Word!

Words have meaning. They have power. With them, worlds can be created or destroyed. And so can the humans within those worlds.

When my third son was three, he began to bring up death-and-dying subjects. A lot. It was a bit out of the blue, I thought, though it wasn’t overly concerning to me. Yet. One day he asked when I would die. Another day he asked me if I was going to hold his baby brother when he died. It all became clear to me when he posed this question: “So, after Easter, then we’ll die?” He asked so honestly and openly, without any sign of concern. And it hit me. For the past couple of weeks we’d been talking about dying eggs for Easter. He had been hearing our words and making his own interpretations based on his knowledge experience. He knew about death. He didn’t know about this holiday tradition. Feeling horrible, I explained that we meant we would color eggs for Easter, and that none of us were going to actually die.

We come into situations carrying our past. Simple words can morph into an entirely different context, based on whatever we’ve faced in life. This is why it is so important to slow down and really understand what is being said. To understand the intent as well as the message, before responding. It’s easy to feel defensive, belligerent, or hurt. It’s easy to hold onto past grievances and form grudges. It’s easy to act on those feelings. But what if we took the time to find out where the other person is coming from? What if we could separate our prejudices and preconceived ideas from the person standing in front of us, and base our communication within the context of “now” balanced against the knowledge of “before”? 

We have so many words thrown at us over social media, within news platforms, from political persona, sports players, movie stars, and the average Mary and Joe. Everyone believing in their own story, and wanting all of us to follow their lead. Well … what is the reality? Isn’t it always more than one-sided? When we don’t question the source, when we don’t know the intent, when we make assumptions, we are missing an opportunity. With understanding and knowledge, we can break through biases and fears.

Taking the time to listen and understand doesn’t mean we have to agree with one another. It just means we don’t get to jump to conclusions and be mean to each other. Using our words to build our relationships and add more truth and hope to each other’s stories will strengthen our communities. With stronger communities, we have hope for a peaceful and respectful coexistence. One where people can live fearlessly, dream endlessly, grow exponentially, and love absolutely. Regardless of backstory. Regardless of disagreements. Regardless of differences.

Take the time to listen. Words matter. The humans behind the words matter. And sometimes all it takes is understanding to change death to life.

Do we measure up?

Every year around the anniversary of 9/11, my daughter’s school does a “Patriotic Chapel.” The choir sings songs like God Bless America, America the Beautiful, Proud to be an American and, of course, The Star Spangled Banner. I attend this chapel every year as my daughter is one of the singers.

I have to admit that I love it. I love the music, the pictures, the symbolism, and the message of pride in our country that fills the auditorium. I love the stories from our history that are told, even when they’ve been slightly embellished. I love that for one hour, our children are reminded why they should be thankful for the lives they live and to not take a single moment for granted.

I love all of that. What I didn’t particularly enjoy this year was another message one of the speakers put forth. Perhaps it was unintentional, I can’t say one way or the other. Regardless, it came across loud and clear.

This speaker discussed how she felt that the younger generations weren’t as patriotic as the older ones. She gave examples of young people in schools mumbling through the pledge of allegiance as though it meant nothing, and of an Olympic athlete not placing her hand on her heart during the playing of our National Anthem.

First, when did it become okay to measure another person’s love for their country based on symbolic gestures? Teenagers will mumble through anything that doesn’t involve a video game or their latest crush. That might mean that their priorities are askew, but it certainly doesn’t mean they don’t love and respect their country. 

As for the Olympic athletes “disrespecting our anthem” by not covering their hearts with her hands (Gabby Douglas wasn’t the only one), I’m more than a little tired of hearing about it. The hand-over-heart gesture is required when saying the Pledge of Allegiance, but standing at attention is the norm during a rendition of our National Anthem. Some choose to also place their hands over their hearts, and I think that is beautiful. I don’t think, however, that it means they are more patriotic or respectful than those who don’t.

And second, since when is this kind of lack of symbolic gesturing something only the younger generation is afflicted with? There was a whole lot of gesturing going on in the 60s, and I don’t recall any of it being particularly patriotic.

I guess my point is this: Perhaps we should place less importance on symbolism and more on what’s in a person’s heart. If we are so hell-bent on measuring people, let’s do it based on their character, on how they live their lives, and on how they treat others.

Come to think of it, that last bit works for far more than measuring patriotism.

Over this summer vacation, I ...

Did you ever have that assignment at the start of school- Write about something fun you did over the summer? Oh God, the INSTANT anxiety. Something fun? And summer is over? Then add the fact that this usually involved some kind of presentation to the rest of the class? Just put me out of my misery, please!

As a "grown-up" (ha, me a grown up? Sure), I always feel a little bit of the same lingering anxiety at the end of the summer. Although fall is my favorite season, when the weather begins to change and the leaves start to turn, I can't help but look back at the summer with a bit of a judgmental slant. Did I do enough? Was it fun? Could I PROVE to someone that I had a summer worth living? It seems like such a simple, innocent assignment. But why do we spend so much time trying to impress other people with our lives?

I'm trying really hard not to be in that mindset anymore. To live the life I've been given with gratitude, while also finding my own happiness day by day, in a way that doesn't require approval from anyone else. Now before I sound too preachy and full of myself- WHY IS IT SO HARD?

You know what is easy? Negativity, selfishness and always expecting the worst. Some days, framing your experiences in a positive way seems impossible. So I try to remind myself of the pay off. Fear and negativity hold us back and prevent us from living the lives we deserve. But if a positive mindset can give me the courage to reach for my dreams, while making me happier about the life I already have, that seems like a goal worth fighting for.

I've recently been training for a big obstacle race in September, and I've been working with a trainer to help me get physically stronger. She's also been helping me improve mentally too. Let me tell you, making your mind healthier is just as difficult as making your body healthier. It's a day by day battle to chose healthy mind and body choices, but it's a battle I'm dedicated to win.

It's a lot of time and hard work, but I know it's worth it. I also hope that gaining confidence in other areas of my life will help me come back to the words and stories that have seemed a little stuck lately. Just a little secret between you and me- for some reason, a sequel is a million times harder than the first. So for anyone who has been waiting- I am trying to get back to writing, and thanks so much for your patience. The final destination is still to be a full time writer. But right now, the daily goal is to run 6 miles. I promise, those goals are connected! JD logic may not make sense to everyone else, but it does to me!

Thanks for spending some time with me and my thoughts. I enjoy sharing my journey with all of you and I hope it helps someone out there. And if not, here's a picture of my kitten. Because who doesn't like kittens? 

It's a Shame

That's me at 13, in the middle.

I remember, back in junior high, running for PE class. Scrawny-skinny, I had bad skin and permed hair. I liked running and was in decent shape for a thirteen-year-old, since I walked almost an hour to school every day, but I was on a medication (for that bad skin), and it made my face look almost moon-like in its roundness. This particular morning, we were running laps on the blacktop, and a “real” runner girl, coming towards me, smirked and said through laughter, “I can see your cheeks jiggle when you run!” Not knowing what type of response I was supposed to give, I laughed back and said, “I know; I can feel them!” She gave me a funny look and ran past me.

I wasn’t self-conscious, but it was a moment in my life that (obviously) has stuck with me for many years. What if I had been self-conscious? What if I struggled with the way I viewed myself, viewed my body? With how I felt treated by my peers? If cell phones were available back then, would a slow-motion image of me, cheeks wobbling up and down like Jello in a bra, have been plastered on some social media page? Captioned with a snide remark? Would that image have been a turning point in my life, making me feel isolated and humiliated? I don’t know. But I certainly wouldn’t want to find out. Even with a healthy sense of esteem and body-worth, a public ridiculing would be hard to take. What kind of person does that to someone else?

Of all the ways people can interact with each other, why would anyone choose shaming? Whether it’s about weight or parenting, lifestyle or whatever. Why does an outsider have any right to take a superficial glimpse at someone and blast them on a random, split-second judgement? How does a stranger have any background knowledge on this person’s life or situation? Plainly, the stranger doesn’t.

Me, now, with my own 13-year-old daughter.

My junior-high-self learned an important lesson, one that I have hopefully passed on to my children: I never want to make a person feel bad about who they are or what they look like. To me, it makes much more sense to find something positive to say, to boost someone up, and keep them going strong. The world is a tough place, and you never know what someone is facing. Why spread negativity?

A really cool thing happened a while back. I am a “real” runner girl now. When I run on the track at the gym, I pass people. It’s a small track, and I can pass them a lot, which can be disheartening—I know I don’t like getting lapped. So, ages ago, I started making comments as I passed, like: “You’ve got great form; keep it up!” or “You can do this; you’re doing awesome!” I wasn’t sure if the comments were appreciated in the manner I intended, but I meant for them to be supportive. Well, I was out one day and a woman I didn’t recognize approached me and said, “You’re the girl who runs at the gym, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered.

“Oh my goodness, I just have to tell you, you always seem to come around the track when I’m about to give up. I keep going because of you. Thank you for cheering me on.”

So simple, to help people find their own strength. Something that shaming will never accomplish. If someone is not as toned, muscular, or svelte as you—or appears in any way different from you—guess what? You have two choices. Mind your own business or go over there and say "Hi." Make a friend. Connect with someone. Because what a person looks like doesn’t matter at all, shouldn’t even affect you—but how you act can change their world.

Who Will Win?

2016 has been quite the little bitch, hasn’t she? We’ve lost musical geniuses, been caught up in Brexit and a bizarre (to say the least) U.S. Presidential election, grieved over increasing violence and terror … some days it seems the whole world is spinning out of control, hatred begetting violence and violence begetting hatred ad infinitum.

I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve gone to sleep with a dull sense of dread, but I probably don’t need to. I’m sure I’m not alone. It seems every day brings more bad news: Orlando, Istanbul, endless others … this month alone there have been 199 terror incidents around the world. How do we not grow numb from grief? Sometimes the numbers are hard to process, or the violence seems so far away, or we just need to shut it out so we can keep functioning.

But let us pause and acknowledge one moment in the horrible history of our world:

Last night, while her parents took her two younger sisters to some planned activities nearby, a thirteen-year-old girl crawled into bed. What did she imagine as she lay her head on that pillow? Did she have plans to play with friends the next day? Go swimming? Read a book? Did she dream of horses or dancing or boys? I’m betting she fell asleep confident there would be a tomorrow. Because at thirteen, why would she consider any other option?

But a seventeen-year-old boy broke into her home. While she slept, he drew a knife and stabbed her. Multiple times. She was transported to a nearby hospital in critical condition, and died shortly after.

She was thirteen.

Let’s take a moment to let that sink in: She was thirteen. Do you remember thirteen? I do. I was into dance and soccer, wrote really bad stories about puppy love, dreamed about a boy I’d met at summer camp, wouldn’t admit I still played with my dolls, listened to Prince and Michael Jackson, traded Garbage Pail Kid cards … And yes, I had fears: I was pretty sure there was a ghost in my closet, and I knew about stranger danger and predators and Freddy Krueger. I’d stood in front of a bathroom mirror and whispered “Bloody Mary,” I’d played on a Ouija board. These were the scariest things I could imagine. But the possibility that a boy just a little older than me, fueled by hatred and rage, would break into my home and stab me to death … ? Unimaginable.

Now, if you’re paying attention to the news, you’ll know this happened in Israel’s West Bank—that the girl was Jewish and the boy Palestinian. I purposely left that information out until now. I wanted you to imagine this little girl without prejudice. Because today a mom and dad buried their daughter, and two young girls said goodbye to their oldest sister. Somehow, they’ll have to face a lifetime without her. Can you imagine? The fact that she’s a Jewish girl from the West Bank shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But –

Political agendas and misinformation and bigotry and anti-Semitism are thriving in our media … in our country … in our world. We’re being stripped of our humanity. We’re being taught that isolation and weapons and walls equal safety, we’re being radicalized in all kinds of ways. Hatred and evil are riding neck-and-neck with ignorance and intentional blindness. And this blindness: It’s born of laziness. More and more, we form our opinions without digging past the headline of a news story. We’re too busy to get informed. We’re too lazy.

And being blind and lazy allows hatred and bigotry to win. We need to educate ourselves. We need to read past the headlines, and do so with the knowledge that our news is not factual and unbiased, so we need to consider the source. And dig deeper. And read more.

Today, radicalized hatred killed a thirteen-year-old girl. But radicalized hatred cannot survive where education thrives.

Excuse me, there's been some kind of mistake ...

I haven't done a lot of writing lately. Sure, I've thought about writing a lot. But when it comes to actually putting the pen to paper (or fingers to keys), I've been sorely lacking in the motivation department. It bothers me. Sometimes more than I admit. Which is silly really, because no one has control over how much I write except me.

Regardless, at the end of the day, no new words. It makes me feel not very accomplished. That age old question: What am I doing with my life? It's easy to look at that 0 daily word count and think 'I've accomplished nothing.' This also can be a worryingly easy thing to think about in this age of social media. We are literally barraged with constant updates on what everyone else has achieved. Oh, look at Jim Bob, he bought a new car and won $10,000! And Jessie Lee? She ran a marathon, baked 4 pies, and has washboard abs. And look at those awesome beach photos she took on her 12th vacation this month? Let the jealousy and inferiority complex commence.

I try to remind myself that I'm only seeing the highlights of everyone's s lives. I mean, no one is posting about their failures. Well ... usually. I seem to take perverse pleasure in letting people know how many times I've tripped each day. Or fallen up the stairs at the light rail station. Again.

Before you think this is just a post about my walking skills, or lack thereof, let me get to the point. I'm working very hard to recognize what I have accomplished in my day to day life, instead of focusing on what I have not. They always say life is what happens when you're busy making plans, right? So I'm trying to focus more on life, and less on the plan. We owe it to ourselves to dream big, but to also recognize when we've succeeded in the small things.

So that's what I'm doing lately. Focusing on the successes. Currently that involves forcing my lazy butt off the couch and too the gym. Because, guys,  I did something stupid. Like really, really stupid. I somehow, in a fit of insanity, agreed to do Tough Mudder. Really, this has to be some kind of mistake. A clerical error. I couldn't have agreed to do that?! Oh, you don't know what that is? It's only 10-12 miles of obstacle hell. And it looks horrible. And awful. And ... I'm not scared, you are!

But honestly? I'm kind of excited. Young me would have never dreamed of trying something like this. Never dreamed of thinking she could do something like this. And it's so exciting to feel myself starting to get stronger, to reach for something that scares me and thrills me all at once. I'm terrified of starting the race, but I can't wait to prove to myself that I can cross that finish line.

I hope the words come soon. I have so many stories to tell, and I want to get over whatever block is keeping them from getting on the paper. But until then, life is amazing. With its ups and downs, its little successes. I'm trying to focus on that. To enjoy what I'm doing now, and not beat myself up for what's not happening. Hopefully I succeed in this goal too. And maybe reading this helps someone out there refocus on their lives. Or at the very least, you enjoyed the gifs and had a little laugh.

Bella Italia

Remember the days when you used to go on holiday and it wasn't a fact-finding mission for a potential story? Oh, you still do that? Must just be me, then.

Yep, here I am in fabulous Italy, in a sumptuous hotel with incredible vistas and a fabulous staff who bent over backwards to please (not literally!). And what do I spend every waking moment doing? Scribbling in my notebook. What's even more insulting to this wonderful country, is that I wasn't taking down notes of the phenomenal food or the glorious assault on the senses in preparation for a new novel, partly set in Italy (although it is in there somewhere, and I’m hoping Bri’s 300 photos will nudge any reluctant memories if and when the time comes).
Nope, these scenes which poured out of me unbidden, page after page of close-written text (so small, I have to use a magnifying glass to read them back), were most definitely set in the UK. Including Wales and Scotland, to be fair, but mainly in Archer’s Wessex, and modern-day Wiltshire.
"Sacrilege," I hear you say.
"Sorry," is my only reply. No defence, no excuses, just "Sorry, Italy. Will try harder next time." There will most definitely be a next time.
But it wasn't 24-7. Here's my whistle stop tour of the captivating Lake Como:
Thurs: Beautiful Bellagio (no dancing fountains, but you can see where Vegas got the inspiration). A lazy half hour outside the church watching the world pass by. My tongue was hanging out for a beer, but all the couples in the bar had coffee (it was only 11am). 15 euros for a t-shirt sounded steep, but it did have a beautiful font displaying Bellagio in diamante studs.

Fri: The next ferry-stop down - Villa-tastic Verenna. After 3 hours in Monastero, we hiked up a mountain trail worthy of Cader Idris (my Welsh mountain), only to find a further four flights of knee-crippling stairs to hit the top of the tower. The views were well worth it, and the ghosts were great fun.
Sat: Knees swollen to three times the size (we Sag's exaggerate on pan-galatic levels) demanded a day chillin' by the pool. Andrea's (yep, he was my waiter, Ace!) cocktails revived me sufficiently to wander into Magnificent Menaggio (the local town). A line dancing bar playing the Eagles "Get Over It" soon convinced my legs to stop wobbling and have a boogie. You gotta love a mum dance.
Sun: A super-fast ferry up to the North uncovered Gravedona's secrets (as recommended by said waiter). A 12th century church and spectacularly ornate graveyard made the visit well worthwhile.
Mon: Rain didn't stop play as we dodged drops to explore the gardens, then stared at the ceilings in the exquisite Villa Carlotta in Cadennabia.
Tues: Another super-fast ferry to the south. Como Cathedral has rich detail which makes York (and Canterbury) pale into the shade.

The purple rose? That's what the cute maid did with my nightie - a different, more complex sculpture greeted our return to the sumptuous every day. And don't get me started on the food: not a pizza all week, but every dish was so exquisite, it even got Bri raving about the porcini mushroom lasagna - and he normally hates pasta.