Since cell phones and social media became expected mediums of communication, I have engaged in conversations with young people about the importance of regulating cell phone and social media usage.  Before the days of “unlimited minutes,” I generally associated the word usage with the number of talk minutes I used.  When my kids got old enough for us to talk about usage, we generally talked about the number of text messages they sent and received.  This too was before the days of “unlimited texting.”  My kids and I also had many talks about the use of data too before the unlimited use plans were introduced.  At that time (before unlimited cell phone plans), I didn’t imagined that an app would connect us to communities with potentially unlimited community members.

I have always been the first to say that I am not an expert when it comes to understanding the science of or possibilities available to one using any social media platform.  Honestly, I didn’t believe I needed to know all there might be to know because my children understood those things.  When my children hadn’t perfected their social media skills, I solicited the assistance or my adult friends obsessed with social media to “friend” and “follow” my kids.  However, now I work with college students and I work at my blogging communication business trying to understand social media and the impact social media has had and that it can have on our lives.  This curiosity about the benefits of social media became increasingly more important to me.  The accepted norm led me to deem it necessary to commit my insights about technology to print.  Here’s what I’ve learned:

• Most of the young people I know comfortably carry on an in person verbal chat and an electronic messaging chats simultaneously. I can’t do those two things at once without difficulty.
• I never hear a millennial say anything like this, “Hey, hold up just a second. Let me return this text.”  I do that very thing often.
• The millennial folks in my world struggle with separation from their phones and their virtual communities. I tend to be fine without these added voices in my head.
• I find myself a little frustrated when the millennial won’t take the time to teach me how to create a post that people will “like.” My trial and error methods, in my opinion, wouldn’t be necessary if the young ones graciously devoted the time to me that I have generously given or would generously give to them if they had a challenge.
• Deactivating a social media account, even temporarily, can tell you something about your “friend” circle. I did that.  I only told my immediate family and a few coworkers.  After about two weeks, only one person has sent a text to ask what happened to my page.

Most of my life, my closest friends knew they could find me by calling my mom’s house.  Now, my closest friends have my phone numbers and they know things that are not to be shared on any social media platform.  I often tell students to “unfollow” and “unfriend” other people so that the students can separate from the unhealthy relationships and gain control of the messaging they allow to enter their spaces.  I have found that some students felt freedom and empowerment by separating from the virtual “friendship.”  On the other hand, I have seen students feel what I will liken to separation anxiety.  Cell phones, notifications, and the apps that created our expanded friend circles trained our brains to crave the relationships.  Some are in need of attention for themselves, to monetize their businesses, and others to keep in touch with friends, old and new.  Weirdly, these virtual communities felt as real to me the day I decided to deactivate one of my social media accounts.  I didn’t even check it every day or post on it every day, but I somehow felt connected to the page and the people were my “friends” or who “liked” my business page.  I began to understand the complicated perplexed looks I got from students when asked to separate from “friends.”  I really felt that I was in a predicament.  I knew what I needed to do, but I wondered what would happen if I clicked the button that closed the virtual door in the faces of my friends.  I want my audience to know that I survived my decision.  My decision did not upset the world balance and I didn’t lose any sleep.  Although you may have some reservations about taking healthy steps to protect your physical or virtual head space, do it any way and give yourself permission to take a break from the cluttered virtual communities.  Believe me, you can get right back to it when you are ready to do so.  I may wait to reactivate my page after I hear from a certain number of friends in the old fashion way.

I woke up this morning excited about the opportunity to sit with my journal and my cup of coffee.  After writing only a few sentences in my journal, I was reminded that things just don’t always work out according to my plans.  I have spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts over the last month or so which has given me control over my schedule and the things I choose to do in my free time.

I have been constantly changing my priority list and talking to friends and family about the things that I own.  More specifically, we have been talking about why I still own some of the things and what it will take for me to decide to get rid of other things.  As difficult as it has been for me to separate from things that remind me of special people and special moments in my life, I have spent most of the day tossing things in one of a few piles: trash, the YoungLife yard sale donations, children of people at work, and the things that I plan to keep and use.

I found that it helps to have someone unattached to my stuff help my sift through it and just take things from me that I couldn’t justify keeping.  Maybe my people were just tougher than the average crowd because I kept hearing them say “just throw it away” and “do you really need that?”  If I gave an eye shift or a deep sigh, they would shake their heads and shame me into relinquishing my tight grip on the thing or they would just take the thing and pitch it into one of the piles of things not to remain with me.  I began to think that the people I call friends and family enjoyed seeing me suffer.

Although I did complain a lot, I enjoyed looking through all of the boxes.  Each box or plastic container was associated with a story.  Most of the stories made me laugh.  The laugher made me search for a platform that would welcome the story behind the things.  After a day of taking pictures of things that I found entertaining and sending them to family and friends for review, I literally did some heavy lifting.  We moved furniture,  packed and unpacked my car several times, and found a sitter for Swaggy.  Now, I am exhausted, and determined.  I am exhausted because my life has been tiring.  Yet, I am determined to work through this stuff in order to remove the clutter from my life and create a quiet space for me to enjoy.  Hopefully, next weekend when I wake up early and sit down to write I will be inspired by the fresh, well-organized space that this sifting enabled me to create.

As fast as life moves for most of us, there is a need to slow down, breathe, and de-clutter.  I hope that my audience will find time to slow down and do a little purging too.  Cleaning and purging is not limited to spring so I hope that you will examine the things that box you out of having the ability to enjoy your space.  I have embraced a new perspective about my stuff and how much and what kinds of stuff I really need.    It hasn’t been easy, but I am thankful for the process.  Paring down means getting down to the basics.   We all need to remember that simplicity is a cousin of peace.  Simplicity means less drama and confusion and therefore, more peace.  I wish simplicity and peace to you.

I almost forgot that it’s Mothers’ Day weekend.  My children took me out for my mother’s day brunch a couple of weeks ago so in my mind the day of celebration was behind us.  Mama died almost two and a half years ago so Mothers’ Day generally brings mixed emotions.  I think about how much I miss her and how thankful I am that she was my mother.

The older I get the more I appreciate the complexity of my mother.  When I was younger, life seemed simple and so did the people in my life.  Mama was a teacher who loved being a home body as much as she loved spending time with her mother and sisters every Sunday afternoon.  Mama encouraged educational, personal, and social growth.  She worked hard to engrain in my mind the need to adhere to a high standard of etiquette.  Her focus on the prim and proper was reflected in her coordinated wardrobe items complete with matching handbags, jewelry, and shoes.  She always wore facial powder, lipstick, and perfume.  As a young child, I wanted to be just like her, but as I got older I realized my lack of commitment to the trying to be exactly like her.  I also learned that Mama never expected me to be just like her.  She wanted me to be “lady like,” but she knew that I was not wired just like her.

Mama loved teaching, visiting with her friends, attending church functions, and working in her garden.  Mama never learned to ride a bike or swim.  She didn’t like storms or snow and she preferred car rides over plane rides.  She encouraged me to eat fresh instead of canned vegetables and she preferred homemade pound cake over processed desserts.  She loved things that have never ranked high on my priority list – club meetings, church meetings, eating pound cake on a saucer, formal china, and wearing stockings on a hot, humid day in the Alabama.  Mama was routinely the essence of class and elegance who had a baby at forty-two when she believed she was going through menopause.  She told me she was shocked, but thanked God for a daughter to be with her as she aged.

She was my mother and my friend.  She was my mentor and my promoter.  She provided guidance about life, family, and the balance of the two.  Some of my fondest memories of Mama were the times when she chose adventure over avoidance.  I am now in the age group that my mom was in during my childhood and I realize the difficulty of trying new things later in life.  Now, I have a new respect for her decisions to chose to be uncomfortable for the benefit of her young, energetic, talkative daughter.

Mama feared activities that involved water like swimming, fishing, and boating.  Daddy, on the other hand, loved fishing and he had always dreamed of owning a boat.  I was the kid who wanted to go fishing and boating whenever Daddy said go and Mama didn’t want her baby to be out there without her.  She wanted to be nearby so that she could keep me safe.  I never understood how she planned to do that since she couldn’t swim and she hated the water.  This was also before the time of cell phones so I’m not even sure how she would summon help for me, if needed.  She mandated that I take swimming lessons at the YMCA before she would let me go along with daddy on a fishing or boating trip.  She said that she would feel better about me being on the water if I could swim.  Although she required me to take lessons, she refused to watch me in the pool because of her fear of water.  Years later she laughed about how she worked up her nerve to watch me swim one day during my lessons and got to the pool and learned that it was the day the instructor was going to make us jump into the deepest end of the pool.  I remember seeing her poolside and being excited that my mother was watching me.  I had no idea that she was terrified and regretting her decision to attend my swim lesson that day.  I successfully completed the classes and earned the right to go fishing with daddy.

Even though she agreed to let me go fishing, she insisted that we all have life jackets if we fished from the banks of the river or the lake or if we rode in the boat.  Daddy bought the jackets for us.  He and I had the orange version of the life jacket that the salesman said was standard.  Mama demanded the most expensive life jacket.  Her jacket was fashionable and pricey just like the left-handed rod and reel daddy bought for her.  Regardless of what we thought about her safety standards, she was satisfied that we would be safe when we had the gear.  We drew attention from other fishermen who saw us wearing the life jackets while we stood at the shore casting our lines into the river.  I felt that all eyes were on us and that everyone was laughing at us for being overdressed.

Mama hated airplanes and flying.  One time we were chosen to represent a family organization at a national meeting in California.  I was excited about taking my first flight and Mama was apprehensive.  I didn’t understand her apprehensive nor did I grasp the depth of her anxiety about taking flight until we got on the plane.  Once we were seated, the flight attendant came to our row and told us that she was escorting an unaccompanied minor.  The flight attendant told Mama that she had a great idea: The unaccompanied female minor would be a great candidate to take the empty seat on our three-person row.  Mama said fine and offered either the aisle seat or the window seat.  The flight attendant looked as shocked as I did.  The little girl was holding the playing cards given to her by the flight attendant and we had visions of Old Maid or gin rummy in our heads.  In my surprised kid voice I told Mama that I needed to sit next to the little girl so that we could play.  Mama said, “I’m not sitting by the aisle or the window.  You all can play and I will hold the card for you.”  Mama had spoken.  While we didn’t understand it or like it, but we respected her decision and went with it.

I used to think that Mama’s fears and precautionary measures were extreme.  For most people they probably were extreme, but I am thankful that she risked embarrassment and discomfort in order to offer me exposure to the things that frightened her.  I am thankful that she faced her fears and gave me safe places to engage in new adventures.  Even in her eighties my family and I continued to work to help her overcome fears.  We took her to put her feet in the Gulf of Mexico on her eightieth birthday.  She remarked that it was warm and beautiful.  Subsequently, she moved to live with us in a place where we had snow in the winter.  She called me brave because I drove in the snow. Although she stated that she would never travel by plane over water, she enjoyed hearing stories about the global travels of our family.  She supported my daughter’s studies abroad and she remarked that her granddaughter was brave and smart for navigating international travel.

My mother set an awesome example for me on the benefits of trying new things.  She taught me the value of letting young people see you be vulnerable and courageous enough to risk failure or challenge in front of them.  Our decisions to openly manage our trials show young people that it is possible to get somewhat comfortable with discomfort in order to elevate your self.  Your confrontation with your fears will encourage young people to try new things too.  Writing about mother’s display of courage in her fifties inspires me to continue to embrace the life changes that I am dealing with right now.  She taught me to consider the pros and cons of adventures without being paralyzed by fear or anxiety.  I work hard to promote these ideas when I talk to young people and I hope the grown folks in my audience will do the same.  We must remind young people about the importance of building supportive teams throughout life that can be safety nets for them as they embrace adventurous opportunities in their lives.

Thoughts about aloneness have been a recurring theme for me over the last few months.  The reality of a new life with much time alone became my unsettling truth over the last few weeks.  One of my dear friends, Carolyn Newton Curry, Ph.D., founded a non-profit foundation named “Women Alone Together.” (See www.carolyncurry.net).  As I sat in my aloneness, I thought about Carolyn and her passion to encourage and support women who are “alone.”  Carolyn and I became friends the first time (of three times) her husband, Bill, hired my husband, Ricky.  That was almost thirty years ago.  When we met in 1989, I was a young law student and a newlywed.  Like children watching the grown folks who live around them, I watched Carolyn.  Carolyn’s genius must have been filtered by her hospitable, thoughtful, warm spirit.  Bill always said that Carolyn was the smart one, but I didn’t see her brilliance until years later.  True to the life of a “sister in the shadow” of her partner and a business she didn’t control, Carolyn balanced her support roles as a wife, mother, and mentor while limiting her talk about her really cool academic endeavors and her passionate pursuits.

Carolyn and Bill helped me grow up in the business of football.  They taught me how to survive many of the challenges of the business.  More recently, I realized that Carolyn began teaching me about the aloneness in the game of life many years ago.  In 2002, when Carolyn established this organization, I was in my thirties.  I was married to the business of football with two small children.  As I recall, I learned about Carolyn’s organization from an excited Bill.  He expressed his excitement for Carolyn and his excitement about the mission of the organization.  Carolyn states on her website that her organization “provides confidence and community to women who are ‘alone’ for any reason.”  At the time Bill told me about “Women Alone Together,” I thought my mother who had become a widow in 1997.  At that time in my life, with two young children in tow, I welcomed a moment alone.  In fact, as I made plans for the kids, I scheduled in some alone time for myself. I kept the plans of my alone time in mind when I planned trips, activities, and bed times.  Alone time was a goal.  It was necessary and I embraced it like a warm cup of tea on a cool morning.  Then, 2015 arrived and that vision of aloneness transitioned itself from a place in the distance and into my personal space.  All those years later I missed some aspects of being busy with little time alone.  Watching aloneness force change felt as comfortable as premenopausal hot flashes.

Sometimes I think that I think too much.  My life in the shadows fixing other peoples’ stuff mandated thinking through the stuff and planning stuff and just dealing with stuff.  There were times when I wanted nothing more than the noise around me to be silenced.  I wished for the exterior things that drove my thoughts and expended my energy to allow me to simply relax into a quiet space.  The closer I got to the goal of time alone my codependent relationship with fixing people and stuff and the need of people and stuff to be fixed by me became more obvious.  Suddenly (or so it seemed), my expectation of alone time changed from a quiet, refreshing retreat to a dreaded isolation and stillness.  I feared the judgment of the quietness.  I resisted the inevitable maturity and independence of the babies I raised.  I resisted the blessings that flowed when I held their feet and prayed over them at night.  I fought the internal battle between the celebration of the crop yielded as a result of my timely planting and my tireless tending of the garden and that time that came after the celebration of the harvest.  I never expected to live this picture of aloneness that I see now.

A few weeks ago, I said, “Alone sucks!”  I meant it with every fiber in me that day.  I spiraled into a pity zone where feelings of frustration, regret, second guessing, and wishful thinking live.  My spiral didn’t fee like oil in a cylinder though.  It felt more like a pinball hitting the obstacles inside of the pinball machine after being launched from the flippers.  I wanted no part of this kind of alone time.  What irony!  I finally had what I wished for and now I wished only for a different dream.  Is this what the cliché that “Life comes full circle” really meant? Was this the season to learn to “live off the land?” Was this supposed to be my time to “live off the increase?” Or, was the lesson to just “be careful what you wish for?” Once I stopped the stupid spiral, I owned all of the decisions I made that contributed to my journey to this life alone.  Some might argue that I am not alone because I have a husband and kids and my beloved Swaggy.  Right now, however, they are away on treks of their own.  As a result, I sit at a table with a journal, an empty coffee cup, a cell phone with a blackened screen listening to my breath and the pen scratching blue ink on this page.  I am alone.  I am alone with my thoughts.  I am alone to contemplate change.

In the aloneness, I have spent time revisiting my life journey.  Over the years, it has often felt like a series of detours to me.  My recent self evaluation yielded a finding that the symbolism of the circle in the cliché about things “coming full circle” accurately described my journey.  There was a momentum building from the trajectory of being catapulted into each detour.  Although I gravitated toward the fear in being propelled into orbit, age and experience made me appreciate the feeling of freedom offered by the launch.  Those times that shocked my senses the most also aroused the most intense feelings of aloneness in me.  Those times that registered more on the side of lonely than leisure on the aloneness meter I named.  The latest arc on this circular life orbit was named “My desert experience” representative of the time in my life when I was removed from almost everything and everybody with deep familiarity.  In the desert, I didn’t find my voice because I always knew it was there.  In the desert, I found the alone time I needed to practice listening to my voice without the distractions of the codependent relationships I felt called to make priorities in my life in the past.

I have decided that the tug of loneliness may introduce itself into my quiet time for as long as aloneness is a thing for me.  I have also decided that the length of the visit is a choice determined by me.  Instead of seeing this part of my journey as closure to the circle, I see that my life has been a series of small circles linking me to this time to be alone so that I can work on mastering the management of the gift of time itself.  I want my audience to consider as I did the personal responses to alone time and whether the responses directly relate to the reason we find ourselves alone.  Consider the benefits and burdens of being alone.  Then, find support to increase the benefits and solutions to help lessen the burdens.

 Death burns like an ember left in the fire pit.  The ember signals the end of a fire that provided an audience for the living whether the fire is in the backyard pit or a bonfire before a rival football game or a campfire at a youth camp.  The fire beckons the living to draw near.  The fire provides light and warmth for those who answer the call.  For those living in the distance, the benefit of the fire is an awakened imagination enhanced by wonderment and reflection.  It sounds rather cliché to say that people make cool memories around a communal fire, but it is true.  While I don’t remember specific conversations from my time around the fire pit, I do remember feeling alive.  That type of experience provided a forum for conversation, laughter, and relationship building.  The fire seems to have enough power to permeate the walls that separate communities and at least get people to enjoy the same space for a moment.  Life focused on the light, warmth, and the wonder of a fire, leaves no space for thoughts of the fading embers and death.  Something that created a communal vibe and breathed positive energy among a group of people is also symbolic of the cycle of life. 

Death lives with me even though I have never considered it a friend.  Death reminds me of that nosey neighbor whose company is never the mission, but who I know spends a lot of time peeking into my world for any glimpse of what it must be like to be me.  Death is a bothersome, abrupt end to a relationship with the world. Every day that I live I overcome death.  However, every day of life gives death opportunity to loom over me like hovering rainclouds.  Seeing the clouds pregnant with change brings anticipation and consideration about the unknown.  I am left wondering at what exact moment nature will dampen my life with a storm.  When will death be relevant in my life again?  

I had the blessing and the curse of being raised by older parents.  The blessing of their wisdom housed in bodies weathered by the experiences that made them wise.  My father died about twenty years ago after a lengthy, complicated relationship with heart disease.  He had a love affair with stress and cigarettes that resulted in death teasing us for years with phantom knocks on our door.  Mama lived on after his death to share stories about his life, their lives together, and the legacy they wanted to leave behind.  Daddy always said he wanted to die a quick death and he did.  On the other hand, residuals from Mama’s stroke and subsequent seizures frustrated her for about six years until she died a little over two years ago.  Daddy refused the last surgery that might have extended the life expectancy of his heart and Mama said, “My brain doesn’t match my mouth.”  Mama and Daddy always said to live life with your head and your heart.  They encouraged me to live life passionately and with thoughtful, considerate decision making.  Ironically, it was the malfunctioning of her brain and his heart that quieted their voices and quenched the kindling spirits within them.  Watching Mama and Daddy flirt with death for so many years didn’t make me any more comfortable with end of life discussions or preparation for the finality of death.

Everything in me resists death talk like being forced to wear heels and pantyhose for more than a couple of hours on a hot summer day.  Even if I could limit the conversations, I couldn’t separate from the sight of my dying loved ones.  As much as the thought of being without their physical presence saddened me, I appreciated the resilience and courage that lives in a dying person.  Good church folks talk a lot about life over yonder and the transition to a place with many mansions in the sky.  Unfortunately, when the fire of one who warms my spirit becomes a burning ember of a smoldering fire, death is like the nosey neighbor imposing unexpected confidence that brings him knocking at my door.  Death is complex in that it arouses competing thoughts and emotions.  How does something representative of lifelessness ignite movement and motivation?  I don’t know how it does it, but I know it does.  Maybe it has something to do with the cycle of life and the need for mankind and the universe to continue to exist. 

After Daddy died, I remember struggling to recall the details of our last conversation.  After Mama died, I remember thinking, “If I had known that it would be the last time we…., I would have done something differently.”  The thoughts I had after death called Mama and Daddy made me thankful that I supported my loved ones in the best ways I could so that I would not have to live with regret.  Death motivated me to do all that I could do to honor them after death in the celebrations of their lives.  Because I was forced to be more intimate with death than I ever dreamed I would be, I was moved to come to terms with the truth that we each have a limited amount of time to contribute to the greater good.  Death motivated me to be present in moments with those I care about because I never know when it might be the last time I did anything with that person.  Familiarity with death moved me to use my voice and to express my passions out loud in service to others while I have the blessing of time.  I challenge my audience to learn from my relationship with death.  I want to inspire my audience to live life out loud every day and to value the relationships in their lives. 

There have been days like today that I needed a reminder not to get caught up in negative thoughts.  I reminded myself not to let those negative thoughts dictate the tone and pace of my day.  I went to sleep last night feeling like a remnant of a bright, sturdy, textured sheet of fabric – relatable yet frustrated with the separation from my normal by some situations that were out of my control but connected enough that I was left feeling like the remnant after the shearing.  When I was a child, my mother, her sisters, my grandmother, and my sister sewed. While Aunt Willie Mae was the master seamstress, the others could lay a pattern and piece together an outfit suitable to be worn outside the house. 

I have memories of visiting fabric stores with my Mama when I was child.  We would spend time sitting and flipping through the pages of very large, heavy books that contained pictures of all sorts of clothing one could make by following the pattern instructions.  Mama’s favorite fabric store had a section with rows of chairs placed around a long, wooden table with a slanted top that seemed to be specially made to hold the pattern books.  The pattern books were the do-it-yourself manuals for fashion.  There were catalogs for at least four or five companies and Mama would take more time looking through the catalog books that suited her taste or wardrobe needs at the time.  Each item of clothing in a catalog was assigned a number.  I sat next to Mama and dreamed about which outfits someone could make for me.  Until now, I hadn’t considered that the exposure to women who made clothing contributed greatly to the development of both sides of my brain.  The exposure taught me to appreciate those who mastered a trade then used it to serve the village. 

After selecting the pattern, we walked around the store evaluating fabrics and notions until we found the combination of things to help us create a perfect outfit.  Mama paid for her items then headed home to continue the process.  Positioning the cloth on the bed took care in order to ensure that the fabric laid flat and taut.  Next, Mama would open the package that contained delicate sheets of grayish brown paper with black markings.  Mama trusted me to help cut out select pattern pieces, but not all of them.  Unlike cutting out paper doll clothes, one had to use care not to cut the wrong lines of the pattern pieces on these delicate sheets of paper.  There were solid lines, dotted and segmented lines and curved lines.  Just being entrusted with scissors and allowed to stand near the pattern and the cloth was a privilege.  I accepted the privilege with the level of responsibility and seriousness warranted by such an assignment. 

I graduated to pinning the pattern to the fabric.  As I recalled ,that task involved a round, tomato looking pin cushion and strategic placement of pattern pieces.  We needed to make certain that each necessary piece found a place on the cloth.  It was a real life two-dimensional puzzle soon to be transformed into a three-dimensional dream.  Honestly, I believe that I am more excited about the potential and the process now than I was as a child.  Seeing the finished product brought the thrill of accomplishment and the pride of persistent passion.  I had witnessed the care invested into the process from beginning to end by the women in my family who stitched the garments.  The women worked with an eye toward the details of the artistic piece of clothing.  Moreover, the women loved and respected for the garment and the future owner of the garment who at every fitting realized the time for owning the envisioned piece of clothing was growing nearer. 

The floor in and around the cutting table (Mama’s bed) was always littered with threads and randomly shaped pieces of beautifully colored, textured cloth.  Like the cloth that found a path to the floor, I felt aimless and separated from the master plan.  I could only imagine those odd-shaped shreds of fabric felt unlucky and without purpose.  Would the separated pieces have chosen this station or was there excitement about the road less taken?  As I considered my station this morning, I felt much like the discarded fabric pieces and I certainly didn’t feel like I chose these feelings for myself last evening or this morning.  While there were so many things that gave my personal world light, color, and texture, my head and my heart were fastened to the heaviness of my week and the uncertainty of my future.  Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”  This morning I felt like the remnants cut away from the pinned pattern pieces on the cloth.  I felt like that discarded cloth trying to understand the journey so that I could convince my head and my heart that I had not yet reached a destination.  Thank God for a pen and paper and for the women whose DNA owns me.  Thank goodness that the lessons we learn and share during our journeys do not end when we reach our destination.  Those distinct sounds of those Singer sewing machines are long gone, but the lessons from my DNA donors live on.  The women taught me that the scraps from the cloth purposefully supported the making of the envisioned piece.  The women, in my family, taught me that just because I couldn’t see a purpose for the cloth that was cut away from the pattern it didn’t mean the remnants had no purpose or use.  I learned that there was value in the remnants. 

In our family, the journey of the uniquely shaped, assorted fabric pieces led to the needling together of family heirlooms that warmed us for years to come.  I began to think about all of the random pieces in my life right now and how the pieces seem to have no logical connection to me.  Unlike Mama, I know that I am not the master seamstress in this masterful work, but I must trust that what appears unintended and without meaning will manifest itself as a perfectly purposeful and useful design.  The banner on my blog site was created from a picture taken by me of a quilt made by women in my family.  I hope that my audience will see it and remember that many random and seemingly useless things can create a beautiful and purposeful end.  Living is in the journey and the journey is enhanced by the outliers.  The goal is not to limit the potential of our most grand dreams by missing the benefit and usefulness of the pieces you needed to cut away.  Once you complete the logical, intended mission, see how the things you needed to cut away might contribute to the elevation of you, your dreams, and those around you.

Dear Sisters In The Shadows,

I wrote an ode to you some weeks ago (http://wp.me/p6L8u0-eV) because I felt called to speak for those who may not feel that they have permission to speak or maybe those who are just too dang tired to open their mouths to say a word.  People from all walks of life, all races, all genders, and all nationalities live in the shadows and go about their daily tasks without being noticed or rewarded for the things they do to support others.  My hope is that I encourage and empower those who are living that life and that I enlighten others who neglect to consider the shadow dwellers as they move through life.

I recently celebrated my 50^th birthday!  I found reaching that milestone in my life to be a very liberating experience.  I have heard some people say that they dreaded turning 50, but for me I saw the promise, the potential, and the benefits of being a woman who knew what she liked, what she wanted, and what she didn’t need to spend her time doing or pretending she liked doing.  The sprinkles of gray in my hair resulted from seasons of life experiences that I intend to use to bless the lives of others.  How can you not be excited about the life at 50?!

While there was much to be excited about, the year that lead to the big 5-0 was filled with reflective thoughts on the things I learned over the years.  As I reflected on my adult life, I realized many of the decisions I made about my career, my social circles, my children, and my extended family were influenced by the game of football.   I call it a game, but as my husband moved from being a college athlete to a little league coach to a coach in the National Football League, I found that the game felt more like a business.  Honestly, the regimented customs associated with all levels of the game made it feel formal to me and not like a game that kids play.  It felt abnormal for me a shadow dweller whose daily responsibilities didn’t usually allow for a regimented schedule like the practices and team meetings required by the football schedule.  Heck, the kids didn’t get hungry or need a snack at the same time every day and I couldn’t regulate potty training.  I found that the laundry and dishes didn’t seem to care about my schedule either.  As a coach’s wife, my normal seemed very abnormal as I watched other families participate in their family and community rituals.  I often had to explain that those holidays and community events fell on work days for my significant other.  It seemed quite abnormal to teach my children how not to discuss their father’s job because I didn’t want his job to define them or their visions of the lives they would live.  Today, I dedicate this blog post to all of us who are beginning a new football season in a world that can only become normal for those of us who live in the shadows of the game.

Being married to a man who loves the game offered me the chance to enjoy some of the most amazing victories in my life and to deal with some of the greatest challenges in my life often without the kind of support most families would expect.  There were times when the game that has entertained millions has been an amazing burden for me and others who do our damnedest to support the ones we love without injuring the egos of the people they work with and for.  And we strive not to negatively impacting the brand they all represent when we make our cameo appearances on behalf of and in support of the team.  We who live in the shadows take this responsibility seriously and we generally perform our roles seamlessly while balancing kids, the house, the pets, the family, the neighbors’ kids, our relationships, and those community obligations we choose to support in addition to those chosen by the ball club.  It can sometimes be a daunting task and we pretty much go unnoticed and misunderstood.  If this is your story, congratulations for being so awesome!

People love to tell me how I knew what I was getting myself into when I married a football coach.  Well, smarty pants people, I didn’t.  I met my coach when we were in college and I believed I was marrying a man who would become a teacher and maybe coach high school football.  I believed we would live in the south where he would teach and I would pursue my career goals.  I thought that we would be driving distance from our families and enjoy the pleasures and normalcy of eight to five jobs worked by people who live in small town USA.  Never did I expect to live in many cities and never in a city with family.  I never thought that I would be forced to build support villages for me and my children more than a few times during our marriage.  I never expected my husband to have a job that would tell the world when he was hired and fired.  I certainly never expected to see his name scrolling along the ticker on ESPN because he had been “released” from his duties at a ball club.  So much for the idea of keeping our family affairs private.  Who would expect a neighbor to think that it was a good idea to leave a copy of the local paper on the porch with your husband’s name and salary circled in red ink? Like I said, I had no idea what I was signing up for when I married a man who had a calling to be a football coach.  I do believe it was a calling on his life because who would choose this lifestyle? Who would choose the physical, emotional, and time demands that come with living this life?

I have been attached to the coach and hence the business of football for 27 plus years.  As a coaching family, we experienced life and family in ways that most people will never experience them.  Some of the best times we experienced were direct results of successful seasons by the team.  I learned through my life in football that timing is really everything.  Those exciting times happened because the team was ready and prepared to take advantage of opportunities when those  opportunities presented.  We celebrated winning a Super Bowl. We went to Pro Bowls and the Japan game.  We experienced winning seasons with Hall of Fame coaches and players and hung out with some folks socially who I never imagined would invite me into their spaces all those years ago when this journey began.  I am grateful for those experiences and the life lessons I learned from the time spent with each team in every city during every season.  I am also thankful that I saw the big picture and recognized that my success as a shadow dweller was a valuable contribution to the success of each team.  The success I speak about is not just winning and losing games.  I mean success in terms of the impact on individuals and communities by the teams.  I have always appreciated Jim Irsay for his efforts to make everyone in his organization feel valued and respected, including the coaches’ wives.  The sad part to me is that there were many women married to or attached to men in the game who never understood their value as supporters operating in the shadows.  When you don’t recognize that your work and contributions are valuable, your identity can become that of the person in whose shadow you reside.  When your identity melds into that of a person or organization you don’t control, you fail to dream and develop yourself to live out your purpose and calling.  Finding the way to do that without damaging the fragile relationships in the business and without looking like you are not supportive of the coach you love can be tough.  Like community building, this process is complex and tough, but necessary work for you and your family.

My advice to folks married to the game of football (or any other profession that is not cutting the check in your name directly) is to protect your heart and your identity.  Establish at least one thing that is your own because you choose it and not because someone else thinks that it would be good for you.  Often there is an expectation that you will use your time, energy, and other resources to support the game even when you don’t feel that the game supports you and your family.  Saying this out loud almost feels like blasphemy which seems crazy to me, but that inclination not to speak and to control impulsive actions is a learned behavior taught by years in the game.  It is a transferrable skill to other situations, but it feels weird to need to exercise it in the business with which you have developed such intimacy.  So, even if you can’t say everything you think out loud, you can make decisions about how much of you and your resources you share.  You should give yourself permission to make those decisions in order to protect your heart, your identity, and your household budget.

You should find at least one friend who has no idea when the team plays.  Find a friend who does not work for the team, but who does understand why your husband is rarely with you and kids at church or the cookout or the kids’ activities.  Those friends will understand why you video tape your kids’ games while other folks look at you like you are a pageant mom obsessed with your amazingly awesome kids when all you really want is to provide an opportunity to keep their dad connected.  (As an aside, I also advise you to have that friend do the taping because I could never keep the camera on my kids when they did something exciting during their performances.  I have often recorded myself saying, “Oh shoot, I missed it!”)

Become comfortable with his absence because it teaches your children to be secure with the environment and the family structure.  Embrace the quiet of the space you have when he is gone and the kids are asleep.  Use that time for reflection and dreaming so that you don’t forget how to dream and how to keep your goals alive in your heart and mind until that moment when the nest is empty.  Keep your goals and dreams alive until that moment that you just decide that your dreams and your voice matter enough to challenge the game to make room for you and to support you in your decision to live out loud in well lit places.  Spend your alone time envisioning the day when you will expect others to give life to you in the same way that you breathed breaths of life into the business of football. The positivity will keep away the negativity.  There is scriptural support for the idea that darkness can’t live where there is light and you will need the light in order to experience success in this business.

I honestly believe that those of us who live in the shadows of the game believe in the work that our coaches do every day of every season and every off season.  We all understand that this is more than teaching X’s and O’s and the science of football.  I think that we continue to define our lives by seasons and where we lived when certain life events happened because we know that the work that we support enables the game to raise boys to men.  We know that the game provides memorable experiences that bond families, friends, and communities.  For some folks it’s entertainment, but for us it’s life.

Because it is your life, you should not make it a habit to discuss the team with other folks like it is your responsibility to justify game day decisions by the coaching staff.  Additionally, you should instruct your children to limit their talk about the team to prevent them from the burden of being identified as a coaches’ kids every place they go.  If you don’t provide such guidance to your children, they might hear some of the good after some of the games, but more likely than not they will hear all of the negative every week of every season you live in that city.  This odd phenomenon of people wanting to shower your children with negativity can make them dread school every Monday morning.  Your family’s relationship to football can never be understood by a person who only sees the game for its entertainment value.  Those folks will never feel the literal impact of wins, losses, and institutional decisions based on an evaluation of the fruits of your coach’s labor.  Therefore, you ought not get your heart caught up in debates with them about football and you should expect them to express their empathy and understanding with the team when your husband gets fired.  They will move on to the next very quickly while you are struggling to figure out the next move, the next schools, and how to tie up the loose ends in the city you are leaving.

The experiences with some of the fans and the decisions of some in the game have taught me to focus on my calling to serve and to learn from the players to have “a short memory.”  You will be forced to learn not to make business decisions personal.  You will be forced to learn how to cheer for the team you cheered against last season.  You may even learn how to cheer for the team you knew very little about last season in a city you never wanted to call home.  If you are lucky, you will learn how to maintain a cool, level head like an athlete under pressure to execute a two-minute drill flawlessly in order to score and win a game.  Most families in the game understand the fragile nature of the business and how the outcomes can directly impact where they live, what city their family calls home, and their emotional and financial stability.  Since you probably won’t ever be asked to come into the locker room to deliver a pregame speech, or step into a game to take a snap, or to come study the game in a team meeting, you need to figure out how not to let the game control your every thought and action.

Stop trying to memorize the schedules for every single thing they do.  Stop trying to remember every coach’s assignments and the hometowns of every player.  Stop getting mad if they don’t tell you something before the media reports it.  On the other hand, it might be a good idea to start being concerned about the ramifications of the names of your children being published in the online media guide.  Start being concerned about how you will spend the time that your coach is off work.  Start being concerned about how you will redecorate when he ain’t home to give you his two cents about color schemes and furnishings.  Start worrying about how you will use your time to do one thing that feeds your passions.  I hope that this blog post inspires you to believe that you can operate as a shadow dweller in the game and simultaneously reward yourself by promoting one personal goal or accomplishing one task that enhances you personally.  There is no rule that says you must not have an experience in the light while you busy yourself in the shadows of the game.

I write and speak from a place of wanting others to live more fully and more deeply because of my experiences living the game. We have but one time to do this thing called life and we need to do it the best way we can figure out how. I charge you and myself to do it with purpose, with passion, and without limiting our potential. Work on developing your God given gifts and those of your children and let that giftedness be the driving force and not an opinion of another person about what your or their perceived goodness might be. When I write and speak about leadership and the potential of excellent villages, I enter a realm of satisfaction that only those things provides me. That is how life works when you are living your passion.  That is what I see in the eyes and movements of the coach when he’s in the presence of the players.  He does not have that same feeling when we watch Tiny House episodes and my favorite shows on HGTV and I don’t have my most pleasurable moments in life sitting on bleachers watching him coach.  So, figure out your thing and spend some time doing that thing.  Then, make him sit on the hard butt bleachers with squirmy kids for a few hours watching you do your thing.

Finding your place in the light will empower you and make you less concerned with all the things happening in the game that you have no control over.  You might even find that you and your kids will become champions of the concept of being a fan of a game that your coach loves.  I have studied fans in my time at games and here are a couple of things I have learned from fans that that might make your life in the game more tolerable and hopefully make you pursue the idea of you and your kids moving closer to the light:

Always stay supportive of the team regardless of the roster or the weather.

Loyal fans attend the game then separate from the emotion of the game when they leave so that they can get on with the business of accomplishing things that have nothing to do with the game.

And finally, the fans have taught me that when I think my guy has forgotten his name, he always responds to, “Hey, Coach.”