we could be locked in the chrysalis for eternity. My body tingled as I realized the time spent this week reflecting, thinking, sharing, discovering, and reacting were my final stages. The aha moments cast off the remaining pieces, freeing my soul.

Dodging large puddles, I smiled while the ocean wind tugged at my ponytail. The run was perfect, challenging my body and mind. Courage led me down this path, to this island and to the beautiful souls who had risked, just like me, to search for more, to find more and to realize our greatest power lies deep within our hearts. We searched the depths to shed our fears and find the strong, beautiful, independent women we were meant to be. Each of us stepped into this environment not knowing what to expect but hoping for transformation. Our souls are forever forged by a situation that terrified, overwhelmed, and left us trembling with raw emotion. Their stories shaped me, touched me, and made me acutely aware of how broken we could become. I was broken.

Turning around and heading back I savored every step knowing today was the last day, the last run and the last few moments before things changed. My thoughts were interrupted as a shadow crossed in front of me. Glancing over a buck stood, quiet, still and observing in the pre-dawn darkness. Antlers rose regally above his ears as he watched me. My heart soared as I whispered good morning. My steps were lighter realizing this was the perfect culmination to my run.

Finishing up I quietly entered the house. Leaving my shoes in my room I mounted the stairs and headed to the beach to cool down. The beautiful Atlantic was waiting for me. She was churned up this morning sneaking further up the beach, leaving shells scattered through the sand. Would she miss my heart song as I walked the beach after my run? Would she miss covering my toes in surf and sand and splashing me with errant waves?  Listening to her aria, I kicked the sand and danced in the waves. Glancing down I saw another butterfly shell, this one lighter in color than my first. How fitting. I broke free, standing like a new butterfly, wings crumpled, wet and waiting. As I welcomed the cleansing rain and walked along the beach, strength coursed through my wings.

One final look at the beautiful Atlantic as she rolled in and out, pulling the sand and the shells, changing, churning, and giving life. My journey led me here, to this moment, to this time to find the final pieces. My wings are ready, my soul is at rest, my heart is calm, and I found the truest version of me. Blowing a kiss to the Atlantic I stepped toward my future.  

First Day of School

 

The town was quiet this morning as I headed out for my run. Things are very different for me than in previous years. Both of my boys are starting college today. For the last 16 years I have made sure one or both were awake, everything set for school, first day of school pictures and then off to school. Our routine was set; waking up they would sleepily hug me and then stumble into the bathroom. Early on I made breakfast and as they got older, they made their own. We always said prayers and they would sleepily finish breakfast. In elementary school, I would double check their backpack, making sure they had everything for the day and as they grew that was their responsibility, backed up with a simple, “Have everything?” from me. Both Sweet T and Rockstar are responsible and except for the rare occasion they would leave prepared for the day. Just a couple times in their junior high and high school career did I have to drop off a forgotten book or notebook.

We were blessed and made it a priority to be able to take the boys to school and pick them up. I cherished those 30 golden minutes of chatter after school, listening as they would share everything that happened; what they played at recess, who they ate lunch with, what their favorite part of the day was. When T turned 16 that changed, I stood on the front porch and waved as he drove to school. My heart ached at the change, but I smiled at his new-found independence, knowing that was the next step of many steps of independence to come. As T would drive off, I was thankful we were still able to drop Rockstar off at school. After school, when it was nice, I would kick off work early and walk to meet him. Walking home together he would grab my hand and talk about his day. I cherished that until Austin turned 15. At 15 and 18 they both were high school students. The first day of school when Rockstar was a freshman and Sweet T was a senior, I watched those sweet boys drive off together. They waved, I waved and when I shut the door I cried just a little. Things were changing again. I knew from that moment on, I would never be picking them up or dropping them off again. Those talks in the car or on walks were replaced with homework and chatter at the island, after athletic practices as I made supper. 16 years goes by in the blink of an eye.

 

This morning I thought of them on my run, saying a prayer for a good first day and a great semester. They sweetly kept with tradition, my oldest sending me a picture on his way to class and my youngest swinging by between classes so I could take a picture. With each step I thought about so many of our wonderful memories, knowing we will create new different, memories. I am so blessed and thankful to be their Momma for this journey. Each stage prepared me little by little for the moment when they would soar on their own. The transition from kindergarten to field trips to overnight sleepovers, multiple day athletic trips and world travel without us.

They are in their own places, beginning the next new, exciting chapter and I couldn’t be prouder. I have learned from my boys every step along the way, just as they have learned from me. They are independent, strong, and compassionate individuals, bringing their grace and understanding to our world and community. They are thoughtful, careful with their words and very aware of how they impact those around them. They stand respectfully strong when their heart is convicted, always researching, understanding, weighing costs and benefits trying to make mostly good decisions. We never saddled them with the moniker of perfection, always asking them to do their best in all situations, knowing sometimes their best could change from day to day.  They understand faith at a deep level and make decisions with faith as a foundation. They aren’t overly vocal, preferring to show their faith by actions rather than words.

I texted them both this morning, wishing them good luck and letting them know how proud I am of them, proud of the men they are, and the men they are becoming. My heart sighed with the responses, thankful they are comfortable and grounded enough to chat with Mom. I am glad they know we are a safe place to navigate the changes and that we are always there for them. As the school year starts and I relinquish crayons and tissues for laptops and backpacks I say a quiet prayer of thankfulness for the many memories we have created over the last 16 years, moments etched in time at wonderful ages; painting in art class, zombie tag and wallball at recess, math, chess, choir, band, football, basketball, golf, track, science fairs, field trips, senior years, graduations and now college. I am thankful for the parents who have journeyed with us, supplying hugs as we said good-bye to each stage, who brought tissues when stages got difficult, and who loved our boys as vehemently as we do.

My house is quiet today with no anticipation of hearing how the day went and my heart hurts knowing I will no longer be part of their daily lives, but I smile knowing they will impact the world. Strangely, I don’t yearn for them to be young again. We were present and enjoyed those ages and stages when they happened. Today, with a few tears in our eyes, we celebrate the strong wings of individuality and independence they have grown. They will soar above the clouds ready for the next chapter.

Victim, Victor or Existor

 

Stepping out, I embraced the slight chill in the air. In the last week we had driven over 2,400 miles, my stress level was through the roof, my body was tired, and I didn’t feel like running. But I needed the run, my body needed the release, and I was committed to myself.

Starting out in the early morning darkness, my body immediately pushed back, feeling disjointed and wooden. As I settled into the awkwardness that would be this run, I thought about how easy it would be to make 1,000 excuses justifying why I shouldn’t be up this early running; I had already raced two 5Ks and 2 half marathons in the last week, driven over 2,400 miles, balanced health stuff and hospital visits. Not to mention I had been feeling awful for almost a year. My body had been fighting complete exhaustion. Every day I forced myself awake, battled through my run, got work finished, took care of my family, and somehow made it through the day. I constantly felt like I was swimming through oatmeal with my head encased in cotton. Clear thought was difficult and normal daily routine was a struggle. I chalked everything up to life; it had been challenging for everyone. Depression, sorrow, stress, fatigue, anxiety had become daily companions. I wasn’t vocal about how I was feeling, knowing I was responsible for me. Each morning my options are to become a victim, simply exist or become a victor in my life. 

Despite struggling every day, I did what needed to be done. This morning’s run was no exception. The familiar kiss of my shoes on the pavement helped my body warm up as I breathed in the chilly air. I was not near 100% but believed there was hope for future runs. Required bloodwork showed my autoimmune was going a little crazy, attacking and slowing my body down, causing depression, fatigue, muddled thoughts, and many other things. My levels were double the highest acceptable rate, but we will get it under control.

The miles ticked slowly by as the stars twinkled down, giving me time to think about how easy it could have been to spend the last year with a victim mentality. In life, it is easy to adopt being a victim, a victor or an existor. Sometimes we roll in and out of those three thought processes and sometimes we pour a foundation and take up residence. The difficult truth is we control, create and are responsible for the life we are living.  There are always circumstances beyond our control, but how we react to those circumstances weighs heavily in the outline of each day. A victim mentality severely prevents the ability of finding and seeing joy. There are excuses for everything and a false sense of martyrdom. Regardless of the positivity in the world or the chance to do something different, the victim mentality is always quick to point out reasons it can’t be done; too young, too old, too husky, too skinny, too sick, wrong neighborhood, wrong job, wrong family . . . It draws and thrives on negativity and self-fulfilling prophecy with the belief that nobody understands how difficult their life is. When faced with situations, a victim will settle in with a diagnosis or a life situation and view it as their “lot in life.” You can almost hear the heavy sigh and “poor me” thought process. A victim “reluctantly” enjoys sharing all the things that are wrong with them, wrong with the world, wrong with everyone and everything around them. It is easy to magnify every little problem and feel life is unfair. The victim will wallow in self-pity while putting on the “brave face of martyrdom” .         

A victim mentality would have altered the drive and discipline necessary to train over the last year. The finishes in my first four races in over two years were a direct result of the choice to not be a victim to how I was feeling. It was difficult and sometimes a painful decision to get up and run in all kinds of weather, when everyone was still in bed, running hurt, tired, frustrated, and sad. I ran despite it all, without focusing on excuses. It would be easy to slide seamlessly into victim mode as the world is great at enabling that mentality. I chose, almost daily, not to be a victim. As my steps tapped over the quiet streets, I acknowledged I didn’t want a victim lifestyle nor did I want to simply exist.

Years streak by in a life of existence, and we wake up one day wondering what happened. Existors get up, go to work, get married, have kids, pay the bills, attend the events day after day without truly being engaged. There is no desire to do anything other than what comes next until the journey has ended. It is easy to get caught in a routine that promotes simple existence. Days pass and all of a sudden you wonder, where the last 20 years went, wonder how the kids are already grown and feel as if you missed it all. Memories don’t stand out and everything seems blurred together. In fact, there are few memories other than the daily grind. Everything is done as just the next step or what is expected.  Over the last year it was difficult for me not to fall into just existing. To fight the overwhelming desire to go through the motions required me to be deliberate in my actions. I chose to stop and say good morning to the deer on my run and pause during the day to be thankful for all the blessings surrounding me. Admittedly many runs I have not been fully present, just a conscious thought when I finish and turn off my tracker off. Sometimes those runs are necessary, sometimes those moments are necessary, but life is too precious to make it a habit.

All of us at one point or another will sway into victim, victor or existor, but when you look at your life, what do you see? Are you going through the motions or does bad stuff always seem to happen to you? Does it feel as if you are stuck? How do you get out if you want to leave that lifestyle behind? What prompts you to search for something better, demand something better from yourself and to put in the work to get something better?

Moving into a joyous, victorious lifestyle takes difficult and serious inner self reflection. It takes being completely, brutally and painfully honest with yourself. Begin by asking pointed questions. Do people enjoy being around you and talking to you? Do conversations with you begin and end with your latest difficulty? Do people’s eyes glaze over or do they cut conversations short with you? When you talk to other people, do you listen to what they have to say, or do you interrupt wanting to share things from your perspective? Are you interested in what is happening in their life or is it more about yours? If you are battling different things in your life, what have you done about it? Are you doing things to help make your health or life better? Are you finding positive solutions to what is going on or do you simply just accept? Have you found yourself going through week after week after week without many distinguishing thoughts between them? Are your memories of events fuzzy? Have you done anything spontaneous or stopped to smell the roses? Have you paused in a moment and absorbed it or were you just present? Do you remember the last time you truly felt happiness or joy? These are critical, honest questions that will help you see a  need for change.

The world is incredible and wonder filled with beauty in every corner.  Each day the sun rises and bathes the land in golden light. Warm summer days bring green grass, brilliant colors, beautiful flowers, shorts, dark skin, popsicles, children playing outside and joy. Every season, when you choose to look, has miraculous gifts. Evolving into a victorious life begins with gratitude for these gifts.  Gratitude for a run, even if it is a bad run. Gratitude for each situation regardless of how difficult it may be. Gratitude for the things in life that can be overlooked, a roof over our heads, food on the table, sunshine, flowers, hugs, another day. Whatever it may be, gratitude begins the journey.

As I continued to whittle away the miles, choosing to be thankful for the run, I thought about the victor. What does living a life of victory look like? Of course, I imagine a runner coming across the finish line, arms held high, a combination of pain and exhilaration on their face. But victor is so much more, victor is living a life of gratitude, embracing each moment, living with purpose, remaining positive through the most difficult times, exploring, and experiencing what this world has to offer. Living victoriously is different for everyone, but the common factor is being on purpose, choosing to create the best life possible and having gratitude.  

One of life’s greatest gifts is we can change anytime we want and choose how our next paragraph or chapter will look. We can’t change the beginning of the story, but we can change how it ends. We may have created a life of existence or morphed into a victim mentality, but we don’t have to stay there. We can move whenever we choose knowing there is always room in the victorious lane. Wake up daily and choose to recognize that life is a true and wondrous gift. Go for the walk you have been talking about, take the first step to a better lifestyle. Be the driving force in creating your best life. Choose to make lasting memories, on purpose. Be a positive influence on those around you. Victory lies in the simple pleasures, a smile, a quiet question, a hug, even a bright blue sky. A victorious life can be anything you want it to be.

I push the final half mile of my run, still wooden and awkward, but celebrating the finish. Tapping off my tracker I blow the stars a kiss, and smile.   I am thankful for the hope of feeling better, thankful to be able to run when others can’t, thankful for a gorgeous morning, bright stars and the solitude to gather strength for the day. I choose today and every day to create my victorious life, a life of joy and gratitude.