It’s been quite a hiatus, between the holidays, traveling and eating myself into an early grave.  I swear I don’t do it on purpose but Running Boy is right:  writing when I’m happy is a lot harder than writing when I’m sad. 

Work has kept me busy, as well as the myriad of commitments and fun things that happen every December.  My kids had a great Christmas, and Arden lost both of her two front teeth just late enough where I couldn’t sing “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”.  She has an adorable lisp now and a huge gap to accommodate her incoming fangs.  I spent most of their winter break trying to live in the moment and not think too much about the various uncertainties of my near-future.  I did well at that for a time, but am now back into planning mode.  It’s my nature to examine situations from all angles and attempt to have a game plan for any outcome.  Perhaps I should have been a lawyer, since that’s what most of them do for a living – figure out worst-case scenarios and ways to avoid them. 

I still love my job, but I occasionally mourn the loss of my mom-life where I could set my hours and spend time in the afternoons with the girls.  I don’t miss not having money and the times work would happen inevitably right after the girls got home, and I’d end up telling them to quiet down so I could get some stuff done or take a phone call.  My life is much more compartmentalized now than it was, and that’s been good for me. I thrive on routine and I love being able to come home from work and for the most part, shelve any feelings or ideas about it until the next morning at 8 am. 

Running Boy got me an iPad for Christmas, which was really unexpected and over the top but I am in love with that thing like whoa.  I think my recent bout of insomnia and sleep deprivation is directly related to the amount of time I spend glued to it, and Netflix is probably going to go bankrupt because of how many movies I have already downloaded.  I’ll get my $7.99/month worth, dammit. 

For our one year anniversary, we headed to Grottoes, VA for New Year’s weekend.  Two of our close friends joined us.  We stayed at a placed called the High Laurel Inn and it was amazing.  Perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, we had our own side of a converted barn complete with fireplace and private balcony.  Our friends had the other side of the barn.  Their big selling point to us was an outdoor 6 person hot tub sharing the same view with the rest of the property.  Much champagne and wine was consumed from that perch.  I slept a lot – more than I probably should have.  It had been awhile since I’d been able to unwind enough where I felt lazy and slothlike.  After a day of that, we spent New Year’s Day hiking.  Prior to that hike, I had run once and worked out on an elliptical machine once since being released back to normal life activity after a month off post-surgery.  Feeling cocky, lazy and slothlike,  we chose a “strenuous” 10 mile hike because our inn host offered to drop us at the trailhead.  Another selling point of the inn was the proximity to trails in the Shenandoah National Park.  We could hike the trail, then hop off when we passed by the inn. 
Although I’d looked at the trail map before we attempted the hike, I hadn’t really grasped the fact that the first 5 ½ miles were uphill.  And I mean straight uphill. Additionally, the idea was to hike the first half and run the trail the second half.  Anytime the ground began to “flatten out”, we started running.  By the time we got to the actual flattish part of the terrain, my quads were shot from going downhill and my calves were screaming up the uphill bits.  Run that trail once or twice a week and you’d be in great shape. 

The scenery was gorgeous, and would have made an excellent natural headstone for my dead body.  However, Running Boy kept pushing me onward and cheerfully pestering me with comments and questions.  Then he figured out the key to getting me through the hike: promising me dinner and another soak in the hot tub. 

After the immediate feeling of death passed, we talked about doing another hike soon since we did have a good time and it’s a pretty inexpensive (and healthy) way to spend a day.  I don’t want to make the same mistake I made while living in Northern Michigan.  Growing up around the beauty we had at our doorstep made me nearly immune to it.  As much as I gripe about Virginia, there are some amazing places to visit and things to do.  So as we save our money this winter and spring, we’ll probably be doing quite a bit of mountainous exploring and trail running. 

My lease is up in May – big decisions about what to do and how.  The only thing I know for certain is that I want to stay in the same school district.  I finally feel 100% happy with where they go, and I don’t want to rock that particular boat quite yet.  It makes my living options very limited as it’s a small area that feeds into their school.  Half of it is $500k and up homes; the other half is tiny brick ranchers that are still overpriced because of the school district.  I’m not really into either option.  That’s one of those areas I’m avoiding thinking about. 

In the meantime, I am still waiting for some finality in other areas of my life.  One of my big Christmas gifts came early when Running Boy got some closure.  The second half of that is right around the corner, and I will be so very happy when one less thing is hanging over both of our heads. 

A month or so ago, I posted the annual holiday letter my boss sends every year to family and friends. This year’s is fabulous, too, and with his permission, I’m posting it here.  I’ve removed any identifying details and edited it for content, but I’ve left his primary message intact.  Enjoy. 

I always admired the late Reverend Peter Gomes, whose messages from the pulpit in Harvard’s Memorial Church stirred a lot of souls – especially the memorial services he offered at each of the reunions we attended. Years ago I got to introduce Peter at a church fundraising dinner.  (When he referred to me as “Brother” during his remarks, this mid-western hayseed felt like he had made it to the big time!) Recently, we received a flyer announcing an auction of the contents of Peter’s homes. This flyer did what death usually does – reminded me of the value of life. On page 283 of The Good Life, Reverend Gomes wrote: “The good life is not to be found wrapped up and waiting for us like the Dead Sea Scrolls or some ancient artifacts from a culture that once flourished but is now long gone. Not at all. The good life, whose object, like that of hope, is a future good….enables us to live now that which we seek.” Living now that which we seek makes so much sense. Why do we think that real joy is the goal, rather than a daily choice? I am sure Peter left behind some wonderful items for auction, but the beauty of those antiques can’t compete with the messages of love and good-heartedness he left behind.

Peter also wrote and spoke about gratitude – which has been mentioned in numerous Holiday Letters over the years. Those of us who write these annual missives predictably express gratitude for our family and friends, and for the many blessings we have been given. For some reason, though, I have resisted practicing gratitude formally by following the recommended rituals. That may seem a little odd in the face of overwhelming evidence that keeping a so-called ‘Gratitude Journal’ makes us happier. Yet, I have not been able to discipline myself to do that, or anything else that is recommended by those who have studied the phenomenon.

One writer suggested that we should cultivate gratitude by taking a moment during each meal to tell those gathered what we are thankful for – not just during the Thanksgiving meal, but always. (It could lead to surprises, as I remember one Thanksgiving dinner at which a young Reid said he was thankful for Oprah and Wheel of Fortune.)  Maybe we will try this one in ’12.

Specifically, this year we are grateful that Paige is actually a fabulous teenager—the kind you can only hope for. (Can you believe she is driving?) We are thankful that Craig continues to pursue his passion of broadcasting baseball, and that he is enjoying all that Florida has to offer. We are grateful that Reid has continued to advance in his development; and we are grateful for the way Karen and I still have fun in all that we do together.

As some of you know from years of reading about Reid, he lives ‘in the moment’ with great joy. “Live now that which we seek…”  So, I thought I would share with you a poem I wrote about Reid several years ago:

There is something about Reid
that makes us smile
when he finds joy in the simplest things.

There is something about Reid
that makes him giggle,
seeing a moon, a sun, or a mouse.

There is something about Reid
that makes us happy
in the way his sweet heart sings.

There is something about Reid
that is so sincere when he invites
strangers for “supper me house?”

There is something about Reid
that gives us joy
as he asks for his favorite shows.

There is something about Reid
that touches souls
with the merriment our lives don’t allow.

There is something about Reid
that impresses us all
when we discover what he really knows.

There is something about Reid
that changes our hearts
when he says “me happy now.”

After Craig’s terrific writing last year, many of you are probably a little disappointed to see me back in the game. And I had truly thought I was retired. But when your brother comes through major brain surgery safely and successfully, you feel compelled to write a little bit more about gratitude—and miracles.  Those of you who have read The Secret know that there is great power in our thoughts. When it was discovered that Rick had a tumor, hundreds of people openly offered “thoughts and prayers.” Relatives, friends, contacts on Facebook and Linkedin, co-workers at my firm, and the parishioners at our church all offered “thoughts and prayers.” (Even a stranger I chatted with in Denver added Rick to his prayer list…) Don’t ever doubt the power of thoughts and prayers. There is no doubt in my mind that the team of surgeons had an extra pair of divine hands in the operating room. The joy we feel knowing that Rick will be fine is indescribable. I look forward to playing lots of golf with him in the years to come.

Amidst all of this, I continue to be moved by remarks made by the Headmaster of (children’s school) at a Thanksgiving assembly over a year ago.  Loosely interpreted, he reminded us that we should be thankful for sadness, because it magnifies our happiness. We should be thankful for loneliness, as it gives us a greater appreciation for connection. And we can celebrate failure, for without it we would know less success. Reverend Gomes said we could only know true joy, if we knew suffering. Indeed, life is rich in joy and sorrow, in achievement and disappointment, in gain and loss. We are so very thankful to be on this journey with such supportive friends and family, as well as those unnamed Angels that move in and out of our lives. May each of us be an Angel for someone every day.

I would like to share a quote from The Power (sequel to The Secret): “So how do you fall in love with life? The same way you fall in love with another person—you adore everything about them! You fall in love with another person by seeing only love, hearing only love, speaking only love, and by feeling love with all your heart!  And that is exactly how you use the ultimate power of love in love with life.”  Now, combine this thinking with a quote from Albert Einstein: “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” We have unlimited potential. Turn your imagination loose. Decide what you want….believe you can have it, believe you deserve it, believe it’s possible for you, and have an extraordinary holiday season.

A note from the daughter: 

Even though Dad is “out of retirement” from writing the holiday letter, he asked mom and me (Paige) to add our thoughts this year. Dad has asked me several times to write the holiday letter, saying it would be a great opportunity, but I never took him up on the offer. I was always a little nervous about jumping into something that he has done for so many years, and for a piece of writing about which a lot of people openly express joy upon reading. I certainly didn’t feel prepared to step into those shoes. My other issue was that I never felt like I had anything truly inspiring to share. This is probably the first year that I have actually been able to somewhat connect myself to the things Dad has to say in the letter.

After reading The Secret, Dad did not want to keep the things he had learned to himself. Mom and I listened to him describe the messages and different ways he thought it could really change a person’s life. However, keep in mind that I live under the same roof as him, so our whole family is subject to these eye-opening things Dad has to say throughout the whole year—not just in this letter. And I do admit that I didn’t give it much thought the first time Dad talked about it. Then one day during wellness week, which is my school’s version of drug and alcohol awareness and prevention, the guest speaker suddenly asked if we had ever learned about the power of thought. Many in the room were clueless to the idea, but I knew what he was talking about. He went on to describe a time when he was so nervous about a public speaking event, that he envisioned himself doing the presentation and having it be a huge success, and by the time he got up on stage, he wasn’t a bit nervous and did a great job.

So maybe this crazy idea that Dad had shared with us was something bigger then I realized; maybe it was really possible too. All I know is if a 16 year old daughter can be inspired by an idea so grand and unimaginable, it could truly be life changing after all.

I know my boss has his cranky times or when he feel less than stellar (or feels not in the slightest bit like being politically correct or stroking yet another ego), but in general he exudes joy and confidence and happiness.  I’ve never worked for someone like him, which in a way makes me nervous because I don’t know how to deal with someone who appears to open and truly interested in helping his team members succeed.  I enjoyed his letter this year as it personally spoke to me (again!).  I myself have experienced first-hand the healing and inspiring power that love has over us, and I know that the love I’ve given out this year has made a difference to many different people (including one in particular). 

It’s no secret that the last few years have been full of turmoil, strife, chaos or whatever adjective you find fits the sentence best.  Many times I wondered if I was growing up or just regressing, mixing big mistakes with strategic luck and hoping the end result was also the right one.

One thing I constantly try to remember is that there is no end point to life, other than the obvious one (death).  In other words, I’ve heard people talk about how they are glad the bad times are over for me – but in actuality, there is no end to bad times just as there is no end to good ones.  It’s just life, and it swings back and forth, and when we’re really lucky, life hangs in the balance between bad and good and we hold steady for a bit. 

Yes, life has settled down and isn’t bouncing from one disaster to the next.  Running Boy’s life is settling down too.  We had big news yesterday and it was, in general, all positive for him and his children.  It also means he can move forward in his life and put much of what has happened behind him, where it belongs.  Much as we’d like to say we can move forward regardless what happens around us, it’s a lot easier to do so when you aren’t constantly reminded or stressed by the things or people from which you are trying to move forward. 

It also felt good for both of us to remember that we can have faith in justice, and that there is still some fairness in the world.  All too often it seems that people can do really bad things to others without paying the price.  I’ve rarely gotten away with anything without paying a hefty fee, so it always struck me as odd that so many others seemed to skate while I was serving time in some sort of emotional jail.  In this case, there are no winners – in divorce, there never are.  What he got was simply validation from the court system, more time with his children and the ability to stay in business for himself without losing everything he’s worked for 15 years to build. I’d say that’s fair. 

Yesterday was a celebration.  It doesn’t really matter now how things shake out or how long it takes.  The uncertainty we’ve both lived under for the past year is over and now it’s a matter of wrapping up all the loose ends.  It is my personal hope that having a definitive decision on many of the issues that tore his family apart will cut down on the amount of stress and anger they’ve dealt with. 

In the meantime, I got an awesome early Christmas present in the form of some peace, and I’m going to savor it as long as I can. 

A week or so ago, someone I work with was telling me about a major life decision she’d made.  She had been a single mother for almost 2 decades and had a rough time going from staying home with her daughters to being able to find a job, learning new skills, crawling her way up, one step at a time.  She shared that she was often frightened of taking unnecessary risks because she felt her footing was always so unstable, and her time always so limited.  There were a number of major decisions she’d made, but she was telling me how she knew she’d made the right ones and when to run from others.

“I’m at peace when I make the right decision,” she said, “and when I am going in the wrong direction, I feel out of sorts, chaotic.”  She has a very strong faith and talks about God using the types of words I reserve for therapy – asking for help, digging for the truth, relying on faith to get you where you are going, working hard to do the right things. 

I’ve rarely felt pure peace with the decisions I’ve made in the past.  Even going back to work full-time, though very necessary and much appreciated, has not been 100% peaceful.  Just last night Lily turned on the waterworks again over how much she misses me in the afternoons and how she wishes I could go back to being her mom that was at the bus stop and made snacks and hosted play dates. 

(note:  I really think she misses the play dates more than anything having to do with me, but it’s sweet nonetheless)

I think this is fairly normal, feeling bittersweet about things you’ve done in the past.  People often ask if I regret my marriage and the answer is always a solid “hell, no.”  I still care about and respect Mike in many ways.  We made two amazing children, had many good years and developed ourselves and our careers together.  I’m bittersweet about the pain the dissolution caused me and my family, and any potential permanent damage it may have caused.  Sometimes I look back and question all the steps that led me to where I am today.  At the end, though, it doesn’t matter.  I’m here, I’m me, and most of the time I like both of those things. 

One of the things holding me back was the plain old vanilla variety of fear.  Divorced people are the true walking wounded, dragging around dead love and bags full of sadness into their future lives.  Everyone carries their burdens differently.  I have friends who have literally jumped from the marital bed into another marital bed, almost without blinking.  I have other friends who grew intense distrust in their minds, a different kind of poisonous mushroom, and avoid relationships altogether.  Still others seek out destructive patterns almost as if they want to be reminded of everything that went wrong in their marriage.  Many of them have come out of it now, having shaken off the dirt of their interim periods.  For me, I dragged fear out of my marriage.  I dated people that weren’t by any means good enough for me or worth 2 minutes of my time.  I had friends in my life that made me crazier than I already was.  I surrounded myself with liars and cheats and in some cases, thieves – both of my time and the little money I had. 

This just made the fear so much worse. If I couldn’t trust my judgment (because obviously, my judgment is no good:  the person I married is no longer my husband, so that’s Failure – 1, Judgment – 0).  Then I continued to make bad decisions, wrong decisions, and suspect decisions.  I started to do the opposite of what my brain told me to do because there was no way it could be right when so often it had been wrong. 

Even as recently as August, I was struggling with self-doubt and against those things I felt were good.  I couldn’t find a job, my relationships with others seemed either completely disconnected or shallow, and my relationship with Running Boy was complicated by a whole bunch of external factors.  I was tired and at times it seemed like it was easier just to cocoon myself, make sure I didn’t hurt anyone, anything, or myself. 

So this fall, I took it slowly.  I made careful decisions.  I thought through my job decision carefully.  I eased into working; normally I come in with both barrels blazing ready to change the world. This time I let myself adapt to corporate life after all these years, one single toe in the company water at a time.  I stopped worrying about my relationships and what was going to happen and started focusing on the moments in between the worry – the moments where my life actually happened. 

And I realized:  I was happy.  Content.  Satisfied with my life and the direction, with how my children have adapted; hell, I was even pleased with how Thora had finally stopped eating my house or destroying expensive things (this was because I changed my approach to her, and stopped leaving those things where she could reach them). 

I’ve made some seriously major decisions in the past month.  At some point I’ll be able to talk about them, but not right now.  I’m still sitting with them, cautiously enjoying them, poking them to make sure they aren’t suddenly going to turn into monsters with teeth and hair and start biting me.  They haven’t.  When I made the biggest decision, I woke up the next morning expecting to feel dread or despair.  Instead, I felt peace and comfort.  I had the usual niggling worries, but none of the big screaming doubts and insecurities.  It felt right, and not just at that moment. 

Days have passed and I still wake up every morning calm and peaceful.  It seems like 3 years of terror’s chaotic reign has decided to pack up and move to more pleasant quarters.  I feel like I’m visiting myself in the past, when I had my shit together and I was a normal person who wasn’t stressed to the gills and ripping myself to pieces internally every day.  It was good to meet my old self, but with a new-found sense of security and conviction.  Do I know I’m 100% right?  Nope, never will.  But I do know this:  I’ve never felt more certain about any decision I’ve made. 

Around this time of year, I always pull some financial reports on my little tiny company to see how badly I’m doing.  I’m not bothering this year because I don’t need a report to tell me how much the economy has wreaked havoc on my websites, only one of which still exists in its original form.

But, I can do a YTD comparison from last year to this one personally.  So much has changed.

I am not sure I really wrote much about last December, but it was horrible.  It was officially the first Christmas/Holiday season without the kids and the husband and the house.  My rental was freezing cold and every night I’d walk around, turning out the lights, and the camel crickets in their half-frozen state would jump half-heartedly in my direction.  It was just so dark around here, no amount of candlelight or faux Christmas cheer could warm or brighten a room.  Forcing myself to put the tree up or lights outside took huge amounts of energy.  I wanted to hide, but when you have kids, you can’t.  I took one for the team, so to speak, and when the girls weren’t with me at night, I’d unplug everything and wrap up in a blanket to kill the perma-frost in this badly insulated house. 

A bunch of things fell apart in December of 2010.  And for the first time since I first hit the big wall of “I give up” in September of 2009, I hit a newer, bigger wall.  Only this time, I knew a hospital stay wouldn’t fix it. 

I gutted my way through two weeks of holiday hell and cheer.  I stayed with friends, buried myself in books, put on a happy face in front of the girls, and waited for whatever this particular brand of crap was to go away. 

There are no words to explain how bad those few weeks were.  I gave up, but held on because I had to.  I had a dog to feed, kids to love, bills to pay. I did not want to be here and I did not want to feel anything - good or bad - ever again.  Normally so in touch with my feelings, I shut down completely and went numb. If someone had asked me to do a self-portrait then, it would have been a painting of a bag of potatoes in a dark cellar.  I couldn’t move. 

It finally lifted, but not until January. 

On December 31st, I ran the Resolution Run.  I needed to prove some things to myself, namely that I still existed in a form strong enough to complete something/anything.  Someone I knew from the running community asked me if I was running it.  This was after I sent out a group text to everyone I knew (including him) going through divorce, wishing them the best.  I said yes.  We decided to meet up there, run the race and have drinks after.  It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and both of us were coming off a pretty crappy year.  Divorce, kids, financial pressures:  we had been through the wringer, in our separate hells. 

Turns out that my “date” for the race became my date for the year.  Running Boy made me laugh that night, and it felt so foreign that it hurt to do it. My ribs weren’t used to expanding and my lungs were still asleep. I found myself talking, the words easier to string together.  I remembered that I had a brain, and a heart, and that I too could make others laugh. 

We were slow in our movements.  Introducing kids took a while, as it should.  Our relationship was complex by its nature.  We both have kids, work, family stuff and commitments.  Because of the complexity, we did everything tentatively.  I didn’t introduce him to any of my friends except those in the running community who already knew him.  He didn’t talk about me much, either.  I know that on my end, I’d been burned so badly by others I had no desire to share anything about my personal life with anyone. 

Most notably, for the first time in any relationship, I had no desire to drag up all my crap and throw it in his face in the name of honesty.  Many experiences have made me who I am today, for better or worse, but I didn’t have the need for him to hear, understand, accept, and look at all of the bad things I’ve said or done.  Important details have emerged when they are needed, but neither of us spent much time dissecting the past.  He’d done a lot of his post-marital legwork and I’d analyzed myself to hell and back.  It was time for me to stop thinking about living life and start doing it. 

So we did. 

In one year, I did more traveling than I’d done in 10.  In January, we took a day and attempted to visit “numerous” wineries to the west of Richmond.  We made it to exactly one because someone (not me) had a few too many samples.  We ended up spending the afternoon with the winery owners, sitting in a beautiful log cabin overlooking the mountains. 

In February we did the Six in the Sticks Chili Run with many of our friends and celebrated a hellish trail run with bandages and coffee and chili. 

In March, we headed off first to Williamsburg for a lovely stay at a B&B, then to Virginia Beach for the Shamrock half marathon after running the Shamrock Shuffle earlier in the month.  Shamrock weekend was legendary, in many ways - friends, togetherness, a great race, beautiful weather, ocean, down time. 

April meant running the Monument Avenue 10K with more good friends, Easter and egg hunts with our kids together, and family dinners. 

We went Andrea and Joe’s wedding - a fabulous experience - combined with another B&B and long run through new territory in southern Virginia.  A fishing expedition at my friend Mary’s house with all 4 kids catching their first live fish.  Run Like a Girl in Charlotte, where Susan and Eddie met him for the first time.  My first Mud Run with him.  Memorial Day weekend with the Greens and part of his family at the Eastern Shore.  Trail runs with Theresa, Prissie, Gina and whoever else felt up to it.  Tubing with Trevor at Dan and Nicole’s - the two of us accepting ridicule for renting the “couples tube” (a figure 8-style inflatable so we could both ride together).  A weekend getaway mid-summer to Waynesboro.  Barbecue and Folk Music festivals in Galax and plenty of runs on the New River Trail, while learning to appreciate Southwest Virginia.  Another weekend trip to Wintergreen with more hiking and running.  Visits to the Children’s Museum with all 4 of the kids, managing not to lose any of them.  Date nights at Sushi-O, taking his daughter to get her first salon mani and pedi, reading to his son while trying to make train sounds without sounding like a psycho.  Hay rides and pumpkin patches.  A weekend in DC with good friends and the Army 10-miler.  Seeing Todd’s band play out for the first time in a long while.  Museums and art galleries (my choice), offset by his need to “mantique” (read: look at junk he doesn’t need).  Thanksgiving together. 

In a year, my life completely changed.  I got a job - one that I like, one that challenges me.  I met someone who complements me in many ways while still allowing me the freedom to stay me.  He’s strong and opinionated; he’s soft and kind; he’s 100% male but has an affectionate side that has warmed even the coldest of hearts in my life.  While it’s been difficult, and the kids have struggled to accept his position in my life, 12 months later we’re doing a whole lot better. 

I think back to the utter hopelessness I felt last year at this time, the dread of seeing my divorce finalized, the sheer emptiness I felt when I left my kids on Christmas Day to force myself on a 10 mile run just to kill the boredom and sadness.  I still have my hard times but they are different now.  The pieces have fallen together, and they don’t look the way I thought they would, but they still make a pretty picture and one I can live with.  I struggle still to be flexible with the direction of my life, but he has made that easier for me.  Even when he irritates the living hell out of me, we both end up laughing about it.  When I push back against the way my life looks, he reminds me of what we both have to gain by being understanding and flexible and it’s usually what I need to hear. 

You don’t need me to spell this allegory out for you, so I’ll just say:  My house is still so cold in winter, but I got an infrared heater.  The camel crickets aren’t around much anymore, and I joyfully put up my Christmas decor this year.  (Running Boy, staring at the excessive decorations: ‘Ummm, do you do this every year?’) I enjoyed shopping for gifts, I’ve been hugging my friends a lot, and even though I’m off from running for a month, I’m happy to be taking steps to be healthier and stronger. 

It’s been a really good year.