Broken Hearted Runner

The year 2015 set the stage for 2016 to be a wonderful year. Is that because 2015 was a crappy year? Maybe. I mean, when you're at rock bottom, you can only go up, right? But that isn't what I meant. Sure, things happened in 2015 that took my life off course, but those things challenged me and made me start to think about what I really wanted out of life. And not only what I wanted, but how was I going to get it? Because of those things that transpired in 2015, by the beginning of the new year, I was going through a divorce and living in a two bedroom apartment with my two girls and our dog. As the only breadwinner, I was waiting tables and doing some marketing consulting work while desperately trying to get a new full time job (with benefits) to support my family. However, the few interviews I landed ended with rejection as soon as they learned that I didn't have a degree. I had started to doubt most of my past decisions and feel unsure about everything in my future.

Stillmeadow. This is the name of the street where I live. This is where I bought my new home. It wasn't the first home I looked at on this street either. The first one was the one that lit the fire in my heart - the one that helped me to know that this street was where I belonged.  So 2 weeks after I lost the bid on the first house on Stillmeadow, right around the time when I was about to give up buying a house (I literally did a credit check on a rental house), I noticed another house on Stillmeadow. It popped up on my Zillow search at 8 pm on September 12 and at 10:45 on September 13, I was looking at the house. Later than night I signed my bid on what is now my new house.  It wasn't until I actually moved into the house and onto the street that the name of it started to give me comfort. Stillmeadow. Still. Be still. That is what I was feeling. Only a few months before, God had told me to let my roots grow - to focus on buying a home and settling down. And now, it al

Because it was important to me that I was the main caregiver for my children when they were young, and because their father and I were both young and not well paid, we made a lot of sacrifices. After I quit my job to be a stay at home mom, I continued to do odd jobs to bring in money. Mostly, I babysat the neighborhood kids ($10/day/kid) and waited tables. I also cleaned houses and tended bar. Basically, I would do anything to make some money in a way that meant I could still be a mom and a wife first. We lived in a two bedroom home which meant that the kids all shared a bedroom. After Eve was born, we had a crib and a set of bunk beds. The kids thought this was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to them. Logan, of course, got the top bunk. And Ceci was happy to have the bottom bunk as long as he'd let her come up and play castle in his bed during the day. But mostly, the crib was the place to be. They loved it! My children had absolutely no idea how poor we were

Twelve weeks ago, I was in Virginia for my daughter's softball tournament really enjoying myself when I started having serious doubts about my living situation. In February, the idea of moving to Charlotte for a job seemed like the obvious thing to do after being unemployed for eight months. But now what? Other than my aunt, uncle and two cousins, I don't have any family in Charlotte. I only have one co-worker that I see a handful of times a month. All of the people I love live in Maryland and Virginia. All of the people my children want to spend time with are in Maryland and Virginia. Charlotte just seemed like a foreign place to us all. Feeling completely overwhelmed, I did what I had learned to do and have trained myself to do whenever I need answers. I poured myself a cup of hot tea, put on some light music, sat in the middle of the room in a comfortable position, closed my eyes, and started praying. In the many times over the previous year that I had attempted this m

A few months back I wrote a blog about a confrontation I experienced at a Nascar race . I admit that the meat of that post really had nothing to do with that night. The message in that story was about the decisions we make in life when we are faced with an adversary. The feelings I was feeling at that time stemmed from a completely different situation, but I used the Nascar race to illustrate them. Here is the meat of the text -  Is the way in which one responds when faced with adversity really a view into one's true personality? When someone treats you poorly, how do you react? When someone hurts you, whether intentionally or unintentionally, how do you respond?  Do you retaliate?  Do you initiate a war?  Do you prepare for a battle with intentions of winning - at any cost?  Or do you cower?  Fall apart and allow yourself to be beaten, assaulted, and embarrassed? It's interesting to me that (to most people) these seem to be the only two options.  Either you're strong

I've recently had several conversations with a close friend who is struggling with life. My friend was raised a Christian who, for the most part, followed a youth of asceticism. He walled himself off from the things that distracted him from his beliefs. He was strong and, while he slipped a few times in his teen years, he repented - staying on track and doing what he thought was right and good in the eyes of the Lord. As he grew older and unhappy, he was faced with temptations. His life became confusing and his guilt became overwhelming. Making decisions that rose from his own deep depression, he grew further and further from his faith. This is the exact opposite of my own life. I was not raised a Christian. I was allowed to make my own mistakes without the guidance of the bible. I often overindulged and this created a very emotionally tumultuous young adult life for me. However, by consequence of my excessive behavior, somehow I was led to a path that required me to examine m

Over the past several months I've been criticized for my blog. Some people literally asking, "Who puts that stuff out there?" This perspective has challenged me and made me question my own intentions. But I'm so thankful that I've had the support of a few who have encouraged me and empowered me. Close friends reminded me that my words are my creative contribution. They are the songs of my heart and the paintings of my soul. These words are not diatribes meant to inflict pain on anyone else, they are simply my emotional expressions - they are my art. It has been my dream, for as long as I can remember, to be a writer. (In truth, to have a small chateau in the french countryside with a patio for me to sit and drink coffee while I watch the sunrise over my vineyard... and write.) Well, in some way, I've always been a writer, but I've always thought it a facade. I felt like I was as much of a writer as I am a runner... I never thought myself worthy

After leaving a client event on Saturday night, I found myself driving my Camry through a muddy parking lot with an older male coworker and 2 clients, trying to escape the madness. (I was the sober driver who offered them a ride back to their hotel.) For the sake of humor, we shall call this time, "The Drunken Redneck Mass Exodus,"  and if you've ever left a Nascar race, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I won't describe the entire episode, but let's just say that I, very respectfully and politely, asked someone to roll down her window and communicate with me about allowing me to pull in front of her (the zipper effect, if I may). It didn't end as well as you'd think and I was honestly thanking God for child safety locks, because after being flipped off and berated for being a "stupid, [bleeping, female dog]," my older, male "papa bear" coworker was not very happy. He simply couldn't believe that someone would

I've always thought that Happy Hour was a negative thing. I used to describe it as "the time you spend after work erasing all of the negativity you feel about your job so that you can manage through another day tomorrow." A band-aid; not a cure. I still think there is a little truth in that. But the reality is that work does suck sometimes. Life sucks sometimes. And Happy Hour is exactly that - Happy. I like feeling happy and if taking an hour at the end of the day to enjoy the company of others who are suffering through the same BS helps, then that's not so bad, is it? Happy. For an hour. If that's what it takes. Then I think it's worth it. Sure, it's a bit of a trick. We go to the bar and we sit and have a drink with our friends and laugh. We discuss all of the things that make us upset and we joke about how things would be better if WE were running things. Sometimes we don't talk about work at all - just really enjoy the time and laugh. An

I wish I could fast forward. 1 year. I wonder what will be different... and what will be the same. I'm trying to move on. I'm trying to create a new life, with new habits and new people. I'm trying to build new relationships and to move forward instead of looking back and wishing. I'm trying to make good, healthy, Christian decisions. Sometimes I fail. But I wonder, when I look back on this time, will I have regrets? Or will I appreciate it, like I have with all of the other negative or troublesome times in my life? Will I ever be able to accept the things I've said and done? They all brought me here. They all taught me something. They all helped me to grow. Self reflection is painful. Even more so when I know I've made mistakes that have hurt others. But self reflection is still important and necessary. I am not perfect and I have a lot of things on which to reflect. I mean, I could be one of those people who just says, "F it. I made a

After I had been on a few dates with husband #2, and it was evident that we might actually both be considering "something more," he provided me with a recent psychiatric evaluation. As you can imagine, getting a doctor approved mental health evaluation of your potential new life partner was like, solid gold! (For his sake, I feel I must tell you that the reason he even had access to said evaluation was because he had recently gone through a divorce and custody hearing - he's not a psycho who has regular evals done.) So, anyway, I was lucky. I was about to embark on a relationship journey and I had access to some wonderful information that would help me to decide whether or not it was even worth the "next date." Because I admit, during that time in my life I was using all sorts of other stalking techniques to weed out the goodies from the baddies. I was living in Maryland at the time and so I used  Maryland Judiciary Case Search  to weed out the weirdos w

Dear Vance Joy, I would really appreciate it if you would stop writing songs about my life. I'm aware that I've given you, Adele, and everyone else in the music industry some good material. But seriously? It's become nearly impossible for me to turn on my own Pandora station without having to be reminded of the stories my life while I listen to you sing them with such sad and sorrowful words. I tried to switch to a Coldplay station, an X Ambassadors station, a Wye Oak station... same thing. Then I switched to a totally unrelated "Indy Dance Radio" station. This is when I started realizing that there was some kind of conspiracy happening. Have you all been sitting around, drinking coffee and watching me? Do you guys consult on the phone after reading my blog? Do you have access to my phone records and photos? My calendar? What is going on? But I feel guilty and pathetic about what you know and I feel like I should explain myself for a bit. So here goes -

I've always kept a journal. I've always had secrets - silent desires and invisible dreams. I've always felt like an impostor or a fake.  I've always tried to be what was expected of me. But not anymore. Not since you.    I was me with you. All of me. Me without fear.  Maybe that had little or nothing to do with you.  Maybe it's just where I was at that time in my life. Maybe I had decided to just be all of me because of what I'd been through.  All of the unhappiness. All of the unmet expectations.  If I had been myself from the beginning with others, maybe things would have veered off sooner.  Or maybe my expectations would have been better understood.   I felt completely comfortable in your presence and I didn't feel like I had to hide anything from you. And that was special. But I realize now why that was so special. It's because for the first time, I was not putting on a facade.   I don't want to pretend anymore. I want

I have a new routine, in a new home, in a new town, with a new job... but somehow, you're still everywhere. I try not to let myself think about you and I actually don't dwell on us as much as I used to... but you're still there - in the back of my mind - waiting to be remembered. A word. A song. A joke. A smell. A memory. Silly that I thought I could forget you. Silly that I thought I could run away from the feelings in my heart and the thoughts in my own head. It's not fair that you've never even seen my new home, but there are pieces of you still here. Hiding in the dark shadows, your ghostly memories haunt me in the most unexpected of places. Standing boldly in the morning sunlight, your souvenirs stare me down and call my name. I tell myself that tomorrow will be better. I keep trudging through the clutter of memories that fill my mind waiting for my new setting to take over and fill the empty corners. But, ever so suddenly, when I least expect i

With the exception of my years between the ages of 18 and 22 (AKA - my birthing years - when I stopped being a child and became a mother), there has never been a time in my life that has been more pivotal that the last eight months. I guess that's what mid life crisis' do for you. They flip your shit up-side-down and they give you some perspective. Over the last eight months I've learned a lot about myself. I've been angry. I've been alone. I've been in love. I've had my heart broken. I've been unemployed. I've been broke. I've been rejected more times than I can count. I've been humbled by having to go back to work as a waitress. I've learned how to survive through all of it and come out on the other side. I've found a new job. I've decided to move out of state. If you've been following my blog, you've read about all of the above times. You've read about my sorrow and my fears. You've read about my acceptanc

When I was eight years old my life was a mess. My father recently left the Navy and my parents bought a duplex in the then-developing Pasadena, Maryland. After we moved off base, my brother and I moved back and forth between 2 schools. First, we started in our districted public school. Then we changed back to the private school near the base because my parents wanted to keep us in the academy where we had been the year before. But from what I could tell, the commute and the tuition payments were too much for my parents and so finally, we were put back in the public school that we had started in the beginning of the year. Flip, flop. Also, this all happened within the first quarter of the school year. Since my father left the Navy, he found it difficult to keep a job. He had several jobs that I remember. He was a carpet layer (too hard on his knees), a cable guy (we had free cable in our basement), and an electrical tower climber (he's afraid of heights so that one didn&#

About 6 months ago I started using the hashtag #MySelfProclaimedMidLifeCrisis. Well today, I'm going to start using another hashtag #LivingTheDream. I used to have a coworker who, whenever you'd ask him, "How's it going," he'd respond with, "Living the dream."' I wondered what he meant by that and I expected that it was sarcasm - as that was his way. However, my hashtag is not in any way sarcastic. It is real and it is honest. I don't know if my readers know this, but most of the time when I'm writing, I'm also listening to music. A lot of times I'm inspired by a single line of a song, or sometimes several songs that just appear on my playlist. My post called " Lost in the Fire " was inspired by the Bastille song titled " Things We Lost in the Fire " (take a listen if you haven't - the entire album is amazing). Well, this hashtag and subsequent post has been inspired by The Lone Bellow's "

Here's the thing about choices - Each decision is really a matter of weighing priorities and selecting something to let go. Because it wouldn't be a difficult choice if I didn't have to make a sacrifice, right? I wouldn't be spending all of this time contemplating my options if I could have it all, would I? No, making these kinds of life decisions all comes down to, what is the right thing to do? Not just for me, but for everyone involved. I can only have one of the two, not both... so which am I willing to sacrifice? And which path ultimately leads to the desired destination?  The truth is, given my current options, I think I could reach the goal either way.  If I stay on my current path, I have to climb over many hurdles carrying this heavy pack. There are trees in my way, a couple of muddy trenches to traverse, I'll get lost (like I already have so many times), and it will take all of my strength, while still having to depend on others to get me over the rea

I've never actually read one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books from my childhood, but as I sit here contemplating my future options, based on my past decisions, I wonder about them and I wish I had. I wonder... how many endings are there? Does it really only come down to two endings, and all of the choices lead to one of those endings? If so, does it really matter what decisions I make throughout the entirety of the book? In reality, how equivalent are these books to real life? Do my day-to-day life decisions really matter if the outcome of those decisions are the same? Do I really only have two fates ahead of me? If so, how do I make those everyday decisions matter? I mean, if God gave me free will, and I only have one of two outcomes (heaven or hell), how does each decision get me closer and closer to the outcome I want? As is the norm over the past 6 months, once again, I find myself at a crossroads. It feels like my life is nothing BUT crossroads. E