On the Path

If you hope to expand

You should first learn to contract.

If you hope to become strong
You should first understand weakness in yourself.

If your ambitions are to be exalted
Humiliation should always follow.

If you hold fast to something
It will surely be taken away from you.

This is the operation of the subtle law of the universe.

The law of the universe is subtle,
But it can be known.

The soft and the meek can overcome the hard and strong.

The true strength of a country or a person is not on the outside.

Just as the fish cannot leave the deep,
One must never stray from one’s true nature.

-From the Complete Works of Lao Tzu

Grand Funk Railroad

“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”


- Albert Einstein

I’ve been in a real funk lately; I’m tired, I’m cranky and really just unmotivated. My laundry room is overtaken with piles of both clean and dirty clothing and my desk at work is being consumed en masse by piles of paper. Some days, I feel like I’m a salmon, trying my hardest to swim against the current to some unknown prize awaiting me upstream—all while spectators on the sidelines spit obscenities at me, daring me to justify my position.

When things are rough, it’s easy for us to forget about how wonderful our lives are—especially while watching the evening news. I still have a home, a husband, a job and a refrigerator filled with food. Even when the future seems uncertain, we all need a rock to cling to—even if we are our own rock. Disappointment, unfortunately, is a part of life. People who achieve great things are separated by those who give in to defeat by one small but meaningful gift; fortitude. The Beatles received countless rejection letters from radio stations who weren’t interested in their music, saying the world wasn’t ready for their “rock n’ roll” sound. What would the world look like, I wonder, if those who were told “No” on more than one occasion began to believe what their opponents said?

When life throws stones at us, it’s important to realize that someone is trying to tell us something. Perhaps it’s a reminder to savor the good times, or a message to just slow down. Regardless of the reason, sometimes slowing down and taking stock is necessary. For me, it’s been a hard lesson learned. You see, I never slow down—ever. I’m happy while in the midst of perpetual motion, but find great agony in being stagnant. My life is planned to a T and diverting from that plan is just plain scary. What would happen if I didn’t walk the straight line, following the rules and doing what I thought was necessary?

Although it might seem inconsequential, I tested my theory recently by doing something that truly scares me: not exercising for two weeks straight. Frightening, I know. If you know me, though, you’d know that exercise is the cornerstone of my sanity. You’d also know that I secretly fear that the world will come to an end (or my body will turn to 95% fat) if I don’t do something that involves rigorous physical activity for at least 1 hour, 6 days a week. Having an extreme “need” or compulsion to do something is never beneficial—even if the act itself is.

Allow me to be the first to say that it was hard, it was really hard. It’s not like I just sat on the couch for two weeks, but I didn’t undergo my normal 4 mile runs or hour-long weight training sessions. Surprisingly, my body didn’t turn to mush and I actually found other tasks to complete like working in the garden or taking Rudi for a long walk. It was, I dare say, relaxing.

Regardless of what it is you do to remain sane, sometimes you can find sanity in letting it go—even if it’s just for a moment.

Pride Skin

As a child, I was completely consumed by horses. I even wrote my own “horse book” in a spiral notebook, complete with magazine collages and short stories and poems about horses. You could say it was the beginning of a love affair with writing.


Now that I’m an adult, I still have a great fascination with horses. I often find myself entranced by them as Rudi and I take our daily walk by the horse pasture down the road. There’s just something about them that puts me under a spell. I read once that when a horse is injured and their skin is cut, the scar tissue that grows over that wound is known as “pride skin.” How wonderful it is to think that our scars, which we often find great shame in, should really evoke a sense of pride.

It’s nearly impossible to go through life without scars. Just face it—you’re going to fall, you’re going to injure yourself and it’s going to leave a mark. However painful or embarrassing they might be, you’ll always remember how your scars came to exist. Our scars have a story to tell and a memory to evoke, whether we like it or not. They’re never pretty and leave your body changed permanently, but they mean something.

For me, my scars exist as a constant reminder of what my future might look like if I’m not careful. Most of my scars are precautions of the slicing and dicing variety made by a dermatologist. Having a great tan became an almost-obsession not long ago, and now I’m paying the price with practically annual biopsies of moles and the possibility of melanoma. My arms, legs, back and neck are all kissed with scars—some more severe than others. They are all thanks to suspect moles on my now pale skin, reminding me how foolish it is to bathe in the sun.

Granted, I have a family history of freckle abundance and am practically the poster child for necessary sun etiquette: fair skin, freckle-prone, blonde hair and blue eyes. All a dermatologist has to do is glance my direction and then begin to rattle off the many reasons I need to stay out of the sun and slather 4786243 SPF on my body. I have a lot of freckles and I make the doctor earn that $15 co-pay each time I visit as they photograph and create extensive diagrams of my natural body art. I even have freckles in fun places, like on the palm of my right hand and the bottoms of my feet. In grade school, my best friend also had a freckle on her palm and we’d joke that we had maps on our hands and pretend to give directions to our homes using freckles as reference points. See, freckles can be fun!

It’s not that I don’t like my freckles—I just struggle with the concept of what they potentially mean for me. Are they landmines just waiting for me to step in the wrong spot or harmless, but sometimes obnoxious, dandelions growing in the yard? If I had a scar for every freckle on my body, I don’t think I’d have much skin left—and that is what I find scary.

I sometimes gaze admiringly at people who have great tans; they look fantastic. I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness, though. Do they realize what they’re doing to themselves? Will it hit them on some idle Thursday afternoon that life was bigger than having a fantastic tan? Or will they cry in regret 20 years from now in the mirror, lamenting their deep wrinkles and bad choices?

These things seem to come in waves, spinning in cycles as the year’s progress. Years ago, being pale was seen as a thing of great beauty and status. Those who were pale were wealthy; they spent their days indoors and in the shade as their tan counterparts slaved away in the fields. As time wore on, being tan became a thing of status—luxury, even. It was a sign of having the funds to take a lavish vacation, the spare time to lay in the sun or the wads of cash to visit a tanning salon. These days, our paranoid health-conscious world warns us of the dangers of sun exposure, creating bigger and better sunscreen to save us from impending doom. Our affinity for big hats and sunscreen has even led to a mass, nation-wide Vitamin D deficiency.

In the end, I realize that my beauty doesn’t come from tanned skin—it comes from being smart enough to know when to stop. Sometimes, we have to endure a little pain to get the message across. For now, I’ll slather on the Helioplex-infused 100 SPF and look to my scars for inspiration; now that’s something to be proud of.

Cool Customer

It is not in my nature to let others see me sweat; it’s just not how I operate. It’s partly my nature, but mostly my job that has turned me into a “let’s look at the bright side” kind of girl. You’ll never see my eyes tearing up as I run from the room—I save any tear shedding for when I go home. I’m the person sticking their finger in the dam while versing others on what great craftsmanship the structure has and how wonderful the men and women who constructed it all those years ago must have been. That doesn’t usually leave time for me to freak out about the impending doom that lies ahead.

Being in PR, as I am, one realizes quickly how important it is to not only be the voice of reason, but to look the part in the face of disaster. I often liken those in this field to a hybrid of an actor and a magician. They call you to look this way at something bright and shiny, all in an attempt to distract you from the disaster the other way. PR professionals are also the people who expertly craft messages when bad things happen and coach those who will be delivering them in front of a captive audience. Next time disaster hits, (which, lately it seems to happen daily) take a good look at the individual delivering the news. Watch their eyes, hand gestures; facial expressions and tone; all while remembering that each was very carefully orchestrated. You aren’t supposed to notice, that’s what makes it so fascinating.

There’s a distinct difference between who writes the message and who delivers it---they aren’t usually the same person. Any CEO, spokesperson or leader is often just the messenger, not the wordsmith. People forget this, because consideration is never given to the possibility of individuals scheming behind the scenes. Sure, the President is saying it, and obviously approved of it, but someone else stayed up late the night before, drinking Red Bull and proofreading until the early hours of the morning.

As someone who has always loved to write, sometimes it’s easier to write knowing that you aren’t the person who will ultimately deliver the message. There’s just not as much pressure involved when you realize you don’t have to speak those words—you are just the artist crafting them behind the scenes.

If you were to ask my co-workers if I’m constantly repeating anything, they’d say:

It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it

No matter where you go and what you do, you are a representative of this organization

I’m fairly certain I annoy everyone with my unnecessary repetitiveness, but I think the world could benefit from (and avoid a lot of undue drama) if they just remember these things. People often forget that words do matter—and they do hurt. Whoever came up with the “sticks and stones” adage, in my opinion, just wanted to come up with a catchy phrase to convince the playground bully that their feelings weren’t hurt. I say, you aren’t fooling anyone.

C'mon get happy

When things get crappy, I find myself scrambling to surround myself with things that make me feel better. Regardless of how you feel or the day you’ve just had, there are always things that will eternally make you smile, if only for a moment.
Here’s my list:
Puppies that look like Rudi: they always make me smile and usually make me (and my carpet) happy that I don’t have a puppy anymore.

A medium hazelnut coffee (with one Splenda) from Tim Horton’s: For $1.35, this cup of happiness opens a myriad of possibilities for the day ahead.
A refrigerator filled with fresh fruits & veggies: I feel a great sense of calm when I can open the fridge and an abundant, colorful selection of nature’s bounty is staring back at me.
A long bike ride to a place I’ve never been before: I’m a total creature of habit, but heading out on a 10-mile plus bike ride with Adam to someplace new really excites me. The random unleashed dogs that nip at our heels don’t, but it’s just part of the experience. Besides, isn’t that what mace is for?
A Blue Moon draft beer with a fresh slice of orange: Post-college, I’m an incredibly cheap date. However, I have never stopped loving my very favorite adult beverage. Throw in an outdoor patio and you should just hope I don’t pass out from excitement.
Reminiscing with old friends: There’s just something incredibly magical about meeting up with good friends from your past. I love the feeling of sharing stories and laughs with a group of people who left a lasting mark on your life, even if you only see them once a year.
Surprises: It’s pretty hard to sneak anything past me (because I’m so damn nosy) so when I’m genuinely surprised, it’s a pretty big deal.
Finishing a complicated project: As intense weekend warriors, Adam and I tackle quite a few in depth projects each year. Often, we start a project and it takes a while for us to see the finish line. OK, so maybe the bathroom we tore apart over a year ago is pushing the concept of “a while,” but you get the idea. The extended timeline just makes the victory that much sweeter, really.
Lying in bed before drifting off to sleep: Regardless of the day you just had, you always find yourself back in the same place you started at the end of every day. To me, there’s something magical about the chance to start fresh each day, and it always begins with going to sleep.

Back in Black

I know, I know. I've been away for a while--6 months counts as "a while," right?

I could come up with a million excuses for why I've been foresaking my blog, but it comes down to the fact that it was just "one more thing" that I had to do.

Do you ever love something so much that it's easier just to forget it exists rather than admit you've let it go?

That's how I feel about my blog.

I've still been writing my entries, I just haven't posted them.

So, in the interest of catching up, be prepared for the onslaught of all I've written in the last 6 months.