Author: Barb

When I was a kid I wanted a rock chisel set I saw once at a toy store.  The box showed various “rocks” with all kinds of different statues already perfectly formed inside them.  Included in the set were a chisel and hammer to chip away the stone and reveal the figure.  Even though it wasn’t really sculpting, it seemed magical to me and I wanted it more than ever.

When I think about my present-day goals I think about that chisel set from long ago.  I see my goals as already existing, much like the statue inside the piece of rock.  As I continue to chip away the meaningless stuff on the outside I envision myself getting to the real substance on the inside.

The stuff on the outside is our vanity, our losses and failures and our insecurities about ourselves.  The stuff on the inside is magical, it’s our creativity and our inspiration.  Every single one of us has this magic inside of us.  When we are children we have great imagination and creativity.  Over time, through loss and pain, we lose sight of this.  But like that statue, it still exists inside of us.  We just have to find a way back to our authentic selves.

How do we get back to that creative inner being?  Find the time to unplug, rest, spend time with good friends who lift you up, read a book, or get back to nature.  Find the things that fill your soul and replenish you.  Protect yourself against the barrage of negative feedback we get from the world every day.  Never let the world suggest that you are average.   

We tend to believe that the doorway to our happiness swings outward so we end up chasing things that distract us.  I suggest that the doorway to our happiness swings inward.   I believe that everything we need to be happy and successful already exists inside of us.  Perfectly formed, magical and just waiting to be discovered again.

This weekend we escaped for a quick trip to the beach.  Upon arriving at our hotel we were given warm chocolate chip cookies.  I was genuinely surprised and delighted by this. Apparently, this is nothing new at the Doubletree but I had never experienced it before.  I come from a long line of cookie connoisseurs and I can tell you this was one fabulous cookie.  Plus, it was unexpected and it was free. 

After mulling this over I have come up with what I call The Warm Cookie Principle.  The premise of my principle is that we all treat each other with unexpected kindness every day.  That we offer a smile or a kind word to someone who is rude or treats us poorly.  An unexpected “warm cookie” of sorts with nothing expected in return.

I met a man this weekend who, for whatever reason, has chosen a profession that I believe is generally not in the best interest of others.  Through some conversation with him, however, I found out he was once a Marine.  As I sat listening to his sales pitch, I wondered how an ex-Marine ended up peddling hotel timeshares.  Suffice to say, at the end of his presentation, we weren’t buying what he was selling.  This man who had been friendly at the onset of our visit was now standing and heading abruptly for the door.

Before he had a chance to leave I stood and quickly grasped his hand and shook it.  I looked him squarely in the eye and genuinely thanked him for his service in the Marine Corps.  After our not so pleasant business encounter, he was completely shocked by the gesture.  He looked at me incredulously, nodded slightly then quickly turned and left.  I am not sure how or even if this interaction affected him.

What I know is this: I can control how I treat other people.  I don’t know under what circumstances this man has come to find himself in his position but I refuse to let myself believe that he enjoys what he is doing for a living.  It is my hope that my sincere thank you offered a sense of balance and perspective in his life.  That it was the equivalent of a warm cookie that day.  Free and unexpected. 

Possibly I am naïve.  Or maybe idealistic. But that’s okay; the world needs more idealists if you ask me. You may be thinking there’s a good chance this man is not a nice person and he doesn’t care about the needs of others.  If that is the case, I believe he is in greater need than anyone of a kind gesture, an encouraging word, and a smile because The Warm Cookie Principle works especially well on those who don’t expect it.

“When you adopt a dog, you have a lot of really good days and one really bad one.” Unknown

Mom picked you out of the litter of puppies in the back of a pickup truck in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I was disappointed we didn’t pick the puppy with the white mark on its chest but that quickly ended when you spent the whole trip home cuddled up in my lap.

When you get a puppy they warn you how much work it is.  They tell you how much your life will have to change.  They say things like, “He’ll chew up EVERYTHING.” “There will be fur all over your house.” and “Do you know how much vet bills are?”

But you get a puppy anyway and they chew everything, fur covers your clothing and the vet bills are more than you imagined. It doesn’t matter though because every time you try to stay mad at them they look at you with their innocent eyes. They don’t know any better so you teach them the best that you can. They become a member of your family and all those changes you made for them become second nature like you always lived your life that way.  And you never realize how crazy you live life with your pup until you leave a note for the dog sitter that details their every little quirk.

When you get a puppy, however, they don’t tell you how much it will hurt to lose them when they are older. It’s unspoken.  And for the most part, it’s known but you get a puppy anyway. You try to prepare yourself for the day that they’ll pass away naturally or, if you’re unlucky, the day you have to help them pass on to ease their pain when they become sick. Or, in our case, the day you realize you must let them go because they are too dangerous to keep any longer.

As our family goes through this very difficult time I think this is what causes us the most distress.   We don’t want to give up on our dogs.   They’re our family and we’d do anything for them.  Even though we have done everything possible this choice feels exactly like giving up. We tried a number of medications for his aggression, we tried keeping him away from people but nothing seemed to really help him and his anxiety.

We’ve made many statements to help us cope such as, he can be dangerous to others and it’s only going to get worse as he gets older. No matter the reasons, however right they may be, we can’t fight off this feeling that we’re giving up. Maybe that feeling will never change but what I can find comfort in is this: we were able to give him ten very good years, we were able to comfort him when he was scared, and we were able to give him an abundance of love.

The puppy we brought home on the very first day is who I believe you truly are and that’s how I’ll always remember you; a sweet, little dog with lots of love to give.

My grandfather was a pilot.  When I was young I would watch him pore over aerial maps as he created his flight plans.  Bent over at the table, brow furrowed, he carefully plotted each course.  He checked and rechecked his calculations.  The steps seemed tedious and unnecessary to me.  I didn’t see the value in creating a flight plan.  I was anxious and just wanted to go flying but my grandfather was not about to miss a single step.

When we finally got the chance to go, I would take my turn in the co-pilot seat.  Once we were up in the air my grandfather would let me take the yoke.  “Hold steady,” he would say “you only make small adjustments when you’re flying.” 

I was thinking about my grandfather the other day and how much life is like flying.

Laying out the map and diligently plotting the course is crucial if you want to get where you are going.  Sometimes we are anxious and don’t see the value in devising a good plan.  We are more interested in forging ahead than planning ahead.  Plot your course, decide upon your destination and then make plans for getting there.

Once you have your plan, go full throttle.  You will never get off the ground at taxi speed.

Assess where you are on a daily basis.  Make small changes to your plan when necessary but “hold steady”.  We get off course when we look for some tricky maneuver or a short cut that we believe will get us there faster. 

Remember that there is something larger than you guiding you on your journey.  Have faith that you will reach your destination and plan for a smooth landing.

I wasn’t prepared for the reaction I would have upon receiving my last Mother’s Day gift.  My daughter came up with a fabulous idea.  She asked several of my friends and family members to write a personal note about what I meant to them and how I had affected their lives.   She compiled all of these into a book which she had printed and bound. 

It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received.  I must confess, however, that I have only read it once.  It sits prominently displayed on my coffee table and I see it every day.  I have even picked it up several times since then but I have not dared to read it again.

The reason?  This is one of the hardest books I have ever read.  It is hard because I know that it is full of true, honest and heartfelt stories about me.  To accept that others believe these fantastic and wonderful things about me means that I too must accept them as the truth. 

Practicing radical acceptance and embracing ourselves for who we are can be scary.  We are usually too busy trying to be perfect, smart or humorous in order to avoid being rejected.  When we stop judging ourselves and realize that we are vulnerable just like everyone else we realize that it is all simply part of being human.

So tonight I will take a break from beating myself up for not being perfect, not getting my blog posts done on time as I promised myself and trade it in for a little kindness instead.  I think it’s time to put my feet up and read that book again too. 

I went over the instructions in my head as I waited apprehensively in the water.   Sitting position.  Arms straight.  Knees bent.  Skis tipped up.  I repeated these commands to myself in a chant-like fashion.  It wasn’t that the instructions were that hard to remember it was that I was trying to drown out the other chant that was beating like a bass drum.  I can’t do this.  I can’t do this.  I really can’t do this.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon on Lake Cumberland.  From my vantage point, the water looked as smooth as glass, just as the other skiers had described it.  The boat slowly circled around and the rope was tossed out to me.  I grabbed it and tried to focus on my instructions.  My heart was beating wildly in my chest.  My breathing was too rapid and shallow.  Calm down, I told myself.  It’s just water skiing. 

The mantra in my head continued.  I can’t do this.  I can’t do this.  I really cannot do this!

The up-until-now quiet boat motor suddenly roared into life.  Angry frothy white water churned in front of me and the boat tipped its nose up and out of the lake.  My rope went taut. 

Sitting position.  Arms straight.  Skis up.  And for God’s sake calm down.  Just breathe.  All of this went through my mind in the split seconds before I found myself being dragged up and out of the water.  And just like that, I was up on my skis.  That is the precise moment when I dropped the rope.

The boat quickly circled back around to me.  “You were up! Why did you drop the rope!?” my friends called out exasperated.  They tossed the rope to me again, insistent that I could ski on the next try.  We repeated this same procedure over and over until I finally convinced them, and myself, that I simply could not waterski.  To say that I was bull-headed back then would be an understatement.

My husband has told this story many times over the years with the same exasperated tone in his voice.   He has never understood why I dropped the rope over and over again when I was so close to succeeding.  Frankly, I never really understood it myself.  Until recently. 

You see, I never really believed that I could ski and I was petrified of trying.  So I didn’t try. Sure, I went through the motions so that everyone would believe that I made an attempt.  But I knew something that they did not.  I knew going into the water that I was not going to give this endeavor a fair shot.  I knew that I could outlast them in my failure long before they could ever force me into succeeding.  Even with their best intentions and encouraging words they could not lure me out of my firmly entrenched belief of not being able to accomplish something.

I have thought about the significance of this incident many times over the years.  The story comes up occasionally among friends and on the surface it is a funny story.  It’s funny because I know that I frustrated the hell out of everyone on the boat that day. 

But it has also been a pain point of mine.  For years I told everyone, including myself, that I didn’t want to ski and that’s why I continually dropped the rope.  But the glaring truth is that I wanted to ski more than anything in the world but my fear of trying was greater than my risk of success.  Yes, I said the risk of success.  Because success can be a risky thing.  There is safety in staying where you are.  There was safety in staying in the water.  And you cannot be pulled into success by someone else.   You must believe in yourself first for your belief in yourself is the foundation of every success you will have in the future. This lesson has taken me a lifetime to learn.  As I said I can be stubborn.  But now I channel my stubbornness into commitment.  A commitment to believing in myself and not letting the fear of trying disrupt the incredible and delicious riskiness of success. 

I always thought Chick-fil-a was an outstanding company.  Good food and great service every time I visited.  That’s why I was pretty surprised as I sat at the drive-through waiting to place my order for what seemed like a very long time.  As it happened, my daughter was in the car with me and we were chatting so I didn’t realize how long it was actually taking until we had talked at length about what we wanted to order and the conversation turned to other subjects.  What could possibly be taking so long?

I inched up a bit so that I was directly in front of the speaker and waited some more.  Silence.  No one greeted me or asked to take my order.  This was getting a little ridiculous.  I quickly scanned the parking lot and noticed that there were very few cars.  As we continued to chat, I wondered how they could have so few customers and still be this slow.

I glanced in the rearview mirror.  There was no one behind me.  How peculiar.  I stopped talking and surveyed the parking lot again.  There were actually only two cars parked in the back of the lot.  That’s when it dawned on me.  “What’s today?” I asked my daughter.  “Um, it’s Sunday,” she replied as a grin spread slowly across her face.  “They’re closed on Sunday, Mom.”

I scooched down in my seat, casually put my car in drive and attempted a discreet getaway.   Obviously, this wasn’t too hard. There was no one there to see me.