Oh (dear!), Christmas Tree

I don't know what it is, but this is the first year I don't feel pressured to do anything quickly for Christmas. Perhaps it was my own self-imposed wishes over the last Christmases to do things just right, to get the Christmas cards out early, and to get the tree up before Thanksgiving.

Perhaps it's because both my boys will be flying the coop within about three months of each other and I don't feel the urge to make things perfect or the same. Because, in a few short months, that "norm" will come to a screeching halt.

You might want to check in on me when that happens. I realize all parents go through this. But, after losing my beloved dog last year, and then both my boys this coming new year, well, let's just say I'll feel alone in the family department unlike anything I've ever felt.

A friend of mine just wrote about this same thing. It's like we've transitioned to a different phase of life, and, to be honest, I hope I never go back to the old way. I'm done striving.

This year, as far as Christmas goals, has been the opposite of every one of those previous tenets of my life. And I'm so glad it's different. Because my time isn't as pressed as it has been (working several jobs and keeping track of the kids and our lives), my need to get things done has altered. It can't help but change.

Christmas cards? Well, you'll be lucky to get them by Christmas, to be honest. I've sent out a few to family, but that's it. Sorry about that (but not really.)

Christmas gifts? Normally, I've purchased and wrapped all of them by December 1st. I realize this is over-the-top and excessively perfectionistic, but when work and family collide with the holiday, there are too many things to do to sit by and let it pile up. Such is the life of a working mom. So, I always felt like I had to stay on top of things just to survive.

This year, I just finished buying the gifts and again, I'll be lucky if I get them all wrapped by the 23rd. I'm not feeling the calling to do that anymore.

Christmas tree? For the last decade or so, the tree comes out right after my youngest boy's birthday, the 16th of November. Because one month of the Christmas tree is too short. This year? We just got it. Perhaps this is a new normal for me now.

Speaking of Christmas trees, we purchased a permit to chop down our trees on land that needs a little deforestation. But because we here in Northern California have had so many wildfires, the land available to do the chopping has reduced significantly.

If you squint, she doesn't look too bad.

We were relegated to a small portion of land to choose from and when it comes to those sorts of confinements, you get what you get. Because of that, our tree is the most Charlie Brownest of all Christmas trees we've ever had. And you know what? I love it. She's still a beauty. She's a tad waifish, but all the same, she's beautiful. For $10, I have nothing to complain about.

This year is a different Christmas but different is also good. It's not always welcomed, but it is good because it forces us to grow, change, and evolve for the better. Next Christmas is going to be even more foreign than this one without my boys at home.

I've slowed down my Christmas living this year and am enjoying every second I have with family. I'm doing it all with a slightly anorexic tree, late Christmas cards, and no presents under the tree (yet), but man, does it sure feel good.

It's going to be the best Christmas yet. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas... one as gentle and slow as it needs to be. ♥

The Lost Art of Conversation

Back in the days of yonder, say 1899 in late June, the Saturday Evening Post printed an article about the "lost art of conversation." You can read it for yourself. 

Why was this such a problem for the fine folks of a century that was nearly turning 1900? 

It all had to do with reading. Yes, reading. As in, too much reading was causing people to not talk to one another.

It strikes me funny that reading was the problem behind their lack of conversation. Yet, I can see how this could be thought of as detrimental to society. Because what else could stop a conversation? Before books, there was nothing one could do if they were bored that would mentally remove them from the room.

I suppose women had their sewing, but they probably talked while they sewed. And it's why quilting groups are popular, even today. You get together to create something beautiful but you also get to talk, conversate, laugh, and enjoy each other's company at the same time.

As the writer of the 1899 article said, "The very act of reading is unsocial. It is a kind of melancholy barbarism. If you look about you in a railway station, in a streetcar or a 'bus, you will observe that everyone is reading.... Conversation is in a way of becoming a lost art.... We have such a precious deal of reading to do that conversation is out of the question."

Reading books, on a train (the nerve!) stopped the conversation. Reading was a way for one to turn into oneself, an escapism into a world of one's own, where the need for talk wasn't necessary. In fact, it was discouraged. How could one read and talk at the same time? 

Today, we can only hope that people are reading. Because, while reading has declined, that's not our biggest problem now. If the writer of this article could have only seen how little reading we actually do anymore, he would've scrapped the article altogether.

We not only don't read anymore but are instead on our phones. The reading "problem" of 100 years ago is a problem I wish we had. We scroll, text, and email, instead and we do it all day long. Can you imagine going to an airport and seeing everyone with a book instead of a phone? 

I just got back from visiting some wonderful friends who have since moved to Florida since I last saw them. It was a wonderful time of much talking and laughing. What happened to our phones? Well, I can tell you that other than the random email, or text, or other than some necessary business communication, we weren't on our phones. At all.

All four of us, for the better part of four days, were lost in the art of actual conversation.

We also did this a couple years earlier with another set of friends in Idaho. Three days of talk and laughter and amazing conversation. It was energizing and life-giving, and because of both of these trips, I understood the force behind the concept of this article. He understood that community and conversation, that communication and connection with each other is where we thrive and grow. It makes us well.

In the context of all things, I sincerely wish more people read. Having a face in a book is leaps better than having a face in the phone (unless you're reading a book on an e-reader.)

So now that I'm back home, with the option to scroll mindlessly wherever I go, I want to change that. When I take a walk by myself, the phone stays in my pocket. How many times have I walked by someone after the fact, and realized I had my nose to the phone and didn't even see them? So rude, so pointless, and so very selfish. How much am I missing around me all because I can't sit still for a few minutes without my phone entertaining me?

If you've actually taken a moment, to get off your phone in an airport, it's astonishing to see all the heads looking down into their hand while they wait for their flight to arrive. Most are not reading a book. They are all watching something on that little screen. Every man, woman, and child.

The average person spends 4.5 hours on their phone every day and younger folks, up to 6 hours. This means, conservatively, that most of us, if we stay on this horrible trajectory of time-wasting, will in fifty years have spent 9.5 years scrolling.

All I can think about is what books aren't being written because young people are scrolling? What art isn't being drawn, sculpted, or painted? What music isn't being composed? What major scientific discovery is waiting to be unearthed but hasn't yet because little Johnny is watching YouTube videos?

We are wasting away; we are becoming the most unproductive society; we have lost all creativity. And I don't want to be a part of the demise of us.

So, I have a list where I can interact more and scroll less.

• At the gas station - don't whip out the phone, look at the people around me, and maybe, I know this might be hard for some, but maybe smile.
• In the grocery store line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the post office line - talk to someone next to me.
• At the airport - talk to someone sitting next to me.
• Cooking a meal - leave the phone alone! Don't cook eggs and scroll at the same time - I will burn those eggs. Mmm. Yummy.
• At home - lessen my screen time. Use my time to create, make, become, and discover.
• At the shops I frequent, with a line out the door just to check out - check the email once and then watch the other customers, look for spare change on the floor, and be available in case someone needs my help with something. (I get lots of people asking me their opinion of what they're buying once we're in line - they tend not to ask if I'm on my phone. Interesting, huh?)

Yes, this means an introvert like myself has to talk more. But, I don't need to give up the phone entirely. Instead, maybe give it a rest for five to ten minutes. Look where you're standing; look at the people near you; look at the way the sun is setting out the window while you wait to pick up your dinner.

We'll always have technology, but we can choose to not let it rule our social lives. We can put that phone where it belongs: away. The phone is a slim box of metal and plastic that doesn't need to be at my face for me to function well. (I know, young people will  be amazed at this, but it's true.) 

If you still need your phone, fine. I get it, we all do to some degree because that's how our society is now wired. But, we can surely do something about the time spent on it. Instead of 4.5 hours per day, lessen it to 3.5. Then work your way down to 2.5 hours. Put timers on your phone. Something. Anything.

I venture to say that we should read more, scroll less, and more importantly, find people whom we can see face to face. Let's have those conversations, let's forget about our phones, let's talk and discuss and have a conversation that needs to happen.

Today, the lost art of conversation isn't due to reading books, but instead due to smartphones and tablets. Let's bring the conversation back and hopefully with it, we will bring back the tenets of slow living and re-infuse true creativity - from books to art to science to cooking - back into our lives so we can give an honest account of our lives one day.

I don't know about you, but I sure have no plausible excuse for 9.5 years of scrolling when I meet God one day. That's 9.5 years wasted and gone.

If there's anything I got out of my trip to Florida (and watching everyone at airports on their phone) it's this: Less phone, more conversation.  That's it.

We can do this.

Dictionary No More

Do you ever hold onto something that you might need? Something that may be a perfect fix for when you're in a jam? That twisty tie that closes something else in need of closing; that cable you knew you needed to keep because a different electronic needs it.

That one pair of jeans you were sure you were going to get back into.

We're all guilty of this ubiquitous idea that we're doing the right thing by holding onto something "we may need in the future." It's frugal, it's smart, and it's rational thinking - because hey, how many times have we gotten rid of something we should've kept, right?

RIP, my dictionary

As a self-proclaimed minimalist, an ideology I've been holding tight to for the last seven years or so, this goes against my current philosophy. Yes, it's good to hold on to certain things in the household I know I will use. Like the plastic bags I need for cleaning out or taking out the garbage - despite the ban, again, that our state will be imposing - I use them, need them, and when I get one, I proceed to stuff it in the plastic bag drawer in our kitchen. These plastic bags will be used. I can guarantee you that.

But, how many plastic containers do I need to hold on to? Leftovers can be put in glass dishes to refrigerate. How many boxes do I need to hold onto to recycle? (I do use boxes all the time for shipping, but surely not all of them).

And here is my most recent example of holding onto something I will never use again: the dictionary.

For twenty-five years, I've lugged this thing around from home to home, knowing - without a doubt - I would use it. And in the early 2000s, used it I did. I used it to write my master's thesis on the veracity of the book of Esther for my Humanities degree (with an emphasis on Literature, thank you very much). I used it as I began to write freelance for my burgeoning career. I used it when an author bushwhacked me with a word I'd never heard of. 

Which was constant.

This may be a throwback to my Gen-X ways (we didn't have smartphones, which means we didn't have dictionary apps on our non-existent smartphones), but, why was I holding onto this book? Why did I insist that this five-pound work of art was necessary anymore?

Language is a beautiful thing. A larger vocabulary helps us to communicate how we feel. But my youth, which is no longer an active participant in my life, insisted I keep it even when I didn't need it.

I took it out of my bookshelf just a few weeks ago and told my husband I was going to donate it. Truthfully, I should've recycled it. Except for a few teachers or professors - or vintage lovers, like myself - no one will buy this from the local thrift store. It will sit in obscurity, fading away into the background of modern life.

I knew it was time to get rid of it when I realized I hadn't used it in over a decade. While this is a bit sad, it also isn't. The dictionary is in my e-reader so if I want to look up a word, all I have to do is tap on the word. It saves me minutes. The dictionary is also an app on my phone. What used to take a minute to plow through in book form, now takes seconds on the tap of a phone. Yet, for a book lover like myself, letting go of the dictionary feels like I'm committing a crime; surrendering my baby, if you will.

But, time is of the essence, after all. Or, that's what they say.

I realize getting rid of a dictionary is the opposite of slow living. But, alas, hear me out. When you're reading a great book, and the tension is thick, and the protagonist is about to find out the meaning of their existence and I have to stop to look up a word, having the handy dandy dictionary app allows me to slow my reading speed for a few seconds rather than a few minutes.

And for every voracious reader, this is of the utmost importance. I need to know what happens now.

While the physical dictionary is a mass of fond memories for me, it's not like I won't use the dictionary at all. It isn't obsolete. Rather, I've just found a newer - and better, I might add - way to look up those obfuscating words that render a reader stupefied. 

While everything changes, and while I'm not used to the blank spot in my bookshelf without it, this book of words has helped me learn everything I've needed to learn about my basic lexicological education. 

If you have one of these on your shelves, it's okay. Don't feel bad. You can let go if you want to. I held onto it even though I hadn't used it in years. Sentimental reasoning is a fine reason to keep items we don't use. It's not logical, but it's why we do what we do.

Here's the moral of the story: If you haven't used an item in over a decade, odds are good you don't need it.

Dictionary, my book of all books, I will miss you. But, I'll see you online. And while I can't use you as a weight-lifting component anymore, the weight of your influence will always be with me. 

 

Always a Work in Progress

My youngest son, who isn't that young (he'll be 18 in two months) came to me just a few days ago and said something profound. He said: "I'm not really naturally good at anything."

Of course, I did my motherly return of "Oh son, of course you are," and reminded him of how good he was at a lot of things. But, what he was really saying was this: "It takes a lot of work to do something better than average."

I actually congratulated him on becoming an adult right then. I had to point out to him that at the young - but maturing - age of nearly 18, he's realized he doesn't know everything.

A lot of great stories in this book.

In fact, if I was reading him right, he was actually telling me he didn't know much at all. Which is huge. This is practically like clouds parting and the sun coming out huge. He was finally - finally, after years of him telling me (and not telling me) that he "knows" everything, as most young boys do - understanding what life was all about.

Life is unfair and life is hard. And in the end, we're going to be average or below average in many things. 

I told him our goal is to do the best we can and continue to improve - even if it is in minute amounts - on all we do, learn, see, have, and become. 

I told him I didn't know how to do anything great either. I've been writing professionally for over twenty years and I am still learning how to write. I'll never have it all figured out. I don't even know who I am and what I like, most days. 

When I hear someone say, "The older I get the more I realize I don't know anything," I hear it as the mark of maturity, which is essentially where my son is at. It means he is ready to learn. He understands humility. He has the chance to transform - through a lifetime - into the person he needs to be because he doesn't think he has it all figured out.

Guidepost's latest book, Transformed by His Grace, took a story of mine and it just came out. Last week, I received my author copies.

My story is about a chance meeting with a friend whom I never would've chosen to have as a friend had I not been open-minded about it. Today, years later, we're still friends. We're unlikely friends with different backgrounds, but great friends nonetheless.

I know nothing about everything, apparently. I can't even pick out friends that would be a good fit for me. God has to intervene! 

A friend whom I would've walked right by because she wasn't like me ended up being a much-needed part of my life. I am a better person because of this chance meeting. 

But after decades of writing (also called rejection), I'm finally getting a steady stream of published works. It's been an arduous journey, but it is worth the time it takes to learn something and learn it well.

I told my son that I am still learning how to do everything. I'm not naturally talented at the things I want to do, and most people aren't. 

All of that talent takes time to acquire. And for me and my writing, I'm still acquiring it. Sure, I'm getting published but most days, particularly when I'm working on my longer stories, I shake my head and wonder how it's possible to be such a bad writer.

Being open to rejection, being open to doing things wrong, and being open to correction are all attributes of a great person. Because if we can keep going despite those things, we are malleable which means there's room for growth.

But, I don't like it. Any of it. It's painful, embarrassing, demoralizing, and humbling. But knowing I can slog through the hum-drum of life, forging through the forests of average to get to the place of above-average, keeps me going down the path that's laid out before me.

I am a constant work in progress and that's the place I probably will be in for the rest of my life. But being willing to change - and allowing for constant transformation - keeps me both human and hopefully, a better human.

That is all I'm trying to tell my son and it's a beautiful thing to see he finally understands it. 

Drinking Coffee │ It's the Little Things

I've been drinking coffee regularly since I was thirteen years old. 

Why thirteen? Because in my family, that's when girls stopped growing... hence the logical conclusion that caffeine wouldn't stunt our growth.

Was I fully grown at 13? Did it stunt my growth? 

I'm not sure. Those are irrelevant points. What was relevant was that I was in on the ritual. I was finally ensconced in the love for roasted beans and hot water. Though it was a bitter and strange taste, the familiar words "it's an acquired taste" stayed in the forefront of my mind through it all. 

I would acquire this rite of passage no matter the cost (halitosis and insomnia).

And by golly, wouldn't you know it, I'm a coffee drinker still.

I come from a family of coffee drinkers, actually. I suppose many people can claim this feat. We all drink coffee and we all tend to drink a lot of it. But I can legitimately claim this one a little more than others because my mom is half-Finnish.

Finland ranks first in the world for coffee consumption. It's such a part of their lifestyle that a coffee break is mandated into their daily work schedules the way tea is a part of the British culture.

So when my oldest, who is currently twenty-three years old and living with us still (he's leaving me soon - getting married) rolled out of bed and poured himself a cup a few mornings ago, there was a metaphysical shift. I could feel it. I could see it. I could hear it!

As I strolled past him to get my second cup of coffee, he lifted the cup to his lips, drank long, and said the words every coffee-drinking mother longs to hear: Oh, wow. That tastes so good.

And I knew. I just knew - right then and there - things had shifted. He was now "one of us." The way he said it got me. I'd never heard him so happy to take that first sip.

For the first time since he'd started drinking coffee (yes, at thirteen and yes apparently it's also a rule for boys in our family, too) he understood. And what was it he understood? 

It was this: He had graduated to the desire for coffee to meet his comfort needs.

That was it.

Plain and simple. Coffee was now his go-to medicine, therapy, warm blanket, and happy juice all in one cup. As a quarter Finnish, I couldn't be more pleased.

I began thinking about how he would add coffee to his life; his future life with his bride.

• Having a bad day at work in the ambulance (he's an EMT)? Drink a cup of coffee.
• Need to figure out how to assemble the newest piece of Ikea furniture for the living room? Drink a cup of coffee.
• Want to beat your parents at Pickleball and need to watch a few YouTube videos to do that? Drink a cup of coffee while you watch.

They say to train your children in the way they should go so they don't depart from it.

Well, I'm happy to note, that my oldest child is officially ready to leave the coop. 

I've taught him how to be a good human being and to follow God's path for his life. He graduated from University and found the perfect bride-to-be. He's doing everything right. And now, he gets coffee.

My work here is done.

I told him to register for a coffee maker on his wedding registry. He's going to want that comfort through the good times and the bad; for better and for worse.

And you can be sure, I'll be buying that coffee maker for him.

Drink coffee and carry on...

The Way to Gratitude

I was going through some old papers the other day. The kind of papers that one stuffs into files and drawers thinking "I may want to look at those one day" and then proceeds to ignore them for decades.

I realized I had been wrong as I separated the papers, ephemera, brochures, and announcements. The bulk of those old papers didn't mean a thing to me now. Which was annoying because they had been taking up space for years.

So, I tossed bags of old college assignments, elementary report cards, and the like and came to a freshman government class essay assignment. In this particular paper, I garnered an "A." 

As I thought about this class and the professor, while I reread the essay, I remembered why I'd kept this paper. There was a good reason. It was an example of what to do for the rest of my life.

Here's how that freshman government class began:

This was before laptops - it was all old school so my "laptop" was a notebook and a pen. Looking around the tiny classroom, I knew it was going to be an interesting semester. 

And that was putting it nicely.

The room could barely be called a room as roughly 15 desks and chairs were crammed into it, and only a portion of the room was used as a classroom. The rest was for storage. Extra chairs, tables, desks, and wastebaskets were piled to the ceiling.

It was as if this was the leftover room, and they had turned it into a classroom because they needed the room after all. We were pretty much an afterthought.

But as an undergraduate, this was a required government class. There was no way out.

I had already been to my English, math, and history classes and they were decent. So far, the college has been treating me well. Sure, I didn’t know a single soul at the school, and taking general education classes was notoriously boring (and necessary), but after meeting the professor of the government class, I changed my mind. 

This was going to be a horrible semester. 

He was droll and enjoyed listening to himself talk. I was positive I was going to fail the class, or at best, get a “C” out of it.

I don’t think he smiled once that first day, and as the semester progressed, I was certain I still hadn’t seen him smile. So, no laughing and no smiling was his thing. I began to wonder if I could drop the class... yet I knew I needed it. 

I had to find the good in this scenario, but what was there to be grateful for? 

After striking up a conversation with a girl a seat in front of me in the following weeks of class (and finding out we had a mutual friend in common - my sister!), it made for a bearable three-day-a-week class. If I had her, we could make this work. I could be grateful for her.

In between breaks, before class began, we would commiserate over the way he conducted class.

“I don’t know if he understands how bad he is,” she said in a whisper. He hadn’t walked into the classroom yet and we were discussing whether or not a laugh, grin, or even a bad joke was possible from him. 

“Well, I think he does. I think it’s what he’s all about,” I said. “I’m not sure what happened to him, but life is very serious for him.”

“I don’t know,” she said, “Maybe he’ll walk in and tell us a joke today; maybe he’ll come in laughing; maybe he’ll come in with a huge ‘Good morning, class' and talk to us about something fun.”

I snorted. No way.

He walked in, opened his briefcase, said hello, and entered into his soliloquy for chapter 12 of assigned homework. He passed back papers for us to look at and rambled.

When my friend looked back at me, she rolled her eyes. "Wrong again,” was the look on her face. There would be no joke from him today. 

The comical tone showing up on her face hit me the right way every day so really, all she had to do was glance at me and I wanted to burst out laughing - quite possibly with snot coming out of my nose.

Having her in that class saved me. 

I had found something to be grateful for, my friend; my fellow-freshman-moaning-about-our-teacher friend. But, there was a term paper coming up. I was worried I wouldn’t meet his expectations. It wasn’t like we had to write the world’s best paper. But we did have to write something that he would approve of.

How did one do that for a professor as stringent and straight-laced as him? 

I read over his syllabus for the tenth time hoping for a clue to writing a paper he approved, but there wasn’t anything else to glean.

So, I focused on being grateful for the ability to write (I was an English major, after all) and wrote the best paper he’d ever seen. I wrote from the heart, not just what he wanted to read, but what I felt - even if he hated it.

The following week, he went over each student’s paper in class. I groaned internally. There were only 12 of us in the class, so he had the time to do - and say - whatever he wanted. With each student, he briefly explained what they wrote about, and handed it back to them. I squirmed. What would he think of mine? 

“Now this paper, this was interesting,” he said. “The writer took what we talked about and gave her approach which was strong and to the point. I thought this was actually a very well-written paper. Who… who wrote this?” 

I must've heard him wrong. Was he talking about my paper? I raised my hand somewhat sheepishly. “Me.”

He looked surprised. I wasn’t the most talkative in this class because it bored me. He bored me. He probably assumed my writing was as church-mouse-ish as I acted. Not to mention, I spent more time trying not to laugh at my friend's face than paying attention to what he actually said. 

“Well, it was a very good read," he concluded. "Well done.” And I swear I saw the smallest smile form at the corners of his mouth.

He passed the paper back to me, while my friend just looked at me with surprise. She mouthed “What?”  in disbelief. I collected my thoughts and sighed in satisfaction.

He wasn’t an engaging teacher, but being grateful for what I had – my friend, and my writing - got me through it. It didn't matter that he didn't smile, make a joke, or make the class fun to be in. I passed that government class with flying colors because I focused on what did make me smile. 

Do I remember anything from that class? Not really. But I do remember I aced that paper. And almost thirty years later, I still look at that paper in awe. 

That “A” made my day and it reinforced my behavior that gratitude for what is good around me - even if it all looks bleak - (along with writing from the heart) is always the right thing to do. 

Gratitude creates a way out of every situation. And I still hold to this conviction today.

Also, don't be an idiot like me. Don't save three decades worth of unnecessary paperwork. Save only the very important things - like that "A" paper - and get rid of everything else. 

Save only the things that bring awe and happiness.

Anything is Possible if You're Not in a Hurry

A few years ago, my husband and I got comfy on the sofa, made some popcorn, and on a cool fall night, watched a movie called Sully.

Oregon Coast

This movie is based on an actual person: Chesley Burnett “Sully” Sullenberger. He was the guy who landed the plane in the Hudson River. You know, the pilot who saved everyone’s life on a plane that went down after a bird strike! 

The movie was fantastic. As usual, Tom Hanks did an outstanding job portraying a real, likable, and based-in-real-life person, pilot Sullenberger.

While the movie was riveting from start to finish, one single line from the whole movie stood out to me. It stood out to me so much, that I wrote it down almost immediately after the movie (into my phone) so I wouldn’t forget it.

While the Character Sully is talking to someone early on the phone, he says, “It’s all about the timing. You can accomplish anything if you’re not in a hurry.” Or something very close to this.

Those words were like a bolt of lightning hitting me in the heart. 

Those words were Truth. 

I tend to believe (like others) that if I can’t have success right now then it’s not worth obtaining. I'm so ready to have what I want and have it now, that I'm unwilling to wait for the very thing I want even if it takes time to achieve. 

This new concept of slowing down made my mind spin. It was like a long-lost secret that had been buried in a treasure book that had finally come to life for me.

What if I actually took that advice? What if I chose to take that approach to everything I did in life? Would I see results if I slowed down?

The only way I would know for certain was to do it. But the way to do this had a two-fold approach: I had to focus on what I wanted to see happen, even though I couldn't see the final product yet. And I had to do it in a slow, methodical way.

I had to do things at an unhurried pace even if it felt like everyone was getting ahead of me. Even if it felt like I was leaving myself behind.

I decided to implement this “not being in a hurry” thing into my vintage clothing business first. I started to grow my inventory piece by piece, increasing it steadily and gradually, and now nearly eight years after seeing that movie, my business is more successful than I’d imagined it could be.

I began to write that book I wanted to write. And page by page, though it felt like a snail’s pace, it began to emerge. I completed it and made this "impossible" thing a reality. 

Now, it's just a matter of editing and submitting it (albeit slowly) to finally get it to where that book needs to be.

Little by little, things accumulate. Much like the incredible tenets of compounding interest. 

I began to believe in this for my marriage and friendships. I began to believe I could have what I wanted if I was smart enough to be patient about the process in whatever my heart desired.

It's kind of like perfecting a golf swing. My husband has been doing this for years, even changing his swing. It's a slow process but it's one he's willing to work at - constantly - to make it a reality even if it takes many more years to accomplish.

Other trivial things like collecting vintage dinnerware, are a perfect example. They're pieces I told myself I was only going to get through thrifting and yard sales. I didn't want to purchase them via retail. I didn't want to spend the money. And because of that, I literally had people tell me this was an impossibility. That "you can't find this stuff in thrift stores anymore."

That only made me want to prove them wrong. And I did.

Over three years later, I have hundreds of pieces of my vintage Pyrex because of daily persistence in looking for them, thrifting them, and patiently going from thrift store to yard sale – and often coming out empty-handed – and creating the collection I could see in my mind.

Even my health, and the few issues plaguing me, while they’re not healed yet, I know they’re on the way. I’m doing all the right things to become well.

The hardest part with health is not only the desire to be healed but also waiting for that healing. Yet, if I keep taking it one day at a time, and choose to keep working at it (probably the hardest part), results will come. 

Even if it doesn't come, doing the best I can with what I've been given is up to me.

The movie, Sully, wasn't the biggest blockbuster or the highest-grossing or the most Academy-award-winning-est movie ever made. But that single line changed my outlook on everything around me. It borrowed deep into my heart as a bit of wisdom I never want to forget.

Sully, choosing to be patient with his actions while flying a plane that was going down, probably saved his life and everyone else’s on board. Calm patience is life-giving and life-saving. And just like Sully said, "Anything is possible if you're not in a hurry."

This concept is counterculture to what we see, hear and read. According to the latest Nike commercials, we should want to be number one and we need to be it now. And if we don't want that, then we're losers. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth

Good things take time. And guess what? We're still doing great things even though we haven't reached our goals yet. We're winners when we slow down. 

This is truly the ultimate in slow living.

If we take that desire for success - in whatever we want - and slow it down, and invite ourselves to steep in what we're doing - not as a race to the finish line, but a journey to the goal - we're bound to succeed.

-Heather

Blog & Book Pairings:

Miracle on the Hudson: The Extraordinary Real-Life Story Behind Flight 1549, by the Survivors

Sully: My Search for What Really Matters - The Untold Story Behind the Miracle on the Hudson