how to be happy, a series.

i wake early. scoop up eva, along with minnie, baby, and bear, and bring her into bed. i make pancakes for the people i love. i pour myself a big cup of coffee and sit down and write. and read the blogs i love, the fluff ones i really love, the new york times, whatever i want to read/write/think when i take the time to sit down with myself.

i take the time.

i give myself a pedicure while eva naps and ben works on the garden in the backyard.  i watch this man from the back window and say thank you. i interrupt him twice, the first with water and an offer of a sandwich. the second a bit later with another offer of a sandwich. it's the italian in me, wanting to feed everyone. but i know there are a thousand ways we can feed each other. and 999 don't involve food. i spend $12 to have my fingernails painted purple in between doctor appointments. i wear a $7.00 dress with a denim shirt and $10 earrings from nordstrom's because they're pretty and make me feel pretty. and that is the difference. i listen to this woman at work, her new album on a loop, and i sing to myself. 

i take a walk on lunch and buy myself ranunculus and a hydrangea. 

i visit with friends who've had babies. i stock up on that wonderful baby smell. and two days later i hold twins!

i get back to the gym, something that makes me feel so calm and happy and whole i could scream and cry and stay on that spin bike for half the day. i read real simple, an article that talks about ways to tackle junk drawers. i share this with ben and say, look at this photo. doesn't this just relax you? look at how organized this drawer is. and when he responds, but where does the junk go? and sticks out his tongue, say thank you again. i read anne lamott on long car rides. i dog-ear and underline and highlight and nod and say mm hmm, yes, yes, yes. i pack pb & js and string cheese and animal crackers and then just smile and say, okay because all of that had to stay in the car. 

i say thank you for this life. 

i watch little ones jump up and down, literally, because they get to ride roller coasters. and watching and being around people with no fear is contagious. and good for us. necessary. especially if they're only seven. i keep my eyes open on the big ones; the rides are always more fun this way. life is more fun when you can see where you're going. this doesn't always happen. but i'm learning, ever so very slowly, that life is also fun when you trust it. 

i take my time.

(photos 2 & 3 by ben)

on the idea of home.

i don't remember when it happened, but at some point early last year my neighborhood, my home stopped feeling like home. i had just turned 27 and was feeling...less than. i didn't feel like myself.

i fell in love with my apartment the second i walked through that brown door. i knew i'd found my four walls. i was in a place in my life where i needed to find and make a home for myself. and i tried my best to do that.

i loved the oldness of my building, the back deck i could see from the corner, the fact that there was a back deck, the stained glass door facing southeast, the sox games i could hear with the windows open, the mexican restaurant two blocks away, the landlord who left presents on easter and christmas and took care of my cat when i went out of town.

i fell in love with having all. that. space. too much space for one person. and the quiet, which, at times, was the bad kind. and the old-fashioned tub. the tub pretty much sealed the deal for me on the first walk-through. 

and i loved coming home after a painfully long day and collapsing on my bed, looking out my window, and seeing the skyline, a reminder of where i was. how i felt looking out that window surrounded by quiet and a room of my own. i felt free.

but it changed, as things do.

how i felt changed. the free feeling changed. the "little" things i chose not to focus on became bigger: the hour plus commute to and from work, the lack of heat in the winter and absolute lack of comfort in the summer. the photos on the walls and the fridge changed. the quiet, the loneliness, my street, all of it stopped being what it had been for me. 

i was in the process of becoming someone else. and that's the whole point of life.

we grow. we become. we outgrow certain things.

if i had to describe my life in one word these past three years it would be hungry. 

i've been hungry my whole life, but it wasn't until i sat in my professor's office while discussing my essay a little over a year ago that she used that word. 

it woke me up.

three years ago i was hungry to find a home, to build a home for myself. but things, people, life change. when a place no longer feels like home, be it a house, apartment, or table full of people it can't be ignored. i know what home feels like. home is warmth, solace, laughter, plates clinking, a dog-always a dog. home is that breath when you walk in the door, or you sit in the yard. even while you fold the towels, that second of calm, that this is it. thank you, thank you.

so much has changed, including where i lay my head at night. i've been living more, breathing, easing into my life. even with all the other chaos in my life i've never known this kind of peace. i have faith that the parts of my life that need work, lots of it, will be okay. i'm already okay.

i've come home.

on prayer. and being open for business.

i've been praying a lot lately. i've been reading this. i have a few pages left, but i don't want it to end. when i do finish it i'll still carry it in my bag. i want to keep it close. it's one of those books. 

anne lamott doesn't pretend to be anything she isn't. she is deeply flawed. news flash: we all are. and this is okay. she reminds me all the time that it is okay. in this book she writes about what she thinks are the three main prayers: help, thanks, wow. i agree. i think there are more, but she's so right with these particular ones. this book has me thinking about prayer and how i do it and what it means to me when i find quiet in my heart for it.

sometimes i struggle with how to do it right.

how. 

it.

right.  

the how part, the prayer part, the right way part. i'm lucky in that i have a good friend who reminded me, you can never be bad at praying. even if the words don't come together, we serve a God who hears the secret petitions of our hearts.

i believe this with every part of me. and so i pray.

i pray for all of us to be kinder to ourselves and each other. 

i pray for the energy my writing deserves.

i pray for the energy to take really good care of myself because i despise every second of the days i don't.

i pray for cousins who are pregnant, the friends having babies, that all of them are safe and healthy and happy. 

i pray for the patience required to pay attention to the blessings around me. for the patience and strength to ignore the junk. and there is a lot of junk in this world.

i pray that i continue to walk away from things that make me feel uneasy or angry. things that produce a physical reaction inside of me. this is a sign.

i pray that eva is happy on the days she's not with us.

i pray that the people i love always feel that love from me.

i pray for boston and texas and that things like these stop happening.

i pray that the white sox have a good season and everyone stays healthy.

i pray when i'm crawling into bed, some nights collapsing, and give thanks for another day on this planet, for this life i'm building.

i pray for the patience and grace required to make it in this world.  i repeatedly pray for these things. 

i think prayers are stronger when shared, when we let them go and put them into the universe.  

when we say them out loud. and they often start with please.

please help me do this better and that better and please help me be better and please give me a sign and please give me a break and please tell me what to do. i'll do it. just tell me what to do. i'm paying attention. my eyes are open. they're open. i promise they're open. i'm so tired. i'm trying. i'm really trying. just tell me what to do. 

and sometimes these words pour out of me into a messy heap, but they're they are. big and sad and messy.

and true.

i pray that one day i will give myself a break. can this come soon, God? i ask this a lot. and i imagine God looking at me and thinking, that one's up to you, rhi.

thank you for my health and thank you for my brain and thank you for this man who bought two lilac bushes for the front of the house. thank you for the beautiful weather you gave us for eva's party. thank you for therapists in five thousand different forms and thank you for love in five thousand different forms. thank you for hummus and mozzarella balls. thank you for country music and anne lamott and joan didion and patty griffin. thank you for second chances and for karma. thank you for giving me the ability to laugh, especially at myself. but with kindness.

wow this is what it's like to have love in my life and wow this is what it's like living with a man and wow i love leaving this loud city and going home to quiet on really bad days. wow do i love baseball and dark chocolate with a scoop of peanut butter and when ben does the dishes and puts eva to bed wow oh wow do i love the sight of that. wow i love this big dog's head on my lap even if he makes me sneeze. wow i love that i write and that this is why i was born. wow i wish i knew the birthday of my book, but it's coming.

i pray because it helps me heal. it helps the world heal. it's a step towards answers, towards acceptance, towards peace.  

Gorgeous, amazing things come into our lives when we are paying attention: mangoes, grandnieces, Bach, ponds. This happens more often when we have as little expectation as possible. If you say, "Well, that's pretty much what I thought I'd see," you are in trouble. At that point you have to ask yourself why you are even here. [...] Astonishing material and revelation appear in our lives all the time. Let it be. Unto us, so much is given. We just have to be open for business.

-Anne Lamott

i pray we all remain open for business.

the season of becoming.

I NEVER CHANGE, I SIMPLY BECOME MORE MYSELF.

-JOYCE CAROL OATES, SOLSTICE

what we choose to put into our bodies. the value of real food.

food, real food, what we choose to feed not only our bodies, but our souls too. eating well is a constant choice. it is a moment by moment, meal by meal decision, and there are two ways to approach it. 

1. i know this will fill me up and give me energy. this will give me protein and fiber and sustain me. i know this is good for my body so i'm going to do this for myself every time i sit down to the plate or bowl in front of me.

2. i know this will make me tired but i want it and i'm going to eat it. i'll deal with the consequences later. the "dealing with" becomes denial becomes a runaway train of bad decisions. 

what this really boils down to is: i love myself enough to do this for myself. or i don't care enough to do this for myself. 

my life has been hectic lately. that is putting it mildly. i let myself slip. with taking care of myself i let myself slip. this happens. but we can make the choice to stop slipping, screaming, fighting, and crying. 

we can choose to forgive ourselves the slip and move on. i try to practice what i preach. i know that for too long now i haven't been doing this. part of the reason i get extra angry with myself is that i know myself now. i'll explain. i know what makes me feel good and what doesn't. i know what situations bring me joy and which bring me stress. 

i know what makes a difference: walking at lunch, using salad plates instead of dinner plates, using plates that are pretty! like our bodies, meals should be treated with respect. drinking water from straws (i drink a LOT more this way so i do it), keeping water bottles everywhere: fridge, car, work, purse.

these are small changes that change a lot.

baby steps. then bigger steps. the hurdles of life then become less and less scary.

i know what i need to do to lose weight and have more energy. and i know that when i have too much going on i lose myself a bit.

i am a better person when i go to bed at 9:00, sometimes 8:00 at night. this makes getting up early a whole lot easier.
i am a better person when i take naps on saturday afternoons.
i am a better person when i pack healthy snacks for myself: bananas, green apples, almonds, string cheese, carrots and hummus.
i am a better person when i take the time to plan.
i am a better person when i stop filling myself with the need to help the world. 
i am a better person when i get the natural vanilla bean gelato instead of the sugar-loaded mint chocolate chip.
i am a better person when i spend less time on twitter and more deep in a new book, an old book, the sports section.
i am a better person when i say no to the fried chicken being served at a party. 
i am a better person when i remind myself that one thank you, but no thank you is all that is required.
i am a better person when i listen to myself. do i want this chicken? do i want this pasta? no, i want to feel better in my clothing. i want to have more energy to run. i want to look good in that swimsuit. 

i am a better person when i take the time to make real food: spinach, salmon with lemon juice, black beans, and green peppers. this took two minutes to put together and was delicious.

i am a better person with less on my plate, literally and metaphorically.

"for the bullied and the beautiful."

this.

winds of change.

i finished graduate school.

i left a job i've had for 2.5 years.

i left the apartment i've had for 2.5 years and moved in with a man and his daughter.

i had 4.5 inches taken off my hair.

it's been a busy week. 

for someone who is not a fan of change that is a whole lot of it. for someone who craves stability and the comfort of the familiar i've been very uncomfortable for the past week. there were revisions to complete, articles to write, a toddler's birthday party to plan, and 2.5 years to put into boxes. it's been a hard week. it's been loud and nonstop, overbooked, and then quiet at times, but mostly frustrating. i've been clumsy and forgetful and overtired. and all of it caught up with me yesterday as i started to fall asleep while having my hair cut.

change happens. it's inevitable. it's our response to the change that matters. 

grace is the goal and wanting to be there is half the battle.

winds of change. i've always liked that expression. i think it sometimes helps us see change as something light and easy. because sometimes change really is a soft breeze that blows through us and doesn't startle us. it shakes us, gently. but sometimes change feels like being in the middle of a storm and i'm trapped outside. and no matter what i do or how hard i try and fight it i can't. that's the thing, the more i fight all of this change, the more i fear it, the more power it gets and the bigger and scarier it seems.

this is not a fight worth taking on. there are certain things in life we must fight for, but being afraid of the unknown, which becomes fear of good just isn't worth the energy.

i'm learning to embrace everything that's happening to me and around me. i'm shedding old layers and leaving parts of me behind. because sometimes they don't get to go with us as we move on. they can't. and they shouldn't. we have to leave behind the things that weigh us down, the things that no longer serve us.

i'm learning to pause more. everything does not need to be unpacked on day one. it helps that i moved in with someone who's basically a human xanax. i've never met someone so calm. the boxes will get unpacked. the settling-in phase will continue. i'm in the middle of it. i am perpetually settling-in to myself and my life. i think a lot of us are.

so much good happened this week too. a dear friend had her baby. i went to dinner with a wonderfully smart woman who always makes me think about my writing and how to do more and be more. i had drinks with one of my best friends, a woman who is so damn smart she never fails to remind me exactly when i need it, don't borrow trouble. there were egg hunts and easter baskets. a holiday and warm weather visited, church, which always restores me, and a nice sunday night walk which reminded me of the joy that surrounds me. 

it's weird not to consider myself a student anymore. i no longer have that title. another thing that will take getting used to. but i'm reading a book, an actual book that isn't an assignment. i'm flying through it. it's gorgeous. 

time for myself is happening.

plans and change and life. all happening at once.

there is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. this season is about becoming.

-shauna niequist

i do so love this woman.