Tag: happiness

syncing with my sandbox

We’re in Key West for our annual long weekend, celebrating my husband’s birthday. Today is Thursday, the first full day of our trip. This time, we drove down early morning on Wednesday and are staying through Monday, planning to arrive to work later that morning or mid day.

Our annual travel tradition aligns with my husband’s birthday, but it is also a gift for me.  The gift of time, the gift of being away, the gift of no plans other than the occasional dinner reservation. In the past several years, I’ve spent most of my solo time here working on my novel.  I am happy to report that I have submitted my manuscript to an editor in Paris and am awaiting feedback (eek!). While I wait to hear news, I am left for the first time in years with long days in Key West, free to do anything of my choosing or nothing at all. 

Once we checked in to Bob’s Place at Ambrosia House on Fleming (our home away from home), my guy, our pup and I walked to First Flight on Whitehead Street for margaritas and wings, our first stop each time we arrive on island. Then we came back, took a dip in the pool, enjoyed an afternoon snooze, and then headed to Alonzo’s Oyster House for happy hour dinner. Pub fries, smoked fish dip, shrimp tacos, and a dozen oysters on the half shell, washed down with a glass of chilled rose. We closed out the evening with a beer at Half Shell’s Raw Bar, a jaunt we’ve frequented for the past 20 years, since my very initial introduction to Key West in July 2002 to visit my then boyfriend who was clerking at a law firm for the Summer and playing music in Mallory Square for extra cash. We chatted with Joe and Michele, bartenders for the past 22 and 24 years, respectively, and shared our many memories of sitting at that same bar year after year. Michele made me promise to bring my 2003 photo album by when we’re next in town. We then called it an early night so my favorite angler could gear up for fishing day one of three. 

My husband rose at 4 am this morning, packed his quintessential items — cans of Modelo, cigars, lox/capers/onion on an everything bagel scooped and toasted for breakfast on the boat ride out and a lunch wrap with egg salad (made fresh by yours truly), lettuce and tomato with pringles on the side — and biked to Garrison Bight to board the flats skiff owned by Lenny Leonard, his guide and friend for more than a decade. They pulled away from the dock at 5 am sharp, and I received a text from my guy by 7:30 am saying they had boated a 100-pound tarpon on fly, reenergizing his addiction to tight lines.

The text woke me up, and I was pleased to be awakened by such happy news. After a quick walk to the public library so my pup could pee on her rare patch of grass, I ate the resort’s brown bag breakfast in bed, enjoyed some quiet time, and then went back to sleep until 11:30 am. As I said, this trip is a gift that allows me to rest and truly restore. I then walked my fuzzy girl down to the docks, listened to a podcast episode, and talked with two groups of sailors – one aboard a Beneteau Oceanis 50 and the other aboard a custom live-aboard designed by Charlie Payne. I took the long way home, enjoying brief respites from the harsh sun in the shade of the frangipani and palm trees lining the streets of Old Town Key West.  Once back at Bob’s Place, I changed into my swimsuit and hit the pool with a couple of High Noons, a new book, and my earbuds. 

My husband returned around 3:45 this afternoon. He and Lenny boated their one tarpon early in the morning and then got several other bites. After nearly an hour of not spotting a fish, they decided to call it a day and rest up for the two more full days ahead. He is now upstairs napping with our pup and resting up for dinner. I’m in the pool enjoying my lazy day and reflecting on advice shared in the podcast this morning.

Elizabeth Gilbert, famed author of Eat, Pray, Love, is a close friend of Glennon Doyle, host of my favorite podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things”.  EG came on the podcast for a two-episode interview, celebrating the podcast’s one-year anniversary. (Funny enough, I started listening to the pod at week one, when I was here in Key West last year on this same annual getaway for Daniel’s birthday.) A caller named Lolly was having trouble moving past a betrayal by her best friend. She said that the friend kept showing up in her dreams as a constant reminder that their friendship had not had any closure. The woman said she was desperate to move on and let the friend go. While I am thankfully not in a similar situation, the advice that EG gave for moving forward is universally helpful to all people trying to be the best versions of themselves, me included. Here’s a brief excerpt from the transcript:

“My experience is that if I focus my attention on good orderly direction, healthy activities for myself, taking care of my inner little, going to sleep at the right times, nourishing my life in all ways. If I pay attention to those things, then eventually something happens behind my back and those obsessions dissolve… I can’t manufacture the end to that story, but I can turn it over to a higher power and then do what I can to nourish myself. And one day I look up and I notice I haven’t thought about that person in a month. And so what I would do, if I were counseling you, is that I would make a list of top-line behaviors: 10 things that you do that are really good for you, whatever those might be. And then every day, look at that list and try to live in those top lines. And live as much as you can in those top lines, because that’s all I am in control of. That is really all I am in control of. I’m not in control of anything else. And be willing to let time do its good work and let time do it for you, rather than you trying to do it.”

Yes, Liz, yes! When I have battled anxiety in the form of racing thoughts unable to sit still in my own skin, it is only when I lovingly but firmly committed to doing the things I knew were good for me, that make me happy and grounded, that those unhealthy, negative and brooding thoughts slow down and make space for more good stuff in between. I love how EG articulated that connection while also giving it structure, explaining that when we are living in integrity with ourselves doing the things we know make us feel most aligned with our true and best selves, we will stop focusing on the things we can’t control by finding ourselves among the only things we can – our own actions. Her advice inspired to create my own list of top-line behaviors, or what I am calling my sandbox tools – the behaviors that create space for me to find and be me.

My Sandbox Tools

  1. Spending time outside among nature, preferably in the presence of those I love
  2. Getting 8 hours of sleep
  3. Moving my body – exercise, dancing, swimming…
  4. Drinking plenty of water and eating fresh foods
  5. Getting still and quiet
  6. Reading good books
  7. Journaling
  8. Swinging in a hammock, preferably near a body of water
  9. Creating – writing, designing, inventing…
  10. Paying attention to beautiful experiences with lingering curiosity – the taste of an exquisite meal, the points of light in a painting, the unique characteristics of each sunrise/set, the smooth motion of a satellite moving across a night sky, the shimmering dance of the moon on the surface of an inky ocean, the soft crinkles around my mother’s eyes when she laughs, candlelight flickering on the plates of a fine table setting, the sound of the breeze as it moves through palm fronds, sea foam fizzing across the tops of my feet…

It’s not lost on me that one of the many reasons Key West retains its magic year after year is because, when I am here, I tap in daily to nearly all of my top-line behaviors. I enjoy beautiful experiences, pay close attention to my curiosities, rest, read, journal, meditate, swim, dance, create, and spend time with those I love. In other words, I find my sandbox and get in sync with its rhythm that only I can identify and move freely within. I imagine that’s why time spent here always feels like hitting the reset button, like an opportunity to recharge and reconnect with my best self. 

Now, rather than pack my sandbox tools away until next time, I must remember EG’s advice – to pull them out and use them, every day. That is how I will find and stay connected to my best self. On the island, on the mainland, and everywhere in between.

reinventing ourselves: possible or mythical?

In the journey of life and self-discovery, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of reinvention. Here’s my question: Can we really reinvent ourselves and leave our old baggage behind, or are we destined to keep the unsightly stuff from our past as permanent carry-ons?

In my late 20s and early 30s, I started getting a lot more anxious about things that used to be sources of joy (social situations, traveling, family gatherings, etc.). I would find myself – pardon the heavy term – mourning my younger self and wishing I could summon her spontaneity, free spirit and courage as super powers for wholesome living now. I wanted to break the chain of scheduled routines (control), keeping up appearances (control), staying within my comfort zone (control) and leap into life with that same child-like enthusiasm I once had years ago.

Recently, my best girlfriend from childhood came for a visit. We had a wonderful time reminiscing about high school boyfriends, friendships, trips and the many dramatic moments of adolescence. We were on our school dance team together for all four years of high school and, every summer, we would travel to UDA dance camp to compete against other schools in our state. When you’re a teenager dreaming of being a real Rockette at Radio City, you believe summer UDA camp is the gateway to the big leagues. Here’s how it works …

You bunk in a real dorm room at a real state university (a big deal, especially for pre-pubescent girls … hey, I was a late bloomer). Then you spend your days at the university sports arena learning multiple dance routines with girls from other schools. You may be the only girl from your school in your group, or if you’re lucky, there will be maybe one other girl you know. Then you spend all night (literally) practicing the routines in your dorm room or hallway until your fellow teammates deem you ready for the competition at the end of the week where you will be judged by real judges (Looking back, I’m not sure why I was terrified of the judge panel – they were probably just ex- high school dancers themselves with real day jobs).

At the end of each routine, you stand quietly looking at the ground (no eye contact permitted) with your hands behind your back. The judges then place one of three ribbons in your hand: White if you effed it up royally, red if you were mediocre, or blue if you were the bomb dot com (it was the late ’90s when we used terms like ‘bomb dot com’).

Our dance team sponsor (for me, my Home Ec teacher, Mrs. H), would then collect the team’s ribbons and hang them on a hanger. At the end of the week, the hanger would be filled to the brim of – what you hoped was – all blue ribbons. Then we would travel back to our small town with at least 15 dance routines to perform the rest of the school year at basketball games and pep rallies (no way would booty-shaking make it onto the football field in my town).

So, back to reinvention …

During our walk down memory lane over spiked lemonades pool side, my friend reminded me of our senior trip to UDA camp, when – as only seniors can – I tried out for UDA All Stars (the biggest of big deals). As an All Star tryout, you had to come up with your own 30-second routine and perform solo in front of – get this – the entire camp. Yep, all your teammates, all the girls from all the schools, and all their parents. Oh, and the scary judges. And this was in addition to your other routines you had to learn along with everyone else. AND, only three winners would be chosen and get to go to Paris to compete for international All Star status. Whoah. I’d never been out of the country! I’ll come back to this in a few moments …

So one of my teachers of the normal routines ended up being sick with the flu all week and couldn’t practice with us, so we all bombed it during the competition. With the stress of not having had ample practice time, embarrassing myself during the performance and working my toosh off for my All Star routine, I had a little (not so little) bit of a meltdown.

Standing there with my hands behind my back after performing (or should I say looking dazed and confused while marking time for more than half) the routine that no one knew, I could feel the white ribbon in my hand. Traditionally, once all dancers have their ribbons in their hands, the judges count down from 3, then everyone looks at their ribbons, jumps up and down while shrieking only the way teenage girls can, and then everyone runs to their team’s wire hanger to display their ribbon with pride.

Not this time. No way, Jose. I balled that freaking ribbon in my hand so tightly and refused to look at it. Instead I ran straight to my Mom with a fist full of ribbon and a face full of hysterical tears.

Pause: I remembered none of this. In my memory, it was all unicorns and rainbows, and I had completely forgotten about this less-than-stellar moment in my short-lived dance career. Okay, let’s go back …

My mom told me all the reasons it was okay to get a white ribbon, reminding me that the teacher was sick and that I was under a lot of stress and that my teammates would understand and blah blah blah. I knew she was trying to console me, but I knew my perfect blue-ribbon run was over. Only one other person on our team had ever received a white ribbon, and three years later, people still used her as an example. Snotty and splotchy, I refused to open my hand. White ribbon be damned. Finally, my mother pried my fingers open only to reveal … a blue ribbon.

You can imagine my surprise when I realized the sick instructor had shown pity on all of us and given everyone an honorable blue ribbon. I knew in my heart that I deserved a white ribbon. None of us deserved blue.

And then I snapped out of my momentary goodwill, got myself together and cheerfully hung my most infamous blue ribbon on the wire hanger with pride. Whew!

Then it was time to perform my All Star routine. I stood with the other girls in the back waiting for my name to be called. I remember hearing my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I actually asked a girl from Spartman HS (my rival) if she could hear it. Way to play it cool.

Several girls decided at the last minute that the pressure was too great and just didn’t go out there when their name was called over the loud speaker. For a moment, I thought about it and came so close to quitting. After all, I had gotten my blue ribbons. Did I really need Paris, too?

And then they called my name, and it was too late to back out. I ran out onto the floor, waited for the music to start, and then began my routine. I remember being in awe that my mind could be completely freaking out while my body flew around the floor, dancing to the rhythm just as I had practiced.

When I hit the last pose, the crowd roared, and I saw my mom and my teammates jumping and cheering. Then I saw smiles on the judges faces. I had won All Stars and gotten one of the coveted three spots. I was over the moon.

Sure, it was fun to relive my overblown reactions to big-deal moments of teenagerdom with my friend, but it also taught me an important lesson. Much like people who struggle with body dysmorphia, I had my own brand of youth dysmorphia.

I had rewritten the truth of my past into a cloud of naïve bliss, forgetting that my brave, spontaneous, free-spirited younger self had her own fears, stresses, challenges and insecurities, and just like my current self, she sometimes wanted to run for the hills.

But she didn’t. And I won’t either. There’s too many great opportunities up for grabs for those who are brave enough to keep going.

So, back to our question: Can we reinvent ourselves? Not in an instantaneous Abbra Cadabra way, no (not if you want it to last any way), but slowly and over time, I believe we can. No matter our location on life’s continuum, I believe the thread of who we are at our core remains the same, but it evolves, grows and expands with every choice, new experience or change in direction we’re brave enough to learn from and embrace.

And, when things get tough, it’s good to know we’ll always have Paris.

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pause. notice. experience.

I’m inside my two-week notice period at my current job that I’ve held for nearly six years. I’m wooohoooo and eeeeeeek all at the same time. Counting down the days, yet savoring each one.

I’m also noticing a lot of internal observation about how I’m handling this transition. While I have one foot in the unknown adventure ahead, the rest of me is hanging back in familiar territory, reminiscing about all the good times and wearing rose-colored glasses, finding every excuse to categorize this new, exciting time as a scary place with just too much incalculable risk.

Lately, I’ve been unfairly comparing how I’m handling the situation to how I believe others would approach this time. Telling myself that it’s no big deal and that others would approach this unknown territory with more grace, more comfort, more confidence, and less anxiety, sleepless nights and what-ifs. I mean, isn’t this what I wanted? Yep. Haven’t I been praying for direction and that just right opportunity to come my way? Yep. And isn’t this the kind of opportunity worth moving my family, saying goodbye to friends and colleagues, and stepping out into a brave, new world where this particular girl has never gone before? Yep. And now … here it is, the opportunity of my life, checking all the boxes I wanted, and I’m greeting it with excitement, sure, but also a big ol’ heaping of fear.

So, I’m taking steps to learn to give myself a break and stop comparing my experience to other people and their response to situations I know nothing about. I am not those people. I’m me, responding the way I am responding, and that is okay. It’s more than okay. It’s exactly as it should be.

And by the way, those mixed emotions I’m feeling? Those are part of the human condition and completely natural. There is a wealth of experience to be had in good times, bad times and these awkward in-between times, and I don’t want to miss any of it sitting over here on the sidelines, awhirl in a flurry of thought.

Whatever “change” looks like now or down the road, I know that recognizing we’re afraid and calling fear by name rather than getting swept up in its powerful flow – well, that’s the first step toward weakening its chokehold on happiness.

So, starting right now, I choose to pause, notice and experience this day, this moment and this time of transition. And when I do look back on it from some future point in time, I hope I’ll see a younger version of myself who made a brave choice that led to fulfillment, growth and, yes, that sweetest emotion of all … happiness. Now that’s a very brave choice, indeed.