A birthday and a lesson after death...

Yesterday was my friend Jonathan's birthday. I've known Jonathan since sixth grade. He was kind and funny and seemed immune to negativity, peer pressure, hatred or meanness. He was quite simply the kindest, most positive and upbeat person I knew. Jonathan and I lost touch as many of us Gen X'ers did (we didn't have anything like Facebook when we graduated - life was very different). One day, at some point after I found Facebook, Jonathan did too and we became Facebook friends. He would send me messages now and then (not posts on my wall but actual, personal messages that often just said "Hi Amy, how's life? I hope you're great. I'm very happy that things went well yesterday at the hospital. I'm so proud of my boy! He's going to play soccer soon!"). You see, Jon had all the reason in the world to be down-trodden. His five year old son had cancer. He and his wife did all they could to have a happy, normal life as they fought against the cancer monster and celebrated his son's little milestones in the big battle and eventual victory over cancer.

Jon died a year and a half ago, suddenly, unexpectedly. Jon shouldn't have died. There was no reason for it. He was young, he was proud of his time spent working out at the Y to be healthy, and he had a son who needed him arguably more than any boy possibly could. I attended Jon's funeral at home and reconnected with old friends. We relived the pure beauty that was Jon. We mourned, we became closer to each other and I met his wife Sheryl and his son as they were saying their goodbyes to my childhood friend.

Sheryl and I connected instantly. I wanted to do something to support her. But I felt that there was nothing I could do. I was wrong. And I am telling you this - if you are reading - because you, like me, probably need to believe in a much greater power than what you and I can comprehend. You need to know that God/the universe/an energy greater than us is always at work in our lives - just like I needed to believe.

Jon died in the fall, not long before Christmas. I felt so compelled to do something for his wife and son but I couldn't imagine what - I barely knew them and I had no idea how it would be received if I did something. I wound up shopping for Christmas gifts for them both - surely, I thought, that was acceptable and welcome. While shopping for a woman my age and a five year old boy I was utterly compelled to purchase a pink feather boa that I tried many times not to buy.  I thought it was too silly, too inappropriate, too - something. But I just went with my first instinct and wrapped it up and gave it to Sheryl for Christmas mere weeks after Jon died. When she opened the gift, she was speechless. She smacked my thigh, looked franticaly around the room and then got up, searching for something. When she came back and sat next to me, she stared at me in disbelief. She couldn't speak and I really wasn't sure what was going on. She had a pile of photographs and kept telling me she had to find one. She found it. It was a silly photo of Jon wearing a feather boa. It had become a joke the two of them shared and laughed about often. I knew instantly: I didn't give Sheryl that feather boa, Jon did. But he needed a human to be quiet enough and trusting enough of her instincts to help him give this gift to his wife who missed him so much so he could say to her "I'm here." ...And I was that human who was eventually quiet and compliant enough to take a pink boa off a wall, buy it, wrap it and give it to someone who would, unbenounced to me, know exactly who it was from.

Yesterday we remembered Jon's entrance into this world in a now-Facebook culture. Many of us posted long messages on his wall about how much we miss him, how his positive outlook continues to teach us and what a gift he was to everyone. And while Jon is "gone," he is often present in my heart and mind because he has been my teacher, both in life and in death. He gave me my first tangible experience of connecting directly with the other side, with God. I took an action that came from deep inside of me, one I could not rationalize or figure out, no matter how hard I tried. That deep instinct (Jon's urging me) persisted and I acted according to that instinct. It wasn't mine to judge, just mine to act upon for someone else's benefit. I believe that this is what we are all given every day: A strong urging to do something that we may not understand, that may not benefit us directly but something that we know comes from a place of love so we go ahead and do it anyway. And so tonight, I share this with you all to suggest that we can all hear the guidance of God and our guides if we just listen to that knowing voice inside of us which proves to always be right, even if we never receive the evidence of just how right it is.

Jon, thank you. I celebrate your birth into this world and the gifts you continue to give us. We all love and miss you and I pray that we will all continue to grow in ways we cannot yet imagine because I know you are there helping us whether we listen or not.

Happy birthday, sweet soul.

The look of love...

I've been to more weddings than I can count.  I've loved each one even more than I thought I would.  Being surrounded by so much love is contagious, you know.  Last night was no exception.

Meghan & Rob

Being witness to a promise made by two people to each other is quite a beautiful thing.  I've witnessed many broken promises and broken hearts in my life and they can be the kind of thing that leads some people to become despondent, pessimistic and give up on love all together.  But sharing in someone else's love story and being surrounded by so many others who love and support one couple's love story can fill a heart with faith in love and even - in my opinion - help to heal a broken heart and help some find faith again.  Thankfully, and despite a broken heart or two of my own, I've always had that faith.

The tradition I witnessed, as such, was full of the kind of ceremony and moments that one comes to expect at an American wedding.  The pledging of love, the kisses on command, the first dance and the reminder of long-standing love amongst the oldest and longest-married couples in the room.  It feels new and tender in this space if you open your heart to it, just like falling in love feels new and full of wonder - even after a broken heart or two.  There are some who have given up and closed themselves to knowing and witnessing what I did last night and to those people I say be open, forgive and believe in second (or third, or fourth) chances for love.

Love doesn't feel like or look like it does on a wedding day forever and some people, while they claim to know this, still seek moments in life that look or feel like the excitement of love at first sight or first kiss.  Far too many walk away prematurely when the honeymoon phase wears off because they prefer excitement and newness to the mundaneness of life.  Some hold on too long, suffering through something they should not and some (the couples who get to remain dancing the longest during that traditional married couples dance) have enough faith to hold on through the rough times that prove to be the cement of their foundation.  No love story looks like another and sometimes love is not promised forever.  But every opportunity for love teaches you something about yourself and gives you an opportunity to love someone in a way that can fill you with so much more than can be imagined or dreamt about.

So what does love look like?  I'm no expert but I've learned a thing or two...

Love requires work but it is generous in its giving.  Love does not exist on the surface of anything - not in the look of a person, an occasion or an interaction.  Sometimes even the most fumbling and awkward initial interaction can lead to the greatest love.  There is no perfect.  There is no script and there is no recognizable path.  The moment loves seems like it is something you have seen before, somewhere else, it is not love but rather someone else's story that's already been told (that includes your own).  Love is surprising and always shows you something you hadn't before seen - about the world, about life, about yourself.

So relax your gaze, open your heart and take a fresh look - no matter how many times you've tried before.  Perhaps what you are seeking will open to you when you change your own perspective and look in a new way rather than looking for something at all.

Love is a dance worth dancing - don't sit it out.

Gratitude for Gratitude

Last night, I celebrated my birthday again, this time with a friend I've known for several years who shares the same birthday as me (plus a few years) and while we are very different people in some ways, we are incredibly similar in some, too.  It makes me wonder if sharing the day of our birth somehow makes us understand things in a ways others cannot.

Happy Birthday to us!

Let me tell you a bit about our evening and how it brought me to a place of even deeper gratitude for Nate and a new commitment to speaking my gratitude aloud for at least one person to hear.

When Nate and I arrived at the restaurant last night, the hostess initially seated us in a very cramped part of the restaurant.  There wasn't even room for Nate to wheel his chair under the table without blocking the narrow walkway between the tables.  Yes, it was a Saturday night, but the restaurant was big enough to have the kind of space available that someone in an electric wheelchair truly needs in order to enjoy an evening out that the rest of us able-bodied folks take for granted.  I find it easy to become vocal about Nate's needs when we spend time together.  I notice so much of what he experiences on a daily basis and 90% of it just makes me angry.  After seating us at an impossible table (and after the hostess looked over Nate's head directly at me to ask a question about him), I got angry enough to get up and ask for another table.  Eventually, they found us one and we made the great trek to the other side of the restaurant (people needing to move themselves or their chairs in order to let us through).  We were re-seated at a table in the corner near the side door which was opened often, and every time it was we nearly froze to death but it didn't matter.  We were about to have a great time, as we always do, laughing, talking about work, relationships, God, the meaning of suffering and so much more.

Something always happens when I spend time with Nate.  A part of me feels his pain.  A part of me wishes to make things easy for him, even if just for the hours we are together.  A part of me worries that I will outlive him.  A part of me sees the beauty and great humility that comes from someone who must ask for help.

More than anything, after I've spent time with Nate, I am always reminded of the miraculous capacity humans have to face any amount of suffering and move through it to a place of not just survival, but gratitude.  Nate was proud to have lived fifteen years as a quadriplegic.  Turning 1 year older was a source of pride for him, despite all that you and I might view as the pain and loss in those fifteen years.

Nate is a teacher, like me.  He's caring and compassionate, just like me.  He has the ability to engage anyone in conversation and wants to make them laugh.  Last night complete strangers came over to speak to him - some offered to take our photo (Nate would tell you that it's because we are the two most attractive people in the world - unfortunately, that picture didn't save so we only have a few dark camera phone self-portraits to prove his theory).  Our waiter even thanked us for making his night a little bit brighter after struggling with a challenging party of 20 people (they were right next to us - between the camera flashes all night and, apparently, the bill divided 20 ways, I can imagine what a headache the night must have been for him).

While we would have stayed out much later talking about the reasons that our souls chose the paths we are on in this lifetime, Nate had to return home.  Before we said goodbye, though, we made a commitment to something.  We even pinky swore on it.  Nate and I agreed to post one thing on each other's Facebook page that we are grateful for every single day.  We decided that there is always something to be grateful for.  Even the tiniest thing.  And sometimes, the things that we can be grateful for aren't so tiny - like a night that was more fun than any other we've had (that includes the Sox-Yankees game I got to see with him because he can get tickets in the handicap section).  I could have chosen to focus on the rough start to the evening because Nate's unique needs were not considered but instead, I choose to think about how the evening ended up to be quite wonderful - for Nate, for me and a waiter named Jason.

And just so you know a bit more about the kind of person Nate is, here's one final detail about last night:  I started to get indigestion toward the end of the evening from all of the spicy food we ate and he insisted on asking the waiter where the nearest drug store was - and then going out in the cold himself to get me Rolaids.

So, gratitude for gratitude, that's what I'm sharing with Nate.  May you, too, find someone to share your gratitude with.  This is a way for us to keep each other thinking positive and remembering to always find something to be thankful for, even on our darkest days.

Here is our Gratitude for Gratitude, day 1:

Amy: I'm grateful for honest friendship.

Nate: I am thankful for good food, good friendship, and good conversation!

Balance is being captain of your own ship...

Without even typing a word, this kind of feels like a redux on the theme of setting boundaries I wrote about not too long ago.  Perhaps I'm being reminded of my declaration to setting boundaries as I am called to write about balance tonight.

Perhaps it's because I've lost some very precious things in life, perhaps it's because of some wisdom I've gained with age, but whatever the reason, I've reached a point in my life where I know that I must intentionally and deliberately create balance in my life.

So many speak of balance.  So many books are written on the subject.  So many experts claim to have "secrets" or tools or or to-do lists for us to use in creating balance in our lives.  I'm beginning to think of balance a little bit in the way some might consider God:  worth believing in, worth the effort to know, a life-long inquiry and entirely unknowable by anyone but oneself.   And just like many a believer's prayers to God, I think one's commitment to maintaining balance might ebb and flow throughout life as well.  Finding balance becomes terribly important when life is out of balance but not much of a task when things feel good (how many people pray more when things go really badly in life but forget to check in with prayers of gratitude when life seems to be going along swimmingly?).  And just because life feels good, doesn't mean things are in balance.

Balance?

I'm in a space right now where things are beginning to feel pretty good.  I've eliminated many unnecessary things from my life in recent months.  I've spent quite a bit of time in reflection, meditation and prayer.  I've been asking myself the Big Questions.  This is all good.  But in the process of getting rid and opening up, I am acutely aware (surprisingly!) that a lot is flowing to me right now and I have to be very careful not to recreate another version of what I've just gotten rid of.  I am employing my still juvenile boundary setting skills, but in the midst of drawing lines and saying yes or no, I find myself reflecting on the need to be acutely aware of not just what I'm allowing into my life but how I am using it and relating to it.  Am I being realistic?  Am I being overzealous?  Am I missing information?  Is this going to serve me?  How much of my precious energy and focus do I want to assign to each part of my Universe of Amy?

This process is new to me and quite fascinating.  It feels as though I have just given myself permission to take the wheel and decide what, where, how, who and when.  If this is the case, who the hell was in charge before now??  Is this really what it feels like to be grown up?  That's a laughable thing for me to say because despite a number of revisits to my 26th birthday over the last several years, I am indeed grown up and I have the battle scars, bits of broken heart and a few grey hairs to prove it.  I've also been "grown up" for longer than most people my age but I think I've been seeking the permission and direction of others in one way or another for almost all of my adult life.  And since that is also precisely what I did during my childhood, I guess this means that up until the very recent past, I have lived my entire life according to the expectations of others.  Good lord.  Is this possible?  And am I the only one?

So, here I am.  At a very interesting transition point in life reflecting on so many lessons learned in order to apply them to achieving balance.  Perhaps this revelation itself is part of creating the balance I am seeking.  Perhaps being worthy of my own permission - and recognizing that no one but me can give me permission - is creating the foundation for that balance.  I don't know what it is for sure and I can't tell you what it looks like but I can tell you that this balance thing feels like something big.

My heart expands when I consider being the captain of my own ship and deciding what kind of cargo I'll carry with me to which ports.  And if need be, I can decide to dump it all into the ocean to lighten my load or recalculate my direction to a new port.  It's not about what or how much or how long or how far, it's about my relationship to what I carry -- and remembering that I get to choose what I say yes or no to when it comes to what I bring on board in the first place.  I'll get back to you when I can figure out how to factor the wind, waves, gulf stream and tropical storms into my New Balance Theory.  I'm wise enough to know you can't plan for those things and they are what really throw us off balance in life in the first place.  For now, I'll start here and keep up with my prayers of gratitude.

Gratitude is more than words...

I had the most wonderful weekend for 32 orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya.

My birthday party for charity on Saturday evening at my friend Alex's house was a fantastic success.  It was a fun, happy and inspirational event attended by a diverse crowd of people who all care about things bigger than themselves.  They now, too, care about what is happening in Kenya.

I was delighted with the turnout, the money raised, and the awareness generated for my favorite charity, One Home Many Hopes, but these are just words and they cannot begin to express how I feel about what was and always will be a lovely moment in time.

Photo courtesy of Graham Marley, www.grahamwinslowphoto.com

My heart has expanded.

My hope has been affirmed.

My dreams have taken root.

My belief in humanity has strengthened.

And I've seen once again that something bigger than us 

brings us together in love.

As Thomas Keown, OHMH's founder, said to me as we slowly made our way to the door at the end of the evening, "the money raised is only a part of what is to come from this evening."  The seeds planted and the energy put into motion will surely bring us so much more - an immeasurable amount more.  This is the kind of hope that has led so many people to build OHMH into what it is today.  It is also exactly what I know and believe to be true and magical about the human spirit.  We dropped a pebble in the pond on Saturday night.  Now it's time to watch the fantastic journey of the ripples created by that pebble.

Just as there are not tools to measure the impact of my birthday fundraiser, there are not words for me to express my gratitude to all who were involved, all who gave, and all who will continue to give.

So for making my wish come true, I'll simply say

Thank you.