I saw About Time last night, the new(ish) movie starring Rachel McAdams, Bill Weasley Domhnall Gleeson, and Bill Nighy. It was amazing. I absolutely loved it. In fact I haven't had such a strong reaction to a movie in a while. I mean I don't think it's gotten any serious critical acclaim, and I don't know what Ebert and Roeper would say, but I don't care. It really got me good. And the main message, driven home in the moving final sequence of the film, couldn't be more appropriate or meaningful for us anxious-minded folks. In my humble opinion, anyway.
I have something pretty exciting to share. A little over a month ago, I attended an incredible event called Collide - a day for women. Collide gatherings are held quarterly, at First Presbyterian Church in Bellingham, WA; the same building where I attended The INN (a college ministry) during my time at Western. The INN is a beautiful place and so is Collide. A wonderful day full of care and compassion and community for women of all ages. After the last event, I felt compelled to share - via the contact cards provided - that I have been through a lot when it comes to anxiety and would be happy to chat with other women who might be struggling. To share stories, validate feelings, etc.
Well lo and behold, after communicating with the wonderful women who are the brains behind the Collide operation, I have been invited to share my story and experiences as a breakout session leader at the next event - this Saturday, November 16th!
I am still kind of in shock. But I am SO excited, so honored, and so looking forward to this amazing opportunity. And would love for you to join me! ... If you're a woman. Sorry fellas. I don't make the rules.
Anyway, if you are interested in this event, CLICK HERE to register! You don't have to pre-register to attend, but it is appreciated if possible. Or if you have more questions, feel free to check out the Collide facebook page here or email me at AndieLovesCompany@gmail.com :) And did I mention it's FREE?! What a deal! If When you are uber impressed with the day and delicious lunch provided (!!!), there will be an opportunity to donate to the cause, should you feel so inclined.
So here I sit (bet you can't guess where), trying to collect the millions of thoughts I've had about what I want to share since agreeing to speak. Yikes. Prayers, good vibes, and/or whatever good mojo you believe in are much appreciated!
I am pretty dang nervous, but I know it will be a great day. Crazy how life happens, huh? You just never know when the urge to write your name on a contact card could turn into an amazing opportunity.
“I slept and I dreamed that life is all joy. I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that service is joy.”
― Kahlil Gibran
Hey losers.
Sorry, just kidding. I was feeling feisty. It's the beginning of the week. Moving on...
Remember this post from a month or so ago when we I discussed the remarkable impact of gratitude on our lives and well-being? Well I love that idea. And I hope you did too. And if I may be so bold, today I would like to talk about something I feel has just as profound an impact. And that is giving. Now don't freak. I don't mean giving money (necessarily). Though, that is wonderful if you are able. What I am referring to is giving of your time, energy, heart, passions. A few months ago I decided that seeing as it is my job to coordinate, recruit, and retain volunteers, I should probably stop just "talking the talk" and start walking the walk. That is, become a volunteer myself. In management / coordinator / director positions, I think it's important to put ourselves on the other side of the training every once in a while and get an idea for what it's like to be in someone else's shoes. It's here where we get to answer questions like, "How could I improve?" "How long is too long to sit in a training?" "How long is too long to wait for a call back after an interview?" It's been a couple years since I've been on the other side of the interview table. Not to mention the fact that I used to spend a LOT of time with sweet little, cute little kiddos in my college nanny life, and I miss their energy, spunk, and sense of humor! There is a lot to be learned from the innocent, imaginative, unashamed mind of a child, and I find so much energy and inspiration in the adorable hilarity that comes from mouths of babes.
So it didn't take much brainstorming for me to figure out how I wanted to spend my volunteer time. As a kid I was in and out of the hospital a few more times than my parents would like to remember (nothing life-threatening and by the grace of God I am fine today!), and one thing that made my stay(s) much more comfortable and eased the worries of my family was the presence of a Child Life department. Certified Child Life Specialists and volunteers exist to make life easier for children and parents of children admitted to the hospital. Whether it's for a few days after an appendectomy or for multiple rounds of chemotherapy, parents and children find so much comfort in a friendly face who will bring crayons and coloring books to Susie (why is it always Susie?) on a particularly rough day. Soooo... duh. I says to myself, "Self! This is what you're doing." And it's already changing my life. I have witnessed and/or experienced astonishing strength, deep despair, quite a few sobs, and plenty of uncontrollable laughter (mostly my own). It's a roller coaster every single day, but what gets me through is knowing that even if for only 5 minutes, perhaps I was able to distract a sweet little kiddo from his/her ever-present pain and fear. And that's good enough for me.
This video was introduced to me a couple weeks ago and it might as well take place in the very hospital where I serve. It's beautiful and powerful and adorable and you'll love it.
Giving is a powerful thing. And the best part is, we can ALLdo it! Find what floats your boat and dive in! Bringing joy and relief and comfort to people who need it is amazing and profound and so, so easy.
And "through this having and giving and sharing and receiving, we too can share... and love... and have... and receive." - Joey Tribbiani
Alright. This is a funny and random topic. Road rage. We've all been there (RIGHT?! It's not just me???) Believe it or not, I can be a MAJOR road rager. Like, it's not pretty. Granted I'm not one to get out of my car or flip anyone off (ever!) or roll down the window to scream obscenities. Ok so maybe I'm not that bad! That's good to know. But it happens. Some of my most notable/embarrassing/pathetic quotes include, "GET A LIFE!", "I FREAKING HATE YOU!", and "MAKE IT HAPPEN, IDIOT!" Not to mention the fact that certain words that NEVER make it into my day-to-day conversations tend to make their way into the mix. Uh oh!
I'm not proud of it. And on the rare occasions when I think the people at whom my anger is targeted have seen me, I immediately feel terrible. Just awful. I've shared this with friends before and many responses are the same... "You seem pretty even-keel, I never would have thought!" or "I don't think I've ever seen you mad at someone. I bet it isn't as bad as you think." To you doubters I say: Ohhhhh bless your generous hearts. If only that were true. But you're right, I don't think I've ever made my anger too obvious to the drivers I temporarily loathe.
Here's the thing: Losing your head in a weak moment can really impact someone in a big, BIG way. Just like a simple smile can save the lives of people on the brink of life-threatening depression, a simple dirty look or expletive can leave a lasting, negative impression. Take for example what happened to me this evening: I had a bit of a rough day. Tough meeting with a volunteer, things just not quite going my way, blah blah blah. I'm over it. Nothing a little pumpkin brew and tomato basil soup from Metropolitan Market can't fix! But on my way home from Met Market, I passed a driver who was NOT my biggest fan. We were on opposite sides of a 4-way stop and he forgot to signal that he wanted to turn left in front of me until the last second, so I started to move at the same time he did and I guess accidentally cut him off. No harm done. I stopped, he went, and all was well. But not for him! SHEESH, you'd think I had totaled his car. As he turned to pass me, he very clearly, intentionally and distinctly yelled "B*TCH!!" and went on his not-so-merry way. Ouch. I realize this isn't a big deal, and I realize his opinion of me matters NOT AT ALL. But after a long tough day, when all I wanted was to get home to my cold beer and hot soup, this wasn't very fun.
I have heard a few stories of random acts of kindness lately, particularly in drive-thrus and coffee shops, and I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM. What a novel idea! Share some kindness and love without expecting any credit or gestures in return. So the moral of the story is this: Every day we have choices. Jeans or capris? Heels or flats? Bagel or cereal? Hot or iced?
Next time I'm throwing a road rage hissy fit, I'm going to find the nearest drive-thru and buy a treat for a stranger. I really am! Because it's just as easy to make a day as it is to ruin one, and I think acts of kindness hold the power to make two days at once.
Hey y'all. I have a little somethin-somethin to share today. And rather than spending a chunk of your day reading another one of my too-wordy posts, I hope you'll spend 7-ish minutes watching this video. Because who among us couldn't use another tool to conquer the nasty, ugly, and inevitable BAD-ITUDES we all wear from time to time?? Trust me. This is good stuff.
(if you have a hard time getting the video above to load, then Click Here)
[DISCLAIMER FOR THE FELLAS: This post doesn't apply to you in a direct sort of way. But that doesn't mean it doesn't apply to you at all. So read on if you dare. Just don't say I didn't warn you. Because you might feel a little uncomfy. And for that I am very, sincerely, not-at-all sorry.]
Hey ladies.
It's me, Andie.
Duh.
I'm comin' to you live from my favorite Starbucks (when am I not?), sipping on this masterpiece...
... and getting ready to talk to you about something pretty serious. And not to be taken lightly. Because I think you can perhaps relate.
Do you find yourself struggling with...
... chronic fatigue?
... headaches?
... backaches?
... muscle tension?
... changes in appetite?
... loss of focus?
... lack of interest in usual activities?
... intense shift in mood?
... rapid change in weight?
... overall malaise?
... inexplicable sadness?
... nearly unbearable abdominal pain?
... observable psychosis?
Then visit your doctor couch ASAP, because you may be experiencing imminent death WOMANHOOD.
Or more specifically, your friend and mine, that unwelcome B!@#% Aunt Flow.
Never invited. Always imposing. The Queen of overstayed welcomes.
Yikes, yikes, yikes.
Why must we go there? You might ask. Well here's why: Because this is a blog about anxiety and reality and struggles and this is a real-life, anxiety-producing, monthly mega-struggle! That's why!!! What kind of a question is that anyway??? WHEW. Sorry. But you see, I have strong feelings about this. Because she-who-must-not-be-named (the uterus... call it what you want... Voldemort aka Slytherin aka Bellatrix aka Death Eater aka Horcrux aka WhoreCrux... too much on that last one?) puts us through a lot of misery. Every. Single. Month. And I know this whole process is sometimes taken as a joke or described as "gross" or just generally taboo to talk openly about, but I think that's stupid. Well I don't just THINK it's stupid. It IS stupid. Because we don't deserve to feel like a joke or gross or taboo. I didn't choose to be a female. It chose me. And I sure as H-E-double-tampons didn't choose to have a period. Because absolutely no woman in her right mind would. But here's the thing: Without these hellacious processes, absolutely none of us would exist. So I mean, you're welcome. Ok, ok, that's taking it a bit too far. I didn't invent it. But I think you know what I'm saying. I'm not a leper. I'm not gross. I'm not psychotic (though it's debatable... more on that in a sec). But every month, I feel as though I am. I feel sick. I feel sad. I feel zitty. I feel like I've gained 30lbs over night. I feel awful. Does this sound familiar, ladies? This ain't no joke!
Without fail, every single month - let me repeat... EVERY SINGLE MONTH - I feel like a crazy person. We've all been there. Guys too. Just feeling a little off. More irritable than usual. Perceiving everything as a big deal or worthy of a melt-down. For some people (like me) it happens when we haven't eaten recently enough. Hangry, as we've talked about before. But this is a different brand. Here's the usual timeline: One week before Aunt Flow comes a-knockin' - TIRED. MUSCLES HURT. WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I NEED A NAP EVERY HOUR?? A few days before - TEARS ON TEARS ON TEARS. God help me and anyone around me if something upsetting happens about 48ish hours before the eagle has landed. Things are gonna get teary. And why is everyone so annoying?? How dare that woman at the grocery store cut me off?! How dare my coworker ask me if I'm crabby today?! Why is that man driving 25 miles per hour on a busy arterial?! But more importantly, WHY DO I WANT TO KILL ALL OF THEM?! And then the anxiety sets in. "Oh my gosh I was so mean to that woman at the grocery store. What if she was really hurt by that face I gave her?" "My coworker was just joking and I totally bit her head off... she's going to hate me now!" "That poor man was just being cautious. Why did I wave my hands at him in obvious road rage? I feel terrible." Tears on tears on tears. Touching Hallmark commercial - tears. Nice email from a volunteer - tears. I AM CRAZY! And the most remarkable part of it is, when all of this madness sets in every month, I never EVER think, "Hey Andie, go easy on yourself. You know what's right around the corner... all of this is to be expected. Now go take a walk. A nap. A Xanax [kidding]." The point is, never underestimate the power of she-who-must-not-be-named. She means well. She's just doing her job. But the havoc she wreaks is enough to transform an ordinary woman into Cruella DeVil in no time flat. And it doesn't mean we're crazy. Or gross. Or over the cuckoo's nest. It just means we're healthy. That our bodies are functioning properly. That someday we might be able to bring new life into the world. Holy smokes, that's awesome. So next time you're a big mess of anxiety and tears and inexplicable sadness and feeling obese and disgusting and zitty, don't forget to check yourself before you wreck yourself (or your car/computer/someone around you) and think about whether Aunt Flow might be to blame.
Also, don't mess around with abnormalities. With any of your lady parts. Get regular exams, don't ignore strange symptoms, and remember you have nothing to be ashamed of. Ok, PSA over. Not to be confused with PMS. BA-DUM-CHHHHHHH!
And another thing: Speaking of PMS, here's a word to the wise. Nobody - and I mean nobody - is allowed to blame my moodiness/sensitivity/anger/emotions on PMS but ME. Asking a woman if she's PMSing is a first class ticket on the RAGE EXPRESS. For me anyway. I can't speak for anyone else. I'm just trying to help you avoid the wrath.
And finally, there's this:
Hilarious! Except don't order your period care packages from Hello Flo. Instead visit www.ThePeriodStore.com and order your monthly dose of sanity-savers from them! One of the founders is a dear friend of my dear friend Russanne, and their genius deserves your business! Your lady business... I'm on a roll!
And now I leave you with three simple words of advice: ThermaCare heat wraps. You can thank me later.
Last week marked two years at my job. The job that scared the living daylights out of me. The job that tore me out of Bellingham and away from everything I knew and loved in college. The job at which I cried in the bathroom a handful of times during the first few months. The job I thought I'd be lucky to survive for even a year. The job I HATED. Needless to say, two years is a big deal to me. A big, BIG deal. I remember having some casual conversations with people older and wiser than me when I started this job. They said, "Oh wow, what a great opportunity!" and, "Good for you, that sounds terrific!" and one conversation in particular in which I was told, "That will look so great on your resume - especially if you stay for at least two years. They say you need to be there at least two years." Simple thoughts. No-brainers. Nothing to freak about. But I freaked. DUH! I'm a freaker. Especially then, when my resident Mood Monsters were just picking up steam in their pursuit of my sanity. Pit in stomach. Fight the tears. Keep up the poker face, this is nothing to cry about. "Two years" doesn't sound like a death sentence to most people. But for me, right then, the thought that I would stick it out for TWO YEARS at this job sounded INSANE. Impossible. Laughable (cryable). During the "Dark Time" (the details of which I will spare you, since you need only to read previous posts to learn more than enough about that...), it was hard to tell whether my job was making me hate my life or my life was making me hate my job. But it was neither. Because there's just nothing wrong with my life. I mean is it perfect? Clearly, no. And thank God for that. There's not a lot of growth in perfection. And a job is a JOB. And only that, really. Yes, ideally we would all love our jobs. But we don't. And that doesn't have to mean we don't love our lives either. But since the job is what made me move and the job is what took up most of my time and the job is what everyone wanted to talk about and the job was MISERABLE for reasons I still don't quite understand, I confused that with my life being miserable as well. I was miserable because I was anxious and figuring out that it's really hard to fit into the Big Girl Panties we're handed when we enter the working world. But this job is incredible. The more I've thought about it lately, the more I can't believe it, really. I landed a full-time, full benefits, Monday-Friday day job. Two months out of college. I mean what? I should have been thanking my lucky stars, not crying myself to sleep under them. But it just wasn't that easy. Day 1 at my job began at 7am, after a nearly sleepless night following an awful/tearful/cruel-and-unusual goodbye to my home and friends in Bellingham the previous evening. In a deserted parking lot in south Tacoma. With a bunch of 80-somethings wearing sun visors and light jackets and excited smiles, waiting to find out who their new fearless leader would be. Well folks, their leader wasn't fearless. She was me. And I was the opposite of fearless. And I was sleep deprived, and feeling sadder than I had ever remembered feeling, and having a hard time masking the dark circles and bloodshot eyes caused by crying all the way between Bellingham and Tacoma. But I plastered on a smile that probably looked something like this:
When in reality my true emotions went a little something like this:
... and after a few introductions and a chorus of "just-HOW-old-are-you-anyway???"s and a check to make sure everyone was present, we boarded a bus for Long Beach, WA to attend the kite festival - a field trip planned by my predecessor. A four hour bus ride. A four hour tour of the city. A four hour bus ride home. That's right folks, you crunched those numbers correctly! A 12-HOUR FIRST DAY ON THE JOB! And I cried in the bus bathroom on the way home. And I had to FORCE my lips into a smile. And in that one measly day, I had to decline no less than 5 offers to MOVE IN with a kind-hearted volunteer with the best of intentions. She wanted me to move in. With her. After knowing me 12 hours. It was day 1 and my mind was already reeling with tidbits from college courses in "Maintaining Boundaries" and "Professional Relationships." [Note: that same woman has asked me to live with her every single time I have seen her since then... sooooo that's 1 meeting per month x 24 months + at least 5 occasions outside of our monthly meetings, for a grand total of nearly 30 asks. Explaining that I already have a place to live is NOT an effective deterrent, apparently]. Annnnnnnyyyway, after that hellacious day, I was sure there would be NO POSSIBLE WAY I'd make it even a month on the job, let alone TWO YEARS. And thank the good Lord above for my dear friend Megan and her lovely parents, Anne and Kevin. Who let me stay with them before I had a Tacoma home. Who were the people I got to come home to after that hellacious day. I called Megan on my way home, said, "I'm pulling up outside. Let's go to Metropolitan Market," and really didn't explain much more than that. But she knows me well enough to hear the pain in my voice and see the dew in my eyes, and didn't ask any questions. She was just there. And when I thought I could speak without bursting into tears (partially because I think I actually cried out every bit of moisture in my body on the phone to my mom), I explained the situation and she and her parents were there for me every step of the way! And I could never thank them enough. The change I was experiencing was wayyyyy more than a long day at a Kite Festival. And wayyyyy more overwhelming than I ever could have predicted. And I'm just not very good with change. Big change, anyway. I can hang with changing my drink order at Starbucks from time to time. In fact sometimes you gotta! And in fact I LOVE exploring new places, trying new restaurants, redecorating rooms, etc. Those changes are fine. But significant life changes like moving to a new town and finding a new job and things like that are just really really hard for me. But you know what? This last week has been so very very cool. Two years at this job has caused me to reflect a LOT. And in the healthiest way! I am feeling nostalgia, but it's joyful nostalgia. It's satisfied nostalgia. It's nostalgia bursting with pride. I did it. I. Freaking. Did. It. With the help of wise counsel and modern medicine and MY BADASSINESS, I made it here and I am happy. Not every day, but a lot of the days. And that's a mega improvement. And if I can prove my Mood Monsters wrong in this way, I can't wait to see what I'll be able to do next.
