Category: Lifestyle

I was checking the stats on my webpage the other day.  There are all kinds of numbers there but one, in particular, caught my eye.  17,539.   Turns out that is the total number of words I have written since I started this site three months ago.  That number surprised me.

What really surprised me, however, was not listed on my statistics page.  It was the first person who told me that my words touched them and changed their way of thinking about something.  This made me wonder how many words we need to make an impact on someone’s life. How many to bring a smile to someone’s face?  How many to lift someone up? 

I don’t think there is a magic number.  I think that a few well-chosen words will do the trick. 

Words are compelling.  Written or spoken.  And we all have the power to use them to pull someone up or propel them forward.  You don’t have to have a website to do it.  You don’t need a degree to do it.   And you certainly don’t need 17,539 words to do it.

In 2016, an artist in San Francisco started hanging up compliment posters.   The project has spread around the world and has turned into a “marketing campaign for kindness.” What a fabulous idea!  Just grab a compliment from the poster for yourself or to share with someone else.

Think about the last time someone gave you a compliment or said something nice to you.  No matter who it was, or what the occasion, it probably inspired a shift in the way you were feeling.  Maybe it made you smile and changed the course of your day.  Positive words have a way of doing that.

It feels good to be acknowledged and to have someone pay attention to you.  We all have the same capacity to inspire that feeling in others too.  And, it turns out that complimenting others gives us a sense of satisfaction and happiness as well. 

I can’t give you any numbers or provide statistics to back up any of my claims here. The best I can do is to tell you to go out and field test it for yourselves. I think you’ll be surprised at the results.

He was sitting at an outdoor table on High Street in a relaxed manner that I remember so well.   My breath caught in my chest at the first sight of him.  His legs were casually outstretched with no regard for the crowd of people bustling to make their way down the sidewalk.  He too was enjoying the win. I noticed that his wavy, grey hair was a tad too long as usual.  

“Maybe you can cut it for me when I come for a visit?”

 He was wearing the scarlet and gray jersey that I had bought him several Christmases ago.  A large yellow mustard stain was splayed across the crisp white number forty-five on his chest. 

“Do you have anything that will get this out?” he would say with a sheepish grin each time something like this happened.

The broad grin on his face crept into the corners of his eyes when he looked up at me from underneath his OSU ball cap.  And then he was gone, instantly replaced by a stranger who just happened to look remarkably like my father. 

The stranger held my gaze for a moment and nodded in my direction.  I smiled back taking notice of the obvious differences now.  The missing square jawline. The slightly wider set eyes.  I quickly searched his face for the familiarity I had seen seconds before but the moment had passed. 

I continued down High Street being jostled along by the masses and thought about my Dad.  He would have loved this day.  The crisp air, the sunshine, the crowd and the stadium.  And the win.  Oh yes, most certainly, the win.

He used to call me after every Ohio State game.  Win or lose. 

He would ask, “Did you see that play?” or “Can you believe what happened?” or any other series of questions that were launched at me that I really wasn’t expected to answer.  “Yes, Dad” and “Uh, no, I can’t believe it” were my responses whether or not I knew what he was talking about.   I found it easy to converse in a language that I barely understood.

The language of football has always been lost on me.  My interest in the game was never about yards or downs.  It was simply a connection to my father.  As a small girl, I would snuggle up on his lap on game days excited because he was excited.  And surprised when a play went wrong and I toppled to the floor as he jumped up in eager anticipation.  He would quickly scoop me up, encircle me in his strong arms, and then settle back down with a big grin, “Did you see that play?” 

I would listen as he clamored on about players and statistics, never really taking stock, yet nodding my head in agreement. Happy to find common ground to share with him. 

People are around for only a short time.  The ones you really love seem to be around even shorter.  It’s good to find some common ground with them,  even if that common ground is 100 yards long with goalposts at the end.

Have you heard of the Crypt of Civilization?  It sounds like something really creepy, right?  Actually, it’s a time capsule that was sealed in 1940 at Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, GA.   It is an entire room filled with documents and artifacts slated to be opened in the year 8113.

I have always been fascinated by time capsules.  The idea of placing objects into a container to be opened by someone in the future is intriguing to me.  I wanted to create one of my own when I was a kid.  I remember gathering items that I thought were important and storing them in a shoebox that I planned to bury somewhere in the backyard.  Eventually, I stuffed it under my bed and simply forgot about it.  

When I think about time capsules I think about our human potential. I think about how we tend to put off chasing our dreams.  How we convince ourselves that we don’t have the time or talent to pursue them.  We create an inner time capsule where we stuff our creativity and our ambition and the very essence of who we are.   We tell ourselves that we will work on our big ideas and dreams later.  When we have the time.  When we have the money.

Instead, we fill our days with tasks and commitments and argue that the obstacles we face in achieving our dreams are just too great.

There are a couple of things to point out about time capsules though.  First, once they are filled, we must schedule an opening date. This is especially true of our inner time capsules.  Start by scheduling an appointment with yourself.  Set aside time each day that is for you only!  Write it down if you have to and keep this commitment to yourself.

Second, start digging! Get in touch with old hopes and dreams by journaling, hiking or meditating.  Our inner time capsules are full of things with significance and value.  Things that are worth excavating and discovering again.  Digging down and finding those qualities within us will help us define who we are.

Every single one of us was created with greatness inside of us.  It is already there just waiting to be unearthed.  There are no extra people on the planet.  Every single one of us has a fantastic destiny and it’s up to each of us to discover it.

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.