S(mile) Markers

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my marathon recap post, I mentioned something that my boyfriend had done that helped get me through the difficult moments in the race. Before he left to park the car, he handed me a stack of 6 notes, each with a mile printed on the outside. I was instructed to open and read each one at the indicated time. The notes were simple, yet those few words of love and encouragement propelled me through the pain and gave purpose to the race which kept me from giving up. They were my smile markers, as eagerly anticipated as an advent calendar at Christmas for a little kid.

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They may be crumpled and sweat stained, but they will never be thrown away!

I was telling a mutual friend about these notes the other day and I realized that the concept could be applied in a much broader way. I know in the early days of my divorce, the support from friends and family was overwhelming. I received calls, emails, letters, and cards. Everyone wanted to help, but no one knew exactly how. As is only natural, as time moved on, the contact waned. Life is busy and we all get distracted. I was in a better place, but like the miles in a marathon, I had thoughts of quitting along the journey of the divorce.

If you know someone who is undergoing a divorce or other difficult transition in their life, create smile markers for them. Maybe print the dates of challenging anniversaries or important milestones on the outside. On the inside, write messages of friendship, love, shared memories, inspiration, and hope. Give them the entire stack at once; knowing that you have a gift in the future helps to persevere through any ugliness in the present.

If you are the one in a difficult transition, share this idea with friends and family when they ask how they can help you. They want to help; they just don’t know how. You can also create your own messages, gather quotes and pictures that bring you joy and peace and place them in envelopes with important or difficult dates printed on the outside. Even though you do not have the element of surprise, simply opening a blessing in midst of pain will still bring a smile.

When journeys feel too immense to ever complete, they are best broken up into smaller treks. Why not mark each one with a smile marker? 🙂

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Gulp!

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Skier carving a turn off piste
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, last night I made a committment. I made a nonrefundable payment towards a ski trip in North Carolina over the winter holiday. I know what you’re thinking, “That sounds lovely.” It does, but it also sounds scary.

You see, I’m not afraid of snakes. Or clowns. Or heights. Or public speaking. I am; however, afraid of land that slopes away from me. Perhaps it’s because I was born in the flatlands of Florida and raised on the unvarying topography of south Texas. Maybe I had some hill trauma as a young child that has since been repressed (are there any therapists that specialize in hill trauma?). Who knows? I just know that the thought of standing at the top of a snowy icy (it is man-made stuff there) hill while standing on long, thin strips makes me panic. Just a little.

Learning to Go Downhill

I have never been skiing before. I have learned to appreciate the winter sports of sledding and tobogganing, both of which are executed a safe distance from the ground (read: under an inch). Knowing me, my first attempt at skiing will probably have me in a full squat with my butt just barely clearing the land below. Go ahead and laugh – the image makes me giggle too.

I am signing up for lessons for the two days we will be there (otherwise I would probably never move from the top of the runt bunny slope). Since I know nothing about skiing, I considered reading up on techniques prior to the trip. But then I changed my mind. You see, the reason that hills scare me is that I over think them. I want to be in control every step (or slide) of the way down. But that just isn’t possible. You have to plan at the beginning, set up your path and let go. And trust. Why is it that I can do that in my life but not on a hill?

So, I am going to try to not use my brain on this trip. I am going to work on feeling the instruction rather than memorizing and analyzing it. I am going to learn to trust in myself and my ability to get down the mountain hill relatively unscathed. Maybe I should picture myself giving a speech to a bevy of evil clowns holding snakes…that might help to keep me calm:)

So, until the trip, I am going to work on making the rest of the reservations and locating all of the gear needed, but I am not going to plan how to ski. For that, I am just going to trust my gut.

Gulp!

The Gift of Giving

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I received a gift tonight. No, not one that was wrapped and sitting under a tree, nor one that came in a box at all. The gift I received tonight was the gift of giving.

 

My boyfriend and I made our usual trip to the gym this evening. Usual, with one small caveat – he was almost out of gas. Now, this is a situation that historically has caused me great stress. Until my mid-twenties, I never let my car go below 1/4 of a tank. Yeah, I know. I am getting better; however, and the situation this evening only caused me mild distress until we pulled into the gas station with 1 mile left on the digital readout.

Gas can & Twine
(Photo credit: silverlunace)

 

By the time Brock and I left the gym this evening, it was dark out (not cold, however. thanks, Atlanta for this springtime respite!). We saw a woman struggling with a gas can with her car pulled just into the driveway of the gym (a position we could have easily been in ourselves just 30 minutes earlier). Brock immediately stopped the car, rolled down the window, and asked if she needed help. She said she couldn’t get the nozzle of  the gas can to operate according to the directions. Brock put his car in reverse, and pulled out of the driveway, hitting a piece of metal and blowing a rear tire in the process.

A brief interlude: After only a few weeks of dating, Brock spent an afternoon helping me as I purchased an apartment’s worth of furniture from IKEA, loaded it into a rental truck, and carried it up 3 flights of stairs. On our way back to the rental facility (after MANY trips up those damned stairs), we came across a man who had run out of gas just outside my new apartment. As the nearest gas station was a mile away, Brock offered to give him a ride there and back. We were exhausted. I was elated. I knew then I had a man worth keeping.

 

Undaunted, he got out, and proceeded to try to help the woman. It turns out that this gas can was either designed by or manufactured by complete morons, as it was impossible to connect the nozzle to the can in any fashion. She and I proceeded to mess with the pesky plastic piece of junk (eventually using a laminated brochure as a funnel in its place) while Brock went to change his tire.

 

We left the gym parking lot 20 minutes later than planned with gas on our hands, rumbles in our bellies and a busted tire. But we also left happy, filled with the authentic well-being that can only come from helping another. And that’s a gift we can all receive.

 

 

 

Learning to Breathe

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve never been very good at breathing. 

My childhood was spent with perpetual croup, the seal-barking cough echoing through the house at all hours.  Eventually, I was diagnosed with asthma, my lungs plied with drugs that were supposed to encourage them to relax.  Regardless of the dosages and names of the medications, I always failed my lung function tests at the allergists.  I wasn’t used to failing tests, but I didn’t know how to study for that one.

I adapted to my lungs.  I knew when an attack was about to have me helpless in its clutches, I knew when pneumonia was setting in.  I let my lungs call the shots and we had an agreement that I would work within their constraints.

Then, one day soon after my 30th birthday, I grew tired of the bondage.  I turned the tables on my lungs and informed them I wanted to start running.  This was a laughable goal, as I had never even completed the mile running in school.  But I was determined.

I started at a local park with a .75 mile loop.  My first try was a humbling experience.  You see, I was in shape.  I lifted weights and could do cardio.  I just couldn’t run.  Within moments of beginning, my chest heaved, my breathing was rapid and gasping.  I was taking in air as though threatened, as though the next breath would never come.  I made it one full loop that first day, but I still didn’t know how to run.

Over the next few weeks, I kept at it, returning to the park 3-4 times a week.  I starting to trust my body.  Believe in my breath.  I worked to consciously slow my breathing, pulling air deep down into the unused basement of my lungs.  As I learned to breathe, I was able to increase my mileage to the point where I outgrew that park in the next two months.

My breath training extended to yoga.  I had been practicing since I was in high school, but I always focused on the positions and movements, not the airflow.  Running had brought the breath to consciousness; yoga taught me how to use the breath to calm and energize the body.

Then July came.  Disaster struck.  I lost contact with my breath, but I didn’t even realize it.  I just knew my chest felt constricted, wrapped in bindings carried in by the trauma.  I wasn’t able to run or to do yoga, getting even further out of touch with my lungs.  It finally took a third party to make the re-introduction; a therapist at a meditation and yoga retreat that autumn after my breath left me.

I lay on the floor of her office, cradled in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  She kneeled next to me, her voice soothing and calm.  She spoke to my breath, encouraging it to return, assuring it that I was ready to make its acquaintance once again.  She spoke to me, telling me to trust my breath, to allow it deep into my lungs.

My chest began to rise, the bindings loosening.  As the oxygen flowed in, I felt grounded.  Whole.  Reconnected.

My breath and I still have a complicated relationship.  I frequently don’t find it until a couple miles into a run or 10 minutes into a yoga practice.  I still have to encourage it, willing it back into my body, especially when I find myself gripped my stress.  It may at times be a tumultuous relationship, but I have no intention of loosing connection with my breath again.

Birth Announcement

Posted on by stilllearning2b