A Pledge to My Children

What do you want to do when you grow up?

It only took about 39 years. This includes four years of college, two years of graduate school, several years in the real world, and a little over ten years as an at-home mom to figure out…

I AM ALREADY what I WANT TO BE when I grow up.

That’s all it took.

It takes many of us a lifetime to answer that ever-present question: What do you want to BE when you grow up? I think it is true for everyone…you already are what you’ve always wanted to be.

So, here is my pledge to my children: I will never again ask you what you want to BE when you grow up. I will never again ask any child that question.

It is a really dumb question for one simple reason: Asking someone, especially a child, what they want to BE implies that what they already are is not enough. It is just the beginning of a journey down a very long road through a dark forest of trees that cannot be climbed because one is not strong, smart, tall, short, old, or young enough. As we move through the forest we learn from everyone we meet and all the feedback we get that what we want to be is far more important than what we already are. We get graded, we try-out, we make it, we get cut, we fail, we pass, and we graduate, all the time receiving signs and signals that we are not good enough as-is. We must learn more, eat less, and lift heavier weights to prove our worth. When in fact, all along we are worthy.

While I do have ten years in the field, I am sure that most “experts” wouldn’t call me an expert in parenting. That’s my disclaimer. I understand that it is really fun to ask kids this question. They say really cute things in response. Until just now, I thought it was a great question. Especially when followed with some heartfelt encouragement like “That is awesome! You can be anything you want to be!” There is value in challenging children to try harder, of course. We want everyone to be the best they can be, right? I think the way we say things matters though, so we need to be careful.

So, here is what I might say instead, if I really can’t help myself, which is often likely in my case. I might say, “What do you like to DO?” And I could follow that with “Wow, I know some adults who liked to [play with Legos] when they were kids and now they have jobs as [engineers and architects and math teachers]. Do you know any [engineers or architects or math teachers]?…” Stuff like that.

In many places I have heard the phrase, we are spiritual beings having a human experience. I’m sure there is a really smart person I could give credit to for making that statement, but I don’t know exactly who she is (okay, or he). One of my favorite yoga instructors often says, “We are human BE-ings, not human DO-ings.” It’s true. We are human beings, and as human beings we are implicitly given permission to BE. Actually, it’s probably more of a mandate. BEING comes with our territory as humans. It seems to me that us BEING has something to do with the architecture here on earth. I think BEING is part of our mission.

So why do we put so much emphasis on what we DO? It is not with malicious intent that we ask, What do you DO for a living? or What are you DOING right now? or What are you planning to DO? It’s because we are curious and quite often we care about the people to whom we ask these questions. I can tell you from personal experience, however, that if you aren’t too crazy about what you “do” it can be quite awkward, disheartening even, to be asked what you do for a living. I think in generations past, we weren’t so obsessed with what people do. I think we understood that what we do all day doesn’t necessarily define who we are. I also think if we spent less time focused on what we are DOing and more time simply BEing, we would be much happier people.

I think one of my mom’s most lucid moments after my dad’s death was when we were composing his obituary. Someone at the funeral home drafted something for us and we sat around a table reading it. It said something like James Shields Hodges was a Sheet Metal Worker…. My mom looked up and said, “that’s what he did, but that is not who he was.” And then she listed all these really wonderful things that he was, like an artist and an activist and a musician. And yes, you could argue that these are things a person can do, but really, if you know an artist or a musician, you know that what they DO in that case is very much who they ARE too. You are an artist in your soul. You create art because you have no choice, but to create. You feel like you might die if you stop. Creating connects you to all that surrounds you and everything beyond that. I was never an administrative assistant because I thought I couldn’t go on if I stopped filing papers or writing memos. Quite the opposite, actually. But administrative work was something I did because it allowed me to support myself when I graduated from college.

When I was a child I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I also wanted to be a teacher, a nurse, and even a parapsychologist. As I grew up, even though I wrote all the time, I lost touch with my dream to be a writer. When I revisited that dream, I knew I could never be a writer because I didn’t have a degree in writing, I didn’t have a portfolio of beautifully crafted writings, and there were people out there who were much better writers than I ever dreamed of being. I was so programmed to believe that what I did every day defined who I was that I didn’t even realize I was a writer all along.

Some people are really lucky and they have amazing jobs that allow them to express themselves. Some people have jobs that allow them to make a living. I will not stop encouraging my children to dream BIG, but I think we need to be more careful when we talk to children about great big things like THE FUTURE. Notice, I’m roping you into this one. Please consider it an invitation, as I understand you might think I’m full of it. Honestly though, you just never know what a child might hang on to as little he or she continues to travel through the dark forest of life. You never know what dreams will get squashed when he or she hears the message that they can’t do something because they are not qualified in whatever artificial way society has created to qualify them for that particular job. And in the meantime, simply being every once in a while…every day even, has so much more value than doing tons of crap anyway.

Each and every little child, and all of their parents, and every other human out there, is enough. Understanding that and allowing ourselves more time to BE, rather than trying to DO more, will go a long way. There is really no need to ask a child what he or she wants to be. Most of them really just want to be taller. Every other thing they are already, is all that they will ever need to be…a sweet little soul having a human experience.

Let them BE. Let yourself be while you’re at it.

Please stop being so hard on yourself.

They eat chicken McNuggets sometimes and that doesn't make me a bad mom.

You know what’s funny? I was just sitting here thinking about how cool I am because I can honestly say that my percentage of time spent comparing myself to other people has dropped dramatically in the last year. I used to spend a lot of time thinking I was a bad mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, volunteer, niece and so on because other women seemed to be so much better at all of it than me. Now, I don’t do that as much. Like, hardly ever. But I still feel like I’m falling short in a lot of ways. So here is what is funny: I now compare myself to an IMAGINARY Anna.

IMAGINARY Anna is a lot like me, but not so rough around the edges. All of her laundry is caught up and she makes nutritious, delicious dinners for her family every night, even on the weekends. AND, all three of her kids eat every last bite of these meals WITHOUT COMPLAINING. In fact, they tell her she is an excellent cook and make her promise to write down all her recipes so that someday they can replicate her delectable meals for their own children. She is fashion forward and she doesn’t have bad hair days. She wears high heels a lot and they don’t hurt her feet. AT ALL. She can do a yoga head stand. She never yells at her children or loses her patience. Ever. She weighs… well, let’s not talk about how much she weighs because it’s been so long since I weighed as much as she does. I can’t relate to her on that level, but I do envy her and the ease with which she buys clothing (especially bras). She ALWAYS adores her husband and jumps up to kiss and hug him and thank him every night when he walks through the door, even when it is WAY later than she expected him. She doesn’t even blink an eye when he leaves his dirty socks in random places, like the kitchen counter. She doesn’t nag. She is a saint, really. Everybody loves her. She has lots of friends. She is the President of her Book Club and she volunteers every day in each of her three angelic children’s classrooms. In her spare time, she knits blankets for cold people. She has coffee every afternoon with her mother, who is a widow like my mom, and never once gets distracted as her mother shares what is on her mind. She never says things like, “Mom, I can’t even follow you – you are ALL over the place right now!” She follows everything. She does it all. I know she is completely unreal, but I STILL compare myself to her. I think I might have been better off comparing myself to other women because occasionally I actually saw the human side of THEM and didn’t feel like such a loser.

What I’m trying to say here is, women are SO HARD on themselves!

Maybe men are too. Okay, I know they are. Sometimes. But I am not a man and most of my friends are not men so I am not as concerned about them and their well-being right this minute. I don’t hear how guilty men feel when they have to make a choice between showing up for one of their children at one event or another of their children at another event because both their children want them to show up at the very same time, but they can only be in one place at once. Did you follow that? I may have a future in writing story problems. I don’t hear how worried they are when their children are sick or sad or being treated poorly by someone at school. I don’t hear how conflicted they feel when a dear friend needs them desperately and their family needs them too. I don’t hear how sad it makes them to leave their children every morning and pick them up late at night. How they wished they could be there for every single big and little milestone their children reach. But they can’t because they have to work. And, I have never ever heard a man say he feels bad for doing something special for himself rather than spending quality time with his family.

To be clear, I am not saying, nor implying, that men don’t have the very same heartfelt concerns as women. I just don’t hear about it because, like I said, most of my close friends are other women and other moms and they are the people I hear from most often. Women are the people I most worry about.

I am putting out a desperate plea here to any woman (or man for that matter) who is reading this. PLEASE, pretty please with a cherry on the top, let yourself off the hook.

See, here’s the not so funny thing. If any one of my friends, or even a complete stranger, came to me and said, “Anna, I feel so bad for going through the drive-thru at McDonald’s last night to get dinner for my kids…”

I would NEVER say, “Wow, you’re a shitty mom. You’re so lazy. You totally should have cooked for your children!”

I would probably say, “Please. Your kids are fine. You’re fine. Let it go.” But do I ever say that to myself? Not so much. Imaginary Anna always cooks for her children. As long as I compare myself to her, I will keep feeling like a crappy, lazy mother. That is not funny. That is really sad.

I know I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again. As long as we compare ourselves to others or continue to have unrealistic expectations of ourselves, we will never measure up, and we will always feel bad about ourselves.

I am getting better at quieting the voice in my head – my inner critic – when she tells me that So and So is a way better mother than I am. Some of us are still working on that. Some of us aren’t even aware that she has no place in our heads. She is unwelcome. Kick her OUT. You work on that and I’ll work on kicking out my new inner critic who tells me all the crap that she tells me.

I know we all have moments where we feel guilty or ashamed or incapable of doing what we think we’re supposed to be doing. That is natural and normal because we are humans and humans have feelings. We need our feelings to help us move through life. Our feelings are like little street signs, letting us know what lies ahead or which way to turn. We have every right to feel guilty. But let’s not wallow in it. Let’s not live there. Let’s not let ourselves stay feeling guilty.

Let’s just notice our guilt, like a little sign saying Guilt Lies Ahead and move on, in a different direction, knowing that we are doing the very best that we can.

Then, let’s let ourselves off the hook because we are in fact doing our BEST. And guess what? Our best changes every day. Today my best is not as fantastic as it was yesterday. You know what Inner Critic, that’s OKAY. I’m OKAY. My kids are OKAY. I’m letting it go…!

I worry about each of the beautiful women I hear say, “I feel so bad about…” I worry that they will stay feeling bad and not see their very own radiance – the radiance that I see when their eyes light up when they see their kids after school each day. The radiance I see when I know they are doing the very best that they can in every possible way. I admire the way women try so hard. We do hard work. I trust it is worth it. I also trust that with as hard as it is, we don’t need to make it any harder. We can let ourselves off the hook. xoxo

Keeping it Real on Valentine’s Day

Here we are – it’s Valentine’s Day. For some it’s all about love sweet love and for others, it’s just another day. When my daughter was born on Valentine’s Day four years ago, February 14 became a permanent LOVE day for me. I’m a sucker for romance. I love chocolate. Love it! I love roses and sparkly things, and I of course love my husband, but more than anything I love this day because it is Sophia’s birthday.

That said, I’m still thinking about love today. I have been trying to imagine what love looks like? I have a few ideas…

This is a picture of Dan and me on our wedding day (August 16, 1997). This was after the ceremony in the backseat of our getaway car – the 1969 Chevelle SuperSport that he and his dad built together. His brother, Max, was getting ready to drive and my sister, Sarah, was riding shotgun. I love this picture. When I look at it, it reminds me of what it felt like to have our whole lives in front of us and all the people we loved most in the world around us. It felt like we could handle anything as long as we had each other. I was probably being goofy when the picture was snapped, but I think I look like I adore him. And he looks like he adores me. Love looks like this, I think.

Love also looks like this:

Oh my gosh, I love this picture! My sister took it last year after my niece’s birthday party. Maybe my mom took it? Anyway, I love that this moment was captured to enjoy for the rest of time. Or however long it lasts. No matter how I’m feeling, I can’t help but to smile when I see this picture. Look at it – my three kids laughing together in my arms and me holding them tightly as if nothing else matters. We are in our own little blissful mother and child utopia at that moment. It’s like a commercial for motherhood. All smiles, all laughter, all hugs!

I think love looks like this too:

Yes, I’m sure of it. This is from Thanksgiving, 2009. The last Thanksgiving we had with my dad. This picture captures the complete chaos that ensues wherever children go. We try to contain them, but they cannot be contained. Kids embody life in all of its glory, with their goofy smiles and random poses. Kids don’t worry what people think about them or whether they have food on their faces. If they don’t feel like smiling or looking at the camera, they don’t. No matter how you try to bribe them. They are impulsive and uninhibited and I love that about kids. They LIVE.

I think love looks like fun. In these pictures, love is about laughter and living and sharing and feeling connected to others. Love has its hair done, mostly, and it is dressed well and it probably smells good too. I just remembered my dad’s friend, Andy. At my dad’s funeral Andy shared that during their gigs (my dad played the guitar and Andy was the drummer), my dad would say, “We may not be good lookin’ but we’re sure looking good…!” Love looks good here.

We are BOMBARDED with images in our lives. Most of these images make love look good. In commercials and television shows and in movies we may see a glimpse or two of heartache, but mostly love looks good. And then there is Facebook! Love always looks good on Facebook. Okay, maybe not always, but for the most part, let’s be honest, with the exception of the picture I saw today of a cupid laid out flat with an arrow – presumably his own arrow – sticking up out of him and blood all around him (seriously People, why the face?), love looks good.

This is where my mama bear springs into action today, on Valentine’s Day, on Love Day. I know there are people out there, and you may be one of them, who see these images and think that what they see looks so good, beyond good, to the point where what they have in their own lives looks bad. Really bad.

So, we don’t typically post pictures of the moments, right before a wedding, when a bride might be acting a little bridezilla-ish in the dressing room, perhaps. I don’t post pictures of myself on days like today where I look like I have two black eyes because I stayed up way too late last night doing God only knows what because I hate going to bed when Dan is out of town. Concealer’s got nothing on these dark circles. I NEVER post pictures of the look on my face, every afternoon, when I am about to sit down for a cup of coffee, and the coffee is actually hot, and Sophia screams out from the bathroom, “MOM! WILL YOU WIPE MY BUTT?” And I think I might just go the opposite way, out the door, and away… To someplace warm, maybe? But far, where nobody ever asks me to wipe his or her butt. And, thankfully, I have not yet posted a picture of Sophia’s butt. And there are no pictures of less lovely grandparental moments, like when my son used to kick my dad under the table at restaurants and after about the six thousandth kick, my dad would look like he was about to blow. My son kicks me now. It’s karma for wondering how my dad could possibly lose patience with my perfect little son, while knowing full well that little kids kick hard. And, all those people on TV, well, we know by now that they are not even REAL anymore with all the millions of ways they are made-up and digitally “perfected,” so while their love looks good, it’s not REAL either.

I think this is so important to remember, as sweet spiritual beings, in our human bodies, surrounded by images that make love and life look so good and words (i.e,. “status updates”) that make it all sound SO GOOD, that what we see isn’t always real. There is a place where we can celebrate along with our friends and family members and even strangers, and that is a nice, happy place. There is another place where we begin to feel badly when we see people looking really good and hear that things are going well for them. We might feel like we don’t measure up, or wonder if there is something wrong with us because we aren’t looking or sounding so good – because while they are on a beach in Hawaii we are wiping butts in snowy Michigan. We might ask, “Why can’t I have that (that love, that family, that child, that spouse, that body, that house, that job, that vacation…whatever that is)?” That place is a little darker, a little sadder, and it doesn’t really feel good. Not at all. Sometimes we get stuck there. We might think it is our destiny to stay in that dark, sad, uncomfortable place forever.

I know now, like I have never known before, that each of us, all of us, each and every single one of us, is worthy. We all measure up. We are all lovable. I want you to trust me on this one. I may have dark circles under my eyes and I don’t love wiping butts, but I am trustworthy. I can say with all the confidence in the world that you measure up. You absolutely, positively measure up. That dark place? You can go there if you must, but please don’t stay there.

We all hurt. We all have bad hair days. We all make mistakes. We are all learning. Please tell me we all have bags under our eyes? Sometimes? We all have not so picture perfect moments. Even if we don’t share them. Even if we pretend they don’t exist. Oh, they do. Some of us lie. Some of us are fake. Some of us aren’t keeping it real. All things considered, it’s not fair to compare our worst with someone else’s best, or someone else’s attempt to look their best. You know what? It’s not fair to compare. At all. When you compare yourself to someone else, for better or for worse, your own light dims. We need bright, shining lights on this planet.

On this day, this LOVE DAY, I would like to invite you NOT to compare your love or your life or your light to anybody else’s love, life, or light. If you are wondering what love looks like, like I was. Look in the mirror! What you see there is love. Don’t look online or in magazines or in books or on television, look at yourself. YOU are LOVE. You are worthy. You measure up! You have talents and dreams and a beautiful mind that can make them all come true. You are lovable. You are a knock-out and an AMAZING soul. Love yourself on Valentine’s Day. Be your own very best Valentine. YOU are what love looks like. Take my word for it.

Me and Sophia Pearl, my little love girl.


Guess what?! I struck gold!

While maintaining that the main objective of this blog is to share some of my experiences on this journey through life, I will admit that I have been hoping that anyone who reads my blog finds something to take along on his or her own journey as well. We are all in this together! I only say this now because if you are reading this, you are someone I care about or someone who someone I care about cares about and I really want you to pay attention.

So today is all about sharing my gold. I am very new to this, so bear with me. I am no expert, I can’t take credit for it, and I’m not even sure I fully understand it, but I think I am on to something HUGE! I am beginning to see that any journey worth taking (i.e., life) must begin with a healthy practice of self-compassion. Of course, like many things I’ve encountered lately, this is something I have read or heard about in the past and thought, “Well, of course! Duh!” while not putting it into practice.

My last post was about truth and how being authentic, or honest, might be painful, but can open the door to compassion for others, and for myself. I knew I was balancing on the very tippy top of the iceberg because I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts on the matter. Since then I have learned a little more about self-compassion and how there is so much more to it than a simple acknowledgment that all is well.

It started with this article that Ken the Angel Life coach asked me to read. And, of course, I didn’t read it when he first suggested it. I was too busy (or, enter Twilight Zone theme music – this is something my parents always did when I was a kid – I was resisting it…). Anyway, here it is Self compassion may matter more than self-esteem. So, basically, this woman Kristin Neff, an associate professor at the University of Texas at Austin, researched self-compassion and found that (drum roll) it matters more than self-esteem. Sorry, I am feeling punchy. In all seriousness, there are elements of self-esteem that are desirable and those that are not. Cultivating self-compassion allows for all the desirable elements and none of the undesirable ones. This is really important for those of us raising children, and even more important for those of us shuttling said children from competitive sport to competitive (insert sport or other event) in hopes of instilling a strong sense of self in these children. We all want the best for our children and frankly, it seems to be a bit of a crap shoot as to whether or not we are achieving “the best” in our efforts. Only time will tell.

Cultivating self-compassion is not just for our children though, my friends. The article mentions Neff’s recent book, Self-Compassion: Stop Beating Yourself Up and Leave Insecurity Behind (William Morrow, 2011). Being the book whore that I am (punchy!), I immediately searched for Neff’s book on amazon.com. And this is where I think I found gold. As I poked around, I found a multitude of other books about self-compassion and…weight-loss, among other things. The funny thing is, I even remember writing about how my own desire to lose weight, or get fit, or however you want to say it, would need to come from a place of self-love, rather than self-loathing, in order to be put into action. I knew that then, but somehow I haven’t incorporated it entirely into my journey. Just last week I was telling someone about my inner punk who keeps insisting on french fries. Um, call me crazy, but I don’t think calling myself a punk is very compassionate?!

According to Neff, compassion entails recognizing suffering and feelings of kindness for those who are suffering, so that eventually we feel an urge to help or stop the suffering. Compassion also means understanding that we all suffer, that suffering is part of the human experience. Read: when you are suffering, YOU ARE NOT ALONE (I am yelling for my own benefit). Self-compassion involves all the same things.

I think one of our challenges is to show the very same compassion we show toward others to ourselves. And, I think this is what I really meant in my last post…that by virtue of practicing compassion toward others, I learn to practice self-compassion. It sounds so simple, but if we’re being honest, we know it is not that simple. I know not a single soul who lets herself off the hook with the same gracious spirit in which she would let me off the hook. Or her children, or her mother, or the grocery attendant at VG’s. We are all so hard on ourselves. We come by it naturally though. We live in a very competitive society. We grew up competing in sports, competing for good grades, competing to get into college, competing for jobs, competing to raise perfect children…we are competing all the time. Have you ever told someone what a bad day you are having only to have them respond with the details of their own much worse, much more complicated, much more trying bad day? We even compete for compassion! I’m not saying that participating in healthy competition doesn’t have value, of course it does. It is worth mentioning, however, that a competitive culture such as ours encourages us to feel as if we don’t measure up to others when we fail at something. Perhaps recognizing that sense of failure as “suffering,” instead of proof that we aren’t good enough, opens our hearts right up to understanding that as humans we all suffer, we all fail, and we are all worthy of compassion.

Speaking of suffering, I have to say that celebrating Father’s Day without a father sucks. There is no way around it. As I practiced self-compassion this weekend, I first recognized how lucky I am to have had a dad worth missing. He was such a great guy. I thought about all the little kiddos out there who don’t have dads and I realized just how blessed I am to have had my dad for 37 years. I started to think that maybe it was time to suck it up, you know, that this was my second Father’s Day without a father so I should be really good at it by now. But then I thought of myself as a little girl. I know that no matter how old I am, there will always be a little Anna inside me, longing to run to the solace of her daddy’s arms. He had the biggest, strongest arms. He gave the best hugs. I miss those hugs…

That little girl will never be expected to suck it up. That little girl is suffering still. That little girl has my utmost compassion. And that too, is golden.

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

I haven’t been much of a blogger lately. I can’t seem stick with one idea long enough to see it through. But since this is my travel journal (on my hat trick – mind, body, spirit journey), I decided to just write something. Anything is better than nothing, right?

The one thing I keep coming back to is truth. We receive a lot of different messages about truth, like the truth hurts, honesty is the best policy, and the truth will set you free – just to name a few. In yoga there is satya, a commitment to speaking the truth. On this quest of mine, toward a deeper connection between my mind, body, and spirit, I think the truth is very important. Plus, “truth” keeps creeping up on me, and that means it needs some attention.

As I’ve thought about truth, I’ve mostly been thinking about if and when and how I share my truth with others. Will it really matter if I speak up in a situation where my truth is pounding on the door of my throat to get out? Is it worth it? Will it make a difference? I’ve been thinking about how being honest, or authentic, might impact the people around me. Recently though, I discovered that the most powerful, and maybe even the most important, thing I can do with truth right now, is to be honest with myself.

At some point, in the last ten years or so, I went to my mom with a dilemma. I think I was complaining about someone. She said something like, “You know Anna, they say, that when you have a complaint about someone, it is usually because they remind you of something you don’t like about yourself.” (By the way, who is they anyway?) All I really wanted was for my mom to agree that whomever I was talking about sucked and that I was awesome. But no, like any good mother, she challenged me to reconsider the situation. I vowed never to complain to her about someone else again.

In the back of my mind, anytime someone irritates me, I can hear my mother’s voice and I wonder, what does it say about me, that I am bothered by this person, or by his or her behavior? And then I wonder whether I really want to know what it says about me? Typically, my answer was no. This reminds me of the court scene in A Few Good Men where Jack Nicholson’s character screams on the stand, “YOU WANT THE TRUTH? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!” I didn’t think I could handle the truth, or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with the truth.

No matter what my mom says, I decided that some people can be just plain irritating. But when I raised something similar with Ken the Angel Life Coach he said, “you spot it, you got it,” meaning, once again, that if something someone did triggered an emotional reaction in me, it was likely because I saw myself in them, or in their behavior. Then I was in a pickle. It was time to dig deeper. I will save you the heartache of the details of my digging. Again with Ken’s help, this little gem of wisdom is what I found: rather than stomp away angry or hurt, or spend hours of therapy or sleepless nights trying to figure out exactly what it says about me that this behavior bothers me, if I were to show compassion toward the person behaving badly, so to speak, I might just open myself up to having deeper compassion for myself.

More relevant than what it says about me to be bothered by punk-ass behavior (just off the top of my head), is the idea that in having compassion for the punk, I open myself to compassion for myself. I’m sure this can work in a lot of different ways, but on the simplest level, for me, it means that I choose not to let the punk bother me, to maybe think, “Wow, I bet he is having a hard day, poor guy…” or whatever, then move on, letting myself off the hook for anything I (think I) may have done to deserve being bullied by a punk. His choices are not about me.

On a deeper level, this might mean that my own inner punk needs to be let off the hook. I recognize punk-like behavior because I know I can be a bully and I don’t feel great about it. Instead of leaving the punk thinking, “what an ass,” (therefore, I must be an ass), I might just recognize that he is what he is in that moment, as am I. Whew, I’m getting a headache. I think I need to stop before it gets too complicated…

Along the same line, today I read something about how forgiveness opens space once held by hurt in our hearts. Space for what? Love? Fun? Compassion? I think this is really powerful stuff. I know there are a lot of things, hurtful experiences, that I have been holding in my heart for a very long time. I guess I have been protecting them there. And while I’ve been able to move on in my life, I am finding that any little bit of grudge I hold toward someone else, or something else, is a waste of energy. My precious life energy. And I need that energy for my three crazy kids and our big yellow dog. I need it for myself!

So, now I see that the truth, whether it be about me or someone else, really does hurt sometimes. But I don’t have to hang on to the hurt. Feeling that hurt and being honest about it, rather than denying it or questioning it or saving it for later, really, truly sets me free.