“Letting Go...Embracing Change...”
Living the Life I Dream
“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.” ~ Nicole Krauss A few days ago, I came across one of the funniest pieces of writing I’ve encountered in a...
Over the past eighteen years, my hair has been every color from a too dark brown to a light, light blonde. I’ve had highlights and lowlights and washes and tints. I turned my hair green once and a lovely shade of apricot on two separate...
“You share with people who earn the right to hear your story.” Dr. Brene Brown It’s a delicate matter. It really is. I really don’t know how to proceed. As I consider my options, a lot is coming up for me and I keep hearing the words...
“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.” ~ Nicole Krauss
A few days ago, I came across one of the funniest pieces of writing I’ve encountered in a long time. It was so funny that I decided I had to share it with my husband. I started reading the article aloud to him, but barely three sentences in was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face. I composed myself. I started again. This time I was only able to read a couple of sentences before the laughter and tears stopped the words.
This cycle of reading, laughing tears, and recompose went on until I finally got to the end. My husband was clearly enjoying my hysteria much more than anything I read. As he returned to his work, he kissed me on the forehead, and noted that he needed to record my laughter, so he could listen to it anytime he wanted.
One of the ways I earn a living is as a professional organizer. Recently, a client and I had spent the better part of the morning sifting and sorting through a lot of boxes in the muggy Georgia heat. As we were wrapping up for the day, she stopped and began to express her appreciation for the work I was doing.
I, of course, threw the compliment right back at her. I reminded her that she was the one who had made all the hard decisions and had really done all the hard work. I was no more than an extra set of hands just helping out. It was then that she looked me right in the eye and simply said, “Denise, take the compliment.” So, I shut my mouth as she expressed her gratitude. I accepted the compliment.
Last Thursday, I was in Atlanta for an event with Living Walls. Each year a group of artist are carefully selected to paint large scale murals on the sides of buildings. As I stood on the corner of Edgewood and Boulevard, I had the privilege of watching a young artist floating high above me in a cherry picker intently painting details on his masterpiece.
As I watched him work, I carefully snapped a few photos, trying to capture the best aspects of his beautiful and intricate painting. I was mesmerized, but finally realized it was time to move on. I took in the painting as a whole, yet again. I scanned it for any delightful details I might have missed. Finally, I glanced up one last time at the artist. He looked down at me (it was the first time I had seen his eyes leave his work), smiled sweetly, and gave me a little wave. I smiled and waved back.
This is all to say that I find myself wanting to linger over delicious meals and take long walks with people I love and adore. I want to listen intently and really, really hear what’s being said in the space between the words. I want to hold hands and hold space, share moments, and love with my whole heart wide open. I crave community and connection, a cup of hot tea, and hugs. I want to roll up my sleeves and give every ounce of love and support I have. I want to look people in the eye and tell them how much they mean to me and how blessed I am to have them in my life. I want to laugh and cry and laugh some more…all at the same time.
I find myself feeling overwhelmed by the sheer mass of it all and I’m tired. I’m very, very tired, and I’m scared.
In the end, only love is real.
So, I’m letting go of all that is not kind, that is not compassionate, and that is not loving. I’m not going to worry about crossing things off the list or rushing towards the end. Instead, I’m putting my plans, my projects, my programs on ice. I’m embracing generosity, reverence, respect, and empathy not only for others but for myself as well. I’m closing my eyes and breathing deep. I’m reaching out to hold hands and hearts. I’m just going to laugh until I cry and cry until I laugh again.
Because, in the end, only love is real.
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Over the past eighteen years, my hair has been every color from a too dark brown to a light, light blonde. I’ve had highlights and lowlights and washes and tints. I turned my hair green once and a lovely shade of apricot on two separate occasions. All of this has been in an attempt to cover the gray that started poking through somewhere around my thirtieth birthday.
My grandmother’s hair was completely white by the time she was eighteen. My mother’s by the time she had me at twenty-two. I always thought their white hair was beautiful and unique. Neither of them attempted to color their hair, ever. They accepted their genetics and wore their snowy locks like a glorious crown.
In spite of this example, when I found my first white hair, panic immediately set in. I didn’t feel ready to be a white-haired lady and I rushed off to find a solution to what I deemed a problem. I’ve been doggedly trying to cover my white hairs ever since.
At first it was easy. A trip to the salon every six to eight weeks kept my locks the dark brown of my youth. In recent years, the quest to cover the gray has become tedious to say the least. Nothing I or any stylist does effectively conceals the abundant white hair for any longer than a couple of weeks.
There have been many times, especially in the last few years, where I have considered just giving in to my gene pool. I’m tired of trying to solve this problem, tired of sitting in a salon chair, and tired of the white halo that still emerges after every attempt to hide it. I’ll let the white grow in for a month or two but, in the end, I always head back to the stylist for another hit of color.
I have several friends, who like me, started silvering at a tender age. Unlike me, they didn’t hide it. I think they’re beautiful. In addition, whenever I see a woman with snowy locks, I always do a double take. I think they are stunning. So the questions remains, why can’t I do the same. Why can’t I allow nature to take it’s course.
A few weeks ago, frustrated at this dilemma I did an image search for “white hair” and came across photo after photo of gorgeous white haired women. I drove my spouse crazy forcing him to look at the pictures while I discussed at great length whether or not I should just begin the silvering process. I politely accosted several women to discuss their beautiful heads of white hair. They were all kind enough to offer me tips to make the transition easier.
In the end, it all came down to Denise Wade. My best friend for fifteen plus years, she grew up in her mother’s salon and has built a stellar career as a stylist. She gives the best cuts (if you live anywhere near Temecula, CA you must look her up) and I knew that she would be brutally honest.
She’s not a fan of gray hair, but I pled my case, showed her some photos, and promised that I would not become frumpy. I explained that I was going for hip and fit and mature. After much contemplation, she decided that my skin color might be compatible with white locks. She decided I could give it a try.
Prior to visiting her in California, I had already allowed about three quarters of an inch of white to grow. I had also done a pre-cut to a chin length bob to get rid of the old tinted hair and to make the transition to white faster. Over the next four days Denise worked her magic. Two rounds of highlights, several rinses, and a cut later, I was not quite white but considerably lighter and shorter then I’ve been since my mid twenties.
The whole experience has been unnerving to say the least. I don’t think I look bad but I definitely look different. People who’ve just met me, have had favorable comments, and my friends are supportive. My kid’s reactions have been reserved and in a moment when I caught my poor husband off guard the man agreed that I looked like a middle-aged southern belle. Yes, he still regrets it. Bless his heart.
Everyone says it’s a process and I keep reminding myself of this every time I catch a glimpse of the stranger in the mirror that is now me. In the end, when the last remnants of brown and blond are ancient history, when my hair has grown into the style I want, and when Denise Wade gives her final approval, then and only then will I decide if I like this silvering thing.
If at any point I tire of the process, I can always haul my self into the salon for a color fix. In the meantime, I’m just going to keep leaning in and embracing the change. Thank goodness silvering is a choice.
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“You share with people who earn the right to hear your story.” Dr. Brene Brown
It’s a delicate matter. It really is.
I really don’t know how to proceed. As I consider my options, a lot is coming up for me and I keep hearing the words “earned the right” in my head over and over again.
I agree with those who say we have people in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. As a person who heavily vests myself in those who cross my path, I don’t always like this. As someone who doesn’t want to let go, who wants to stay in the thick of it and work things out, I’m beginning to accept this truth. I’m slowly becoming more at peace with the idea that some people are just reason/season folks and that it’s o.k. It’s really o.k.
Because the bottom line is that not everyone has “earned the right” to hear my truth. Not everyone gets to call me on my bullshit. I don’t always have to work through it or hash it out.
It’s a delicate matter. It really is.
I really don’t know how to proceed. I’m really not sure how one sets the criteria to determine who has earned the right. I’m really not sure how one decides when enough is enough.
I know that for me it’s been a complicated and convoluted journey. I do have a few breaking points, but mostly I’ve had too many spongy boundaries; too many second and third and one thousand and ninety-eighth chances. I’m getting better. I know that at the end of the day the only person who I can save/change is me. I believe that being honest and standing firm in my truth is the best I can do on any day. It’s the best any of us can do.
Because the bottom line is that not everyone wants or needs to be saved (especially by me). People really need to be given the time and the space and the freedom to own their journey, to walk their path, and work out their own issues at their own pace.
It’s a delicate matter. It really is.
I really don’t know how to proceed. My heart is filled with love and respect. I am here and I will stay. I will continue to show up, to be loving, and to be present. I hope that I have earned the right to hear the truth, to call bullshit, and to be part of the conversation as it’s worked through and hashed out.
Because the bottom line is that we need to make sure that the people we allow in our lives have the highest and best intentions for us. We each deserve to be surrounded by people who love and accept us. People who support us. People willing to hold space for us.
It’s a delicate matter. It really is.
I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. I say the wrong things. I do the wrong things. All. The. Time. I ask myself…When I mess up do I make up? Do I apologize? Do I try to fix it? I mean really try to fix it. Or do I arrogantly cleave to my right to be right?
Because the bottom line is that we need realize that while love is unconditional relationships aren’t. Ever. Relationships have conditions and boundaries. Relationships require mutual trust and respect. Always. Relationships require compassion and empathy and time and space.
We earn the right to be in relationships one word, one gesture, one kindness, and one apology at a time.
It’s a delicate matter. It really is.
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“Good boundaries don’t occur naturally. They need to be studied and practiced.” – Nina McIntosh
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about holding space for myself and for what’s important. Once I cut through all the goal setting drama and still more drama and then some additional drama and got down to the business of really deciding what I wanted, I realized that none of it was going to happen unless I chose to hold space for what I had decided was most important.
As much as I was deciding what I was going to do, I was also deciding what I was no longer going to do. As much as I was deciding how I was going to live, I was also deciding how I was not going to live. I was separating what I wanted from what I didn’t want.
What I was really doing was setting boundaries. I’m not always comfortable with boundaries.
Even though I say I really want “X,” I also really want the option of choosing different on a whim. I’ve wanted to be able to, at the drop of a hat, do whatever I please when I please. I’ve wanted complete flexibility and freedom. Life doesn’t work like that.
It’s sounds pretty easy, but it’s some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. It’s easy to eat crap and lay around and watch bad TV and work a job you don’t love and buy the cute dress. But showing up, being present, being intentional, staying on course is hard, hard work.
As I move through my day I constantly question myself. Is this moving me towards my goals? Do I feel expansive in this situation? Is this helping or hindering my progress? Is this the best choice for me, right now?
What I’m finding is I’m beginning to feel more comfortable with boundaries. I’m starting to realize they protect me and keep me on track.
I’m thinking about putting my boundaries in writing. This scares me, just like writing down my goals, populating my vision boards with images, and making a bucket list scared me. What I realize now is that there is power in committing our thoughts to words and images. So, I think I’ll devote some time in the upcoming months to defining in writing just where my boundaries lie.
I’m curious: how do you protect your time and stay focused on your intentions? What boundaries do you have to keep you on track? Have you written your boundaries down and if so did it make them feel more intentional? Please feel free to share in the comments below or email me at email@example.com.
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