I was at the gym today, riding the exercise bike, wearing my headphones, and reading a magazine when an older gentleman walked by me. I don’t normally notice what others are doing at the gym, but this gentleman got my attention because he stopped right in front of my bike. He paused for a moment, quite obviously checking out what I was reading. Then he looked directly at me, raised his eyebrows, and continued on with a smile. I wasn’t sure exactly what to make of his actions. I suppose it’s possible he was impressed. Maybe he’d never seen a woman reading articles in The Economist before? Perhaps he was surprised I could ride, read, and listen to my iPod at the same time? Maybe he wasn’t entirely sure a blonde could read at all and he was shocked? I’ll never know because I kept right on pedaling.

The whole wordless encounter had the wheels in my brain spinning as fast as I was spinning that bike, though. That man’s bemused countenance, although it shouldn’t have, flat out bugged me. I’d love to assume that his smile was full of compliment and not condescension, but I don’t believe that. I think he was judging me with both his surprise and his amusement. I didn’t like it.

We are too quick to put people into a box based on our own prejudices and preconceived notions. I know I have a grand time doing this. Truth is, though, no one fits neatly into any category. We’re all unique and interesting with our quirks and preferences. I went to college in liberal Boulder where I studied the arts. I recycle like a woman possessed. I bag my own groceries with cloth bags. I love to practice yoga. Although all those things have a friend convinced I’m something of a hippie, I would counter that my intense dislike of patchouli, tie dye, and Birkenstocks puts me firmly on the outside of traditional hippie culture. I’m a Democrat, but I am against the Estate Tax and want to see wasteful government programs and subsidies suspended. I’m an introvert who will stand up and speak in front of groups. I hate spiders but will capture a snake stuck in our window well. I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle. Aren’t we all?

A while back I was recounting to a friend my annoyance when I tell someone I’m a stay-at-home mom and that announcement effectively ends our conversation. My friend’s response was, “Why do you tell them that, then?”  That was a light bulb moment for me. Why do I wrap myself up in the mantle of stay-at-home mom and then scorn others who then think of me solely in that fashion? What other choice did I give them? Sure. I’m a mom. But, I’m also much more. Who I am is not reflected in any one thing I do but evident in my complexity. Why do I fold myself into such a neat little package for others when I’m claustrophobic to begin with? I think we’d all be much happier if we unboxed ourselves and took more time to unwrap others as well.

My sister got an iPhone this weekend. It’s funny how fast technology can take hold of a person. It seems like just yesterday she was questioning me about how to set up  iCloud, and today she used Siri to call me. Wait. It was just yesterday she was asking me about iCloud. See what I mean?

I realized after talking to my sister today that Siri may just replace me as our family’s resident know-it-all.

Kathy: “Siri is amazing. I asked her to remind me to get the license plates, and she actually said What time would you like to me remind you? I told her 2 p.m. and she put it on my calendar. And then I said Call Justine and she did. She’s the best personal assistant ever. Wonder what else I can ask her?”

Me: “You can ask her anything. You can ask her about movies you might want to see or get information on the nearest sushi place. You can have her give you Aunt Helen’s address or put together your shopping list. Wait a minute. Wait just one minute. Something amazing just occurred to me.”

Kathy: “What?”

Me: “Now that you have Siri you’re going to be annoying me a lot less.”

Kathy: “Excuse me?”

Me: “With phone calls, I mean. You know, the ones where you treat me like I’m your personal Google? Now when you have a question about who sings that Don’t You Want Me song, Siri can tell you it’s The Human League and you won’t have to call and ask me about it.”

Kathy: “Huh. I hadn’t thought that.”

Me: “WOOHOO!!! Free at last! Free at last. I thank god I’m free at last!”

Kathy: “Wow. I had no idea you were so vexed by my phone calls.”

Me: “Think of all the free time I’ll have now. I’ll finally be able to take that trip I’ve always wanted to go on but couldn’t take for fear you’d be lost without me.”

Kathy: “Don’t make ask Siri to hang up on you.”

Siri’s entry as the fourth sister in our family is going greatly lessen my frustration at being everyone’s go-to answer person. I can use annoyance reduction wherever I can get it. I thought I might be jealous that Kathy got the iPhone 4S while I was stuck with my lowly iPhone 4, but now I see how shortsighted that thought was. I don’t need the 4S. I merely need every other person in my life to get one so they’ll stop pestering me. Siri may be everyone else’s personal assistant, but she’s my new best friend.

“One of the reasons that we deal with insecurity is that we compare our behind-the-scenes with someone else’s highlight reel.” ~Steven Furtick

I saw this quote on a friend’s Facebook page a couple weeks ago, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. I am incredibly guilty of making this mistake. I will hear about a friend’s fabulous career and rather than feeling glad for her, I’m annoyed. Oh, sure. I’ll act pleasant enough about it on the outside, but inside I’m full of doubt. How did she end up with such a fabulous life while mine is so, well, dull? I’ll feel cheated that she gets to travel for work while my biggest excursions are my tri-weekly trips to Target.

It’s sick how these thoughts can permeate my life and make me feel worthless. The truth is that I have no idea of the inner workings of my friend’s life, of how she balances extended hours at work with time for her family. For all I know, perhaps she sees my freedom and the extra time I get to spend with my kids as the better deal. Don’t we always want what we don’t have and don’t truly understand?

“Why, oh why, do I look to the other side when I know the grass is greener but just as hard to mow.” ~ John Butler Trio

This is the curse of a Facebook world. As busy as we all are, sometimes the most we see about a friend’s life comes from their Facebook status updates. Facebook is a repository for the highlights reel in our lives. We post about the exciting things we are experiencing because we want to share our best with everyone. We don’t often post about our depression or about how exhausted we are from trying to have it all. What is displayed, instead, is a group of photos from a summer trip to Italy and, from that alone, we allow others to formulate an opinion about our life, one that most likely does not reflect our daily reality.

When I get overwhelmed by the comparisons my mind wants to make between my prosaic, behind-the-scenes reel and someone else’s exciting highlights reel, I try to remember that Facebook is filled with façades. We retouch our lives the way we retouch our photos.

I have a great life and I’m sure there are those who see my highlights reel, the things I post on Facebook, and think I’ve got it made. And, it would be stupid not to admit that my life is pretty great. Like others, I do mask my difficulties more often than I share them. I do look over into other people’s yards and wish, occasionally, for something greener and more lush. Deep down I know, however, that all grass is the same. We all fight weeds and have to water constantly to keep it healthy. That friend whose life seems idyllic? Remember that there is only one reason their yard looks so lush and green. It’s artificial turf.

“There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.” ~Bern Williams

I am the worst kind of person. The rumors are true. I am a morning person. I rarely tell people that little tidbit about me because most people despise morning people. Damn me for being cheerful when I wake up, for popping out of bed at the first chirp of the alarm, for never hitting snooze, for getting right to work at the business of being alive another day. All right. I will admit that some days I’m slightly less cheerful about the morning than on other days, but that is quickly rectified with adequate consumption of espresso.

One of my favorite things about early morning is being awake to see the sunrise. Because it’s so easy to sleep through them, they are more precious than the sunset. A deeply genuine peace wells in my heart when I watch the sun creep up the horizon and brighten the world. Even after 43 years, the novelty of watching a new day dawn is never lost on me.

Some mornings I will stand in the boys’ bathroom just prior to waking them and wait for the sun to make its appearance. Today, however, I was too busy for standing and just happened to walk by that window and catch a glimpse of the most stunning morning sky I’ve seen in a while. I immediately woke the boys and we all stood there starting out the window in awe. The sky was more impressive than any Fourth of July fireworks display I’ve ever seen. On mornings like this one, I’m hard pressed to find a thing wrong with life on this planet.

To all you non-morning people, you who prefer to abuse the snooze button and sleep in, you have no idea what you’re missing. You’re probably the same people who think it’s romantic to walk off into the sunset. Me? I prefer the idea of walking off into the sunrise. It holds so much more promise.

I am not a huge fan of the holiday season. I often tell people that I just try to get from Thanksgiving to New Year’s day unscathed. It’s not that Christmas isn’t wonderful. It is. There is true magic in it. It’s merely exhausting. And, it’s not right that it comes at the very end of the year when I’m already worn out from the adventures of the previous eleven months. It just makes the holiday season that much more tiring. I know. I know. Bah humbug.

Today is my favorite day post-Christmas. It is the day when all the decorations get put away, and the house goes back to what I like to call (quoting my Catholic memories) “ordinary time.” There is something so ludicrously satisfying in carefully packing away Christmas and knowing I won’t have to see it again for another eleven months. I get to reward myself for surviving another holiday season without beating someone at the mall or losing a finger sawing down the Christmas tree. As entertaining as it is to put up the trees each year, it is twice as fulfilling to take them down. When the last box is tossed into the crawl space for storage and the last pine needle is in the Dyson, I am at peace again.

I don’t think I’m the only one who experiences this readiness to get back to normal life after a season of tumult and restlessness. The boys start vacation asking me how many actual days of school will be missed. Normally, I recount that number with maximum chagrin, imagining how much I am going to miss yoga and 6 hours a day of quiet. But, this year was different because my boys are at an age when they’re honestly fun to be with. We had an amazing time together. We played games, cuddled on the couch, and did puzzles. Most of the 11.5 days they were home, they were a joy to have around. Two days ago, I was honestly sad that their vacation was coming to an end. This morning, however, the bickering began. It started with a mild disagreement at breakfast and culminated in an actual fight by late afternoon. I pondered then if two smallish boys with mouths duct-taped could be placed in a large box and picked up by a charity for donation. Is it too much to imagine they would be quiet and stay still enough for that?

It is a blessing that they start fighting right when it’s time to get back to school and a normal routine. It proves that they too are ready for life to go on. They need to get back to the business of living their separate lives. E.M. Forster was right when he wrote, “Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate.” It does, however, give us what we need when we need it, if only we’re willing to recognize it.

 

This afternoon we returned from a few days in the relatively snow-less mountains to 12 inches of fresh powder at our house. Hubby was dying to get in the snowshoe trek I had so carefully avoided in Steamboat. Realizing I was beaten, I acquiesced. We geared up and headed out onto the open space behind our house, four people sporting snowshoes and one four-legged leader. (We have a border collie. She’s neurotic. She’s intense. She’s smart. Hubby would tell you that she’s a lot like me, only slightly furrier.)

As we hiked along together, I noticed that Ruby kept making loops in the pristine snow. She would run out away from us, turn, run back toward us, and complete her loop. She did this over and over and over. Large loops. Small loops. Skinny loops. Fat loops. Nearly each time she would take off she would return and cross over her starting point to close her loop. She was systematic. Someone walking along after us would have to wonder at her repetitive, circular art, her snowy crop circles.

Steve and I have spent most of our lives in the company of dogs, but nothing we experienced before now prepared us for life with a border collie. Often noted for being the smartest dog breed, they are truly special. Before we got her, I did a lot of reading. One book advised that you should not get a border collie unless you’re prepared to spend your days trying to outsmart your dog. That sounded like a challenge. I like challenges. Sure enough. Ruby is an enigma, but she’s never dull. I can both respect and relate to that.

She is closest to her true self when she is running off leash on the open space and her border collie instincts take over. Today, as she was making her rounds (literally) as we hiked out on our snowshoes, she was positively blissful. At one point, I swore that she must be trying to write something to us in the snow. I’m sure if we could have taken an aerial photograph of her loops we would have seen messages, trotted out with characteristic border collie fury and wisdom: “Forge your own path. Finish what you start. Find joy in nature. And, for dog’s sake, walk me more often, you losers!”

Okay. Maybe I’m reading more into her loops than I should, but I still feel like my dog is trying to teach me something. Maybe it’s just that there is a great yet simple joy in being present on a long walk on a winter’s day.

 

A week ago I wrote a post entitled God’s Plans. My basis premise was that too often we become dissatisfied with where we are in our lives because it’s not where we think we should be. I know that I struggle with this quite often as a stay-at-home mom with a post graduate degree. After all the work I did in my younger years to become something, how did I let myself end up in an unpaid position folding laundry and chauffeuring kids around?

Today, as part of our Christmas movie marathon here in Steamboat, we watched It’s A Wonderful Life. When I was younger, it was my favorite Christmas film. As I’ve aged, however, it’s been replaced as favorite by other stories. As I was watching today, I pondered why it was no longer my favorite. Sure it’s a bit dated and hokey (especially when my kids make me watch the colorized version I abhor). When the bell rings on the Christmas tree and ZuZu talks about the angel getting his wings, I nearly lapse into a sugar coma. But, the overall sweetness of the film is not what has changed how I feel about it.

Truth is that the story hits a bit too close to home. I understand exactly how George Bailey feels on his critical night. Overcome with bitterness for what he feels is his great failure to do anything “important” with his life, he lashes out at his family. He forgets all he has and focuses instead on what is lacking. He believes his life is pointless and that the world would not be any worse off had he never been born.

It’s A Wonderful Life chronicles George Bailey’s midlife crisis. And, I can relate. But, if I can relate to the breakdown George suffers as he fears he is about to lose the business his father built, the thing that changed his life irretrievably from what he hoped it would be, then I should be able to relate to his epiphany too. Blinded by his self-perceived failure, George nearly fails to recognize the enormous gift he received by taking a different path. Only when presented with a vision of the world without him does he understand what he truly has.

I am George Bailey. I get shortsighted and fixate occasionally on what I’m lacking rather than what makes me rich. I bet I’m not the only one either. Instead of relegating this movie to the bottom of my Christmas favorites list, I should watch it more often as a reminder that concentrating on what I didn’t become doesn’t change the positive things that I am instead. George’s story is not a story about Christmas. It’s a story about life, a wonderful life, one I probably fail to acknowledge often enough.