The Year of the Aha Switch

When does it happen? When do you flip that switch? You know the one I mean -- the one where you stop worrying about how skinny you are and instead find ways to keep your body healthy and strong. That little clicker that moves from caring about what model of car you drive, to what types of snacks are in your glove box for the rider in the little seat in the back. It’s the shiny moment when you realize that sitting on the back porch watching the sun set in the summer shimmer while the boys in your life play in the backyard is one of the best moments you will ever have. It’s when you realize that growing a little garden, watching the tender shoots bloom and offer their very best fruits because you loved them just right is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

When does that happen? 32? 40? 55?

Some people never get there. For me, it was 36 -- the past year. After everything in my life changed, completely and irrevocably. Divorce, my concept of family, my safe haven of home, financial stability -- all rewritten. And what is left is the peace of knowing that all those things come and go in different forms.

To be loved is to love first.

Good is sitting on the porch in the sun watching my son play in the yard … of a rental house, or the park, or finally, backyard of our house.

It’s being there, switch on.

Little hurts lead to big journals

I was scrounging in my room this morning for a notebook to take to work. I like them spiral bound and with some funky art on the cover. No ordinary notebook for the notebook snob! I came across one, tossed it in my bag and bustled the ball of fire out the door.

When I arrived at my desk, I flipped it open, and read. I had started this notebook as a journal. One that was from a difficult time in the past year. A journal chronicling all the little hurts that caused me to make big changes. One entry in particular was very powerful to me. Finding self-worth is a life-long journey, and one that I am really just beginning. Seeing this entry, and knowing how far I've come, made me feel pretty good.

Better Than...

Do you remember the day you told me you were better than me?

My self-worth cringed at your words, coalescing into a mush in my hole-bitten heart. My loneliness yawned into the future, the way light cannot escape a black hole.

Do you remember that day?

I opened my ears to your criticism. I swallowed my pride to your insults. I accepted your condemnation as truth.

And then I stopped.

I am a better parent, a better lover, friend and family member. Better planner, designer, decorator and artist. Writer, speller, cleaner or budgeter. Better in all areas but one.

And you know it. And you remind me.

Because you can't feel big without making me feel small.

And at that, you are the best.