the time i had my fortune told.

i saw a fortune teller at a halloween party saturday night, fortune teller/tarot card reader. after several drinks i ducked underneath the black curtain and sat at her little round table. i took off my mary poppins gloves, shuffled the cards, and cut the deck. 

i put my gloves back on as she chose four cards. 

the first was truth. 

she looked at it.

she looked at me.

speak your truth. you must speak your truth. 

she said this over and over again. i used my mental notepad, remember this. remember this. 

it gave me a push. i don't have to justify any part of this to anyone. we're often mistaken into thinking we ever have to justify any single part of our lives. we don't. belief changes people who are open to being changed. it changes people who are ready to be changed.

she told me i don't need to understand or worry about the people who don't hear me/don't know how to hear me. i don't have to change them.

it's not my job to help people understand me.

speak your truth. what is your truth telling you?

my truth is telling me that thinking/posting about speaking my truth before this woman told me i need to do it is a sign in and of itself. a big one.

my truth is telling me that if my mind and body are screaming no when i walk into a room/interview/conversation, this is a sign. pay attention.

my truth is telling me that anger really is poison, but it's not useless. it becomes useless if it becomes more than something temporary. 

my truth is telling me that listening to mary j. blige is one of the fastest ways to feel strong.

my truth is telling me that finding time to walk by yourself at some point everyday is necessary, even if it's just sixty seconds down the hall. walking heals.

my truth is telling me that this is the man i've waited my whole life for. 

my truth is telling me that the most important friends in our lives are the ones who never leave, the ones who are steady, who keep us steady when we're unsure of anything and everything around us.

my truth is telling me that as hard and scary and tiring as everything is right now i'm going to get through it. because i'm surrounded by a whole lot of beautiful. and hope.

the truth.

the truth is like a lion. you don't have to defend it. let it loose. it will defend itself.
-st. augustine

on signs. and learning to have faith.

i take it as a sign that while walking down washington yesterday, out of nowhere, i heard my great aunt hope's voice in my head. 

if ever a person was born with the most fitting name it is this petite red-headed-debbie-reynolds-twin-of-a-woman.

put it in God's hands now.  

she has said this to me so many times over the years. and of course i heard them in that moment because i needed to hear them, on my way to do something important. i thought of the softness of those words, how her voice has sounded every time she's said them to me.

this tiny, perfect prayer gave me the lift i needed. it carried me through my meeting, through my day.

i struggle sometimes with prayer-the feeling that i'm not doing it right. it. and i go back and forth between faith feeling hard and then moments of grace where things feel light and i do feel like i'm getting it. it. 

but i've learned that frantically searching for anything, especially a sign, is the fastest way to ensure that you won't find it. i'm learning that i can't always look, look, look for things to the point of exhaustion. sometimes i have to stop, wait, and pray i'll get the sign i need. i pray that i'll be open to receiving it.

this is faith.

i love the stillness i feel at church. when i studied in florence i went to mass by myself. i didn't care that i didn't speak italian and i didn't care that i was there alone. fitting in is not always the most important part of the things we do, finding a way to just be is. i woke early and ate breakfast on our terrace. i walked the cobblestone streets, navy blue pashmina in hand. i sat in that pew, closed my eyes, and trained myself to be still. i trained myself to feel everything. i felt myself change. i let myself change.

fear and faith and hope and grace and finding ways to feel and accept and return and not fear them. and somehow finding patience in all of them. 

this morning i took myself for a long walk after leaving the gym. i found myself on a warm street littered with leaves, surrounded by change. i could feel it. it's not just the seasons; i feel close to so many things. a cloeseness that makes my body ache and before i would simply bounce back and forth between wanting these new things and pushing them away out of fear. 

i'm no longer bouncing. i'm still. i'm ready.

the universe gives us signs at every turn. some are big and screaming and others are whispers.

this is life. and it requires change and movement. and it's hard. the learning part never stops. it takes work. these things will happen.

this is faith.

a perfect string of words.

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once.” 
-John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

tuesday morning gratitude list.

today i am thankful for...

the chicago bears defensive line

the man who semi-jokingly, semi-seriously offered to get me Indian corn because there were no flowers at the farmers market

people who surprise me with coffee

a rainy afternoon spent snuggling up with charlotte's web and goldfish crackers

polka dot sweaters

being a part of things

sam cooke and harry connick, jr.

friends across the country who send pictures on saturday afternoons of their little ones in their costumes

hocus pocus on abc family

a halloween costume finally falling into place

an ever-growing love for jogging strollers

a dream about a birthday.

on friday night i dreamt about my grandmother. 

it was her birthday and i couldn't find candles for the cake. my whole family was there and i was frantic, searching for pink candles for a chocolate cake. 

i am someone who has to know why. always. growing up, i was that child. i still am. 

why did i have this dream? why was it her birthday? what does it mean?

maybe it's because things in my life are particularly crazy right now and when that happens i think of what she would do. she'd get tough, which would be easy for her. she was tough. but it was a quiet strength. she worked hard. she just didn't talk about it. growing up i was afraid of her. she was loving in her own way. but it was a quiet love. 

i wish i could be more like this.  

maybe it's because i wish i could sit at her kitchen table one more time as we go over her grocery list, just to make sure i knew exactly what type of salad dressing she wanted: the wishbone spray bottle. and the pie: cherry first, then peach, but only if they don't have cherry. i still smile every time i see potato bread. it made me laugh; she was the only person i knew who loved it. and the boxes of spearmint tic tacs she kept on top of her television. i used to sneak them while she was in the bathroom. she never said anything about it. 

maybe it's because i wish i could sit at her kitchen table and over wheel of fortune ask for advice and tell her about my life: my writing, the love i've found-i picture her nodding, semi-smiling and waiting for me to finish talking before she'd say, he sounds like your grandfather, my plans and how i can't stop making them. and how sometimes my fear that i won't make these things happen keeps me from sleeping.

maybe it's because i've been thinking about my birthday lately. i'll turn 28 in less than two months. good Lord, when did that happen? maybe it's because birthdays are about wishes. but i wish i could ask her my questions. 

those lists are so long.

but i'd start with, gram, why potato bread?

change.

"I change my life when I change my thinking. I am Light. I am Spirit. I am a wonderful, capable being. And it is time for me to acknowledge that I create my own reality with my thoughts. If I want to change my reality, then it is time for me to change my mind."
-Louise L. Hay

on feeling beautiful.

you're so pretty. 

ben said this to me the other day. he'd barely finished saying the words before i dismissed them and shoved them away. 

i don't even have makeup on!

this is how i responded. and it's sad that i equate beauty with makeup, but i'd be a liar if i said makeup didn't do a whole lot to help how i sometimes feel about myself. i laughed and tucked my hair behind my ear. i do that when i'm uncomfortable. even with this man i am wholly in love with, that word, pretty, makes me uncomfortable. i took his kind words and pushed them away. because i had just woken up and most likely looked like a raccoon. or a jungle beast because i somehow wind up with half a dozen knots in my hair every morning. 

 

he uses the words pretty and beautiful. it's hard to accept them, these pockets of kindness. accepting them means acknowledging them as truth and acknowledging that a good man said them to you and this man looks at you this way. but it's especially hard when beautiful is the most foreign feeling in that moment, on that day, during a long stretch of unlovely-feeling days. and it's hard when things around you feel crummy. because you then start to feel crummy. and a bad mood becomes a runway train of i'm as big as a house and i hate everything and eating this maple donut will make the problem go away.  

oh, sweet girl, you know that it won't. because that maple donut will be gone in two minutes. on particularly bad days, less than that. and the problem will float back to the surface. and all the sweet foods and salty foods in the whole world won't make you feel better about yourself. you don't need them. and you don't need to ignore compliments or believe that you don't deserve them. 

everyone deserves them.

i have body issues. that sentence is so very loaded and tricky and tiring. these issues make those moments of hearing someone say nice things to me hard to believe. he sees me this way, so why can't i see me this way? 

this takes time.

it's important to think of ourselves as beautiful. but more than that, the feeling part, truly feeling beautiful is everything. feeling is believing. and it means everything when you feel it on your own. beautiful doesn't always have to mean red lipstick, a fancy dress, and high heels. it can be much quieter. 

i feel beautiful when i run. when i find a rhythm on the treadmill or street and i quiet my mind. 

i feel beautiful when i'm biking twenty miles in spin class, cursing the instructor and the awful music she's choosing to play. i feel less beautiful when i compare my thighs to the girl on the bike next to me. comparison is the thief of joy. teddy roosevelt was on to something there. my thighs have nothing to do with that girl's thighs and they definitely have nothing to do with my self-worth.

i feel beautiful after i wash my face and everything feels fresh. 

i feel beautiful when i hear i love you. and especially when i say it. 

i feel beautiful sharing wine and stories with my girlfriends, the funniest and most loving women i know.

i feel beautiful when someone says my name for the first time, when they sometimes smile because it's so different. and i love that about my name. even for someone who craves familiarity and stability, i love the differentness of what i'm called. 

i feel beautiful on sunday mornings at church, feeling calm like i've never known. rocking eva back and forth and sharing animal crackers and singing songs. beautiful is happiness, finally coming to stay. let it stay. beautiful is praying that this, all of this stays.

i feel beautiful when i'm eating a healthy meal i've cooked for myself. when i'm on my fifth or sixth glass of water, with lemon if the mood strikes. i feel beautiful when i'm taking the best possible care of myself, when i'm taking care of my heart.

beautiful has nothing to do with a number on a scale or a pair of jeans. it is about hearing that word and not flinching and not tucking the hair and not looking away, but looking at the person saying the words, and when necessary looking in the mirror and saying them myself. 

this takes time.

feeling sexy is a whole other can of worms. that feeling is harder to hold on to, but i'm working on it. 

beautiful takes time, but i have faith that i'm getting there.

what makes you feel beautiful?

a list of letters.

dear the walking dead,

i know i'm late to the party, but i'm in love with you. especially dale.

dear downton abbey,
i can't wait for your return.

dear st. louis cardinals,
i'm looking forward to seeing you destroy the tigers in the world series. also, your stadium and city are lovely.

dear pumpkin coffee,

thank you for existing. you're wonderful.

dear leopard top from target, 

i've been meaning to wear you, but i keep forgetting. maybe to church on sunday. that's not inappropriate, right? i'll pair you with a cardigan, of course.

dear candy corn,

i still have yet to buy you this season. i don't miss you at all.

dear kathleen edwards,

thank you for the fantastic show two weeks ago. and thank you for writing this song. also, love the video.

dear treadmill,
i can't wait to spend some quality time with you today. my soul already feels calm, just at the thought of this.

dear barbara kingsolver,
thank you for this: the very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. and the most you can do is live inside that hope. not admire it from a distance, but live right in it, under its roof.

on grace. part 1 of 1,000.

i do not understand the mystery of grace-only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.
-anne lamott 

on having faith. and feeling like a fraud.

i called a woman on michigan avenue a fat ass this morning. at 7:30 on a monday morning.

i put my hand over my mouth as i admit this to jim. i hate myself for saying that word. it's not the first time i've thought something so hateful.

i said it out loud. she was halfway down the street and she took my cab. i was in a hurry.

lately it seems i am always in a hurry. i am always rushing. rushing makes my entire body ache and want to scream. in those moments i know my body is giving me a message, you need to stop. you need to slow down. you will catch another cab. you will get through this interview, this meeting, this day, this week. 

i don't like thinking of my day as something to "survive" and "get through." but sometimes this is just how i feel. this won't be forever. it's up to me to make sure this isn't a forever feeling.

saying that word on that sidewalk had nothing to do with the woman in cartoon-covered scrubs who took the cab i desperately needed to catch. i don't need to tell jim that it had nothing to do with her, that it's not about her, that it's about me not running enough and not sleeping enough and worrying far more than enough; he already knows this. 

i tell him anyway. 

you were having a bad day and you had to beat up on yourself. you had a bad morning so why not just keep going? 

jim, i write about loving yourself and being kind and patient. i feel like a fraud. i spent all weekend with a headache. chocolate and diet coke were the only things that helped. i don't want to eat like that. i don't want to have a headache that lasts four days because i don't know how to breathe. you have to remind me to breathe when i come here.

so today you feel like a fraud. it's one day.  

it's a bad day, not a bad life.

rhi, sometimes you get on a train and it just keeps rolling. you have got to learn to let things be. your life is chaotic right now. it's not going to stay that way. you're doing everything you can.

jim, it can't. it cannot stay this way.

it won't. have faith. you've got to have faith. 

life is about finding balance. it's written everywhere and everyone talks about it, how hard it is to find and hold on to. finding a way to make our lives work. it's like learning to dance: you step and misstep and catch your breath and laugh and have fun and feel happy and worry about looking dumb and stepping on someone else and ten other things, sometimes all in the matter of one song, one day. when you're angry at the world and you're angry at yourself you need to figure out how to combat it. anger is wasted energy and when you're tired all the time you need to ask yourself why.

balance and forgiveness. and remembering to remember these two.

we are all ordinary. we are all boring. we are all spectacular. we are all shy. we are all bold. we are all heroes. we are all helpless. it just depends on the day.
-brad meltzer

this is how you love yourself. you keep going.

you take yourself for walks: in the morning before the world wakes up, at lunch past the park by the school near work, at night on the days that qualify as one of those days. pay attention to the children playing and running without fear, without worry. give yourself five minutes, ten, thirty to do the same. you deserve to do the same. remember how much walking has saved your life. all good things in this world start with a first step. no music, no noise. just you and your breath. walk just to walk. walk to feel your heart grow stronger. walk to feel your mind grow quiet and be at peace. walking does this for you. on the days you feel like you're going to crawl out of your skin, walk. take these steps. take this time for yourself. walking heals. remember this. walking heals your soul. let it. this is how you love yourself. 

you remind yourself that similar to life, sometimes your soul needs to be organized and cleaned up, just a bit. days and bad moods start to pile up and things feel clogged. pay attention when things start to feel heavy, the first second you feel this. attack this feeling. attack these days and tell them, no. you don't get to stay here. i'm choosing happiness today. i'm choosing not to feel stuck, not today and not tomorrow. you remind yourself that your soul is your responsibility. give it room to breathe. this is how you love yourself. 

you be as emotional and honest as necessary. it took your entire life to get to a place where you feel and know how to. you do not need to tone it down or turn it off. this is how you love yourself.

you do not tone down any part of yourself. not one. this is how you love yourself. 

you remind yourself that anything worth anything takes time. change is a quiet room in a small corner of your heart. and sometimes that corner is much bigger. change comes when you're ready and open to it. be open. keep yourself open even on those days when the last thing you want is to keep trying and keep hoping for things. hoping is not a part-time job. tell the universe that you are ready, ready for more and ready for the work that the more you want requires. send this prayer into the universe. i am ready. i am ready. i am ready. take a breath and then take that first step. this is how you love yourself.

you give yourself permission to want things. you give yourself permission to have the life you yearn for. you deserve a big life. you don't have to justify wanting one. this is how you love yourself.

you know that sometimes it's enough to sit at your desk with a pb & j, string cheese, and big glass of water and work on that crossword puzzle from monday. on a wednesday. life happens. catch your breath. this is how you love yourself.

you spend an entire morning listening to bob marley and bon iver. you picture yourself on a beach and then a forest. you smile quietly to yourself as you sit at your desk and listen to these men, these thoughtful men with beautiful and wonderfully soft voices. you let the quiet of these songs fill you. you look for the beautiful quiet all around you. settle into it as often as you can. be thankful for beautiful quiet. it's everywhere. this is how you love yourself.

you give yourself small goals. you give yourself the space and time to complete them. be honest with yourself. be patient. be gentle. this is how you love yourself.  

  

you pass go. you continue to fight for what you want. if you do not fight for it you do not want it badly enough. you stop making excuses. you stop being afraid. you keep going. this is how you love yourself.

life, as of late.

It's forever.

The reconstruction of your soul as a woman is a lifelong endeavor and journey. It's forever. 
-Lady Gaga

things i refuse to apologize for, part II.

giving dirty looks to anyone who doesn't get out of their seat for a pregnant woman, old person, or child. 

not being on the harry potter, game of thrones, or hunger games trains. (maybe harry just a bit.)

my undying love for martha stewart.

the fact that my favorite part of the break-up movie is the photo montage in the beginning.
using a planner. have you not been to paper source?

that's what she said. i will never stop.

disliking the office the second steve carrell left.

liking amy poehler more than tina fey.
taking so many pictures. all.the.time.
the fact that michelle obama's arms are the goal.
blowing my cover and making a counting crows mixed cd for that guy in college. 
digging through stacks of newspapers to find one that isn't wrinkled/ripped.
not taking the first magazine on shelves.
asking to have the television at the gym switched to wgn news.
the fact that i started christmas shopping yesterday.
wanting.
stopping to pick up lucky pennies.

taking twenty-seven years to fall in love. boy, was it worth the wait.

Joan Didion, always.

"See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am supposed to do, which is write - on that bankrupt morning I will simply open my notebook and there it will all be."

-Joan Didion, On Keeping a Notebook

the women in my life.

sometimes you have a day. you wait and wait and sit and stew and worry. then you worry some more. you supply answers to questions you don't need to be asking.

sit and think about what it is you're really worried about. you know; you always know. ask yourself, what can i control? what can i change? stand up and walk. walk around the block. walk down the hall if you don't have time to go farther. stare out a window and listen to the songs that always help, the songs that make you feel light with the first note. clean your purse, organize your calendar, take a breath. take five minutes to not be afraid. take ten, then twenty, and so on and so on. feel the things you're afraid of. look at them. decide that they don't get to grow. tell yourself a different story. write a different ending.
 
it's these days when i think, what would the women in my life do? the women i'm beyond grateful to know. 

the woman who says, it's monday. do something wonderful for yourself.

the woman who, within ten seconds on the phone, says, do you want me to pick you up?

the woman who says, i always saw you with someone like this.

the woman who took me into her home when i was the most lost i've ever been.

the woman whose emails make me laugh so hard i snort at my desk.

the women who've rubbed my back and wiped my tears.

the women who've called me on my shit when i didn't want it, and especially when i needed it.

the women who've loaned cars and movies and books.

the women who know when to push me, and more than that, know how.

the women who show me the kind of mother i want to be, a mama.

the women who make themselves the most important part of their lives. 

they keep going.