Too Much of a Good Thing

There is something inside of most children that asks itself, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Somehow, little kids know that they will not always be as they are now-- and yet the closest that most young minds ever get to comprehending their grown-up selves is to stand in front of the mirror wearing Mommy's heels & lipstick, or a Fireman costume.

This week, we had a short training conference downtown, and I had to play the part of a real, professional grown-up . Considering the fact that I do most of my work either in a coffee house, a college lounge, or in my PJ's at home, looking grown-up and professional isn't usually a top priority in my day. In fact, if there was a goal in my appearance, it would probably be to look like a college freshman in the dorms, rather than a 30 year old married woman with a dog & a subscription to Martha Stewart Living.

It was quite a stretch for me to blend in with the power suits & ties on Market St, and as I balanced my way to BART on my high(ish) heels, I felt a little bit like a six year old, trying to walk in my mom's shoes. Thankfully, no one stopped and asked for my ID, or gave me a pop-quiz on the meaning of the words "Dow Jones Industrial Average".

Getting dressed up in my skirts & uncomfortable nylons (okay, fine, they were tights-- but there were no hearts or ruffles on them anywhere. Trust me, they were very grown-up tights) was a physical manifestation of the way I've been feeling inside lately.

I say this with a smile on my face, but in all seriousness: I think this is my year to "grow up".

Yes, I have been paying my own rent for almost a decade now, have managed to keep the same plant alive for approximately 6 years, have a dog & a brand-new car that was purchased without the presence of parents, and my very own business cards with the word "Director" on them... but on most days, I still feel far from being grown up.

Our goal in the giant, international non-profit we call Work has always been to fly under the radar. Becoming a Director was at the bottom of the list of career options, and seemed synonymous with sitting at a desk, raising funds and planning meetings all day. I enjoyed my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants college ministry, running life through intuitive sense, and the adventure & hard work of squeaking by on a wing & a prayer. That's not to say that everything I did was haphazard & chaotic... but I admit that advance planning, details & organization (i.e. living like a responsible adult) have never been my strongest points.

But I can feel a shift happening-- something new that is taking form and gaining energy & life, and I can see that my place in it is different than anything I have done before.

In short, this big experiment we set out to do in San Francisco is... well... it's working. There is growth that we can't keep up with, opportunities that I couldn't have imagined, and very real plans for the future that... scare me to death. When I stand back and take it all in, it feels too big for me. I can see very clearly that the person I am today-- the way that I think & plan & live my day to day life-- needs to grow in order to meet & fit into this new creation.

Thinking forward into the next several weeks, months and years, I can see what is expected of me (something coming from our director-- not just my over-active imagination!), and picturing myself there seems much like the little kid playing dress-up in front of the mirror.

I believe with my whole heart that this new creation is something that I am meant to be a part of-- despite the fact that see myself as being a child in a grown-up world. My fear of failure is very real, but I am walking forward knowing that even though these things are far bigger than I am, it is (or will be) a perfect fit.

It is amazing to feel as though I am in the right place, doing the right thing at the right time-- to see a reflection of the things I have been hoping and praying for lived out right in front of me. I suppose the frightening thing about dreaming big is being a part of those dreams once they're realized. And life does have a bit of a dream-like quality to it-- rushing ahead of me faster than my mind can keep up with, moving in rhythms I don't understand, and yet somehow familiar and a part of me.

It's messy, full and a little chaotic, but very, very good: too big, yet somehow a perfect fit.

Forsaking My First Love

I am seriously considering cheating on my childhood sweetheart.

I'd say that, in general, I am a fairly loyal person. My tastes & styles may change a bit, but the usual loyalties-- my family, my husband, my country, my faith-- all those have remained pretty rock solid.

When it comes to cheating, I have quite an overactive conscience. I can remember in High Shcool, accidentally seeing the answer to a test question on a neighbor's paper and agonizing over whether or not I would have known the answer on my own. In the end, I decided that I wasn't sure, so I left the question blank. Jiminy Cricket's got nothing on me.

So when I say that I am considering cheating on a childhood sweetheart, you can imagine the gravity of my statement. Especially when I tell you what exactly I just might be cheating on: my mom's chocolate chip cookies.

I know, I know: I might as well tell you that I'm considering drowning a puppy, but it's true. If you are not familiar with the history of said cookie, you can follow the link to the loving back-story & the delicious recipe. Let's just say these cookies are practically a part of my soul.

But tonight I made a cookie(ish) recipe that made me swoon just smelling it. As I write, the tempters are cooling on the rack, awaiting a verdict.

These rivals are called Coffee Toffee Crunch bars, and they came from my favorite blogger & food writer, who claimed that they were the best cookies she had ever tasted. When I read her tantalizing article, I thought to myself, "Well, clearly little Miss Molly hasn't tasted my mom's cookies... but I'm willing to give them a try."

I did, actually, give them a try, but sadly, the recipe that was published in Bon Appetit had them baking a full 15 minutes too long, resulting in Coffee Toffee Biscotti. But tonight, I gave them another whirl, and after almost melting at the taste of the dough, I began seriously considering an affair with my first love.

Here is the recipe... and I will hold you in suspense over the outcome.

ps. If you try them at home, make sure you bake them for 30 minutes, not 45-50, like the recipe says!

Rhythm and Balance

Spontaneity, surprises, traveling, adventure, exploration, new experiences: the kinds of things that great stories are made of. And I want my life to be a good story in the making. I want to be living out a story that is worth telling, worth listening to, worth joining in on. I want all those elements of risk & adventure to be woven into my conversations, my relationships, my job & my daily life.

But-- BUT-- the parts of the story that are rarely ever talked about, the routine aspects of life that never show up in the movie, are the mundane, daily activities that (I believe) hold the whole thing together. They are the elements that I am craving right now.

I know that I could never survive a desk job-- I've tried it before, and felt like a plant withering under the fluorescent lights. Having a career that required me to be in at 9 and out by 5, doing the same thing every day would probably be a stretch for my personality. I love that I can be a Jack of all Trades-- that in the last month, my job had me making chili for 40 people, writing articles, stuffing envelopes, leading meetings, planning Spring Break trips, speaking, crying, praying, laughing, sympathizing, traveling & working in my PJ's.

The trade off to all of that variety, all that spontaneity & adventure, is that it's almost impossible to establish any sense of rhythm. It doesn't help that I am, by nature, a pretty unorganized, hap-hazard type of person. Keeping my ducks in a row is not my strong suit. Neither are paying bills, remembering details, making schedules, being on time, or planning ahead-- but I'm learning. And despite the fact that I'm not good at it, I still crave it.

I want a pattern and flow to my life that makes sense, that keeps me balanced and helps me to live out my Story better. In a way, they sound almost mutually exclusive-- how can planning & organization help me to be more spontaneous & adventurous? I think, though, that balance & rhythm are what keep me centered-- what helps me to fully live out of who I am, without the clutter of chaos that occurs without it.

And it's the little things that help: taking the dog for a walk around the same time everyday, having routines in our weeknights, making healthy food in bulk (rather than binging on the left over 5lb bag of mediocre chips from our student SuperBowl party), and keeping our apartment from looking like a conflict zone.

After traveling 4 of the last 10 weeks, the desire for a routine is heightened. I started today by washing all the dishes & baking some healthy breakfast bars (another failed baking experiment, but at least I tried!). Next up: laundry, house cleaning and a nice, long bike ride with Chris before the rain returns. Not exactly blockbuster-worthy, but very needed.

Abundance

Imagine yourself walking down an empty street and finding a dollar on the ground. What would you do? I think most people would look over their shoulders, and after finding no one there, pick it up & consider themselves lucky.

Now imagine you are walking down the street and hundreds of dollar bills are littered on the ground. Now what would you do?

I encountered a similar situation the other day that left me unsure. Sometimes there can be too much of a good thing...

I am one of those people who walks along the beach with my nose to the sand, searching for tiny treasures. God help me if, someday, I end up with a metal detector & a bucket. I'm not looking for diamond rings, or anything of actual value, but I have always hoped to find a perfect sand dollar.

The beach that we often take our mangy mutt to always has interesting treasures. One day, as we walked along the shore, I discovered millions-- literally millions of lady bugs on the sand, stretching out for at least 1/2 mile. As a little girl, I always thought I was sort of set apart & special if a lady bug landed on me... but millions of them in sand was a little too strange.

Another time, we discovered endless pieces of ruptured jelly fish. One jelly fish washed up on the shore is interesting (in a slightly morbid way), but miles of clear, slimy gel is just gross.

But Tuesday-- Tuesday as Chris & I walked along the beach & watched Gavin play in the waves, we discovered not one, but hundreds of perfect, whole sand dollars! I could hardly contain myself! After picking up a handful, I stopped and wondered, What am I going to do with a handful of sand dollars?

When I realized I could bring home several bucketfuls, two things happened:
1) I faced the moral dilemma of whether or not its wrong to take buckets of sand dollars home? Will I bring imbalance to the entire ecosystem here? I envisioned tsunami's, global warming, & a million other life-threatening scenarios. Maybe all those lady bugs had been on the beach before because someone had taken too many sand dollars away, and it disturbed a ladybug migration somewhere?

2) One perfect, whole sand dollar is special-- but what about hundreds? It no longer seemed like such a treasure. And besides, where am I going to put a hundred sand dollars? Do I want to be that old lady that collects shells & miniature porcelain dogs, displaying them in window sills, atop lacy doilies?

In the end, I brought home about 10 perfect, beautiful, unique sand dollars. Somehow, one still seems more special than 10, but I just couldn't stop myself. And I guess there's a small lesson for me there in simplicity & contentment. I don't need 10 when one is enough. As Americans, we live in such abundance-- food, clothes, entertainment...Oh that I would learn take only what I need, and to be content with what I already have.

Illumination

Something terrible happens in the mind of every little child when the lights go off at night. Evil creatures lurk behind every curtain, monsters crouch under the bed, villains lie in wait inside closets, and shadows flutter to reveal endless opportunities for fear to creep into the imagination.

Once that moment has come-- once the tree outside turns into a monster with long, spindly fingers, or the creaking noise in the hallway becomes a softly approaching ghost-- there is nothing that can be done to undo that transformation. Nothing, of course, except for someone to turn on the lights and reveal the phantoms for what they really are.

Fear is a funny thing. We can know something to be true-- absolutely true-- but once fear has snuck in, it is almost impossible to believe anything else, without the help of some outside force. I confess (and this is embarrassing) that every time Chris is late coming home from a bike ride-- even though I know he is fine-- I start imagining scenarios of phone calls from hospitals, funeral services, and life without him. Nothing-- no amount of reasoning or laughing at myself-- except seeing him walk through the door can erase my crazy thoughts & fears.

I have been dealing with my own fears-- my "monsters under the bed" for some time now. Despite a loving husband, friends & family, despite years of counseling & hours of Dr. Phil (just kidding-- I've never actually watched Dr. Phil... but maybe I should?), I just can't seem to convince myself that there's nothing lying in wait out there.

And here, dear friends, is what I am afraid of: I am afraid of failing, afraid of being alone; afraid that something will go horribly wrong, and I will discover that I am unworthy of love.

A big confession, I know-- but isn't that really what we're all afraid of in the end? Doesn't everyone live with the fear, to some extent, that they don't measure up, that they won't be accepted, that they will fail & be left alone with no one to love them? I'm sure that the healthy, well adjusted, mature adults among us aren't as plagued by that fear in the same way as a 12 year old at a school dance-- and maybe that's all maturity really is?-- but I am sure that at one time or another, we all wrestle with those fears.

Mine come in waves, and are often related to my job & fears of failure. I am in the unusual position of working with my husband and being a professional Christian-- so if I fail at work, I let down not only spiritually budding students & interns, but also my spouse and God. Sheesh! If only I could work at Starbucks and have my failures be limited to cappuccinos and lattes. But I digress.

Over the last several weeks, I could feel those fears mounting up, silently growing under the surface and breeding doubt & insecurities. I would see myself in other people's eyes-- God's, students', co-workers'-- and imagine that they saw failure in me. It wasn't an overwhelming sense of fear or shame, but rather a faint shadow that tainted my vision in a barely perceptible way.

And then one day, something changed. It was as though someone walked into the room and turned on the lights, revealing the monsters & demons for what they really were. I decided that I was tired of listening to lies, tired of living under that cloud. I decided to walk away, and stop believing them.

There have been moments of clarity in my life where Truth is so very True that it illuminates everything around it until it feels as though you could never doubt again. This was one of those moments. Suddenly, all the things I had been believing about myself felt so small and empty, and everything felt free & light, now that I was out from under the weight of all those phantoms.

Oh, the freedom to just be me-- to be able to live out my relationships & responsibilities in the open spaces of myself, without the constraints that my fears & insecurities unknowingly brought. It just felt right.

As I write this now, it has been almost 2 weeks since that moment, and I am sad to admit that the fears & the shadows are slowly creeping back-- as I knew they inevitably would.

I am reminded of my little nephew who cried & cried one night because of the ghosts in his room. When the lights were turned on, they revealed cobwebs blowing in the draft of the window, and once he knew the truth, he was able to go right to sleep, even with the lights turned off. If only all of our fears worked that way.

I know that my fears & insecurities are simply cobwebs & shadows-- I have seen them in the light, and I know that they have no substance. And yet, when it gets dark, they still can hold a certain power over me. Can any of us ever truly escape those dark fears? I think the most that we can do is fight off the shadows & wait in hope for the moment when Someone turns the lights on. Because, really, I think it takes that outside force to chase our fears away-- bringing the illumination & clarity that somehow allows us to push through our fears.

And so, I keep pushing, remembering that moment of Truth, when I just knew that, if nothing else, I am wholly accepted. In the end, that's all I need to know.

A Simple Plan; Thwarted

There is a precious commodity that every San Franciscan covets. Just as the value of, say, a banana increases exponentially in the Arctic, verses in a tropical jungle, so the simple laws of economy-- supply & demand-- are present in my fine City.

I am talking about Space: whether it be a parking spot, or simply the elbow room to stand in any given part of your home without being able to reach out & touch every article of furniture you own, Space is a valuable item here.

There is a never ending Tetris game that exists in San Francisco, where everyone I know battles with their square footage-- re-arranging furniture, scouring Craigslist, BARTing to Ikea, and jealously eying each other to see how the Jone's are keeping up.

I imagine that New York is even worse-- that if you could find a way to bottle up a square foot at a time and sell it on the streets, you might even start a riot eclipsing the Tickle-me-Elmo craze, while City Dwellers scratched & clawed at one another to add just a little more Space to their lives.

I confess that I am not immune to the fantasies of what life could be like with just a little more Space. I admit that I have secret, wishful dreams about what I would do with a second bedroom (oh, imagine the utter extravagance! Like winning the Lottery!), or even what it would be like to have two people in the kitchen at the same time. I decided just the other day that in order to make room for my boots to line up in our closet, I need to get rid of a stock pot in our kitchen (I'm not joking! Our ice cream maker has no where else to sleep but on our closet floor, and if we got rid of a stock pot, we could put the ice cream maker in the kitchen, and I could line up my boots in the bedroom closet, rather than cramming them in awkward piles.).

Every now and then-- especially when we have been out of town for a while and come home with fresh eyes to really see our apartment-- I find new energy & creativity to re-invent our living space, making it more efficient & roomy.

It all started with a Simple Plan: if we got rid of our TV, we could eliminate the clunky stand it sits on, and... [you can feel the seductive siren call, the very thought welling up like fireworks]... create more *Space*. We would replace our obtrusive TV with our flat panel computer monitor for watching movies, eliminating the temptation to waste time in front of the tube, while freeing up some precious Space.

That's when it all fell apart. What would we do with that Space? We can't just leave it there-- that would be wasteful! And what about when we use the computer and watch a movie at the same time? What began as a simple plan turned into a complete overhaul. In a matter of days, we had every material belonging in our Living Room stacked, re-arranged, thrown out, or in limbo somewhere in between (mostly the latter). I spent hours-- probably days-- searching through Craigslist, visiting thrift shops, measuring each inch of floor space & moving every piece of furniture.

And then, like a miracle, it all came together. I found Chris' ultimate fantasy: a big, over sized leather arm chair to grow old on. It matched our couch perfectly, and it was only $50. Hooray for Craigslist! Suddenly everything came into focus. We raced out, hastily handed over our $50 and marched our prize down to the car.

The only problem was that Chris' beautiful new/used armed chair was about 2 inches too tall to fit in our non-SUV. No matter how much we pushed, or how many angles we tried, it just wouldn't go in that little car. However, when the very bottom of one side of the chair was squeezed in through the hatchback, the bottom of the other side rested comfortably on the bike rack/trailer hitch. Hmmm, why not? We said to ourselves

With only about 5% of the arm chair actually inside the car, we drove off with the rest of it precariously balanced on the bike rack (with the aid of some ratchet straps)... and did what any rational San Franciscan would do: we went to the beach. (Well, we were only a few blocks away, and our poor dog hadn't been outside at all that day!). When we finally made it home, cleaned up our treasure (and found a few dollars in change under the cushions-- meaning that the chair only cost about $48!), we laughed at the thought of fitting this ginormous armchair into our apartment. But I would not be defeated. I believed in my plan.

The chair sat out in the foyer for a few days while we did mental Rubic's Cube with the furniture inside. After much turmoil, we finally landed on our solution: a flat panel TV and a tiny cart to put in on (I'll save you the gory details of our Salvation Army searches, our TV research, the painting & re-wiring & re-arranging that took place for that minor miracle to occur).

In all, we ended up with a gorgeous leather arm chair, a flat panel TV, a rolling wooden cart, and a new sense of space & openness for only $248 (more than we intended to spend, but it was our Christmas present to each other). Not bad, when you consider how jealous our friends will be, now that we have room for a couch, a dining table and an arm chair in our living room. Of course, we still can't find a place for our plants & our stereo, we have to re-arrange our furniture every time we want to watch TV, and my feng Shui is all messed up from an off-centered picture that we still haven't re-hung after the room's re-configuration.

But, as I sit on that fabulous leather arm chair and survey our new & improved room, I have an air of satisfaction, knowing that I succeeded at squeezing out every last drop of Space that this apartment had to offer (once I get rid of my stock pot, of course).

Hello, Old Friend

There is something delicious and comfortable about old friendships-- the kind that feel like a conversation left off in mid-air and resumed again, even if its months or years later.

They are the kind of interactions that don't require explanations, background stories, or wading through the niceties of small talk, and can skip directly to the heart of the matter. History, knowledge & shared experiences wash away self-consciousness in those moments, and we are free to simply enjoy each other.

It's a shame, really, that the rest of life can't operate in the same way. Some aspects of life are just like riding a bike, and some require that awkward breaking-in phase all over again, no matter how many times you've done it.

Incidentally, my brother hates the expression "Just like riding a bike", because all though he was a champ on two wheels as a kid, he somehow digressed, and would most likely need training wheels again, if he were forced to resume his cycling carer. Which is my point, exactly.

I don't think its fair that just because one hasn't exercised in a few weeks, one's body acts as though physical exertion is something completely foreign and alien, some new entity that it has never encountered (I am speaking hypothetically, of course). I don't think it's fair that, come Monday morning, it's as though no alarm clock has ever dared to wake you up before dawn-- just because two little weekend mornings have snuck in and [gloriously] interfered with your routine.

Why is it that all renewal in life can't be more like an Old Friend? When we return to the gym after Christmas, why can't we say to the elliptical, "Hello, Old Friend", or greet the alarm clock with the same easy comfort & closeness?

This last week has been a push to welcome back the rhythms and routines of life, and one Friend in particular has been especially hard to start a conversation with. Recently, I have found Writing to be such an easy friend-- a natural outlet I gravitated towards & felt at home with; a place where I found & liked myself. But over these last several weeks, it seemed as though our conversations had dried up and become tired & forced-- more like an old, worn out marriage than a warm, fuzzy friendship.

Let the records state that I am horrible when it comes to discipline & longevity. From more recent relationships-- like knitting & embroidery-- to ancient ones-- like playing the viola & horse-back riding--I tend to be more of a sprinter than a marathon runner.

Yes, it seems as though the Thrill is gone-- that the well of creativity is dry, and I am left wondering What Went Wrong? I have decided, though, that Writing is worth sticking with, despite the hard work & awkward silences. Even though I feel that I have nothing to say, even though those first conversations feel forced & artificial, I know that if we keep talking, we'll find our way back. So then, I will continue forcing my hand (literally), trusting that it will get better.