Learning that less is more

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.

Loving Memories of Mama

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.

The Intersection of Passion and Priorities

“Eat less meat. Exercise more,” said my really nice doctor. As I gave him a head tilt and a side eye, he quickly began the work of softening the message even more. I gave a slight smile and I think he also saw the involuntary raising of my left eyebrow. Then, I spoke. I said something like, “Basically, the message is that I need to lose some weight.” He was too nice to just say, “Yes.” He said something like, “It would help your numbers. You look ten years younger than me, but at fifty things start to change.” Prior to the visit, I had some blood work done. When I got there and he got the update on my family situation and all of the changes, he gave some life skills advice and threw in the bonus tip about improving my total health picture by getting some exercise and making better food choices. His statements were not news to me and I told him so. Interestingly, I recently told someone else that I needed to give more focus to self-care when I am managing work and changes in family circumstances. The candid conversation with my really sweet doctor was exactly what I needed to redirect my attention to the work-life balance choices that ought to be constants in my life.

The last two weeks I have been writing about my parents and the lessons I learned from them through their roles as career educators. Mama and Daddy talked about work a lot. Mama and Daddy loved teaching and they were my first models for leadership. Most people probably don’t think of educators as leaders and tales from the teachers’ lounge, to those people, may seem like anecdotal sharing of old memories to entertain audiences. Daddy led an amazing group of teachers and they created a climate for student success at Autaugaville Elementary School. Mama dictated the tempo and educational programming in her classroom. She also influenced the development of less experience teachers and offered advice to the principal, Daddy. Together the faculty cultivated a spirited, productive environment for students and staff. Whether leading youth groups or family projects or my department at work, I have worked to be as impactful as my parents in the lives of young people. I realized after the doctor visit that I have modeled them in my passionate and committed work. It also became clear that I had become like them and many other excellent leaders in another way.

My observations about excellent leaders were not supported by research or data. My findings were based on my informal studies of community leaders in a number of settings. Excellent leaders, regardless of their areas of expertise, invested time in preparation to perform the demands of their jobs. Moreover, they spend time learning about the people and the things they oversee. Mama and Daddy modeled excellent were leaders in their communities. Like other great leaders, they demonstrated passion for service as well as taking responsibility for the direction and decisions associated with things and people under their oversight. I learned all of these things by watching Mama and Daddy, but last week it was clear that I also learned from them to move self-care down my priority list to a spot below the demands create by other things and people in need of my leadership.

Mama loved gardening. Sometimes when she worked in the flower beds or her summer garden Daddy would cut the grass or trim hedges. Mama also spent some of her free time prepping for church meetings or with her beloved Altrusa Club. During summer months when she wasn’t teaching, she sewed and blanched fresh vegetable for freezing. Daddy loved tinkering with electronics during his free time or talking to friends on his HAM radio. Mama and Daddy enjoyed their hobbies because they helped them relax. I don’t ever remember them engaging in any consistent form of cardiovascular exercise. We didn’t go bike riding as a family and we SAT and WATCHED the only African American aerobics instructor teach classes on a local public television station. It was big news at that time to have an African American aerobics teacher on television. I am certain she believed more of us would put on our leotards, leg warmers, and tennis shoes and convert our dens into fitness rooms. Well, I sat with my parents and listened to them talk about how good she looked on tv. I must say that I will still sit and watch people exercise on tv while I enjoy popcorn and a cool beverage.

This moment of self-reflection showed me that their leadership in field of education set a standard of excellence worth duplication. However, in watching them all of those years, I also embraced their models of self-care. I adopted a practice that included a host of mostly sedentary activities like reading, writing, social media trolling, and cleaning up my email box. There have been sporadic stretches of heart rate raising exercises, but it has always been much easier for me to choose work and my sedentary past times over consistent lifestyle changes that led to a holistic plan for a healthier me.

Leading takes time and energy. After long days of work in a high energy workplace filled with continuous opportunities to help people manage challenges, sitting and absorbing a lot something that removed me to a quiet place was welcomed. I am pretty sure that’s what my parents experienced too. The concept of leadership has always interested me. I was fascinated by the similarities between the presence of leaders in political parties and other types of institutions (i.e. educational, corporate, or criminal). In all of those communities, the leaders had the power to influence change and community policies. Leaders were not only capable of influencing change and policy, but the leaders had the power to establish the climate and morale of the people in the community.

When I study leaders, I study with an aim toward using the traits of the leaders that serve to encourage, empower, and enlighten to make me better at the things I do. I also look at the leadership traits that don’t’ seem to serve the community well. Then, I work not to repeat those traits. I have always wanted to say that I improved upon the things that my parents modeled for me and provided to me. Unfortunately, I spent time evaluating the excellence in their leadership model and ignored the need to consider ways that they might have improved the care of the vessels that delivered the passionate service to so many. I must work harder to make my physical and mental health priorities on a more consistent basis. I really do need to put into practice the lessons I teach my students related to the importance of making decisions that will make me better one decision at a time. I must make decisions each day to improve upon my parents’ models of self-care and get to living out the directives of my doctor: “Eat less meat. Exercise more.”

Tales from the Teachers’ Lounge, Part 2

The teachers’ lounge at the elementary school where my parents worked was a multi-purpose room. It was a break room for the staff, the copy center, the storage room for the snack cart, and a work space. It was not uncommon for the teachers to share stories about students or classroom experiences while spending time in the lounge. I guess the lounge also served as a location for informal staffing opportunities.

My father was the principal at Autaugaville Elementary School in rural Alabama for many years. He came to the school after a stint at the local high school. It was quite a change in that he had been leading a school for students transitioning to young adult life as opposed to leading a school for those who were just learning the fundamentals of reading, writing, arithmetic, and life. Daddy seemed to make the transition to little kids pretty easily and for the most part he enjoyed the change of responsibility. I think Daddy enjoyed parenting and many of his students enjoyed having him as a surrogate father or grandfather. He had a way of balancing structure, compassion, and professionalism in his role as the chief administrator at the school. He loved the responsibility of ensuring that the learning environment was safe and ripe for learning every day. He also loved the way that the young children lived life without pretentiousness or rehearsed behaviors. Their transparency and naiveté brightened his days and often humored him.

Daddy was a master storyteller. Unlike Mama whose storytelling was often hijacked by her giggles, Daddy had the gift of gab and loved sharing stories, whether solicited or not. He would chuckle as he told stories and if Mama was present he would interject, “Ain’t that right, Lola?” Her head nod or affirmative, “Uh huh,” gave his tales credibility. Once he received her affirmation or any signal of interest from his audience, he would proceed. The process of getting from the chuckle to the affirmation or signal of intereste caused only a slight break in the momentum of his storytelling. In fact, it was hardly noticeable. Next, he would deliver a quick side-grin and another chuckle to push forward his tale.

It was common for me to eat dinner with my parents every evening. After we were all seated, Daddy would ask me about my day. He would offer some parenting advice (complete with what often felt like an interrogation to me). Now that I have worked in higher education, I have realized that there is data that suggests that his practice of encouraging me to talk about my daily activities was healthy and emotionally beneficial. At the time, I couldn’t wait for his talks to end and for he and Mama to get on with discussing what went on at the school that day. Generally, that meant I could zone out into my kid world, eat my dinner, and be free of them being interested in my business. One day, after he was satisfied that I had been sufficiently advised about my day, he started to grin and chuckle. Based on what I knew about him, there was always an entertaining story behind the grin and the chuckle so I postponed my journey to the kid zone and provided the signal of interest that I knew would persuade him to share his tale.

Daddy said that at some point during the day the janitor (whose name escapes me now) marched into the principal’s office and exclaimed something like, “Mr. Cooper, somebody peed in the mop bucket, again! I’m sick and tired of this! You have got to teach them a lesson and make them cut it out!” I can only imaging how hard it was for Daddy to keep a straight face because he almost had a belly ache telling us the nature of the staff complaint. Mama and I were also in a full on gut wrenching laugh at that moment too. According to the Mr. Janitor, he walked into the restroom just after the deed had been done and there were a group of boys standing around laughing. When Mr. Janitor entered the restroom with the plan of mopping the floor with this fresh bucket of mop water, the boys snickered and exited the restroom. Mr. Janitor identified the boys to Daddy and left Daddy to solve the mystery of who peed in the mop bucket.

One by one Daddy called the boys into his office. He informed each of them that he was conducting “a serious investigation.” He told them that somebody peed in the mop bucket and that it was disrupting the workflow of Mr. Janitor and causing a potentially unsanitary condition for the school. Initially, nobody owned up to the prank. Since Daddy’s first attempt at discovering the truth didn’t work, he decided to raise the stakes a bit. He called all of the known participants to his office at the same time. He expressed to the group the severity of this infraction and explained that more extreme measures would be taken to solve the mystery.

Daddy had been the principal of North Highland High School in Prattville, Alabama before schools integrated and the vice principal at Autaugaville High when school integrated so he had allies throughout the communities of Prattville and Autaugaville. Heck, he had taught most of the folks in both of those towns. So, he executed a creative and comical plan to get the boys to come clean about facts surrounding the mop bucket mystery.

Daddy picked up the phone and began to dial a number. He made certain that the boys knew that he was calling the local health department. He asked for a person who was more than likely a former student. He told her that he had a serious potential health related issue at the elementary school. He went on to tell her that somebody peed in the mop bucket. He told her how upsetting it was to the janitor and how important it would be for him to be able to identify the student who actually contaminated the mop water. I would bet that the woman on the receiving end of this call was rolling on the floor laughing as she listened and participated in this “investigation.” Daddy asked the woman if the health department had a laboratory. There was an affirmative response. He repeated her affirmative response out loud so that the boys would be able to remain engaged and follow along with the line of questioning. I am certain his follow up question shocked the boys who were sitting on edge in his office and caused them to be more anxious. He asked the woman to tell him whether or not the health department laboratory could take urine samples from the boys and compare the samples to a sample of the contaminated mop bucket water and then tell him who peed in mop bucket. Who knows if she really answered him or not, but Daddy alleged that she told him that the health department would be able to conduct this scientific evaluation and identify the culprit. Daddy thanked her and told her that he would be in touch with her later.

Daddy hung up the receiver and explained the situation to the boys. He explained that they had a decision to make at that moment. The boys could either tell him what they knew about the incident and solve the mystery or he would be forced to continue the investigation. With a frustrated tone he expressed how awful it would be for the school and the health department to spend the time and money trying to find out which of the boys peed in the mop bucket. Clearly Daddy planned this well because he pulled out a small plastic cup and placed one in front of each boy. He summoned Mr. Janitor and gave him a cup to use to collect the specimen from the mop bucket. Knowing Daddy, he was still layering the magnitude of the associated costs of resources and the fact that their consequences would be greater if the school and the health department absorbed greater expenses. Just short of leaving his office to provide the needed urine samples, the boys decided to tell the rest of the story. All of the boys were guilty of the prank (or at least they decided to present a unified front). Daddy demonstrated relief and gratitude for them telling the truth and moved on to the sanctioning phase.

Daddy asked Mr. Janitor what he thought an appropriate sanction would be for the boys. As I recall, the boys were ordered to help clean the bathroom so that they would better understand the importance of the work done by Mr. Janitor. Daddy also wanted to understand the challenges with keeping a school restroom clean. I imagine Mr. Janitor had to go behind the boys and clean the restroom again, but I am sure he got some satisfaction in Daddy’s response. Daddy always taught us to respect the role of each person in the village because each person’s role has value. He taught us to especially show respect for those who cook and clean because they took care of basic needs. He also said that those who cook and clean did tasks that other people would opt out of because of the difficulty of the tasks or because of pride.

Daddy’s sincere effort to teach his students to respect the role of the janitor and to respect their space had to make Mr. Janitor proud. I knew that Daddy always respected and appreciated Mr. Janitor and he knew that his actions after receiving the complaint had to reflect those sentiments publically. It is my hope that as villagers we will find opportunities to lift up those who work with us and around us by the things we say and in the way we respond to them. I also hope that my audience will learn to respond to childish behaviors with humor and creative teaching moments.

Tales from the Teachers’ Lounge, Part 1

Some of the most memorable stories I’ve ever heard were told by my family members who were teachers. My parents spent most of their careers teaching at schools in rural Alabama. For most of my childhood, they drove thirty to forty minutes one-way to work every day. They last taught in a school in the community in which they were raised. They loved returning to the community to give back. It was apparent that they gave a lot, but I think they believed that they received a lot from the students they taught.

My mother was not as polished a storyteller as my father. She was especially challenged when there was humor involved. Mama usually had trouble containing her giggles while telling the story. When she told a funny story, her full body bounced as she laughed and struggled to get the words out in between the laughter. Watching her laugh and talk would make all of us laugh long before we ever knew why we were laughing.

One of mama’s favorite tales was related to her use of catalogs to teach the fundamentals of math and language arts. Mama loved catalog shopping and when she had no more use for the catalogs, she would take them to her classroom to share them with the students. Mama taught first and second grades the latter half of her teaching career. She encouraged socialization and learning by having her students work with catalogs in small groups. One day she noticed that a small group of boys were very interested in locating words and numbers in their catalog of choice. Then, the next time they had small group work a larger group of boys became very interested in the same catalog. They drew her attention because the numbers and words in their catalog made them giggle and snicker like playful, seven-year-old boys. She knew that they were boys who loved to play, but this behavior seemed odd at that particular time. After the students were dismissed for the day, Mama searched out the now infamous catalog that was a catalog published by a large retail store. It was one of her favorites because she could shop for everything from clothing for the family to household items. The book had toys, lawn and garden equipment, and women’s underwear. How did she ever forget about the underwear section?

This was the point in the story when Mama began to chuckle. As she told us how she ripped the women’s underwear and lingerie section from the catalog her laughter became more pronounced. Her shoulders shrugged and she began to sway back and forth slapping her right hand on her leg and putting the back of her left hand up to her face just in front of her nose and mouth. By now, everyone in the room was coming unglued with laughter hoping not to miss the punchline in the midst of the laughter. Finally, when she settled, she told us how she couldn’t wait to instruct the students to move into small groups for the circle time learning activity. She said she watched excitedly as the boys raced to the stack of catalogs to find the prized shopping book. She laughed about the looks on the faces of the boys in the group as one of the boys squeezed the book close to his chest and speed walked it to the circle. The other boys followed him like a band of merry classmates. According to Mama, the group leader flipped through the book quickly encouraged by the snickers of his friends. Once the boys completed the fruitless search, they began to flip through the book again on a mission to find the coveted pictures of the women’s undergarments and lingerie. The smiles and giggles turned to dismay and disappointment. She believed at that moment that the boys suspected that she knew why they had been captivated by the catalog. However, none of the boys asked her about the missing pages and she never let on to them that she was in on their secret. She kept a straight face throughout that circle time moment and stored her laughter for a later time. She was able to keep a straight face when she watched the boys. I think her ability to contain her laughter until a later time made it funnier to her and certainly provided us some healthy laughter as we watched her tell the story.

Easter Memories

To say that I have been a little distracted this week would be an understatement. I spent the week coming to terms with my new normal without my brother and preparing myself, my family, and my staff for my trip to Alabama to pay my respects to him. Shopping for a few last minute clothing items was moved to the bottom of the to-do list. I decided that I would have plenty of time to shop after I got to Alabama. Well, I forgot about the good southern folks and their Easter traditions.

My sister-in-law wanted us to wear black, gold, and white on the day of the funeral so I went on a mission to find gold accessories like scarves, ties, and handkerchiefs. As I walked in and out of stores in a shopping plaza and then a number of stores in the mall, I became aware of the freshly done hair dos and the Easter egg colored nail polish on the freshly manicured hands of most of the ladies. I was reminded that it was Easter weekend and remembered the pomp and circumstance that comes with the Resurrection Sunday celebrations in the south. We used to joke that people who never go to church during the year making their was to church for Easter. I think that was true because everybody’s mama expected to have the whole family in church with her to display to the church family Easter Sunday.

After entering the third men’s department store looking for gold ties and hankerchiefs, I gave in and asked a saleswoman if there was anything gold in the store or in the mall. We walked through the department looking at one display after another trying to find gold ties. All of the accessories were more yellow than gold or perfect colors for prom attire. The nice lady directed me to a men’s store where I found myself in line for assistance behind a woman digging through a couple of baskets looking for a bow tie in a very special shade of salmon pink. Since I had to wait, I thought that I would join the hunt and engage them in conversation about the hunt. I said, “Are you shopping for a prom?” (Once again, I forgot about the holiday weekend.) She said, “Oh no. I am trying to find a tie for my husband.” My thought bubble read, “Oh really?! Who knew that couples dressed alike for Easter?” I wondered why they were dressing alike. As I sorted out the who and the why she was busy chatting and explaining how something happened to her dress or suit and she had to make new plans for their coordinated Easter outfits. I missed a lot of what she said because I was too busy trying to figure out whose idea it was to have a coordinated Easter presence. Does anyone know the history of this Easter tradition that requires folks to dress up even more special than what my mom used to call “Sunday go to meeting clothes?”

This whole ordeal brought to mind my mother’s love of dressing me up for Easter each year. I decided that reposting the blog entry entitled, “Lola’s Easter Princess” was in order. Enjoy!

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Change – The Only Constant in My Life

Change seems to be the only constant in my life. Maybe change has always been a constant, but it usually happens so fluidly that I rarely notice it. Change is necessary to prevent monotony and boredom with life. Change keeps me aware that I am alive. Change exists on a sliding scale like a spectrum of color. Most of the time, I transition smoothly along the spectrum. However, there are times when the change feels layered within the boundaries of the spectrum like the chords being manipulated by the fingertips of a guitarist. When I hear colors from the distant ends of the range, my senses are jolted by a foreign sound caused by the figurative palm of the guitarist on the body of the guitar. That thump, or slap, on the wooden body of the guitar changes the melody with a solid reverberating beat.

As I reflect on my brother’s recent death, I sit with the jolt of change. His death brings to life the color of sadness that abuts the color of pain on the far right side of spectrum. His death makes me wonder if I will ever again hear the blended chords of excitement and joy from the far left side. Whenever I find myself at either endpoint of the spectrum, the other seems far away. I don’t even hear a hint of sound from one when I’m listening to the other. The abrupt thump of his death instantly changed the cadence of my day and the melody of my life. How can the band play without a beat? Can we compose a movement without beats to give depth and strength to the piece? Until recently, I didn’t have to imagine life without his sounds. I had only known life with him as a constant beat to urge me forward.

My brother set a standard of excellence in his life, personally and professionally, that made his name synonymous with music itself. I never spoke of or listened to music without having thoughts of him. I admired him for knowing that the way in which he chose to use of his gift had the ability to give more power to the music. He respected the power of the music to influence internal and social change. He honored the power of the music to invoke any number of emotions and responses. As a result, he thoughtfully crafted musical arrangements that would meet the needs of his audiences. He would often ask me to seek the advice of my children about the latest, hippest tunes. He wanted his bands to be relevant, spirited, well-rehearsed, and technically accurate whenever they performed. He was concerned about the “young folks” remaining engaged at sporting events. He was also concerned about his students preparing themselves well to be successful in their endeavors beyond the band.

His former students created a social media page in his honor to encourage him in his end of life fight. The messages clearly demonstrate how much he meant to so many. The former students posted comments stating that he changed their lives for the better and that they always knew that he cared about them and that he used music to teach them about life. He taught them that taking chances had the ability to enhance their lives when he forced them to learn about all genres of music. Through his anecdotal stories, his student saw transparency that made them trust him and respect his gift and the music. I loved that the list of things that spoke about his integrity, his character, and his compassionate spirit did not end with him. He lived life with his heart on the outside of his body. His heart provided a strong, steady beat for a lot of people. His heart beat, like a metronome, lived in the shadows of many lives influencing the movements of their lives.

I saw his heart every time I saw him or spoke to him. Selfishly, I saw a place carved out in his heart and preserved just for me. Interestingly, all who experienced him believed they too had a special place in his heart. Well, we were all right. As the world made room for his gift, his heart made room for all of us. His heart beat ended but the music yet plays in our memories of time spent with him. Each person who owned a piece of his heart territory cherished a testimony about our beloved Butch. Each person held tight to a story about how he taught them life lessons. In his role as a musician and director, he modeled passion, compassion, hard work, resilience in the face of challenges, and attention to details. Music carried his soulfulness into the minds and hearts of so many people. His passion and his visions of excellence for himself and others meant understanding that showing up on time was a necessary step in accomplishing any goal. He would say, “If you’re early you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late!” He also had an unforgettable call and response engrained in the minds of his students that reminded them that consistent and repetitive preparation and follow through were keys to success:

“There are no shortcuts to success! Repeat!”

Butch, I love you and miss you. The Heavens are rejoicing because the music just got really good because you are there! You fought a good fight! Now, rest well, good and faithful servant.

**Read more about my brother at http://wp.me/p6L8u0-ki

Turn Your Pity Party into Progress!

Last week I wrote about some of the benefits and some of the complexities of alone time. Although I wrote about my feelings associated with aloneness last Saturday, my consideration about the topic began more than a few days before I actually sat down to write. One crisp, cool morning last week, I drove my husband to the airport to catch a flight so that he could begin yet another sports related journey.

Historically, whenever he left to begin a new sports related journey, I would bid him well. We would have somewhat of a plan about how and when we might reside in the same city again at some approximate time in the future. In those situations, the occasional pity party was sparked by the frustration that I had the responsibility of shutting down the old living situation and developing a plan to establish my family and myself in a new city. This time, however, the foundation of my pity party was the reality of loneliness and the real need to separate from my people and my things. This time, the objective became how to purge the stuff we have been accommodating for years in order to allow me to fit comfortably into a new space. I often speak about the fact that the process of resolving challenges is difficult yet necessary work. This time, I found myself needing to dig deep into the stuff, sift through it, and do an accounting to determine why each thing that collectively equaled “my stuff” had value.

Spring cleaning was one thing, but this purging of the stuff had an eternal feel to it. Do I sell it? Do I donate it? Do I just toss it and ask why the thing ever made the move here in the first place? Do my kids even care that I kept this thing that I believed memorialized a cool moment in their lives? Will anyone remember this thing or look for it again? And why did I have to make these decisions by myself?! These questions and others led me into that spiral I wrote about last week. Once in the spiral, I traveled through a gloomy place that could have ended in depression and more feelings of loneliness or abandonment. I had to put the brakes on that trip and redirect before that road became my familiar. With a quickness, I took a deep breath, went to a few yoga classes, and reached out to a couple of friends for encouragement about the benefits of this purge. Suddenly, I began to embrace the need for cleansing, the need for healthy reflection, and the need for change.

So, when I left the airport that cool, crisp morning, I went straight to work, literally. I decided that I could apply this resilient spirit to my life at work and to my life at home. At home and at work, I was the designated leader in transitional moments. I was called to lead so I had to lead. There was no time for a pity party. I needed a plan and I needed progress.

In my office, there were two very large whiteboards that captured many of my thoughts, the needs of my department, insights from students, visions of campus friends, and ongoing projects. As I scanned the multicolored writings on the board, I realized that I was at a new crossroad in my life at home and in the life of my department. Additionally, I knew that I had to own the fact that I stood in a position to choose the path I would take next in each area of my life. The ability to choose empowered me. I turned on some good music and brought life to the office. Then, I began the task of reorganizing and reframing the life story of my department (and my life).

The process from pity to progress made me aware of how easy it was to indulge in negative talk and negative thinking. The negative vibes caused me to forget or neglect the purpose, the potential, and the positive results of the life’s work of my department. In an effort to remind myself and enlighten others about the greatness of my department, I titled one section of the board “We Did That!!!” As the list of things we had accomplished as a department grew longer, I worked harder to think of other accomplishments to add to the list. The pity party sucked the life out of dreaming and believing. The accounting of the accomplishments countered the pity and made me grateful and hopeful about the future endeavors.

I couldn’t let that hopeful spirit just sit inside so I created a section called “Keep Hope Alive!!!” This list contained all of the things on those whiteboards and in my head that would make the department better suited for service to the campus. I listed wishes for personnel, space, furnishing, electronic support, and swag. Bureaucratic processes and funding have the power to limit the purchasing and spending, but neither prevented me from dreaming.

Again, I was empowered by reflecting on what I called “The Blessings of Hope!!!” This section included all of the things previously wished for by my staff that we received because we remained hopeful. I also knew that we received these blessings because we didn’t just sit around talking and hoping for things. We went to work. We worked while we talked about the hope for things that would make our mission to serve more impactful, more efficient, more inviting, and more relevant to the population we serve.

I have spoken to many students and student groups over the years. Most of them were surprised about my knowledge of things they believed nobody my age would know. That hint of experience in their world made me and what I said relevant. Relevance made my audiences attentive. Hence, the audience members gave me permission to use my voice to speak to them and possibly influence their lives for the better. This potential to influence the greatness within a young person gave me another reason to hit that pity party squarely between the eyes and force it out of my way. That desire to be relevant and the humility that came when I received permission to speak to young people inspired the section of one of my whiteboards called “Student Insights.” Students who have visited my office laugh about the things that other student have told me. They have also chuckled when I have told them that some of their “secrets” were shared with me by campus police or University instructors. At any rate, all who contributed to my list of insights did so to further the mission of positively impacting other people.

Whatever you are called to do, do that! On your road to excellent, the pity party will likely visit you to discourage you to quit or doubt yourself, your plan, or both. When it appears, acknowledge the presence of the pity party only for the purpose of locating the target that you must hit in order to clear your path to a successful execution of your plan and thus your mission. Quickly, shut down the pity party and get on with the business of doing that thing that you were called to do. The pity party just wastes valuable time and you don’t have time to waste.

Alone with my crowded mind

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.

“Hey Ma, Do you think my major is crazy?”

When my kids were in middle school, each of them began to contemplate what they wanted to be when they grew up. I wrote a blog post about the guidance I gave them on that topic (See http://wp.me/p6L8u0-45 ). The question about the major came as the kids got closer to high school graduation.

I wanted to be an interior decorator or a professional dancer during my early years. Both carrier fields were far from my little girl dream of becoming a pediatrician and the electrical engineering major I chose my freshman year of college. When I was in the eighth grade, a dance teacher from a city south of Montgomery, Alabama offered me free dance lessons if my parents could get me to her studio. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents about this opportunity. I honestly believed their response would be, “Yes, when can you start?” As it turned out Mama was not so thrilled about the idea of driving out of town every Saturday to practice dancing. I think Mama and Daddy saw dance as a hobby much like my other dream of decorating. Mama and Daddy wanted me to focus my professional goal setting on more common fields of study like education, medicine, and engineering. They wanted me to select a career field that would provide a stable income and some benefits. While their opinions were sensible, there was no consideration of whether or not those career fields had any relation to the calling on my life, my passions, or the best use of my skill sets. I believed that my parents thought I was smart enough to do any of the jobs they suggested, but it seemed that they considered my passions hobbies that I could work on in my free time.

I tried to keep my dream alive by joining the Tigerette dance team in junior high school and the Jadette dance squad in high school. I also found my way into a few Zumba classes over the years trying to make exercise fun. Since my parents guided me away from the more artistic fields and in the direction of the career fields more likely to guarantee a job, I decided to expose my kids to the arts. I made every effort to take them to musicals, plays, and concerts. I read to them daily book to expand their visions and books that allowed them to see people like them doing cool things. I encouraged them to play instruments, join choirs, draw, paint, take photography classes, and dance classes. Enrolling them in dance classes brought back fond memories from my brief tenure as a ballerina and tap dancer when I was in elementary school.

My son started tap classes in the third grade and loved it. He went through several pairs of tap shoes and moved closer to being descried as a hoofer as opposed to one who performed only choreographed steps. It took a conversation with a musician friend to realize that my son heard beats in his head that inspired his percussive expressions as a dancer and percussionist in the middle school band. Imagine my excitement when I learned that my boy loved dance just like I did. I was ready to pull him from school to pursue dance. I thought I was going to be a dance mom until I learned that he enjoyed dance, but he loved school and his friends. I learned that I had to live my son’s dream along side him and not impose my dreams on my son. I almost let myself get carried away because I loved dance and he was so good at it. When he danced, he seemed to escape to some other place where he just had fun. I also took note that his reaction to dance shoes was very different from the experience I had when I introduced my daughter to dance shoes.

When my daughter was in kindergarten, the small church school invited a dance teacher to come in weekly to teach ballet. Quickly, I signed her up for classes and rushed to purchase ballet shoes for her. The classes began early in the school year. Then, some time in November the school announced the recital. I talked to my girl about the dance rehearsals. I can only imagine that I did most of the talking. She was a quiet, pensive girl who likely allowed me to ramble and hype myself up with the visions of my young ballerina dancing in my head. The teacher asked us to buy pink leotards, pink stockings, and tutus for the girls. I purchased her dance outfit and began thinking about how she would wear her hair. The night of the performance came. I got to the chapel early enough to get a seat near the front and near the center aisle. In life, positioning matters.

In order to get the best pictures and the best view of my girl, I had to be front and center. My heart raced as the girls walked out holding their arms in a circular shape in front of them like an imaginary basketball hoop. My excited spirit dampened a bit as I read the expression on her face. Her face said something like, “Really, Mom?! How could you force me to wear this silly outfit with this scratchy tutu? Why did you ever think I might enjoy standing up here performing this kindergarten awful ballet routine?” “Oh my,” I thought as she glared in my direction with a solemn face the entire performance. I knew that she would never be a professional dancer. I also knew at that moment that I would have to listen to her heart and wait until she could articulate her passions and her purpose.

It is tempting as for parents and good villagers to interject their own purposes and passions on the kids in their communities. The temptation is to influenced the subjects the kids study and the professions the kids select in order to ensure they pick the paths that will result in a “good job.” It is better to spend time serving the role of supporter of the kids while the kids experiment with many things from the arts to the sciences in an effort to figure out what they do best and what they really love to do. I have had “good” jobs before and been completely miserable in those jobs. I have learned that I love my job because it melds the passions I have for building supporting villages for young people, helping young people dream bigger than they ever imagined, and for solving puzzles. My children taught me to have patience with them as they attempted new things and that still holds true. I work to demonstrate the same level of enthusiasm about the newest experiment or idea as I did with the last one (or two or three). I praise them when they incorporate academic principles into daily activities because that is application. I support their creative use of rap songs when they have complete conversations in song lyrics because that is a place where the arts and the analytical minds can unite. Give the children in your space the freedom to learn about themselves and the courage to use what they learn to make themselves and others better for the rest of their lives.