Delta: Life Change

Showing posts with label Life Change. Show all posts

Fishnet Imagination

I have a creative side. Although, I sometimes keep it undercover to protect it. Like, it wears the black glasses connected to a big flesh colored nose with a mustache floating under it... and a trench coat (almost forgot that accessory). That way it won't get beat up by real life. Yeah, that's my creative side.

So tonight the trench coat comes off (clothed underneath) and I let myself be absorbed in the beauty of the art that Janet Echelman creates.

Besides the end product, I love the process of how Janet discovered her medium. It was years. Um, eek. I look ahead and wonder, what am I doing now? But Janet's story, which produced goosebumps on my arms, gave a reminder insight.

The problems we encounter today (I hope) will lead to new ideas for the sculpture we'll create tomorrow.

So, I want to know: How can a person keep the imagination ignited so that it's free to discover new art?

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Rest Stop Brought to You By Painted Toes

"A Rest Stop Keeps Honey Bees From Dropping Dead From Overwork" was a recent headline in a Fast Company Co. Design article. I could probably stop typing at this moment and let you ponder that line for as long as your brain wants. Are you in ministry? Are you doing life? Do you work? Do you volunteer? Are you a parent? Could you use a rest stop?

Before I continue, let me be clear. I'm not saying slow down. I'm not saying quit. I'm only suggesting a rest stop. I used to work at a place that iterated and reiterated the importance of slowing down... everything was positioned to be slower, to be easier, do less, be less. That messaging was like yellowed fingernails screeching down an old black chalkboard. Gross.

Even though that kind of language is painful for me, I can see the value in taking a rest stop- in letting yourself be absorbed in quiet moments where life moves at a pace meant for those who are listless. It can be difficult to allow yourself rest after pacing along the edge of burnout.

I found that sometimes resting is as easy as painting my nails. That sounds really 'girly' but it's true. I actually need an activity to transition me into a rest stop. There are times when a rest stop actually feels like the last thing (on my overgrown list) that I need. I know I'm not alone with this one- there are plenty of workaholics out there who go at life pretty hard (just say no to more workahol).

What things do you do to help you transition into a rest stop? How do you avoid burnout?

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Moving Mega Project 2 Degrees

Tonight I'm going to do something different than usual. I'm going to make dinner. (As i write this, Brandon tells me- you can't write that unless you're actually going to do it). He knows me.

What is something that you need to do different than usual?

I have a friend who gave me the phrase: 2 degrees. Her and I are working on what I endearingly refer to as mega project. Mega project can play tricks on my mind and make me think it's a Godzilla-sized jenga puzzle waiting to collapse on me and my house. (Side note: this is a mean mind trick because I've been working really hard on my house lately.)

So back to the point- 2 degrees of change. I've started thinking, what can we do today to move mega project 2 degrees further along?

It's helped. Although mega project is a gladiator, I can move it 2 degrees each time I meet with it.

When I think about change at work and in places of my life, I just need to think: 2 degrees. It helps me do things different than usual. That said, I'm taking my 2 degree motivation, turning pandora on, and going to make dinner... (see paragraph 1).

How are you navigating your change? Do you have phrases that help you 'right size' your mega project?

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Lizard Brain

I started this post a long time ago but Googling "lizard brain" took me clicking from website to website like a hungry learner on crack. I'm proud to finally be writing something. Over the weekend I read, Poke the Box. In the book, Seth Godin refers to some work by Steven Pressfield and what he calls the lizard brain. I have one. We all have one.

Scientists can identify precisely where your lizard brain lives. This is your prehistroic early being, the same brain that's in the lizard or the deer. Filled with fear, intent only on reproduction.

Steven Pressfield gives the voice of the lizard brain a name. He calls it resistance. And the resistance is talking to you as you read this, urging you to compromise, to not be a troublemaker, to avoid rash moves. For many of us, the resistance is always chattering away, frequently sabotaging our best opportunities and ruining our best change to do great work. (Poke the Box, page 18)

Sometimes my brain makes me mad. I don't want a dumb walnut sized brain running my life-but I think it is. In small thoughts (bigger than a walnut though), I'm finding that I've been telling myself I'm destined for mediocre. I tell myself I'm below average, or worse: average.

But what if I'm not? What if you're not either? What if we really-REALLY- believed that we could ninja kick our lizard brain and do great things?

I wonder how my life would look different if I were able to overcome the resistance, the self doubt, and the unsure voice.

I will beat you lizard. Maybe not this week, but each day I will take a step to overcome you!

love,
lizard fighting Hanna

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I Chose Sad

I'm writing tonight about something that has been on my mind for quite some time. I've considered writing about it but never had the energy to put it into something comprehendible.

For the past 7 years, I've been involved in student ministry in some capacity. My involvement in the ministry stems largely from the value that I have for 'building into the next generation.' I used to work for someone who said, children are not the future, they are the now. I believe it. I believe it for each high school student I have ever met. And I don't just mean the popular kids, I mean the unique ones too.

Years ago I met a incredible, honest, and constantly searching student. At 18, her parents grew tired of her searching so they decided it would be best if she moved out. She found her way to downtown to live at the YWCA. I loved our somewhat weekly meetings (even though I was often emotionally drained after our conversations). She struggled but she kept searching. Sometimes I would bring food and take her out to eat, other times we would just meet and talk. As she shared about each new (unhealthy) relationship she was in, the spiral downward began to take shape, which left her broken. (We're all broken, but I mean she was truly fighting a dark brokenness.)

Eventually her cell phone was turned off, she moved, and stopped calling me. The cut off communication would sometimes jump start again and I would receive the random text reaching out. We would meet and talk though some of the 'stuff' but then weeks and months would go by with no word.

Then, I moved to Chicago and about a year after I moved away I received a call. She committed suicide. I honestly don't know what to do with that. I really don't.

I'm deeply saddened. Sometimes I'll be walking down the hall and her name will come to mind. I'll think of her and think of the brokenness, of our talks, and of her searching. Psychologists say that most feelings fit into one of the following main emotions: Sad, Angry, Scared, Happy, Excited, Tender. For me this one is an overwhelming sad.

Strictly sad. I'm sad that I wasn't able to change the outcome of her life. I'm sad that she choose the most permanent way out of her pain. I'm sad that she choose this option rather than getting help.

I pray that God will use you and me to build into the next generation of student- that you'll be a light for someone who needs it and that you won't back down from reaching out. That is all for tonight.

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Enter: new season.

Each time she pushed the thin gray layer of bangs back from her forehead, I was sure they were going to fall back in an asymmetrical lump above her eyes. But they didn't. They sprang gently back to resting on her forehead in perfect spacing. And then I wondered how much younger she would look if she dyed her hair back to the way it was when she was 36. I never knew her when she was 36- I just met her a week ago- but still. Despite my give-her-a-makeover thoughts, I liked her.

The last Realtor we used was a real life version of 'my cousin Vinny' - but it was just apartment shopping. Each time we walked into another almost clean, shove the junk into the closet apartment, he always commented on the microwave. Always. if the apartment was okay but no microwave, we quickly learned that it wasn't a good apartment. No microwave, no apartment.

But our agent with gray bangs is better for us. She looks at more things like signs of water damage or foundation cracks. She has never once mentioned a microwave. I'm comfortable with her. I'm glad we found a Realtor who we're comfortable with. It's not everyday you decide to enter a new season of life and having a good realtor is - good.

I can't help but daydream: am I ready for this season? I am I really ready to give up my one winner takes all card that I hold close to my chest that reads: "I don't like it here anymore, I'll just leave." I keep that card deep within me and call it out only when no one is looking. Getting a house means rooting myself here. Rooting here means burning my little mind card that offers me a run-away security option.

Maybe that's growing up. Maybe throwing away the, "I'll just go to the next thing if I don't like it" card is what it's like to be a real adult. The kind of adult where you just live by the adult rules, like you only like wine to drink and love the couples small group, which also serves as a social dinner club. And you want to be a mother. And you stop talking about things like changing the world and start talking about things like coordinating schedules.

So this is me, entering a new season, hoping that I can keep being me.

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There's a Light at the End of the Tunnel

My English teacher in high school never let us use cliché writing. But today I'm making an exception. Sorry Mrs. I can't remember your name.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

For the first time in months I feel like some of my difficult days are over. I'm a little happier and accentuating the positive a little more. Although I do wonder, how much of my identity is actually wrapped up in what I do verses who I am, or better yet- who God made me to be.

I'm working on that but for now, growth is good and I'm feelin' fine.

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Salud (sah-LOOD)

This weekend, my perspective smiled. While exploring Chicago with one of my optimistic friends, Julie, I realized that I've been mopey (or is it moppy?- no that's not right). I've been a person who mopes (not mops). I've only mopped like 3 times in my entire life (because Brandon takes complete ownership over the hygiene of our floors). I've moped more than 3 times though.

The world is not crashing in on me, even though the martyr side of me would feel like a hero if that were the truth. I'm not going to be a moper anymore (and I'll never be a mopper).

While I was with Julie, I kept thinking that Julie is so happy and healthy. I want that.

When I studied in Mexico, people toasted their glass with the word: salud. Health. I think about that often, which is actually ironic since during part of my time in Mexcio I had dysentery (aka an amoeba that my roommate and I endearingly named coronita). I digress. Instead of being consumed with the weight of life, I'm going to start focusing on salud. Less moping, more health.

Salud,
hanna

PS- Thanks Jules!

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Mediterranean Goal in Aisle 9

My selection process for food at the grocery store is loosely based on my desire for a challenge so I pick out, what I would consider, interesting food. Really I pick out food that I wish I cooked, which means I should have more than pretzels, cheese, and apples in my cart. Tonight was a Mediterranean goal in aisle 9: I will find a great couscous recipe. Then, I proudly placed a box of curry couscous in my cart. Four squeaky grocery cart wheels and a long check-out line outline later, I was home pondering what to cook. Looks like I'll settle for ol' faithful: grilled cheese (for a main course) and a pickle (for a vegetable).

One of my professors in college made a statement that has stuck with me. He said, you don’t see yourself as you are. You don't see yourself as others see you. Rather, you see yourself as you think others see you.

I know there are times that I do things so I can be the person I want others to see me as…so I buy couscous at Meijer. Perception can be a motivating thing.

I wonder how many other actions I accomplish in a day, in a week, in a month that are driven by the ‘who I think others see me as’ complex? Are we all tainted by that perception of reality? I wonder, how would your perception change if you started seeing yourself as you really are? As God sees you?

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Find the Confidence You Need in 1 Easy Step

Step 1: Do something.

On Sunday, I did. I finished goal #1 on my list of goals: complete a half marathon. Check.

Sometimes we need something to keep our mind off of other things. For me, work can be consuming (sometimes)...(actually lots of times). So in an act of emotional health desperation, I wrote down my goals and set out do them. I guess that’s what happens when you have a dad that sends you Zig Zigalar quotes in place of empathy- you get motivated.

My 13.1-mile runners high from Sunday is seeping into the week and yes, it’s a little brighter today. Even Chicago traffic can’t deter my confident mood. I found that inspiration to life comes from the simplicity of doing something. My something is running. You may not be able to do everything- but something you can do. Something is better than nothing.

I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.
- Maya Angelou

I hope you find confidence in something so your soul can meet the inspiration it needs.

*Also posted this on Sulu

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No Thanks, I Choose Life

I can't believe I'm going to do this but here it goes- a quote from the movie Ice Age:

Manfred: Sid, the tiger found a shortcut
Sid: (looking at the treacherous mountain) No thanks, I choose life.

There it's done. I actually quoted Ice Age. Please hold all judgements until forever. This quote plays in my mind more often than I would like to admit.

It's true, I choose life. I don't want to be the boring onlooker stuck in the land of comfort, which, by the way, I happen to picture as Willy Wonka's candy factory. I love you chocolate river.

When asked if I was aware of the risk in a situation, it didn't take me very long to decide. I'll take calculated risk over a slow death of boredom any day. I crave a good wholesome challenge. What gives you life? Are you wired to take risks or be content in the moment?

At the end of the day, I want to be a part of something that brings life into the world by sparking ripples of change. I want to contribute to more than just maintenance. I choose life.

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You Need a Cheerleader

Remember in school when you were assigned a paper to write about your hero or role model? Lot's of people picked Michael Jordan or their older sibling. I never knew who to pick.

But now I do.

Even when I was as a wannabe-rebel-making-mistakes-attitude-absorbed-teenager and sure that he was wrong about most things, my dad still built into me and never stopped cheering for me.

Periodically, he sends me quotes. Here's one from today:

If you are kind people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives: be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; build anyway.

~Mother Teresa

I hope there's someone in your life that cheers you on- no matter what kind of junk you have, or had.

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I Fought the Root & the Root Won

When I fell I told myself: don't write about this.... don't write about this.... don't write about this... I'm writing about this.

Saturday morning was cool and for the first time in a month, I was looking forward to the long run in my prep for the Chicago 1/2 marathon. All I had to do was run out 4.5 miles then turn around and run home. At the 5 mile mark I tripped on a root (it was a really big root) and fell across the dirt trail like I was sliding into home plate. Left in my wake was a dirt cloud, some serious skin loss on the palms of my hands, and skinned knees. Tree root: 1, scarred Hanna: 0.

There's a lesson in here. Training this summer has been hard, humid hard, but I'm getting to be a better runner (sans 'the fall'). I think that's how life is- we look for the finish line but forget that most of life happens in the 'training'. I know for me, I'm obsessed with getting to the next stop but most of the important training and growth in my life has happened when I fell, had to get up, and keep going- without turning around or hiding. My growth has happened, largely in part, when I wasn't comfortable or satisfied. I guess things don't always go as planned and I guess giving myself time to grow is okay, even if I fall.

"I hated every minute of training, but I said, don't quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion." - Muhammad Ali

For the curious readers (and for saving face- since I got beat up by a root), I ran the rest of the way home gladiator style, blood dripping down my dirt covered leg and all. Beat that Chuck Norris!

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I'm Aging & I Like It

I was 22 when I married Brandon. I was glad I was 22 because 21 sounded so young. At 22 the world started giving me more respect, which is why I'm desperately awaiting 30. I think 30 will be the best year of my life because people will stop considering me young and unable to understand the way the world really works. At 30 I will be, in the world's eye, mature and savvy and able to initiate change without the stigma of idealistic youth hovering over my head like the storm clouds that appear over grumpy cartoons.

Age is such a funny thing anyway. I have a hard time keeping track of how old I am. I forget a lot but I think that's because I'm so focused on reaching a full 3 decades. Thirty sounds nice, like I'll have more things figured out by then.

When I was in elementary school, I envied college students. Instead of latchkey, my after school program was watching Gilligan’s Island reruns and eating kiwi with my grandma.

Every day on the walk to her house I passed the dorm rooms of Capital University, also known as my grandmother’s parking nemesis. While she complained about the cars taking over her street, I dreamed of a professor seeing me and thinking, that girl has talent. From there I became a famous singer or movie star. Either was fine with me. I thought: if only I could get to be 20… or 19 (I would settle for 19), then people would respect me.

What is it about me that I seem to always be looking ahead? For me, contentment is never found in the now, it lives in the future. I wonder, are we all wired that way?

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Honestly Looking for Candor

My grandparents are (part) Macedonian so I grew up calling them Baba (Grandma) and Dedo (Grandpa). Sundays were big family dinners where the entire family gathered, ate, and drank. Holidays- especially Christmas- were always full of loud family and lots of presents (which sometimes came from my neon pink lipstick wearing, white hair teasing, always sweating and cussing great aunt who only shopped at garage sales).

One Christmas stands out. It was the first year that Brandon had entered the scene with the family and he sat quietly observing. I opened a box with a sweater (designed for someone decades older than I) neatly folded inside of white tissue paper, held the sweater up, and said something to the effect of: It's okay, but it's not my style. Baba, who had purchased the gift, said, Okay, I'll get you the receipt then you can find something else. Conversation over. No hard feelings.

As Brandon and I recapped the night, he asked about that exchange. He couldn't believe what I had said to my grandmother. I couldn't believe he thought my words were too honest. And that's when I realized that most families don't operate under the premise of that kind of candor.

In our family, my brother and I have always been encouraged to speak directly and honestly. There was not a lot of room for false fluff and if you wanted to really get in trouble with my parents, all you had to do was lie.

Now that I'm an adult and functioning in the real world, I've come to the conclusion that the honesty-candor-directness that was common in my childhood home, is something that not everyone is used to (or comfortable with for that matter). I'm not interested in changing the value of 'saying what you mean' but, over the years I've had to learn how to use softer language and 'cushion' my words.

Actually, I think that a lot of relationships could use a shot of directness to sharpen each other. The relationships I'm looking for are with honest people who speak truth to me, even when the truth puts a spotlight on unsightly personality warts. Growth happens when we're challenged in new ways and I hope that each of us has a few 'challenging' friends along the way. Here's to growing yourself so you can change the world someday.

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Intentionally Making Room

I'm in a good place today. My thoughts are clear and walking through the fog is well, less... foggy. Is this what happens when I take time to care of my soul? Amazing. I haven't spent a lot of time pondering my soul until recently (thanks to a 'soul care' friend ;).

I guess I've been kind of fragile. I've been like a cracked light bulb still trying to give off light but the light has been fragmented and dull. I want to be bright. Brighter.

Intentionality helps things change and change happens when you decide to change. I think change might be that simple. People will always go to what they know and what's comfortable unless they decide to be different. So, I'm intentionally doing things that make my light brighter:

> Running- Because it makes me focus on goals beyond work. (Let the records show that I ran 11 miles today and lived to tell about it.)

> Writing- Because it gives me language to my thoughts.

> Photography- Because it's fun, even if I'm no good at it.

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Once Upon A Time...

Once upon a time I met Brandon and fell in love.

Today marks the 6th year of our wedding day.

Still love struck by him.

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Suffocating Fog

This morning I woke up at 3:30am (well actually 3:38am) to make it to Rockford, IL - for a triathlon- for Brandon. Love that man. The morning had thick air that the moon could not glow through and the roads were covered in a frothy fog. There were gaps where you could see into the dark cornfields but mostly, visibility was less than the headlights dimed by the consuming early morning air.

Thanks clouds and humidity for the obvious metaphor.

Some problems seem unfocused because of the fog that surrounds them. Answers are not clear. There are glimmers along the way that remind me of what’s ahead but I’m constantly pushing back the fog.

Is it better to pretend the fog is not there and zero visibility is the new reality? Or- is there a way to live (preferably healthy) in the suffocating fog?

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Living A Better Story

The introvert in me lives on. After learning about Walden in school, I decided to start dreaming of residing in a simple home in the woods, growing a vegetable garden, and writing a book that changes the world for the better.

However, my recent self-searching, part narcissistic and part really powerful, completely erases my Walden-inspired story.

Even though I’m still writing the plot, I've come up with a better story:

Girl loves God. Girl found out it’s okay to know yourself and to let yourself be known to others. Girl finds that changing the world starts with a micro step- embracing self change. Girl is impatient but slowly starts to change the networks she’s a part of through deep relationship. Girl changes world with tiny steps that inspire and build into others. World is a brighter place because of girl.

I think we all want to be a part of a better story but, do we all have the motivation to take the first step and write chapter 1?

I can’t wait to go to Living a Better Story in Portland and learn how my story intertwines with the story of others and how I will learn to thrive as the hero in my own story.

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

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Why Were You Not Hanna

I read so I can be smarter.

I recently read an excerpt from Let Your Life Speak: Listening to the Voice of Vocation (2000).

"There is a Hasidic tale that reveals, with amazing brevity, both the universal tendency to want to be someone else and the ultimate importance of becoming one's self: Rabbi Zusya, when he was an old man, said, "In the coming world, they will not ask me: 'Why were you not Moses?' They will ask me; 'Why were you not Zusya?'" (Parker J. Palmer, p. 11).

Ouch to the ouchmost degree. I look in the mirror and ask, Are you, you? And that's when the frustration, anxiety, crazy (whatever term you want to call it) boils up and all signs of stress start to surface.

Maybe I'm roughly on the right track by chance or luck but I constantly think about answers to: Where should I be? Perhaps the right question is Who am I? and then the rest will fall into place.

Do you know you?

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