Recalculating

Posted on by stilllearning2b

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Early April of 2010 was a strange time for me. My divorce had been finalized a few weeks before, I had given notice at my current school that I would not be returning the following year, I had just started falling for Brock and I was planning on moving to Seattle in June. I should have been in a panic.  The life I was living had an expiration date. I didn’t know how I would make money or where I was going to live come June. I should have been scared of the unknown, especially since I am a planner by nature. Surprisingly, I was only slightly uncomfortable with the amorphous nature of my future. I think I was so relieved to have survived the divorce that I felt like I could accomplish anything.

I had been applying to school jobs online in the Seattle area, but I needed to visit the city in person to complete the background check needed to get my teaching certification in Washington. My friend and coworker, Carissa, was in a similar situation. She was ready to leave Georgia and wanted to move to the NW to go to graduate school. Like me, she had vague plans but nothing solidified. We decided to move against the spring break migratory patterns and visit Seattle that April. We planned on a combination of sightseeing and job hunting/ school searching while we stayed with my dad and his wife.

We rented a car and plugged in my GPS, which I packed since I had only been to Seattle once as adult (I was visiting Seattle the previous summer when I received the text that my husband had left). Now, if you are familiar with Seattle, you know there is an area through downtown where the interstate splits into 17 levels (okay, so maybe it’s more like 3, but it feels like 17). As Carissa and I were traversing that area in order to get from the airport to my dad’s house, the GPS instructed us to take a left turn from the top level where there was no place to turn. We ignored its command since we hadn’t taken out the extra rental insurance. A few moments later, the device announced, in a voice that sounded like a robot raised in Australia, “Recalculating.”

It became a common utterance of the GPS over the next week as we traveled around unknown areas. We laughed every time we heard that word and it became the theme of our week. I’m not sure if it was due to the excessive cloud cover in Seattle in the spring, our wrong turns, or divine providence, but I have never heard my GPS recalculate so much before or since. Carissa and I never became annoyed at the machine, we actually laughed harder each time it needed to recalculate. It wasn’t worth getting upset about. We trusted the GPS to get us there even if it took a different path than expected.

It was fitting, as Carissa and I were both recalculating ourselves during that trip. We went into the week with grand plans of interviews (for both) and university tours (for her). The reality? We went whale watching, took the underground tour, did the wineries, saw Vagina Monologues, listened to live music, visited the Pike St. market and hiked the foothills of the Cascades (every trip peppered with “recalculating”. We only made one future-related stop and that was to submit the fingerprints and other information for the background check in order to teach in Washington. Now, Carissa really wanted to take a break from teaching and become a full-time student. She was only applying as a back-up. Me? I had no desire to go back to school; I was applying to be able to bring in a paycheck.

Except I made the decision at the last minute not to complete the process.

My entire life, I have played it safe. I have always been conservative with career choices and money. I only took very calculated risks and generally only when I was okay regardless of the outcome. I’ve never been impulsive. I’m not one to fly by the seat of my pants. I am a planner to the nth degree. I find comfort and security in lists and spreadsheets.

But that week, I recalculated. I made the decision to put aside the plans (and, yes, spreadsheets) of the previous 8 months. I decided to shelve my preparations for a move to Seattle. I still don’t really know why I did it and I still can’t believe that I did. I chose to follow my instinct that spring rather than approach the situation more rationally. So, after traveling 3000 miles from Atlanta to look for employment in the NW, I started looking for Georgia jobs while seated on my father’s couch. Nuts? Absolutely. But, strangely, I felt calm about the decision.

Within a few weeks, I had a job in Atlanta lined up for the fall and I located an apartment. It’s a decision that I’ve never regretted but I still can’t fully understand. Yes, I had started seeing Brock, but that relationship was very young and we had no idea that it was going to persist. Honestly, at that time, I would have said that my need to escape from the memories of Atlanta was stronger than my feelings for Brock. So, why did I stay? What was it in that moment that allowed me to trust the GPS of my gut rather than the itinerary mapped out in my brain? I don’t know but I’m glad I listened.

It’s easy for us to try to fully plan our route through life. But sometimes, our vision becomes clouded or we make a wrong turn or divine providence intervenes and we have to recalculate. Sometimes we get upset when that happens. We want to get back on the planned route and continue the planned journey. We might get irritated at having our preparations interrupted.Yet, we never really know where a path will lead. Every journey has an element of faith. Sometimes we simply have to trust that a decision is the right one for us in the moment.

As a planner, I struggle with staying calm when things unexpectedly change. But now, when they do, I think back to that spring, Carissa and I laughing in the car, and my instinct leading me the right way. There’s nothing wrong with recalculating. Even if you traveled a long way to do it.

Now, if I could only go whale watching in Atlanta:)

My Favorite Gifts

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Christmas is a season with conflicted values – spiritual butting up against the material. Many of us (and I’m including myself) struggle with trying to find the balance between the commercial and the intent. Perhaps we can find a place where both can reside.

I looked back at my favorite gifts that I have received over the past few years. Some have monetary value. Some do not. All have meaning and have enriched my life well beyond the space under the tree.

Kitchen Floor

Gift: Kitchen Floor

Giver: Sarah

Significance: When I was hit with the tsunami divorce, my friend Sarah immediately offered me safe harbor in her home for a year. I gratefully accepted, renting the guest bedroom and a corner of the bonus room. Her home, with her husband and new baby, was a very special place. It was filled with the sounds of life and it was a space where I felt safe and protected. During that year, we spent untold hours in the kitchen, me on the floor (often with the baby) while Sarah was cooking (an art I had not yet mastered). Those kitchen sessions were filled with conversations about everything and nothing. We laughed and cried, often at the same time. That floor was the gift of listening.

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Gift: Running clothes

Giver: My ex (before he was the ex)

Significance:  I didn’t start running until I turned 30. It quickly became a passion of mine and my mileage began to creep up. At that time, I had been used to working out in our home gym. I didn’t own much in the way of exercise clothing, yet I was too cheap to invest in any, especially items that could handle the Georgia heat. My ex surprised me with three pairs of Underarmor running shorts and a few tech fabric shirts. Those items allowed me to run more comfortably and on a more frequent basis. I still wear them all the time. Those clothes are the gift that remind me that, at one time, my ex cared.

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Gift: Bamboo cutting board

Giver: Carissa, a friend

Significance: This was given to me at the time I was moving from Sarah’s house into my own apartment. In my previous life, I never did much cooking. It seemed like a waste of time to me. Carissa and Sarah both showed me the healing power of food and the pleasure that can be found through preparing a nourishing meal for myself and others. I am still no hostess, but I now prepare meals on a frequent basis and share my food and knowledge with others. This was a gift of nourishment.

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Gift: Action Potential Wellness sign

Giver: my dad

Significance: Change spurs more change. After I survived the tsunami, I decided I wanted to move into wellness coaching. I spent a year doing the certifications and other preparation. Finally, it was time to decide on a name and a logo. I emailed the JPEG to my dad and, much to surprise and delight, he had it made into a fabric banner. This sign has practical uses but, more than anything, it was a message that my dad believed in me.

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Gift: handwritten cards

Giver: students (current and former)

Significance: I was a horrible math student (although I excelled at school overall and I had terrible experiences with math teachers. I was drawn to math education so that I could help students like me – bright, but had trouble communicating with algebra. Every year of the 11 I’ve taught, I receive Christmas cards (sometimes hastily written on torn out notebook paper)  from my students. Many express how they finally like math. How they understand more than ever before. And how they have confidence in themselves to push past difficulties. Every year I cry. Those cards are the gift that tells me I matter.

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Gift: iPod

Giver: Kay, a family friend

Significance: Kay is sort of like an aunt to me. She is friends with my mom and used to join us for holidays and outings. She was my designated “watcher” when I was in high school and my mom was out of town. She has been in my life since childhood and has had a significant impact on me. After the divorce, I received an iPod from Kay along with a Nike iFit sensor. She had “go Lisa go. here’s to new beginnings” engraved on the back. That iPod has been my constant companion and has traveled with me as I’ve run countless miles. It was a gift of moving forward.

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Gift: GPS

Giver: Kay again:)

Significance: Kay was upgrading her GPS and passed the previous one down to me. Before the divorce, I would borrow my husband’s when I needed one (For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta roads, a GPS is very useful here. Traffic is terrible, everything is named Peachtree, and the city is so spread out that it is impossible to be familiar with it all.) The GPS gave me the freedom to travel to new areas to meet friends or dates (!) without fear of getting lost or getting into a wreck while trying to read a map. It was a gift of freedom.

Patio

Gift: Patios

Giver: my mom

Significance: I traveled to San Antonio to visit my mom during the second spring break after the divorce. We both craved some mother-daughter time that was not centered around lawyers and tears. We embarked upon a week-long patio tour of San Antonio, eating and drinking our way across the outdoor eateries of the city. We talked, we giggled, we enjoyed the creative concoctions of Texas mix masters. We joked about creating an app that ranked patios based upon ambiance, menu, and libations. We still haven’t gotten around to it. I think we need to test more first… 🙂 Those patios were a gift of family.

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Gift: Jeans

Giver: Christian, a friend

Significance: Okay, first, these are not just any jeans. These are two pairs of tight, ripped, sexy jeans. After the divorce, I felt anything but sexy. My weight had dropped to dangerous levels and I barely registered that I had a body at all. Christian and I met in a Starbucks the morning after my first ever race. We hit it off and spent the next 12 hours together. A couple of weeks later, he surprised me with the jeans. They fit. Oh, did they fit. I felt like a woman again for the first time in months. It was a gift of sexy and inner confidence.

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Gift: computer

Giver: me

Significance: Until a year ago, I had been using a hand-me-down computer from my ex. It was littered with his programs, much of which was protected by passwords I did not know or needed dongles I did not have. I hated seeing his name appear on registrations and stumbling across old pictures and audio files. I put up with it because I did not have the money for a new machine. Things became critical last year when I was unable to update any of the programs or the operating system any longer due to the machine’s advanced age (2005, I think). I used some of the money refunded to me by the IRS for innocent spouse relief to purchase an 11″ Macbook Air. I love this thing. It is small enough to fit in my purse so that I can work in the park or in a coffee shop, yet it is fully functional. This machine has made my writing of the past year possible. It was a gift of voice.

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Gift: Hand carved picture frame

Giver: Brock

Significance: Brock and I stayed in a cabin in the North Georgia mountains during our first Thanksgiving together (this was the inspiration for our camping tradition).  That fall was when we really were becoming a couple. We were beginning to open up more and we were beginning to believe in a future together. In fact, that trip is when we became a team. Brock was on a mission that trip to find and cut a perfect walking stick. During our day long hikes, he was constantly stopping to slash down dead tree limbs to test them for viability. I think he went through a dozen sticks before he found the one. That Christmas, I opened a box that contained a picture of us on that trip surrounded by a frame made out of that walking stick. In it, he had carved “11/24/10 Ellijay,GA.” It was a gift of love and hope for the future.

 

A Birthday Message to My Car

Posted on by stilllearning2b
birthday message to my car

In a few days, my car will be 13 years old. It is strange how an inanimate object can be tied to so many memories and can act as a benchmark and barometer of life’s major events.

1994-2001 Acura Integra photographed in USA.

I bought my car, a 1999 Acura Integra,  when I was 21 years old and 6 months shy of my wedding.  I had just moved across the country to join my fiance, who had relocated several months earlier in order to find work.  I felt like I was on the precipice of my adult life: I had moved away from my childhood city, I was soon to be married, and I was in the process of making major decisions about school and career.

We were excited to buy the car.  We felt adult.  We liked signing our names together on the note and on the title.  We felt proud of our research and negotiating powers, paying only $300 over cost and we were able to put over half down.  I called my mom, excited to tell her about the new purchase.  As I described the leather seats, she moaned, “Oh, Lisa,” in a tone that would have been more at home if she had just found out I had gotten a large tattoo.  I didn’t care; it was my car and I loved every inch of it.

It really was my car.  My ex was a tall man, about 6’1″.  A 2-door Integra wasn’t exactly a comfortable fit for him.  We used his vehicle (which changed over the years) whenever we went someone together.  My car remained mine and mine alone.

In the early months, she was often filled with unique finds to make our apartment feel more like a home.  Soon after we married, we purchased a house that we immediately began to remodel.  My car was never without a random tile, a leftover tub of spackle, or a paint sample strip as we worked to create our dream house.

When she wasn’t driving to Home Depot, she took me back and forth to school to get my B.S. and then later my master’s.  She took me to small jobs as a receptionist and a physical therapy technician before I settled on becoming a teacher. Once my career was set, she had only to carry me 3 miles round trip each day to the middle school down the street.

Even though my ex was rarely in the car, he worked to make it better for me.  He pulled off all of the interior of the doors to insert extra insulation to cut the road noise.  He replaced the factory stereo with a hand-me-down of his and hard-wired in the XM radio.  He took on the repeating task of washing the exterior and vacuuming the inside. He made his mark.

As my car began to age and my ex bought a new car, she began to be the choice transportation for the dogs.  I also developed a passion for gardening, and I would frequently fill her to the brim on biannual trips to a local budget nursery.  Her carpets still have stray leaves and embedded dog hairs; signs of a life left behind.

My car’s life changed after the divorce also.  She had been protected in a garage up until that point.  Now, she bears the hail scars and pollen stains of a life lived outside.  With the addition of a GPS (a post-divorce gift from a friend), she has led me on adventures, traveling further than she ever had before (with the added security of a AAA card in deference to her advanced age).  Her title has changed over the years: first my maiden name and my ex’s name, then my name changed to match his, and now, she is in my name alone.  Her plates have changed, reflecting my move across town.

She no longer has the shiny unblemished exterior of her youth.  Her leather seats now show cracks from where my legs rub against them (and where my tears fell for many months).  Her trunk no longer opens and her antennae often sticks.  But that hunk of steel, that has been with me through so much, still runs beautifully.

Today, she yet again carries a dog.  I like to think that makes her smile.

So, happy birthday to my car and thank you for carrying me through the bad times and staying through the good.