I’ve caused two car accidents in my life thus far, both during the same chaotic year. I was working and going to graduate school and raising kids and both accidents involved my phone. One was a minor fender bender, but the second was rougher – I rear-ended a car driven by a teenage girl, only a few years older than my daughter. The front end of my car lifted the entire back end of her
The car was a deep blue, my favorite color, and as I drove it out of the dealership on that warm, rainy April afternoon, I could hardly believe it was mine. It was 2006, and I had just bought a new car for the first time; one with smooth leather seats and a CD player and wide doors so I could easily put my two children in their car seats. I hesitantly moved through traffic and steered on
I am in the process of selling my home and buying a home. This is not the first time I’ve sold a home, nor the first time I’ve bought a home, but I’ve never done them at the same time. It is, to put it mildly, stressful. Thanks to my recovery, I have been able to find brief moments of serenity amid the chaos. I’m taking a moment to think before reacting to the situations
There’s a scene in the film “Finding Nemo” that features two of the main characters, Marlin and Dory, following a single, faint light through the very dark deep sea. As Marlin swims, he talks to himself about how good he feels, basking in the glow of that tiny light, until it shines more fully on the hideous face of an anglerfish, who has lured the two smaller fish in for the kill. Marlin’s response gets
“Are you happy?” I hate that question. It’s confusing. I don’t know what “happy” looks like, and so I’m never quite sure if I am or if I’m not. Does “happy” mean that I love everything about my life? That I live with no regrets? That I have more good days than bad days? That I feel worthy? Even though I clearly don’t know the answer to the question, I seem to invite it into
Last Sunday, I returned home from a wonderful family weekend, celebrating the baptism of my niece. I was dropped off at home, and after putting my things in the house and changing my clothes, I headed out to my car to go pick up my dog. As I reached the driver’s side door, I noticed a HUGE dent in the side of my car. A sizeable, unexpected, infuriating dent. “Oh my God,” I said, staring
“It is okay to dream and have hope.” Affirmations are wonderful things, when I believe that they are true and possible. But I don’t always believe that. I don’t always trust that it is okay to dream and have hope. Sometimes, I want guarantees, to be able to see into the future, to KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that my dreams will come true, and only then am I able to have hope.
I’ve started to meditate. This is shocking. Ask anyone who knows me. Meditating regularly had become the spiritual equivalent of climbing Mount Everest for me. No amount of training or preparation or even desire had been enough for me to sustain a consistent practice. No app or book or video worked for me. I started with the best of intentions, but always gave up after a couple of sessions. My response to such failures was
I came across a book several months ago by Richard Rohr, titled Breathing Under Water: Spirituality and the Twelve Steps. The introduction to the book included the following poem by Sr. Carol Bieleck, RSCJ: Breathing Under Water I built my house by the sea. Not on the sands, mind you; not on the shifting sand. And I built it of rock. A strong house by a strong sea. And we got well acquainted, the sea
Someone in my life told me recently that I’m a truth teller. It felt good to hear that, because I believe telling the truth is the only thing that releases the pain of the past, and opens the door to living in the present moment. It’s not easy, but it is redemptive. But it is so much easier for me to tell the truth when doing so makes me look good. It has been a