Author Archives: sisterintheshadow

Living with Mental Illness

This month is mental health awareness month. Like other awareness months, the hope is that opportunities will arise for people to learn more, be understood more than before, invest in legislation and research focused on the topic of the month, and change the lives of the people living with the condition for the better. Excellent mental health ranks high on my prayer list for myself and my family. My children used to ask me why I prayed for them to be mentally sound. I gave them a general statement about the need to be able to manage day to day tasks, care for themselves, and have healthy relationships as accomplishments that would be easier for them if they were of sound mind. I didn’t fully explain to them that my prayers were informed by time spent with my sister who suffered with a history of mental illness.

During my childhood, I spent a great deal of time trying to understand why my life had to be impacted by mental illness. I learned to compartmentalize the part of my life that was impacted by my sister’s illness so that I could use what time was left to do some things that fed my soul. Depending on the diagnosis, there might be a plethora of symptoms, behaviors, and plans of action necessary to support the person dealing with the illness. It was my experience that mental illness operated like a moving target in the form of a phantom. Some days the being acted like a jokester teasing us with stability. Other days, it performed like a mean spirited villain smirking and wringing his hand while we made repeated missteps in our efforts to improve the situation that had become our normal.

As a result of my childhood experiences, I learned to be a good caretaker as a child. I also learned to study behaviors and listen carefully to the words that come out of the mouths of people around me. I learned to remove myself from unsafe situations and isolate myself for chaos to find time to quiet my mind. I learned the importance of making good mental health a priority and objective. In my adult life, I have learned that there are many options for improving and maintaining good mental health, but all require intentional actions. I have come to enjoy a number of tools for recharging and resetting. I spend my days encouraging others to do the same. Finally, I learned to mind my own business because after working to maintain my own mental health or working to support someone dealing will mental illness I only have time for my own business.

It took me years to write publicly about this part of my journey because I always want to be sensitive to my sister and my family. However, I feel charged to share my experiences with others hoping that my story will ensure that others do not feel alone or hopeless. I hope that my readers will seek the help of friends and family and/ or medical professionals if more guidance is needed to achieve the goal of excellent mental wellness. I decided to repost the series of posts I wrote a couple of years ago during mental health awareness month. The first post was about my initial thoughts when I was eleven and mental illness became an unwelcome house guest. Here it is:

https://sisterintheshadow.com/when-mental-illness-found-us/

How much will your adventure cost me?

I spend a lot of time coaching young people through transitions from kid to captain of their journeys. I have watched some young people navigating the terrain like they chartered their course years prior. On the other hand, I felt the wrath of the entitled youth too proud to admit that a glance at a map might have been more advantageous than the spontaneous decision to begin a journey with no plan. I guessed that sponteneity fed the free spirit within the young ones, but the choice to hike through the wilderness without rations or a compass seemed shortsighted, in my opinion. Who am I to judge someone else for being less cautions than I have been? Should I feel guilt or gratitude for my role in teaching valuable life lessons to the youth regardless of their chosen path?

As much as the church has taught me that my life events were scripted for me by God before my existence, there have been days when life has felt like a real crap shoot. I have wondered if God was playing a holy version of “Plinko,” standing in the heavens dropping monster chips through random mazes in order to determine outcomes like the game show contestants on the “Price is Right.” This theory crept into my thoughts this week as I lived the emotions of rest takers doing life on the edge. I wrestled with what made some embrace the structure of disorder while others transferred the responsibility and liabilities for their actions to me. I also considered why I found myself drawn to invest in some who started the trip with no map even though both groups expected that their high risk behavior would generate amazing rewards.

Interestingly, I observed that my level of engagement of time, emotion, dialogue, and other resources moved up and down a sliding scale smoothly like I was changing the volume when that song I love plays o through my speakers. I considered three cases studies involving young people I met in the last year or so: one was a student, one was a college graduate, and one an uber driver who boasted about lessons learned in the school of life. The exercise made me feel like an investment banker analyzing a consumer seeking the level of buy in from a stranger with the intent to received much needed capital. My capital, I determined, was the time, the energy, and the weight of decision making expended to determine whether or not to accept the invitation to join the youthful adventure. I learned that I was more likely to lean into the adventure when there was evidence of the following:

Awareness of the thing sough even if the goal was somewhat general, but based in logic. For example, acknowledgement of wanting a degree or wanting to succeed in order to be the first to give hope to those who sent you away from that comfortable place to find your way.
Passion for the work that is the essence of the outcome sought.
Ownership of the current status and the decisions that led to that status.
Resourceful actions taken to navigate through the challenge and the humility to ask others to hope move the needle to the goal when you get stuck trying to go at it after realizing that you don’t know what you don’t know.
The courage to confront fear with an offensive strategic mindset matched with calculated, well-timed defensive coverages.

What draws you to engage and invest in others and their adventures? What do you intend to accomplish by engaging and in a sense taking some ownership of the other persons adventure. I am drawn in for the reasons stated above and I hope to remind them that life isn’t intended to be perfect so the realization of their imperfect plan is perfectly fine. I also encourage the adventurous ones to keep an open mind, embrace the detours, and remember that they set out on the course searching for opportunity to blaze a trail. My goal is to teach, inspire, and enlighten young people that this practice is life. It is living.

Hidden in Plain Sight

Last week proved to be a long week and the week coming will likely be a version of the last. I decided that a laugh might help us all. Sharing my experiences related to me getting sidetracked and forgetting things also will normalize my behaviors. Hopefully, you will feel more “normal” too.

Just saying out loud that becoming “normal” is a goal made me think about the spectrum that defines “normal.” The boundaries of the spectrum are somehow mysteriously established by the folks in the given community. Meeting the standard for normal has always seemed pretty subjective. As I reflect, I came to think that there has been an internal gauge or communal checklist to determine normalcy. In some communities, the standard has been near perfection or some unrealistic expectation that other folks believe they are meeting. In other settings, the standard has been described as fitting in or a natural connection. I have failed at being perfect which has been the reason that many young people find me relatable. I have failed at hiding my imperfections because I generally talk about them and ask people to fill the gaps for me. For these reasons, I find that I don’t always “fit” into the established spectrum of “normal.” I have also been told that visionaries and artist often fall somewhere outside of the lines of what others see as “normal,” but that is a discussion for another day. I have learned that my transparency has connected me to young people who appreciate grown folks being less pretentious and judgmental which benefits me in my work. In addition to talking about my shortcomings, I laugh and shake my head at myself when I behave like an absent-minded professor, forget things, lose things in plain site and absolutely just act “normal.”

Remembering that you are “normal” humbles the spirit and makes other “normal” people appreciate you. This tale of my lost keys definitely made my staff believe I was human and it may go down in history as one of my funniest self-induce challenges. So, here goes.

My supervisor arranged for he and I to present at late afternoon orientation sessions this summer. By the time the sessions ended and all of the parent questions answered, it would be five o’clock and my office would be closed. It was common for at least one thoughtful person in the office (who remains on my list of needed handlers) to send me a text to say everyone was gone. She wanted me to know that she was the last to leave. She also wanted to know if I had my keys for the office. In addition, she wrote in the text that she would be headed to her car, but she would come back to the office to open the door if I didn’t have my keys. I replied that I would stop and check my purse for the office keys and let her know. As I approached the office building, I stopped and propped my purse on the back of a bench and starting digging through pockets and rearranging things in search of the keys. About that time, my friend and handler called. With stress, frustration, and confusion in my voice, I told her that I couldn’t find them, but I thought that I could get into the building since the cleaning crew was on site.

I walked up to the building and looked into the glass door on the north side of the building. I saw the after hours cleaning crew standing in the hallway. I knocked, a nice gentleman smile in recognition of my face and he let me into the building. I told him that I couldn’t find my keys so he escorted me downstairs and unlocked my office door for me. I was grateful, but still concerned. Once I got into my office, it was clear that my keys were nowhere to be found. My keys were on a keyring that said “Breathe” to remind me to breathe because I sometimes forget to breathe. My colleague showed up, as promised, and began the mental exercise of walking me through all of the possible places I might have left the keys. I told her that I had already called the student union to ask the students to search the two rooms in which I gave presentations. I also sent a text to the orientation staff asking them to check their lost and found. I had no luck.

So, we unpacked my purse. We looked through the desk drawers. We went into the file room, the building kitchen, the bathroom, and other offices in my department. No luck. My colleague had done her good deed and needed to hurry off to an evening meeting. So, she left and I sat sighing and worrying that my keys had been stolen or that they were playing a not-so-funny game of hide and seek. It was now about six o’clock and I was fixated on the missing keys. I was not checking in with anyone and honestly not concerned about anything else at that moment.

My cell phone rang. It was my husband calling to see if I was ready to leave campus. He dropped me off at work that morning so he knew that I needed a ride home. I told him about the mystery of the lost keys that had become my challenge. He sensed the concern in my voice and said that he was on his way to pick me up (and help me find the keys). When he arrived, he not only heard the concern in my voice, but he could see the concern on my face. He began to unpack my purse. Finding nothing, he walked through the office and the floor. In the meantime, I sent a text message to my supervisor saying that I needed to speak to him. I finally decided that I would have to call him and let him know that I lost my keys. It was awful. I was supposed to be very responsible. And at that moment, I felt very responsible for the building and all of the items within the building. How could I say out loud that I misplaced my keys? Well, I was the leader so I had to own my stuff so I sent the dreaded text message to my supervisor. I had done everything short of put out an all points bulletin with the university police to find the stupid keys so I had to give notice and start figuring out the security plan.

When my husband completed his walk through he said, “This doesn’t make sense, you never leave your keys anywhere.” I replied, “Yeah, I know. This is weird. I’m gonna have to spend the night in this building to protect everybody’s things until I figure out where I left my keys.” He wanted to leave, get some dinner, and then return for another walk through. I resisted and declined. He asked me to tell him exactly where I was and what I was doing when I last saw the keys. I was pretty sure that had already gone through that mental exercise with my friend and handler earlier, but I thought what do I have to lose repeating that process. Since I remembered using the keys to open the office door early afternoon, he said start there and see where that takes you.

I went to the door and stood there as if I just came in from the meeting across the lake. Next, I walked to my office desk to put down my bag and grab a folder with documents that I had to sign and deliver upstairs. I remembered that I needed to stop in the restroom quickly before going to drop off the folder so I walked through the floor looking around at the floor and desk tops as I headed toward the restroom. I took a few steps into the restroom before turning around to head of the restroom and upstairs to complete my search. While I was pivoting to turn and exit the restroom, I realized that I had to put the keys someplace to wash my hands because I had no pockets. Well, I didn’t have “normal” pockets so I remembered my moment of innovation. I reached to the one “pocket” that never fails – my bra.

I almost wet my pants laughing at myself. I imagined the responses I would get from the search team if I ever told them the truth about where I put the keys for safekeeping. I almost didn’t want to walk back into my office. There was no way I could not tell at least two people the truth because they invested so much in the search. I also knew they wouldn’t believe the keys just appeared in my hand.

I told my husband first and the “I told you so” followed the laughter and chuckles. He also had all sorts of random jokey comments. I sent text messages asking those who were searching to stand down. I sent a text to my supervisor to disregard my previous text. I also had to send an email to my staff because I emailed all of them asking if anyone had seen my keys. My email stating that I successfully found my keys said something like “don’t you love it when you hide things in a safe place and can’t find them.” While I didn’t share with the entire staff how ridiculous and comical of a moment I was experiencing, I had to tell my colleague and handler. I sent her a couple of text messages. The first warned her not to laugh out loud in her meeting after reading the next text I would send. I told her that I found my keys. Then, I told her where I found them. The bitmoji’s started coming from her and kept coming. She and my husband were laughing and giving me grief up until I left the office and during the entire car ride home. He was talking and laughing. She was texting and laughing. Even when she stopped texting, I figured she was still laughing. I considered how I would avoid discussions about those dang keys so that I wouldn’t have to tell anyone my story. Well, the story has since been shared a number of times and the deep belly laughs have been a consistent theme. I hope you got a laugh too.

You may not be able to relate to this story directly, but you may have some other crazy situation you need to normalize. Have you ever looked for your phone only to find that you are holding it and maybe talking on the phone telling someone how you can’t find the phone? Have you ever put something in a safe place so that you won’t forget where it is when you need it, then frustrate yourself looking for it? Have you ever had to think like the toddler in your house to figure out where the kid might have put your keys? I have done all of those things and you probably have done some version of those things too. If not, keep living. If so, good for you for being imperfectly normal! I hope you will laugh at yourself and share your funny story with me too.

A Moving Meditation

Instead of spending time writing last Saturday morning, I made some early morning phone calls, went to an exercise class, went to a fitness tailgate, then I skipped the game in order to go hang out with a friend who needed time to vent and laugh. By the time I got back home, I wanted mindless activity and a nap. Since it was too late to take a nap, I opted for an early bedtime. Before putting the journal and the computer away, I wrestled with my decision to choose sleep over choosing to write while drowsy. I battled against the potential that I might disappoint readers and the feeling that I failed because I missed a week of posting to my blog. This internal struggle made me reflect on the work I have been doing to reset my internal compass in order to take better care of myself and regain my focus. I was frustrated that I had so much difficulty choosing my wellbeing over my to do list. I reminded myself of my children when they were toddlers going hard for hours and then collapsing without notice. Why did they go so hard all of the time and I have I conditioned myself to do the same?

I go hard all day analyzing, creating, exploring, and fixing situations, circumstances, and things. Over the last few weeks, I have been looking for ways to quiet my mind. I used to watch episodes of every version of tiny living shows as my primary escape. However, now that I have joined the world of television apps I don’t always have access to the tiny shows so I have expanded my viewer menu options. Since the tiny shows are not as accessible, my evening “entertainment” came courtesy of reruns of “Impractical Jokers,” “The Closer,” and “House Hunters,” and “Big Bang Theory.” I also used movies made for television and random documentaries to distract me from the busyness in my head. A few months ago, it became clear that my recipe for wholeness and wellbeing was insufficient so I searched for videos and apps to help me settle my mind so that I could sleep. I also knew that I needed to reintroduce exercise back into my life.

Labor Day weekend I decided to activate my membership at a local gym. It was long overdue. While I knew that I should have committed to a workout regimen at least a year ago, driving myself to the gym for the first time in a very long time took determination and courage. The determination to overcome the frustration I felt because I had to start over yet again setting and working to achieve new fitness goals now complicated by age and hormonal changes. Additionally, I had to ignore the voice in my head that encouraged me to postpone the trip to the gym. I fought against the urge to let my car drive me to the nearest restaurant to buy something that was not a salad.

Once I vocalized my need to change my ways, committed to join the gym, and confirmed that my membership card was activated, I set out to ease my way back to some type of movement. Walking the track was first although I wondered whose bright idea it was to put the dang track on the fourth floor. The first week I was winded walking up the stairs to the stupid track. There was an elevator right next to the door for the steps. I was really tempted to take the ride up, but peer pressure forced me to walk the steps. The resistant fitness patron (me) wanted to count the time it took to climb the stairs as a part of the workout. I really don’t love walking in circles or using stationary equipment, but I had to start somewhere. As I walked in circles trying not to lose count of my laps, I considered how I would overcome my apprehension about participating in group classes. It could only have been the devil working to discourage me from doing one of the things that worked so well for me every other time I worked to be more fit.

The last time I joined this gym I went to pilates, yoga, and zumba. The zumba crowd was very young and the instructors liked to do moves that revealed the true age of my knees. The thought of going back to that class was intimidating because I felt older and less fit than I was the last time I tried that class. According to the experts at the gym, my options for dance classes increased during my absence. I read the dance class descriptions, but that was not enough to persuade me to register for one of the classes. I did, however, get up one Saturday morning to try a new class called gyrokinesis, pronounced /Jie-row-kin-e-sis/.

The gyrokinesis class was being taught in the yoga room which was a familiar space for me. I also loved the fact that the room was on the second floor and not the fourth floor like the track. I really didn’t want to show up to a new class sweating and gasping for air. I walked in to find a really nice lady named Gina who had the body of a ballerina. Her smile, her bright eyes, and her bubbly spirit radiated to me, “I am super happy to welcome new students to my class.” None of her students that Saturday morning had ever taken a gyrokinesis class and we didn’t know what to expect. The description simultaneously confused me and peeked my curiosity. Reportedly, the class combined aspects of gymnastics, yoga, pilates, swimming, dance, and meditation. Hmmm. I was not a gymnist or swimmer. Yoga and pilates generally revealed that my flexibility challenges were not helped by my sedentary job so I felt a little bit concerned that I would not be able to successfully perform the practice. I enjoyed dance and meditation because both left me feeling refreshed, energized, and at peace with my self and my circumstances. I couldn’t imagine how we would incorporate all of these exercises into one class.

In addition to the mental exercise required to make sense of the course description, I tried to figure out why there were black stools in close proximity to the nice instructor. The black stools were tall and medium while the blue ones that resembled a stool that someone might use in the kitchen were not tall or medium. The blue stools were more accurately described as stools built for the vertically challenged. Gina instructed us to use our yoga mats to create a circle. She described the circle as a wagon wheel, but I thought of it like a sun. The wooden floor was the center and the mats made the rays of sun. Just when I thought it couldn’t get more interesting, Gina told us to put the stools on top of the mats. “Ok, whatever you say,” read the thought bubble in my head. I have been told that trying new things keeps your mind sharp and time with Gina definitely met my criteria for a new thing.

One class with Gina and I was hooked on the benefits of this class. In fifty minutes, Gina taught us at least four different ways to breathe in cleansing breaths and exhale stale air. It was a safe place to learn the breathing techniques without judgment. I gained an appreciation for the energy generated within me while appreciating the synergy created by me practicing alongside the other folks in the room. We sat in our circle participating in what Gina called “a moving meditation.” We stretched our spines in all directions while we imagined wearing magnetic belts to keep our cores engaged throughout the practice.

The foundational principles of gyrokinesis promote the practice of the fluid, circular movements we use every day like twisting, reaching, stretching, and breathing. The practice surprisingly required concentration and coordination to perform the butterfly movements that resembled a breaststroke and the movements that made us look like we were blooming flowers. The choreographed movements loosened my stiff muscles and oiled my joints. I enjoyed being in the class with people of all ages and body types. It was cool to be in a community of learners receiving instruction from the ONLY certified gyrokinesis instructor in my city. I haven’t told her this yet, but she is a combination of two of my good friends, Lauren and Jo. I also never told her that I spent most of the first class trying to figure out who she reminded me of as I worked to keep breathing and moving rhythmically with everyone else. I am so glad that I took the risk of going to this class. I think that the people who attend this class can’t help but be kind-hearted and supportive of one another. The energy in the room was positive and my best was all that was expected and there was continual affirmation of my efforts to do work through the practice.

If you have been putting off a health related goal or two, stop putting it off. Stop procrastinating and finding excuses to avoid becoming healthier. Take a page from my book and start with something. My something was a forty to forty-five minute walk at least three times a week. After a week of walking, I added gyrokinesis. Two weeks later I added a spin class. This week I increased the intensity of the walk in order to burn more calories and fat. I am proud of my decision to do something. I am proud of my decision to push myself to vary my fitness options.

Take care of yourself. Be kind to yourself. Try something new and you may find something new to love. I found gyrokinesis. I love the part of this moving meditation practice that allows me to scan my body to see how I am really feeling from the soles of my feet rooted in the earth to the top of my head. Gina reminds us every class not to judge ourselves, but to be aware of anything new or any changes since the last scan. I encourage you to take a literal scan of the varied aspects of your life and make some decisions about how to bring more balance. If you are looking for a peaceful, mindful practice, please try gyrokinesis and let me know what you think.

Finding a way to love my new normal

About a week ago, I was not loving my new normal. I decided to take out a journal, put pen to paper, reflect and sort out my feelings. It might have been against my better judgment to reduce to paper some of the thoughts in my head intent on including them in this post. I also think it might have been in conflict with the advice of a wise friend who told me to maintain the same verb tense throughout my posts. While I knew that consistency in verb tenses mattered, my ability to express the conflict in my spirit and mental processes rated higher in the pecking order of rules for my written communication that day.

Like other folks, life has afforded me lessons that I wished could have been taught without me experiencing them first hand. On the other had, I have had some amazing opportunities and rewards that only came because I was present to live in the moments. Often I believed that I spent more time experiencing challenges than rewarding moments. I have written previously about the pendulum swings that seemed to hover at the extremities of the arc for a lot longer than the time spent in the middle of the arc. The extremities for me have represented the highs and lows. It represented those disappointments that loitered on one end or the arc that were the equal and opposite forces to my most exciting and rewarding mementos. Before writing this post, I spent time convincing myself to accept my own coaching related to perspective and the ability to embrace change. Giving advice to others has come so much easier for me than adhering to my own wisdom.

This crazy ride on the swinging pendulum started as I packed for my last trip east. I felt like the kid enticed to ride the swinging pendulum in an amusement park because it appeared to be so much fun. Once committed to the ride, I learned that life constantly lived at extremes was not that much fun. I was reminded of being a child on a swing set that had gotten a little out of control. I remembered being on the swing set with metal legs that were not secured with cement. With the base merely sitting in a dirt hole without being secured with cement, the entire structure rocked and lifted from the ground. The instability initiated the flight or fight responses in me. As a result, I extended my lefts toward the ground allowing the tips of my toes to scrap the ground every time the pendulum ride brought me close to the middle of the arc. Well, fight or flight responses have become too common in the last several years of my life. Life has been the grown up push most kids beg for at the playground in order to increase the chances of “fun.” A big push generally meant the ride would last longer. That long, intense ride was pretty exciting as a kid. However, in this grown woman life that I am living right now, I need both feet on the ground for a minute!

I began the process of slowing the ride a few weeks before writing this post. Slowing things down felt good. Slow, however, did not provide the control I needed. Slow only provided an awareness of details and realities about things that previously were flashing images zipping past me when the pendulum was in full swing. Reality made me consider pumping my legs to generate momentum so that I could avoid the truths revealed. Truth was the sibling of awareness and the cousin of accountability. As I drug my feet to slow the ride, I wished for truth to be my very distant step relative. It came to me that truth and awareness existed whether I decided to swing higher or not. Another truth was that my decision was only my decision. My decision would also influence my perspective of the images I saw as the swing slowed. More swinging meant that I would be choosing the instability of the swing set that was sure to cause me to crash and fall. Choosing to pump my legs and cause an inevitable fall from the toppling swing set felt as ridiculous as willfully slowing the pendulum just enough to avoid stopping it completely to avoid seeing those images more clearly.

Was this not the definition of insanity? “Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.” “Ok,” I said to myself, “Say out loud everything that bugs you, then develop a plan to address each thing.” The prayer of serenity followed: “Lord, grant me the strength to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.” I added to that prayer the following: “Lord, don’t let me get paralyzed by change or challenge.”

I implemented a hard pause which stopped the swing. I gained control because I took control of the moment. I am still not overjoyed with my current circumstance, but I do have new perspective and motivation to make meaning of my station while simultaneously developing a plan of action. I have renewed energy driving the plan which makes success more likely than not.

I have no idea what issues my readers are experiencing, but I pray that each reader will gain control of what might feel like a swinging pendulum. I pray that the things my readers need in order to support them in this period of change or challenge become available to them. Finally, I pray that my readers will find excellent villagers to encourage, enlighten, and otherwise provide them needed support. I hope their villagers are much like or better than those who have stepped up to support me.

Packing is such a process

Preparation for travel meant engaging in a mental survey of the things I need to take with me beyond the normal toiletry items. In general, the number of outfits and the weather forecast have dominated my thoughts when packing. I have also given considerable thought to the question of which shoes match the outfits. The most pressing question to enter my thought bubble was how will I get all of this stuff in the carry on bag?

I have often wondered why my packing ritual comes with so many questions and self-imposed hurdles. Actually, the word hurdle may not accurately represaent my experiences while packing. I think that this process has felt more like an obstacle course. Packing, for me, has been that thing that should be very simple, but instead created a series of negative emotions. The negative emotions came when one or more of the outfits didn’t fit like I remembered or expected. That realization has led to an impromptu parade of closet fashions in front of a number of mirrors so that I could see every angle possible. Once the outfits were approved for fit, appropriateness, and style, I found myself back at the shoe question again. Almost never has the shoe chosen at the beginning of the packing process made the cut when I zipped the carry on bag. The goal has always been to avoid baggage claim, if possible. My crew, over the years, has operated on the premise that we go to a destination to engage in whatever guided us there so standing at baggage claim watching bag watching wastes time. I have generally been most challenged by the process of elimination required to downsize to one carry on and the personal item airline protocol. I honestly believe that I am scarred from roles in my life as a caretaker of others.

As a caretaker, my bag always held stuff that I knew other folks would need or present as a need that I was expected to meet. For example, when my kids were younger, the contents of my bag had to include changes of clothes for the kids and for me. Inevitably, if I didn’t include back up articles of clothing, one of us would end up in clothing soiled with food, water, Joyce, or worse. If I didn’t include food for the masses, everyone in the travel party would be hungry and desperate to make me the victim of the ridiculously priced products in the airport. These purchased would be made in the name of overhead, taxation, and supply and demand.

Fortunately, my ability to think forward and prepare for things and situations others don’t expect made me an excellent caretaker and villager. This quality has also prepared me well for my work in higher education. However, the thing that made me an awesome villager revealed itself as one of my greatest impediments during the packing process. Unfortunately, my capacity to anticipate challenge and prepare lack that results from challenges became added pressure for me. I needed to be prepared for every possible scenario I imagined – rain, sun exposure, hunger, boredom, an afternoon meeting upon my return, meals on the first day home, and the impact of humidity might have on my hair, hangnails, dry lips, headaches, ashy hands, and my Saturday blog post. I tell the crew they can thank me for taking rain gear, an umbrella in particular, because it doesn’t rain when I have an unbrella. Historically, my crew has started the packing process after me and finish ahead of me.

When I am in the midst of packing, they tend to give me a lot of confused, puzzled facial expressions. I have gotten what appeared to be them considering adding a head shake and eye roll to their facial expressions as an outward expression of their level of confusion with my struggles. They have been smart enough though not to vocalize their thoughts or offer me their commentary that could be interpreted by me as unsupportive or judgmental. Their interactions with me during packing season resembled their demeanor when most folks find the room temperature comfortable and I adjust the thermostat to frigid because the coals inside of me radiated with the intensity of the sun.

My most recent trip left me with an additional dilemma. I pondered how my wardrobe and emergency checklist items would fit Int eh carry on and small bag if I needed to deliver clothering items to the my son, “the man-child.” I began referring to my son as “the man-child” several years ago because he was as large as a man yet still my child. Unlike my daughter’s rolled clothes that slip nicely within spaces created by my clothing in the bag, my son’s clothes, even after rolling them to extra tight status, needed strategic placement like playing Tetris. While I envisioned that his clothes would monopolize space in my bag, the coup-like overtaking of half of my carry on bag left me with thoughts of “wow” and “hmmm.”

Despite my challenges, the over thinker, overly prepared, overwhelmed caretaker in me (who never wants to fail) got everything I needed, all that he requirested, and a few things his mother believed he should possess in my zipped bag. And, I didn’t even have to sit on the bag to get it to close.

My need to rekindle relationships with friends & family

About six months ago, I made a decision to work on reconnecting with family and a few old friends. When I was a child, I planned my own pay dates with my friends without help from my parents. It wasn’t a complicated process. It generally involved a call or knock on a door to ask “What are you doing?” or ” Can you come out to play?” It was my childhood experience that I didn’t have to plan time with family either because it was understood that my mom’s family would have Sunday dinner together every week at Mama Love’s house. I also knew that whenever a family member came within a sixty or seventy mile radius Daddy would pack up the car and drive to “see” family.

By the time I had children of my own, play date customs were different. Play date culture required me to talk to other parents before scheduling times for my children and their children to play together. The reality of relationship building in the context of family dinners and get togethers probably didn’t change for everyone, but it became clear to me that someone had to put in some work to create those opportunities for the family to connect. Why did it become necessary that children have people arrange their play time? Why did the family get togethers end?

Today, I spent time talking to one of my cousins who I haven’t seen since I was a child. He asked me if I could remember how we ever came to communicate via email about a year or two ago. I reminded him that his mother inadvertently included me in an email thread and he emailed to ask if I was Kim, the daughter of Aunt Lola. He also wanted to know where he read about Mama’s hat. We laughed as I told him the story of Aunt Pinkie making her famous pound cake and Mama demanding that we take the cake on the plane concealed in her beautiful hat box. As the story went, we accidentally left the beautiful hat box on the plane. The hat box took a journey to Ft. Lauderdale before making its way back to me in Tampa.

It has been too long since we have gotten together as a family. There are a host of nieces and nephews who I have never met or seen. We agreed that it had been too long since our families had any sort of reunion. The last reunion was in Alabama about seven or eight years ago. My cousin and I tried to think of all of the reasons why we stopped communicating with one another?

My cousin and I agreed that each of us had become so busy doing our thing that we sacrificed family gatherings for work. We agreed to maintain our relationship with each other and to challenge other family members to reacquaint themselves with family members. I am sure we can’t be the only family with this type of disconnect. I hope that other families will follow our lead. As a adult, connecting with other folks takes intention, planning, and flexibility and a willingness to engage in the process and be forgiving of missteps, and welcoming of uniquenesses that make your family and your friend circle a melting pot of personalities.

If you haven’t maintained relationships with friends or family, start calling and visiting with one another.
Ask questions about your life experiences since the last time your spoke.
Find a point person willing to set the date for the gathering.
Enjoy the time with family and/or friends
Build your family tree complete with names
Share all that you know with the children

My Home Team

Discussions about free speech and inclusive spaces on my campus presented an opportunity for my division to spend a day in July as a unit challenging ourselves and our peers to think about the intersections of diversity, inclusion, free speech, and respect. We were asked early in the day to make adjustments at our tables to ensure that everyone at the table did not work in the same department. After the informal game of musical chairs ended, about five departments were represented at my table. Over the course of the day, we were given a number of prompts and asked to consider whether we would describe ourselves as people who spend time making others aware of issues, creating the issues and conflicts others encounter, or whether we involve ourselves in solution driven processes.

At the end of the workshop, we asked each other what we should do next. We all talked about our frustrations with workshops and meetings that end with some enlightenment and an expectation that there will be another workshop or meeting to discuss either the same issue or another issue without ever receiving a charge to act and reflect. I presented the idea that I coordinate a monthly meeting for our “home group” as we came to call ourselves after hearing the facilitator say that term once or twice. I told the group that it had been my experience that topics like race, ethnicity, bias, and inclusion were heavy subjects and difficult for folks to discuss without prior relationships. Any conversation that feels like judgment or shaming generally end in hurt feelings, an argument, or silence. None of those outcomes ever produces unity, collaboration, or energetic partnership building.

I made good on my promise. I sent meeting invites to my group of colleagues. We had our first “home group” meeting. It was a lunch time meeting and all were invited to bring lunch and an open mind. I told them we would have a random topic that had nothing to do with race, ethnicity, gender, inclusivity, or diversity. We would, however, have diversity in the conversation as a result of our diverse experiences and perspectives. Early that morning, I spent time in meditation. The lady who spoke with the calm, consistent monotone cadence reminded me that I had the ability to control any emotion that I felt. I really didn’t like that lady a lot when I heard and processed her statement, but it gave me an idea for our meeting.

I decided that I would present that idea to the group and start our session by asking them to describe the emotion(s) they felt at that moment. I knew most of the members and I thought that I could guess which emotions they probably brought with them to the room. I told the group that my emotion was frustration. To my surprise, most of the group had some emotion that resembled mine. There was one person who gleefully owned a perky, upbeat emotion. In an effort to bring all of us to a place of inner peace, I told the group that we should channel that positive vibe from the most positive group member, hold hands, and take three deep and cleansing breaths. Once the breathing was done, there were smiles and relaxed faces.

I introduced the random topic of the day: Is there ever a good reason for someone to be late to a meeting or use technology during a meeting? The questions were paraphrased a bit during the meeting and became something like what excuses are acceptable for tardiness and how do you feel about cell phones and computer use during meetings? Here are some of the things we learned:

We are all too connected to technology or feel pressure to connect with technology.
We have difficulty setting healthy boundaries for ourselves because of our reliance on technology either because we fear missing out on something or because we have trained others that we can be accessed by them whenever they deem our attention required.
Some people have jobs that mandate or feel like a mandate to check emails regularly and respond outside of work hours.
Many of us feel that the culture of the workplace and the global community dictate that we engage with others or with information through technology more often than may be healthy.
We have all experienced false vibrations in a pocket or purse when we don’t have devices.
There is some judgment of people who are habitually late or who use technology for purposes unrelated to the meeting topic(s).
Many of my colleagues believed it important to devote their attention to the people who share the meeting space with them. Along this same line of thought, they believed that all should honor the space with full focus on the topic.
Many believed that we should change the meeting culture of our campus to include 50 minute meetings instead of hour long meetings in order for folks to have travel time or simply have time to stop in a restroom or fill a water bottle.
We learned that we need to recognize when we are forcing bad technology habits into places designed to limit or prohibit use of technology.
The team thought that we should challenge ourselves to set a doable boundary between us and our cell phones.

We all found the time together beneficial. It is my hope that at the end of the year we will be able to talk about deeper subjects because we trust one another. We will become a team of supporters and encouragers. I also hope that we will motivate others to start similar groups or that our members will facilitate other groups that include other colleagues on campus. This week I told one of my student mentees about the impact that this meeting had on me as we discussed a professional development program. He made a note in his planner about the idea and suggested that he might adapt this concept for students. I’m thinking that we will call ourselves “the home team” moving forward because the thought that the existence of this group gives us some type of home field advantage is appealing to me.

My next task is to decide on a technology challenge to propose to the group. Right now I am thinking that we intentionally leave our phones in our offices in the off position for half a day or intentionally remove our email accounts from our phones for a day. I am already feeling angst about either choice, but I am also curious about what will happen for me and others if make a decision to intentionally separate from our devices or email accounts. It could mean that I learn to stop trying to multitask and that others might learn to wait. Imagine that!

“Austin Plays Fair” by Tony&Lauren Dungy

I met the Dungy’s when my family moved to Florida (the first time) in 1997. Lauren and Tony became friends and role models who I admired and respected. Lauren and Tony consistently demonstrated passion for teaching and encouraging young people. They also encouraged people who sought support for the young people in their communities. Those of us who had children grow up in the game thought it cool that children were generally welcomed to spend time with their fathers because Tony made taking your children to work a common and accepted practice. It was cool to witness children running around an NFL office making themselves at home. Tony knew how much time coaches spent away from their children so our children who were raised in the game felt welcomed at the office, on the field, and often in the locker rooms. Tony and Lauren always made the children believe that they mattered.

As I read this book, I recalled partnering with Lauren and a group of other women to make monthly visits to area elementary schools to read books. Once Lauren noted that the books I chose to read offered history lessons or life lessons on manners. In my opinion, there was nothing better than a good children’s book to bridge the gaps between adults and children or to teach children about world and life issues. Good books used words and illustrations that children could understand. When it came to books, I looked for children’s books that told relatable, instructive stories. “Austin Plays Fair” lived up to all of the elements of a excellent children’s book!

The story opened near the end of a flag football season. The featured team, coached by Tony and Lauren, had not won a game and children on the team were disappointed with their losing record. Austin played on the team that needed a win. His team, the Trentwood Tigers, wore bright orange jersey with gray sleeves that coordinated well with their darker gray shorts. The flags around their waists looked like yellow highlighter strips against the gray shorts. Although they looked fabulous, the children focused on their losing record. The encouragement of their parents didn’t eradicate their feelings of disappointment and frustration.

One of Austin’s teammates, Brice, proposed a sneaky plan that involved the members of the team tucking their flags inside of their belts to prevent the flags from being pulled away from the belt by an opponent. Brice believed that if all of their flags remained attached to their belts during the game, victory would be certain. Well, Brice convinced the team to execute his plan in the next game. The team won that game. The children celebrated the victory, but Austin felt less than a winner because he knew that they cheated to win.

Since the plan resulted in one win, Brice argued that the team should continue this tactic in order to be the victors in the next competition. Just when it seemed that all of the Trentwood Tigers bought what Brice was selling, Austin spoke out against the plan. Austin began thought about things his parents and his coaches said to him. His parents told him “You just need a little more practice.” They also reminded him that “Having fun is more important than winning.” Moreover, the words of his coaches resonated with him too. Austin especially remembered Coach Tony’s statement that “it’s important to have fun, but it’s even more important to play a game you can be proud of.” I have to admit that I was pretty convicted myself after those reminders on good sportsmanship and playing a game with integrity.

Austin made me think through my gaming strategies a bit. My father said have fun, but he also absolutely set the standard that winning was the paramount goal. My father used to say that he coached “a good clean game of dirty ball” which established a very different standard than that of Coach Tony and Coach Lauren. I was raised by the guy who coached his team to bump my brother, his son, at the start of heat when my brother ran track against my Daddy’s teams. My daddy won a lot when he coached track and basketball. He admitted that he sent players into games for the sole purpose of getting “good fouls” designed to upset the performance of the best players on the opposing teams. Recently, I played Ellen’s Headsup game with the women’s basketball team on my campus and they were convinced that I cheated. They also accused me of not telling the truth on Twitter. I guess I borrowed from my daddy to get that extra point and I used a lesson from Coach Tony to formulate my tweet. Coach Tony taught me years ago that “perception is reality.” So, I told the women that I didn’t lie to the world because my tweet didn’t say that I won. I did, however, imply that I won the game. I read this book this morning and got more convicted, but not convicted enough to delete that tweet.

It’s a good thing that Tony and Lauren wrote this book to remind us about playing fair and having fun. I had fun playing my game, but demonstrated that I might struggle with one of the challenges faced by many folks – losing with integrity. We tend to justify our shortcuts or lapses in integrity by accepting the excuse Brice credited his brother with saying: “everyone does stuff like that.” Austin’s decision to choose more practice, honest play, and hard work over cheating to win demonstrated maturity, integrity, and a willingness to comply with the rules of the game. Austin showed great courage when he took a stand against “flag gate” and when he held his team accountable for cheating. Ultimately, Austin proudly stated that “It would have felt good to win, but it feels better to play fair.”

I highly recommend this book and the series of books recently released by Tony and Lauren Dungy. Don’t be surprised if while you are reading this book to a child you learn valuable life lessons that you can apply in your life. This book inspires me to 1. want to write for a younger audience and 2. to share this book with children in my community. I hope you will purchase a copy and share it too.

The beauty of a community of life learners

Last week I wrote about moments that have given me the shock I needed in order to reset my center and my focus. The week I intentionally made decisions to further that goal of resetting.

Flipping the switch to reset seemed simple and instantaneous. However, I didn’t immediately feel that the goal had been accomplished or mastered. Over the course of the week, laughter proved to be a useful tool to keep me moving toward an existence that felt less constricted, less chaotic, and less abnormal.

Earlier in the week, I ate lunch with some colleagues in the conference room on our floor. We were spending time with a colleague on her last day in the office. As we engaged in casual conversations about random topics our attention shifted unexpectedly to a specific topic never discussed in great detail. One of my colleagues changed her hair style over the weekend and I commented that I liked her new do. (“Do” is short for hairdo.) I said something like, “I really like your hair” and “I wish my natural curl was more like yours.” Who knew that the conference room would become a classroom. The students were one Latino woman, four caucasian women, and two African American, including me. She and I became lecturers on the subject of Black hair care. She was what we call on our campus the faculty member of record and I was her teaching assistant. Who knew that an observation about her hair would result in about a thirty minute class on cornrows, faux dreadlocks, weaves, and wigs? I don’t either of the seven would have thought it would happen, but I think this will rank as one of the most fun and engaging college classes of all time for me.

I believed that my compliment and wish triggered the first question: “So, that wasn’t your hair?” Before the last word of that question was heard the next question came. Another colleague asked something like “How does that process work?” My young colleague whose hair had become the focal point of what had become a working lunch began a clinic complete with drawings on the whiteboard and a very descriptive lecture on the science and protocols associated with these hairstyles. I think I got the biggest laughs from another young colleague who obviously had never broached the subject of Black hair with anyone. She believed that whatever hair do we had on a given day was due to some overnight beautician magic performed by us. I literally laughed out loud after she answered my question, “So you thought that was her hair?” in the affirmative. No only did she say something like “Well, yes,” but she continued with another question like,”So, that really wasn’t your hair?” She continued along this line of amazement like a child who goes down that proverbial rabbit hole of questioning the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the elf on the shelf. She started asking about the hair do’s of other African American women on campus whose hair styles change.

In her defense, some of the women don’t always make drastic changes, but there’s enough change that one might think there was just a beautician who spiced up their looks. I had to ask if she noticed changes in length that might not be possible overnight. That made me chuckle out loud. The shocked look on her face made all of smile. We stole her innocence by telling her that the quick hair changes often came courtesy of human hair that was either glued in, sewed in, or made into a wig. The final question was “How long did that process take to complete?” Our teacher without hesitation explained the range of time for each style at issue. The teacher also discussed the quality of the hair purchased and it impacted the texture, the hair style, and the cost payable to the hair technician.

The colleagues who had this discussion worked in a department that I supervise. I was proud that I hired all of these professional who wanted to talk hair care with me. There is much talk on college campuses about inclusive spaces and I was thrilled that a group of women I hired felt safe enough around me to ask questions, then listen and learn. This class came complete with a braid demonstration, drawings, and the shocking revelation that some of us rely on other tools to create illusions of curls, length, and color. My colleagues are definitely more woke now than before this impromptu class?