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 a...

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....

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...