Day 10/23 Owning all the days

Day Ten. Fear not, reader, I shall not forever submit you to a logging of daily journals to tell you about daily progress. I shan’t be the landing page for hash marks and gold stars and logging wins and losses from here until eternity. Sit tight. We are ten days in to my 23 day project that stemmed from a really fun 30 day project and I’m still reeling from the notion that I can totally geek out on something that I would describe as NOTHING like what I naturally enjoy. You mean I can fall in love with a growth mindset learning project over the course of 30 days and not hate myself through it AND I can allow for all the kinds of days and emotions to exist AND not think there’s anything wrong AND I can talk about embarrassing imperfect life full of mistakes and regrets AND still be allowed to breathe and eat sandwiches? What the hell kind of fifth dimension is this?

Is this called grace? Did I find it? Is this called love even on the days when I’m really kicking the shit out of myself and still don’t give up? It’s either mercy or patience or love or compassion or something. On Day 10 (now that I’m an expert on day 10s..no I’m not), I’m comfortable in this world I’ve created. On a Day 10, it feels good to know how to get to the post office all by myself and which banana stand sells my favorite bananas. Yes, I equate it to moving in to a new town. Travel is my love language. Learning the rhythm of a new place is one of my favorite things in the world. Day 10s feel like finally adjusting to a new time zone, getting good at the bus schedule, knowing how much things cost and settling in to something that, 10 days ago, felt like too much to absorb. Now, I’m here. I’ve unpacked my suitcase. Let’s do this.

And yesterday wasn’t the greatest and also it was really good. I had off-plan eats, I got really really foggy, it was the first time I have eaten after dinner in weeks (which really isn’t earth shattering at all, but good information for my lab coat scientist). I sat in church beside my teenage sons in a dress I took from my mom’s closet because she hadn’t worn it in years, and reflected on how I cannot free myself from my sinful condition and asked God for forgiveness. I lean toward the melancholy like a good Enneagram 4. I take comfort in certain kinds of sadness and crying. I know that. I can allow the mournful tones of Morrissey (he rules. he gets me) to eclipse what I know to be true- I am forgiven and set free and my past is not my prison thanks to a loving savior who keeps no record of any of it. He never says, “You should smile more.” He never says, “Look on the bright side.” He lets me be completely me and waits, sometimes, for me to push at the prison door to realize it’s not locked. I’m not locked in. I never was. I can walk away whenever I’m ready. He’s in no hurry like the rest of us. He doesn’t feel that same discomfort of discontent that we feel nagging at us making us desperate to skip the middle and jump to the end.

So there I was. In melancholy, having forgotten the freedom that is mine, drenched in what I finally called, “purposelessness” on my walk around the square, by myself in late afternoon. Purposelessness lead me to foggy thinking. It lead me to eat things just to eat things. It lead me to question everything as if only I were in charge of this beautiful life from top to bottom with full knowledge I haven’t the skill or the talent to do so.

And now it’s day 10. Day 9? Not great. Day 10? I am clear about purposelessness leading to only one conclusion: more purposelessness. It does not magically morph into meaning. Ever. I am clear that, in the course of 23 days, I will be asked to live all the feelings and think all the things. CHeck and check and then, in its time, come to the question I must answer over and over again. Is this what will help you get to where you’re going? If not, what’s another thing you could think or do or pray to God for help with that might actually offer some relief?

I prayed to God on my walk around the square by myself in the late afternoon. I cried ‘uncle’ confessed my desire to control it all and asked God to fill in the parts that I can’t do on my own (which is all of it. The more he fills in, the better. The more I let him, the better). That’s His deal, really. He fills in the holes, steps in to help, completes the puzzle and off we go. Off we go to Day 10.

Day 7-9 were meant for some processing. They were meant for water consumption, throwing half my lunch away and crying over old hurt that never got a turn to exist in the world. Day 10 is meant for that ballsy broad with no need to explain herself, to saunter in and tell the world what’s what. My past self would’ve hated myself through having to look at the old hurt, regretted saying anything in the first place then beat myself up for being so weak and pathetic as to need to do any of those first two things. THIS PRESENT DAY 10 version of myself doesn’t feel anything like that. My only thought is I should ask God for help on day one of processing instead of feeling like I have to go it alone. (But also hyper independence and never asking for help is a trauma response so….).

Today I’m thankful for growth, renewal, healing and the radical freedom that is changing my mind and doing something cool instead of painful. Don’t worry, the pain’s got its own plans for pooping on the parade so may as well have some fun before it slinks back into town. Day 10 is for banana stands, good walking shoes, prayer, purpose, and throwing half my lunch away. It’s permission to be here, permission to lay aside one thing and take up another. It’s deeper trusting in self and in life believing we were created from love and for love. High five.

Day 9/23 The scale and pressing all the buttons

Wins from yesterday: A run and a walk, throwing half my lunch away, drinking lots of water, watering the flowers, sitting outside and journalling, crying because it felt like the right thing to do.

The Scale part 2. I stepped on the scale yesterday after way too much drama. I finally realized I had to know the data in order to know where to go from here. Even if the news was not the news I was hoping for, I had to know in order to make adjustments, get clear and improve on the project in tiny doable ways instead of stalling out, burning out or giving up. I’ve already decided I’m not giving up. I’ve been sure of that for months now. If it takes me 5 years, it takes me five years, but I’m not quitting. Well, I stepped on the scale once- up 2 pounds, waited 20 minutes, stepped on the scale again- down three pounds. Stepped on the scale again- down one pound. So I could log that I maintained or I think I could log losing one pound.

Which helps me more? On the one hand, maintaining helps me see where I can up-level my eating and fitness. On the other hand, losing one pound feels motivating to make changes to keep it off and lose another one this next week. WHich one serves me better? Maybe they’re equal. Maybe they land me on what really serves me better: stepping on the scale more often and getting over my own bullshit. That’s the real helper. Make the scale my ally instead of my enemy? That would go a long way to making better faster progress, probably. It would have me getting very truthful about food I put in craw that I don’t need. It would have me needing to own up to mindless eating for no reason other than it being there. The scale. That’s what will help me.

What else will help me? Getting over all my own bullshit and history. I walked around all day yesterday thinking about my stupid fucking high school English teacher. Besides a few quick mentions of it to people here and there, I’ve pretty much carried it all by myself for all these years. Hell, it took me maybe five years probably before telling my husband and another ten to realize my declaring ‘no big deal’ and feeling shame and guilt to the millionth degree around it was not solving, resolving, restoring or soothing in any way.

As Brene Brown calls midlife, I’ve been in The Great Unraveling for many years now. I expect I’ll be in it until I die. I’m at the place where I am sick of running into the same brick walls over and over again and I’m willing to scoop out all my guts and lay them out on the table, hold each entrail up to a microscope and fix it, if that’s what it’ll take to get me to the other side. A coach of mine said that she learned when a plane is malfunctioning, the pilots are trained to keep moving, pressing all the buttons to continue creating a momentum that may lead to a solution. I think I’m in the ‘press all the buttons’ phase. If it’s possible this side of heaven to let go of some of these old Enneagram 4 hang ups about being fundamentally broken and significantly lesser compared to all the beauty and brightness possessed by everyone around me, then I’m willing to do it. Press all the buttons. Believe I’m really allowed to be here before the Good Lord calls me home again? Yes, please.

Day 8/23 The scale, the open door, the hidden things

Day 8/23. This is where, if you read yesterday, you might be curious if I triumphed over my fear of standing on the scale or not. I did not triumph. I did not step on the scale. I have no idea if I’ve lost weight this week although I have been eating on protocol, drinking lots of water, zero overeats, zero snacking, running every other day. In my mind, I think, “You know you. You’ll either have maintained or gained because losing is the last thing you’re able to do.” And I don’t want the noise, you guys. I don’t want the noise and asshole talk that comes with whenever I fail at this kinda stuff. The point is to rewrite the story around weight and my body and then, when it comes to a chance to be kind to myself, all my inner meanest, cruelest voices get together and say, “LIke hell you can get rid of us. Let’s show her who she really is.”

Maybe Monday. Maybe if I do a little better at withholding and running and shame, then the universe will know I’m back in punishment mode and will let me lose half a pound because I’m being a “good girl.” Good girls carry the right amount of self-loathing to remind themselves they are only here at the mercy of everyone else’s benevolent tolerance, they should be thankful and do a bit more groveling. Ugh.

Part 2: Things you can do no matter what the number on the scale says: Write songs, write blog posts, pray, journal, make stuff, think about the world, think about life, imagine a beach far away, listen to podcasts, read books, listen to music, vision board a business plan, practice thinking something different, practice letting go of old habits, use a cellular telephone, watch a movie, replay beautiful memories in your mind, imagine losing all the weight.

When this is all over, and by ‘this’ I mean our lives, hopefully the scale won’t be the shining example of our goodness. Hopefully the food we put in our mouth and the food we didn’t put in our mouth won’t be the height of our accomplishment and how we earned the right to be here. Hopefully the food we put in our mouths doesn’t feel like the only option for comfort and satisfaction because we’ve closed the doors on what we really wanted to be and what we truly hoped to become and settled for ice cream instead. Hopefully whatever food story we inherited from a previous generation gets re-evaluated and questioned with adult eyes- especially if we assumed its truth back when we were still children.

I’m writing down some painful fucking truths about my early years not because I’m a (debatable) total emotional mess. I’m doing it because I’m finally not that anymore. Of course I’m still battling old demons and wrestling with my own brokenness, but not in the same way. When I tell you about my English teacher telling me he loved me and being the victim of some serious bullshit emotional manipulation, I’m doing it to set that 17 year old girl free. The me who is writing this? She’s pretty much fine and doing great. What I need to do is open all the cages on these younger versions of me and let them be free too in all their imperfection and confusion so that these ghosts of Hope don’t keep showing up trying to monkey around with my 44 year old life anymore.

What we resist persists. The stuff we don’t want to look at? Oh don’t you worry. It’s down in the basement lifting weights, getting ripped, ready to show up in your life in the weirdest fucking ways possible. Trust me on this one. If you think you’re handling it or keeping a lid on it, I promise you the world can tell there’s something rattling the cage trying to get out. Whatever we thought we could keep from having to deal with or whatever we thought we could keep hidden? It’s oozing out, it’s ticking, it’s tapping on the glass, it’s 3 jelly donuts, it’s judging your every move, it’s the thing that won’t let me step on the scale. I see it now. It took a while, but now I see it.

Day 7/23 Can I delay weigh in day?

It’s Friday. The day I said I would step on the scale to check my progress. And I’m terrified and don’t want to do it. I’m like a grad student going into finals week. Can I get a few more hours to study? Can I just delay the test til after lunch? Is there anything I haven’t reviewed yet that I can cram?

But since this isn’t grad school and I've no textbooks or notecards, my thoughts go to one more run, one less bite, one more weight session, one more day to get it just right to try and put myself in the ‘win’ column. If all I know is that I never lose weight when I try to lose it, then of course, that’s the voice running through my head. And, since we’ve already decided it’s the voice and the story that have got to go, then I guess I’m stepping on the scale and celebrating any loss AND celebrating any maintaining AND celebrating a gain as well. Why? Oh, I don’t know. Love, maybe? Having the crazy ass notion that love isn’t earned through smallness and weight loss. Love just is. I get to have it even if I’ve gained five pounds at the end of this or lost them. My brain doesn’t like that. My brain is fighting for the old pattern, the old program, the old version it knows so well. Not today, Satan. Let’s step on the scale and kick the devil in the diamonds.

If you read yesterday, thank you. If you read yesterday, well you probably got more than what is acceptable in polite company and way bizarre content for a diet journal entry. If you read it and knew me when I was a kid, or you knew my parents, you might want to disprove the hidden stuff and fight for the good evidence. I wouldn’t blame you. In this life we could tell one thousand different stories about the same singular human life if we wanted. I could tell about church and church choir, mommy and me fashion shows, afternoon coffee (both awesome and guilt-inducing), annual kickass summer vacations that, turns out, were pretty special and of the kind that most of my friends never got, piano lessons, youth group, family gatherings, a new Barbie doll every Christmas eve, swim team, travel, field trips and fun. I could tell you so much that probably eclipses the harder stuff, but it’s the secret stuff that keeps holding me back and messing me up even now at 44. It’s not the fun stuff. It’s the hidden story that needs told in all the imperfection and inaccuracy that comes along with adolescent eyes and an adolescent heart who never got to have the floor for one blessed moment to safely say things she wanted to say.

Life was sadder in the suburbs than anyone wanted to admit. Friends had alcoholic moms and dads who liked to yell so we’d hide up in the bedroom hoping he wouldn’t know we were there. There was mental illness born alone behind closed doors and had the cops showing up at 10pm. Secrets and half-truths and whispering that modeled appearance over pain. Perception over everything pretty much. Looking back, there were clues I can see now that point to unspoken mysteries, and things that just weren’t right. The stuff I know was sad. The stuff I still don’t know was sadder probably.

And there I was. Kinda lost and floundering and without the words and skills needed to find clarity. By 14, looking back now, I think I was squarely in the category of “at risk” which I might expand on to say I was “looking at risk as a way to alleviate the lost-ness.” I did not fit the profile of ‘at risk.’ Two parents, nice home, good community, plenty to eat (and feel shame and guilt for doing so), church family, neighborhood friends, all the things. But also, an older brother with severe undiagnosed mental illness, two very busy parents pulled in all directions, guests who needed hosting, a brain and intellect that didn’t fit into school very well (talked too much, couldn’t stay organized, made teachers mad, under-performed, did not like it at all), a need for attention and care and no idea how to get it in a good way.

At risk. Risk more to alleviate lost-ness. I know. Go to South America and try out risk in another country. I know. Come home and feel even more other and defected than before. I know see if boys will like you for other reasons than being pretty. I know, get in with a crowd that might not mind skipping school, getting high, driving to Mexico, drinking beers, proving the thing we already knew to be true: we’re not in. We’re out. I know, accept the ride to school you never should’ve accepted that lead you down a path you never should’ve gone down, that put you in a room you never should’ve been in, that kept you keeping secrets from everyone forever. Do that.

Was there any avoiding it? Probably not. Like I said, I remember and held on to things that could’ve easily been forgotten and I could’ve hung on to different truths instead. I could’ve chosen an identity that wasn’t so banged up and broken, but that pesky Enneagram 4 weakness about believing in my brokenness? Man, the evidence just kept piling up. The comparison cryptonite? Man, it was everywhere. Beloved shiny very smart younger brother, popular fun, record-setting older brother, beautiful gorgeous powerhouse of a mother, local celebrity respected coach of a father and me trying to find a way to get my oldest brother to laugh instead of scream at my mom.

What does this have to do with stepping on a scale and skipping the ice cream? I used to say it had nothing to do with it. Now I’m not so sure. Now I think the through line starts way before I prefer to acknowledge. It includes the lost girl trying to survive high school and doing a terrible job of it. I think it has something to do with taking care of myself and her from the beginning to send her off in peace so I can take it from here and not drag it all around with me forever in a garbage bag marked “broken.” High five.

Day 6/23 I think I need to let her speak.

Window to winning at weight loss: a 3.5 mile run and a walk with a friend last night, good listening to my hunger and just skipped lunch because I didn’t feel hungry, ate on plan including the most delicious piece of French toast on the planet on a Tuesday, prayed, journaled, talked about music, cried at an Indian film, made dinner, did laundry, hung out with Marci, high five high five high five.

I am the third of four children. I have three brothers. I would describe our household as all men with two women living there. Beyond the six of us, were also the occasional college basketball player or two, as well as an exchange student here and there, and perhaps a basketball coach or scout passing through. It was a busy, full household with rare occasions of it just being our family only. My parents are black belt ninja level “welcoming the stranger” hospitality-minded Christian souls.

Also I’m an Enneagram 4. Our cryptonite weakness is envy and comparison. It will steal our joy and make us feel like garbage. I’ve successfully achieved both states over and over again. Our fundamental fear is that there is something inherently wrong with us. We came out of the factory already broken and so the shame monster is strong. Very strong. A comparison/envy/shame sandwich is on the menu year round and, if you don’t know that, you make it real easy to get caught in its snare over and over again. And I have also successfully done that for most of the time.

As the only girl, then, in a household of boys, trying to figure shit out and ill-equipped, my girl-ness seemed to be a real problem. It was never a “Daddy’s Little Princess” type deal at our house. My bad moods were upsetting, my choice of clothes were a problem (go right back upstairs and change right this minute), my hair was unruly so it was cut nice and short, food was an issue for me but I wasn’t sure if it was a problem for the boys. The boys were naturally thin, the boys were athletes, the boys were hungry so they ate. No one really knew what to do with me and I didn’t know what to do with me. Be a boy? That’s what I knew the best and what I saw everyone else doing. I was connecting the dots that I was the odd (wo)man out and so I was trying to figure out how to fix the other-ness of my gender. My appearance seemed to always be a problem and my attitude seemed to always be a problem and, since I have no idea what’s real and what’s fiction about my life, I guess that’s all there is to say. The day I got my period after tennis lessons the summer before my 8th grade year I layed on the floor of my bedroom and cried for hours and hours and hours by myself just knowing it was the death blow, like, “See? You thought you could pretend you were like the others but you’re not. You’re a factory defect.” Oh so much drama. So. many feelings in a place where feelings were not on the list of approved activities.

Coming of age is not easy. Trying to understand the rules of life and ways to be a part of the group can be tricky. Open communication wasn’t really in style in the 80s and 90s and when life is busy with jobs and kids and church and volunteering and away games, and houseguests, a kid is left to come up with a roadmap with whatever they can figure out. Mine seemed to be about appearance, behavior and food, getting attention in whatever kid ways seemed available to me. The adult me is different than the child me. I thought I could just burn child me up in a fire and never have to look at her again, but I think the opposite is true. I think I need to sit down with her and let her speak so she get some shit off her chest and not interrogate her about dates and times and prove she’s wrong. Just let her get a chance to be heard and be seen and tell her it’s gonna be OK. Then, maybe the sandwich can just be a sandwich again and she can wear whatever she wants to.

Day 5/23 Who knows what's true anymore

Wins: cleaned my living room and kitchen, dusted, listened to music, ate on plan, my new plant and flower acquisitions are still alive, finally washed that sleeping bag that had been sitting beside the laundry for over a week, so many wins. Don’t be jealous. Especially about that sleeping bag thing. Great days come to all of us.

Here are some memories from my childhood around food and weight loss and then I’ll say something else. I thought my thighs were always huge- just enormo since I was 8 probably. There were moments in my youth and young life when I was thin and I desperately just wanted to be thinner. I remember refusing to eat my lunch on vacation once because I felt so terrible about myself and my dad begging me to eat half my sandwich. We were in the camper, I was eleven or twelve. I was an exchange student in high school to Paraguay and I was just a bigger taller nordic woman compared to most women in that region and I went to Brazil to go visit a family friend and needed a sweater and had to shop at a mens store because nothing fit in womens sizing and it was right around that time that I just quit shopping. Going to buy anything was just an exercise in humiliation and torture. And again, I was not obese, but in South America people just call people “Gorda” (fat) who are bigger than normal and so since strangers were confirming what I had already heard from home, I was like, well there ya go. That’s my identity even in the Southern Hemisphere.

I got back home, joined the swim team again, dropped the weight pretty easy and the one time the head coach ever talked to me was to complement me on slimming down. So I was like, “Well that must be how you get approval and get to live in the world or something.” Who knows? I was 16. I was trying to figure out the world.

Which is to say. I was a kid. I was trying to figure out the world with the information I was given. Now, as an adult, I know there was information I was given that simply wasn’t absorbed and I can’t tell you why. I know my parents loved me and thought I looked fine. I remember my mom trying to say all the little old ladies at church said I was beautiful to get me to stop crying, but at fifteen, I wanted boys my age to think I was pretty and I didn’t give the sweet ladies at church any credit. I don’t know why.

So this stuff I’m writing? It’s about letting you in on a story that is, in some ways true, and in some ways, total fiction. I gave it power, and I know I was just trying to be someone worth a damn. For some reason (you guys know the reasons- fashion magazines, popular kids, Tiger Beat, MTV), I picked up on food pressure, appearance, pant size, and wanting attention as markers for my own permission to exist. I know full-well there were other markers going on. Even now, there are markers in my beautiful amazing, fantastical life I overlook and discount.

Losing 5.5 pounds by August 1st is a flag in the sand. I’m writing some of this stuff because I’ve never said it out loud or written it down. I gotta burn all of it in a refiner’s fire. I gotta finally be nice to that girl from Mission Viejo so she can go eat a cookie and go shopping with her mom without making it an international situation.

Day 4/23 Wins logged and room for more

Went on a run, wrote three songs, drank lots of water, had pizza for dinner, met up with my songwriting friends, played my beautiful Gibson guitar, got to hang out with Emily, admired the beautiful flowers in the yard, thought about how I’m going to release my next album, wore my “Hope Dunbar Band” tshirt for the whole world to see and fell asleep content. Those are my wins.

There was a picture of me and two preschool friends taken in my front yard. I know it was me, Greg Carr and I think Kelly Bonner but I’m not 100% on Kelly being the third 4 year old. They were these two tiny little adorable munchkins and I was the giant godzilla 4 year old beside them double in size. Cute picture. Nice photo. Somehow it seared into my brain my inherent hugeness. I was always the tallest, the biggest, the biggest feet, the growing out of everything, the not small adorable little girl everyone loves little girls to be. My tiny friends playing hide and go seek and hiding in cupboards and I had grown out of cupboard size probably by 18 months.

Back then, when I was ages 4-18, I did not know I was an Enneagram 4 and I did not know that my cryptonite was comparison and envy. It is the joy stealer and trickster of the Enneagram 4 and so we gotta keep it in check or else it will try to destroy us. Yeah, that would’ve been helpful information back then when I was the queen of comparison.

Not thin enough, not blonde enough, not as skinny as she was, not as popular as she was, not as smart or cool or funny as they were. All. the. time. Mixed with some classic ‘fat’ comments here and there by well-meaning classmates, it was the perfect recipe for believing I was a disgusting bag of lard from about 10 years old until 36 or 37.

I wanted my hands on some dexatrim so bad, some slim fast shakes, will power, whatever. I took my mom’s Phen Phen once back when it was completely legal and prescribed by doctors and was so hopped up and jumping out of my skin that one day that I was too chicken to take it again. And then I gave myself shit for being too much of a wimp to not be able to stay on drugs. Come on, Hopie.

Sometime in my 30s I stopped absolutely hating myself and getting to a “well, this is you” neutral stance. I thought that was as good as it was ever going to get until I started doing the real work of unlearning old bullshit, putting old half-baked stories directly in the trash, asking myself if it was OK to start learning how to not just tolerate my human presence, but allow myself to be here and I’ve been working on it ever since.

Turns out? I actually wasn’t fat for all those years. I look at pictures of my 17 year old self and remember how horrible I felt and how ashamed I was for looking the way I did. Turns out? I looked fine. In the pictures I look like a normal 17 year old. I wonder if anyone ever looked at that picture and thought, “she needs to get herself on a program.” Mental health program: yes. Weight loss program? Probably not.

So why am I trying to lose weight? First, because I want to. I just want to be at a smaller size. Second, to prove that I can do it and that it’s not impossible. Third, to give myself another do over to try and be proud of myself like I never was for all those years. Never proud. I’ve only learned how to do it in small ways here and there over the past few years. Can you do over the first 44 years of life? Probably not. Can you try and at least stop kicking your own ass for the last 44 years? That’s the mission. That’s the point of this whole thing. Have a great day.

Day 2/23 Exhaustion vs. Motivation

Wins for today: Drank lots of water, moved my body, ate according to my plan, did some really good thought work and journalling, got my sons to field work pickup at 5:15am, walked to church, stayed for Adult Bible Study, made family lunch, made family dinner, started three songs which I fully intend to finish by deadline tomorrow, played my beautiful Gibson guitar outside, and got to Facetime with my son this afternoon to talk about his music camp.

All winning all the time.

Maybe. Here’s what’s not winning: allowing old diet thoughts to creep in and turn fun into a practice in deprivation. That’s not winning. That’s not fun.

What do I mean? Eating so many twigs and berries that I feel super virtuous (which is a thought I’m actually releasing and unlearning around food forever) and also, leaning toward the realm of witholding what I would prefer to eat and creating thoughts and feelings that aren’t motivating, is a sticky business. That sounds like endurance. Endurance is bullshit and the opposite of what we’re working toward over here. Instead of endurance, which makes me think of some kind of weird bug challenge when you win a year’s supply of Hubba Bubba or something stupid like that, I’d say we’re working toward commitment. More commitment to our truest desires and visions in a way that knows we are the non-renewable resource that needs to be taken care of while reaching a goal.

Which is why small wins like waking up two minutes before the alarm clock so I don’t have to hear its dastardly judging beep from hell is a win and worth celebrating. Small wins that have you seeing the good things everywhere, seeing where you made it easy on yourself, see where you didn’t take the cookie that you hadn’t planned on eating and had fun doing something more fun than cookies, is where the currency for future successful days comes from. This is not a slog. This is the anti-slog. This is the Anti-Slog Blog.

Celebrating wins in big and small ways is generally a great and easy way to shift your focus from what’s not working to what IS working. That helps you and your brain start thinking, “This is working.” That kind of thought sounds like commitment and cultivating commitment with ourselves is the biggest game changer of all no matter what you eat for breakfast. See you tomorrow!!

Halfway to Queen's Club by August 1st

I have a new goal for August first. It’s a weight loss goal. It’s to lose 5.5 pounds in order to get halfway to Queen’s Club. I get to join Queen’s Club when I lose 25 pounds. I just want to get halfway there.

Couple things: First, I have a very very sticky complicated mostly negative history when it comes to weight loss, the ability to talk about it and how I treated myself around those subject. Huge source of shame. Huge huge huge. I do believe I grew up, like many of us, with an unhealthy relationship to food, felt much judgment about my worth according to my looks and weight, went to my first Weight Watcher’s meeting with my mom when I was 12, she passed along to me whatever haf-baked weirdness around food and eating she was taught along with the standard secret dose of shame, and the rest is a sad sad sad history around body image and self-hatred. Yay American mass media beauty marketing, the 80s and being a girl!

So, the fact that I am announcing on the internet that I have a weight loss goal and that I feel no shame or guilt or self-hatred around writing and saying such words? Who even am I? How did I get here? Who do I think I am that I’m not apologizing for taking up space in the world of matter, space and time? I’m stronger. I’m better. I’m growing and letting go of old bullshit. I’m deciding that I’m actually totally fine and I’m worth it. What a concept. It took me from the ages of 40-44 to calm the hell down and get rid of that old story.

So I’m going to use my blog (because it’s mine and it belongs to me and I’ve found lots of benefit from blogging practice), to document the three weeks.

I’ve never made a weight loss goal with a deadline. This is a first. I’ve never had good, healthy kind of thinking to help me succeed. I’ve never really had too much of an interest in taking it too seriously, because, the thing that shame does is that it disqualifies you from ever getting to have the joy of participating in life in a way you enjoy, it also judges the SHIT out of others who are doing things to participate in their own lives that especially rub up against your own deal about good and bad and stuff. I had a lot of judgment around diet culture, diet thinking, diet recipes, diet everything. Fudge that.

But now I’m better. I’m (mostly) over that. I know what that was a symptom of and I’ve let it go so I’m unburdened and feeling pretty good. You know what I’m looking forward to besides losing the 5.5. pounds? I’m looking forward to taking my days, hours, moments really seriously like I matter and like this life matters.

Between now and August first, I’m looking forward to noticing and paying attention, being aware of what I’m thinking and what I’m doing. I’m glad to be working on a goal that lets me make every moment matter and offers me moment to moment access to a successful choice and/or a better choice. WE always say goals are something you do FOR yourself, not TO yourself and I’ve been working on that thinking for long enough now that this goal feels exciting, light, free and cool. Who even am I??

So I’m going to check in every day and let you know my wins. One more minute added to the jog, one more 8 0z. water, one more bite left behind from my sandwich, one more planned ice cream or treat four days from now because I’m never giving up ice cream, one more timer set for 15 minutes to see if I’m really hungry or if I’m just bored…all that stuff. And notice, 5.5. pounds in three weeks is not an Iron Man Extreme Sports type goal. It’ll be slow and measured and forever and I’m going to eat peanut butter and chips while I do it. YAY!

Why vacation is important

Sometimes I wonder if American culture is skewing toward so much work and productivity that we have cheapened the notion of vacation to an unhealthy degree. I could also speculate about the cost of living, but, honestly, my friends in the camping and fishing realm are taking lots of cheap-o vacations and having more fun than their upper middle class, sadder neighbors.

I am on vacation at present with my husband. Before going on vacation I was using tired, lame-o excuses for why we could just stay home with our time off, catch up on housework and enjoy the quiet while we did the exact same thing in the exact same place like we always do.

I’m checking in real quick to say going away from your life to a different location has value. There is value in having days in a new place with nothing normal at your finger tips. There is value in the concept of rest and it is dangerous and unhealthy to play the “must be nice” card or find reasons why you are a more virtuous person for NOT resting and retreating when we were created and designed for such a thing.

A work and rest balance. A productivity and inactivity balance. An output and input balance. A reason and irrational balance. They go together. They should both be present. You can borrow a tent, pack whatever food is in your pantry, borrow 15 dollar tent fee from your mom and go sleep in a field for one night. Priceless.

You can pack an overnight bag, a loaf of bread, PB and J and a water bottle, call your old college roommate in a town eight hours away and go in order to let your brain work in a different mode than the one it typically utilizes.

Brains are magical creations. You are a magical creation. This life is a magical creation and, if we start trusting in a culture where joyless turmoil and online presence are the hallmarks of a life, then the future we leave to our children and young people will only become hollow and in more need of those things we now require so desperately to cope- drink, drugs, food, escape, and internet.

Fun is important. Not having a reason for doing something other than wanting to is really really important. Changing the scene, the context and the thoughts is important in order that we return to our front doorstep with things our living room simply cannot give us. Vacation is important. I’m glad I argued in favor of it even as I had those “good girl” doubts about not getting things done and not wanting to waste the money. We don’t get any of these days back. Use them well and use them unwisely sometimes. High five.

Day 30 of 30. The final installment in this journey

I started a 30 day blogging practice 30 days ago after finishing Jon Acuff’s latest book, “Soundtracks.” I wanted to try out the Affirmation Anthem morning and night for 30 days to see what it did for my goals and my clarity.

True story: it did a lot. It helped reveal tendencies I had been having around my goals that needed shedding and, in the thirty day cycle, I came to some really good clarification as to next steps and up-leveling.

True story: I was not one hundred percent consistant on my Anthem practice morning and night. But also, in the imperfect way in which I did practice it, I had such a return on the investment I made in intentional thinking it worked even when I didn’t.

First, I thought about the Affirmations a lot beyond just reading them to myself in the mirror every day. I thought about “I am the CEO of my life and I am the best boss.” all the time. I thought about how “Everything is always working out for me” constantly. I was looking for evidence to prove my own strength, to remember the goodness all around me and how every day and moment is an opportunity FOR my growth, not against it. And I mean everything. Negative space, boredom, conflict, stress, summer humidity, grocery shopping- they all present themselves with a choice. Hopie, you can do one of two things: you can use this circumstance FOR yourself or you can feel resistance to the moment and judge it as somehow not ideal.

Throughout the month I was thinking more about that first option. In my weight loss goal, I lost seven pounds and got really clear about certain choices and shifts that would bring me more success. Instead of judging myself for not doing enough, I started celebrating all the tiny ways I was doing things FOR my future goal.

Beyond my weight loss goal, I started really knowing what it was I wanted for my professional future. Before this I’d really been torn in multiple directions, but the great thing about living on purpose is that it brings unexpected wins you hadn’t planned on. One of my wins was allowing myself to start dreaming about a professional future where I don’t have to choose. I’m a musician, songwriter, podcaster and coach. I’m all of it. Blam-o. I’m dreaming of all the gutsy asks I’m going to do in the future around all three and have the best life ever.

And now, on vacation, with my husband, dedicating real intentional time for us to talk, walk, wonder, dream, drink fancy cocktails and sit in awesome hotel lounges like the one I’m in right now, it feels amazing. Slower, clearer, on purpose, worth celebrating. I’m thinking of my next big challenge. I’m thinking of my next 30 days in a new way. I’m having fun and recharging here in Chicago stocking up on wonder, summer, and ice cream.

There’s so much worth savoring and enjoying, my friends. The highest flyers among us who don’t burn out or fade away, are building lives of joy, wonder, ease and curiosity. They know that to do their best work requires them to live at a place where energy keeps bubbling up, where discouragement is traded in for curiosity and solutions, where open-hearted delight is practiced and put in a place of great importance in order to be clear, healthy and peaceful enough to get at that next big idea, that next big project. You can only hustle your way so far before you have to drive in a different gear that does less damage to the vehicle, saves on gas and gets you where you’re going. Think on that. Buy that book, “Soundtracks” be gentle and kind to yourself. You are a non-renewable resource that has an expiration date. Be wise, be loving, ask for help, bring others with you. High five.

Day 29/30 one day late

What does a growth mindset look like? It breaks the weird pretend rules we think we have to abide in order to be good at winning life. I missed yesterday’s entry because of no internet, dropping my son off at Valparaiso University for a month-long music camp, driving to Chicago, searching my purse for toll booth cash, having too much fun on a rooftop bar and wondering whether the name “Urban Kayak” is a good thing or a terrible idea.

You know how you get to your goal? Don’t quit. Even if you’re turning in your Day 29 blog on what, technically, is day 30. Do it anyway, man. Rewrite the rules mid-game. Don’t have that little punk down the street yelling in your ear, “You can’t do that!” That little punk will be screaming that from the sidelines for forever drinking beer, listening to “Glory Days” on repeat and blaming the past.

Too much? Was that too much? I’ve been told I’m too much many times. I used to hate it and I still feel it’s shame and judgment working to turn me small and harmless, but dear reader, I’m sitting beside a stone hearth fireplace in the dimly lit drawing room of the Chicago Athletic Association Hotel in downtown Chicago living my best life and there’s no way I’m not bad-mouthing that terribly mean soundtrack voice interested in one thing and one thing only: staying safe, keeping the armor on and finding connection through shared misery instead of shared curiosity.

Life’s too short to not lean into my Too Much-ness. Life’s too short to second-guess bravery, to go back into hiding, to not swing for the fences. You should see the ornate detail and care put into every inch of this beautiful room where I sit. No one on that project one hundred and twenty years ago was doing anything other than bringing their deepest passion, highest expertise, their heart and soul into something that endures as a testimony to beauty, craftsmanship and love. Love, my friend. It’s the deepest layer to the truest work. Love. Not to be shunned, ridiculed, or cheapened. Love to be elevated, sought, investigated and valued. In all its forms, in its wisdom of strength and weakness, future and past, grace and mercy. Do that. High Five.

Day 28/30 How Will I know I think the right word sentence in my brain?

How will you know you came up with a new soundtrack that can help break down blocks and barricades you’ve built in your mind?

The words feel true, possible and powerful. The words are kind, generative and have you dipping your toes into the waters of creative solutions, fun, and curiosity. Otherwise, a sentence that sounds kickass will just sit there ineffectively judging you saying, “You’ve been saying ‘I’m a warlord who takes no prisoners on my campaign to take over everything’ for weeks now and I still have to wait in line at the grocery store. THis is bullshit.”

The sentence is meant to have intrinsic value only to you. It’s like having a secret handshake with your deeper knowing in a way only you will understand. It means penning your story one thought at a time in order to walk into the story you’ve been imagining. Don’t use my soundtracks if they land like lead balloons. This endeavor is to leave the land of Lead and enter the Land of Levity. More fun, less self-imposed ass-kicking.

IN other news I got up on stage last night for a local festival and it was so wonderful. I had such a great time. I was nervous before the gig because I’m somewhat out of practice in front of live audiences. I was worried how I’d do it. I was worried about what they would think of me. I wasn’t sure about the show shirt I had picked out. And then I remembered something I said to one of my clients who recently shared the same insecurities about a convention where she was scheduled to present. I told her, “Your job is to honor your work and present it in the best way possible. Think about all the hours and time you’ve put into this work. It is amazing, valueable and deserves your best attention. When you get up there, have a deep relationship with IT and then let the audience do with it what it will. Your first job is to the love and care of this project. How people receive it is not your job.”

And there I was in the green room all like, “Dude. Maybe take your own advice for once.” And I thought of those songs on the setlist and how much I love them. I thought of how much of myself and my story lives inside them and how I owe it to that work to get up on that stage and love it into being again after not singing them into microphones for all those months. Me and my songs. That bond is not shaken just because I’m worried I chose the wrong ones for a Friday night festival crowd. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t navel gazing. What I was doing was walking away from the urge to explain away the worth of my work. I tend to cheapen it so that I don’t get hurt when people don’t like it. Not last night, boy. Last night I just loved it and had fun sharing it and I think we all had fun together- me, the songs and the audience. It was awesome.

That’s a great example of “getting out of my own way.” Some people hate that phrase, but I find help in it. My ego self can really fudge stuff up for me. When I get out of my own way, I think I’m just going to live outside the realm of appearance, perfectionism, expectation and live, instead, in my own identity. It’s actually way more fun. It’s actually way more effective. It actually lets me breathe, tell dumb jokes on stage and karate chop the hell out of a 90 minute set. High five.

Day 27/30 My own Affirmation Anthems over the past year

Since I started coaching work back in 2018, I’ve been amassing my own affirmation anthems to use as guide posts to keep me intentional and focused. Some of us call them, “Power Thoughts,” to use to remember you’re the boss of your own life even in moments you never wanted to live in the first place. I keep finding new ones, tweaking the ones I have, asking myself what else I need to learn or remember or let go of.

Before coaching and thought work, I was constantly searching for voices outside my own to tell me I was worth a damn. Give me praise, tell me I’m special, say I’m not crazy, Let me know I have permission to be here. The thing with those outside voices is that the appetite for praise, in my case, is insatiable. It’s never enough. Bono himself could write a NYT OpEd column about me and how awesome I am and what fun it was to drink beers with the Pope together as we discussed the Global Refugee crisis, and I’d wake up two days later and still feel like approval was out of my reach. That’s not fun.

Now, after coaching, I’ve taken up the job of giving myself approval, knowing what I’m about, knowing I’m whole and worthy and loved and the world has permission to go about their business without needing to write columns about me just so I can get out of bed and whatnot. It’s real nice when they do. I do love that, but I don’t require it for walking the earth. I do the job now and I think I do a much better job and so here goes:

-Dolly Parton and $100k (it reminds me of ease and abundance)

-There’s no way I’m not doing this

-This is all happening for me.

-I don’t want to be good. I want to be whole.

-Be Her Now

-What wants to happen

-Miraval Mindset (that place rules, it’s super chill and super clear)

-Clarity is queen (Fog of confusion does not solve problems)

-Unfading, undefiled, everlasting (my identity in Christ)

-I am living into my next best self. (What would she do? DO that)

-I am not tired. I might just be feeling vulnerable. Know the difference (Fear of puking on the track can have me stalling out. I’m not gonna puke probably)

-My body is my work (I can be real up in my head and this reminds me that my physical existence holds lots of information and love too).

And that Bono thing would be really cool, but I can get lots more done just on my own. In fact a better question would be, what can I do to get ready for the day Bono comes calling? That sounds like fun. OK peace out.

Day 26/30 Just walk yourself home

It all started 26 days ago on a flight from Orange County to Omaha. Waiting in the terminal, reading “Soundtracks” by Jon Acuff and deciding to do a 30 day blogging journal of the Affirmations Anthem as described in the book and to pretty much do stuff on purpose for 30 days.

I didn’t do the math or think of the calendar at all when I started, but now I know I need to bring my laptop on my way out of town this Saturday just to finish the project.

So how about just deciding who you are and what your life is and then walk toward it instead of waiting for evidence and outside proof that you are what you say you are.

Imposter syndrome is strong, my friends. You can be a writer for years and never use the word to describe what it is you do. You can be a songwriter, painter, manager, CEO, expert in your field and never think those labels apply to you.

Instead, why not decide you’re an expert in your field now, ask yourself what the qualities are in being an expert, and live into that from now until forever? Why not skip the doubting and waiting for the world to see you the way you want to be seen, and just decide now? You’re a Grammy winner, a marathoner, a yoga queen, a fashionista, a great parent, a peaceful person, whatever.

Then, ask yourself how someone like that manages their days, activities and thoughts. I’m guessing they start with just the assumption that they are what they say they are. Why not just assume you are what you say you are?

Then, why not walk yourself inevitably home?

But what if I never win a Grammy, you ask? Well, is it so bad to work and take your music so seriously in the same manner as an artist who has won a Grammy? I don’t think so. Is it a waste of time to train like a marathoner trains or dress like a fashionista dresses? No. It’s the road to deeper, clearer living. That, my friends, is never a foolish notion or a waste time. It’s the best use of time there is.

I’m walking myself home. I’ve decided I’m a woman who loves her work as a coach, podcaster and songwriter. I’ve decided I have three jobs that co-exist really well together and have my heart and mind interested in growing in those areas. I’ve decided I’m really successful, I’m always collaborating, connecting and learning. I’ve asked myself how many hours I work, how much I earn, where I go on vacation, what my office looks like, what I do for fun, how I use my free time all that stuff. And now I’m walking myself into that reality.

Do I get hung up on bullshit? Yes, I do. Do I get foggy and forget? Also yes. Do I doubt my worth and ability to make the life I want become the life I live? Of course. I’m an imperfect, kinda broken person. Does all the imperfection change my decision? No. No it doesn’t. My imperfection and brokenness kinda just put me squarely in the category of “human.” And that’s it. So here we go. We start with a thought. A soundtrack we play in our minds over and over again that lines up with what’s important to us, where we want to place or energy and resources, how we want to serve this world and then we roll up our sleeves, open our eyes, and live into the future. It’s that easy, it’s that hard, it’s that fun, it’s that terrifying and that’s the point. All of it. Have a great day.

Day 25/30 Absolutes signal absolute inaccuracy

See what I did there? A nice blanket absolute statement about absolutes.

Hey it’s day 25, my friends, and I’ve got one reminder and one question.

The reminder: Words like Everything, always, never, none, nobody are not helpful words when it comes to building a narrative about you, the world, or people. It is counter-growth thinking. When we notice ourselves moving into the absolute realm, we should simply notice we are feeling untethered, stress, fear or resistance. “It’ll never work.” Is not growth-mindset. “You never listen.” Also not helpful. It might FEEL true in the moment, but it’s not a true representation of life. Life’s true representation holds all kinds of things true at the same time with little room for words that position us for failure or an insurmountable power differential.

Other words to look out for when thinking about yourself, your life and your goals: Need to, have to, should those words create a narrative that someone is your jailer or perpetual 8th grader Algebra teacher holding a yardstick over your head. Again, not kind, and not growth mindset. Needing to, having to and shoulding your way through life sucks creativity, imagination and curiosity out of the room and replaces it with a list of ways for you to pass some imaginary rubric for living. You’re a grown-ass adult who probably isn’t wanted in multiple states for unpaid parking tickets AND those damn photos where you skipped the toll booth. Trust your discernment, wisdom and experience to be able to expand your decision making into, “What would meaningful? What would be fun? What would change my life for the better?”

Ok that’s the reminder. Here’s the question:

In your life right now, what wants to happen?

Have you ever been in a moment where you know that one small shift of one small domino of action or intention would send you on a path you know is right there waiting for you? Have you ever asked yourself, “What wants to happen?” There is a current to this life. There is a movement unseen and sometimes we can sense it. Sometimes, deep down, we know that what we pretend will be really hard, actually could be really easy if we leaned it and let it go. Lean in. Let it happen. Burn the absolute words and have a great day.

Day 24/30 Where you are vs. where you want to be

What I love about thought work and coaching is that it is all future focused. It doesn’t require us to sort out every detail from birth to today to get going on our dreams. All it asks is that we consider what we can do today, with what we’ve got today in order to set us up for a better tomorrow and the day after that. No need to hash out your tumultuous relationship with your third grade teacher and why it is you hate number 2 pencils.

Also, it invites this crazy notion that simply by thinking differently and creating touch point reminders for where you want to go, you can step into the future NOW before it even happens. Wanna be a small business owner working on a local level to improve the economic landscape of your community? Imagine already having arrived at that place you think is somewhere months or years in the future. Imagine how that future version of yourself schedules their day. What do they wear? How do they work, rest, network, play, stay fresh? Do that stuff now. Create a scenario of inevitability where just walk into the identity you know you were meant to embody.

Why do I like this scenario? Because it’s instrinsically motivated and doesn’t need anyone else’s approval but my own. I don’t read the room, I don’t measure how people receive me or encourage me, I only work at supporting my own integrity and vision. When the relationship work is between myself and myself, I have all the information I need.

So today I’ll think, “My long-term goal is more important than short-term relief.” I’ll think that my future self takes her life seriously and does things on purpose so that means today I will take my life seriously and do things on purpose. My future self loves her life and sees all the amazing gifts surrounding her, so today I’ll see all the beauty and blessing that abound. If I don’t practice freedom and integrity now, it won’t be anywhere in sight when I reach the finish line. If I want to become a stronger, clearer, sounder version of myself, then that’s what I practice every day in small ways. And if the monster of my past busts in like the Kool Aid man to remind me of all the mistakes and failures I have lived? I remind myself that the past can’t do a damn thing for me. I don’t define myself by ways I’ve become broken. I define myself by who I think I am and what I want somewhere in the future.

Everything we think is out of reach is on the other side of a thought. Everything we think will make life easier or better isn’t actually about the thing- it’s about the feelings and thoughts we attribute to that thing. Why not practice those lotto/hot tub/Jamaica/CEO/promotion/true love thoughts and feelings now and walk into deeper living now? It has an effortless way of making life so much better.

Day 23/30 "Doing my best starts with thinking my best"

I know that doing my best starts with thinking my best.

That’s one of the Affirmation Anthem statements from Jon Acuff’s book, “Soundtracks,” that I’ve been practicing for 23 days now. I have missed days, I have done mornings and forgotten evenings, I’ve done evenings and skipped mornings, but I’m showing up in all my imperfection and believeing that it all counts. Process over perfection, my friends. I’ll get there.

“I know that doing my best starts with thinking my best.” First, I imagine there being resistance to this sentence. I imagine people may have thoughts about “best” and what it means. Does it mean out-performing my neighbor? Does it mean rubbing my excellence in the face of someone going through something hard? Does it mean I’m covered in glitter and laughing while everyone else is wallowing in the muck and mire? No. Not all. Please, do not mistake “best” for living only part of your identity. Please, do not mistake “best” for living in the realm of a power differentials between yourself and the people in your life.

Doing my best actually includes knowing and caring for all parts of me and my life as though they matter and as though they are allowed to take up space. “Doing my best” is not just relegated to the sphere of high performance and mastery. “Best” lives in the realm of wholeness. When I’m at my best in wholeness I can see my weaknesses alongside my strengths and it’s all OK. The best that exists in wholeness never pretends to have learned it all, know it all or assume a false persona that is somehow more together than how we really feel. Are you OK with allowing that “doing your best” applies to when you’re winning and when you’re losing? What does doing your best in grief and sadness look like? What is doing your best mean when you’re in the process of getting a divorce?

“I know that doing my best starts with thinking my best” allows room for everything. For emotion, self-care, patience, help, rejection, success, joy, sadness, all of it. WE lose something when we box “best” up with only the most powerful, successful moments and don’t invite it to give us information in the more ordinary or unappealing parts of life. The wisdom in this sentence, from a place of wholeness, is how it reminds us that our thinking matters no matter what circumstances we may be experiencing and that we owe it to ourselves to place our own hearts, souls, minds and bodies in a position of love. Love for all self in a way that has us walking through it, seeing our own hearts for where they are at and not where we think they SHOULD be at, seeing our stories as significant and worth the time it takes to think in a way that doesn’t trample our self-concept or vision, but cares for and upholds it no matter what.

Think about “best” from wholeness. It’s really the only helpful way to process the word. When “best” lives in wholeness we let down the facade, we stop judging our worth according to how the world receives us from day to day, and we integrate all our knowing into the present moment.

On days when I’m depressed and defeated, doing my best and thinking my best takes on a different vocabulary than on the days when I am flying high and getting shit done. On days when loss feels overwhelming, doing my best by thinking my best actually lets the whole experience live in real time AND, should a light-hearted moment appear, I allow myself the gift of light-heartedness. There was a time when the rules of sadness and depression despised and judged the times when peace and joy would effortlessly appear. Not anymore, man. “Best” lets it all come to the party.

Day 22/30 The longest day

In my travels and my fatigue I forgot it was the longest day until JOn reminded me of such on our walk this afternoon. I love the longest day. I love summer time and my favorite thing about winter solstice is that it is the slow climb, minute by minute that leads us to here. I do love summer. I do the heat and the green, and the wind in from the west. I do love the sweat and the weeds and the lawn mowers here and there, the sprinklers and bicycles, the gardens growing and even the snakes by the compost pile. I love it.

And as we move into the final days of this thirty day blog-o-scape, I hope you remember one thing: there are many things we can leave to chance- the powerball, the weather, duck hunt game at the county fair, the drawing for that fancy camper van on the facebook, the picking names for a gift exchange, but besides all that above all that, there’s one thing we do not leave to chance and that is what we think of this crazy thing called life and what we think about ourselves and what we’re doing here.

Our lives and our stories may take twists and turns into parts unknown, but we can always have decided ahead of time to be the starring role in our own stories, to be the heroes on this quest and to believe we get to choose the ways in which we define ourselves and our paths. It is not up to world to tell us who we are. It is up to us to know our identities and let the world catch up or not. We’re amazing and so is this one life we live. WE get to do as we will with what we’ve got. On this longest day, we consider the long and the short of every heart beat, prayer, dream and journey. We take seriously the worth seeping through every minute and hour of this one wondrous life and decide to do it all on purpose. At the end we will be able to give account of exactly where the time went. Have a great longest day.

Day 21/30 Staking flags into the future

In the book, “Soundtracks, by Jon Acuff, the argument is presented that how we think and the thought loops in our minds serve as soundtracks that establish and maintain certain plot narratives about who we are and how our lives will go like predictable songs we’ve been listening to for years. Sometimes these soundtracks become so second nature we have no idea there’s music even playing in the background we just take our thoughts as gospel truth, unequivocal, above reproach, solid as a rock and doomed to last forever. What Acuff suggests is that tuning in to what the music is that plays in our heads, questioning where it came from, why we think it and whether it’s helping us or not can be the start to choosing music we prefer instead. He argues, and I completely agree with him, that we are, indeed in control of our inner voices, we can call truce with them, we can turn down the volume from those negative and hurtful soundtracks and reconfigure the playlist to work our behalf that is meant to affirm our worth and potential, not squash or doubt it.

Noticing the loops in our head is step one, staking flags into the sand of our future according to what we WANT to believe about ourselves and our lives is step two. Not only are these stakes meant to be intentional intellectual marker we think and practice repeating and reflecting in our minds,(ex. we journal from wholeness in the morning, we craft centering thoughts we keep close throughout the day) but also, taking advantage of our lives and the spaces we inhabit to create outwardly visible markers in our daily routines to point back to what we are building into the future. If we are working from a builder’s thought of, “I am a woman who takes her time seriously” then the best thing we can do is make small shifts in our time. Clear work hours, rest hours, play hours, chore hours. If the thought is, “Everything is always working out for me” then you enter into each day willing to be the sleuth looking for evidence big and small that things are working out (no traffic going to work, good coffee, clean dishes for cereal, the boss says you can kick off early, no line at the grocery store). IN order to build a life of meaning, then that which once was gutted of significance, must get a chance to be valuable again. You have no idea how destructive the comment, “It doesn’t matter.” can be when shifting our thoughts from scarcity thinking to empowerment. Even failures matter. Only they don’t matter as proof that you suck, they ONLY MATTER as proof of bravery and vulnerability. Again, stake flags in the sand of your own worth and vision for your life means being on your own team all the time. What you wear, what you eat, how you move, who you talk to, how you rest, how you restore- all those are flags that potentially rewire and align with new thinking to create a new soundtrack in your head. The more signals you send to your brain that old thinking is not your jam anymore, the better. So go get ‘em, Tiger. Put your new shoes on.