Change - Dedicated to the Hedin Family

Change, it’s the only thing we’ve been able to rely on lately. The last few months have been a whirlwind of change and renewal in the Ross household, and while I’m happy about all of the changes and satisfied with the direction our lives have taken lately, I’ll have to admit it’s all been pretty exhausting.

It started over the Summer. Jeremy enrolled online at Jacksonville State University. Since we married in 2007, he’s been working on-and-off to obtain his degree. The summer of 2012 marked the most serious and permanent jump towards this effort, and it also marked the entrance of college loans into our lives. 

I didn’t anticipate the stress these loans would add to our lives. I had been fortunate enough to have the HOPE scholarship while in college, so I hadn’t accrued mountains of student loan debt. Also, Jeremy and I had lived under pretty strict self-inflicted financial rules for the duration of our married life and were hard-core avoiders of debt that wasn’t a mortgage.

In an instant, all that changed.

Also changing was my professional life. My supervisor and mentor moved on to another job. Other factors at work started shifting; my footing became less and less sure. And it became more and more clear that it was time to move on. I spent several months in a state of unrest. I was unsatisfied with the direction of things; I felt restless and impatient.

I changed during this time. I became Katie Version 2.0. I was myself, but I was stronger. I was more confident. I was less willing to settle. I was less willing to let people walk all over me. At the time, I didn’t even recognize the shift in myself. I only felt the struggle, the frustration. I overlooked the benefits of hardship. Such is human nature.

Blessed relief came in the form of a new job in December and that’s when I noticed the difference in myself. The weight that was lifted with my new job felt nearly like a personality transplant. The stress that had driven my life for so long seemed to evaporate. The happiness that was always just below the surface bubbled up, and I was the Katie that I wanted to be again.

As my new job evolves, as I find my footing and forge my new path, my happiness seems to only grow. As scary as it was to make the first leap from comfort zone to unchartered waters, I’m so relieved that I made that dive, that I’m beginning to make a real splash in my new career.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of another change. Jeremy will be embarking on a new part-time endeavor. As usual, I feel the butterflies and uncertainties that each new challenge brings. Doubt and hesitation make my heart skip a few beats as I think about the days and weeks to come.

With work and school and new-found hobbies and all of the wonderful things we want to try and do, how will we find time for it all? How will we handle all of these changes? How will we embrace new choices and goals and dreams?

I don’t know. I do know that we have survived change before. I do know that life is change and that I better get used to it. I do know that the only thing we can rely on in the coming months and years is that the world is spinning, and we’re going to need to run to keep up.

I do know that when it’s all said and done we’ll be able to see clearly the changes in ourselves and how through hardships and strife, through love and hate, through dark days and sunny, we only become better.

Hi friends,

My blogging friend Nina and her husband Tom are facing some dark days now. Nina is the author of ArtsyNina. She is the kind, witty mother of Jack and June and the wife of Tom. On January 5th, Tom was in a horrible snowmobile accident that left him seriously injured. He sustained numerous injuries to both legs and arms, to his head, his spine, etc., and his road to recovery is going to be long and difficult. 

Unfortunately, the financial burden of this recovery is difficult as well. Because Tom just started a new job recently, he doesn't qualify for FMLA, and Tom and Nina are facing medical bills that will just keep piling up as his recovery goes on. 

So that Tom can focus on his priority, which should be his recovery, a GiveForward site has been created in his honor to assist with the medical bills. If you are able to donate even a few dollars toward the Hedin family, I can assure you they will be appreciated. This young family is just like our own families; they just happened to stumble upon a bad turn of events. Even if you are not able to give, please help to share Tom and Nina's story. 

Thanks for reading!

The Friendship Oak

Probably a maple tree but the closest thing I had in my picture album.

From beneath the shade of the ancient oak tree, the child separated herself from the world around her. In some ways, it was a self-exile, a way of escaping a world that was often cruel and hard to understand, but in truth, the truth that lay in the darkest corners of the child’s heart, the separation was a painful one.

For some, friendship came easy. Girls with perfect pink dresses and overflowing wells of self-confidence skipped along the playground, chatting and giggling and owning recess with their entire beings.

For her, friendship was a constant battle. She latched on to those popular girls with their perfect pink dresses, worshiping them as princesses and fueling their already secure self-esteem. Some days, the days when they needed her around, they would welcome her into their inner-circle, make her feel a part of their secret world. Other days, as if she were a pesky fly, they would swat her away, uninterested in her shy, bookish ways, unconcerned about her feelings and her paper-thin heart.

And so, she made friends with the squirrels and the occasional stray cat…and of course, the ancient oak with its loving branches and its reassuring shade.

The gnarled roots of the tree reached up from the ground and provided not only a cradle for the child but also an imaginary world where she could cook acorn stews and dance with magical fairies. From its comforting embrace, she would watch the other children and wish for someone to come by and steal away her loneliness.

And sometimes, someone would. A fellow loner, or a girl in a perfect pink dress looking for a side-kick. They would flit in and out of her life and her solitary playground world, but none of them lasted as long as the oak.

The oak saw her through happiness, sadness, good days and bad. The oak was her friend, her confidant, her source of joy and comfort.

The oak still stands in that quiet spot beside the playground, still sheltering shy and lonely children, still bringing a sense of friendship to those who may not otherwise feel it.

The child who loved the oak eventually grew up, leaving behind the playground and the ghosts who haunted it.

But she still lives within my heart. She still struggles with her shy nature. She still befriends the confident, popular girls in need of a sidekick. She still climbs trees and loves animals. In many ways, she’s still that same child who played beneath the oak, longing for friendship and struggling with insecurity.

Sometimes, I still feel trapped on that playground, playing amongst the roots of that ancient oak. Maybe, to some extent, I’ll always feel that way. Maybe we all feel that pang of loneliness from time to time, as we fumble our way through life seeking connection, friendship, and the comforting arms of an old oak tree.

Great reading and writing to be found at the wonderful place known at yeahwrite. Check it out, meet new friends, and improve your own writing!

Patchwork of Love

Today, when driving in to work, I heard a phrase on the radio that I completely fell in love with. Two women were talking about their parents and how the relationship between their parents had shaped their lives. One of the women described seeing her mother and father exchange loving, tender glances. She stated that such moments helped build and shape a patchwork of love that would endure into her adult life.

Patchwork of love. Such a beautiful thought. When I heard the words, I immediately imagined a huge, intricate quilt with vivid and unique patches, woven together with a myriad of different threads. I imagined that my own quilt could stretch far across the sky, wrapping the Earth itself in a warm, comforting embrace.

There would be patches of the strangers who darted in and out of my life and yet left an indelible mark of kindness.

Patches of animals and pets, their fuzzy souls making everything more fulfilled and complete, their friendship filling a gaping hole of loneliness through so many heartbreaks.

Patches of friends, those I can touch and those I can only speak to through words on a screen, but all of those who reached out and whom I reached out to for a lasting connection of laughs and tears, shared happiness and fears.

Patches of memories. Of Pawpaw. Of vacations to Florida. Of Easter egg hunts and Christmas mornings. 

Patches of the family I so adore, the blessing of a lifetime, the genesis of my own patchwork of love, the memories shared, the bond of blood, the certainty that if I ever need them they’re always just right there.

Patches of the man I love, the partner and friend. Patches of his hugs and kisses and the comfort of his smell and the sweetness of his heart. Patches woven together across great distances with a strong thread that cannot be broken or cut or torn apart.

I am blessed with patches of many shapes, sizes, and colors, but as beautiful as my own quilt is, I find myself even more marveled and mesmerized by the patchwork of love of others, by the differences I see in each. Because truly, the most incredible thing about a patchwork of love is that not everyone's will be built the same or look the same. 

Some will be sewn together later in life, past the dark days of an undeserved childhood, past the void left empty by those who should love you the most. Some love has to be built from the ground up with a family that may not be from blood but is instead from the heart. The threads of this patchwork are like steel.

Some, the lucky ones, are born with a patchwork already started for them. From the moment they are conceived, so is the soft quilt that will envelope them through childhood and on.

Some will endure rips, tears, burns. Some may even begin to unravel at certain times, but they will be sewn back together. They will from this darkness be stronger than ever.

Some patchworks...most I would say...will revolve around family. Families of all shapes and sizes and colors. Families brought together by the only thing that really matters: Love. These are the patchworks that will be so alike and so different. These are the patchworks that we all must embrace because of that common thread, that universal thread that bonds us all, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, or gender. 

Patchwork of love. Such a beautiful thought, and the even more beautiful thought is that each person carries with them a patchwork of love and that each one is stunningly unique and yet always tying us together with that common thread of love. 


What does your patchwork of love look like? 

Source: inaweofapplique.blogspot.com via Kristin on Pinterest

My Valentine to Blogs

via

Dear Blogs,

I began my affair with you over a year ago now; hard to believe so much, and yet so little, time has passed since that fateful day.

I was a cynical and suspicious fledgling writer. You were foreign to me, a vague concept in a transforming world taken over by social media. I had toyed around with you before, teasing with the idea of starting a relationship with you, but something always stopped me. The fact that I didn’t quite understand you? Perhaps. A lack of courage? Most definitely.

Blogging meant putting myself out there in a way I never had before. It meant sharing feelings I had never shared. It meant revealing a dream, to myself and to others, that I didn’t quite believe in.

I was a chicken. In typical Katie-form, I wondered what everyone would think, agonized on how others might see me. I worried that I wasn’t a good enough writer. I doubted that I had anything to say that people would want to read. But I didn’t let any of that stop me. I saw value in writing a blog. I saw that it might help me improve my writing, that it might help me gain a little confidence.

You’ve given me that confidence; you’ve helped me to improve. Because of you, I now write almost daily, and looking back on posts even from as little as a year ago, I see how I’ve grown. Selfishly, I would jump into this relationship a thousand times again and never regret a moment for how you’ve changed me, for the insight you’ve given me on myself.

But you’ve been so much more than even that. Through you, I’ve made dozens of friends, friends whom I cherish and have made true connections with. I stupidly forget this gift you’ve given me sometimes, the gift of friendship and insight and connection. I tend to overlook these little things that make you so great.

Little things like reading an extraordinary and touching story, bravely shared through friendship and love.

Little things like laughs shared for a great causes and a unique wit, both of which will leave you wishing you could get together with those fellow bloggers and go out for drinks, in a totally non-stalker way.

Little things like communities and friendships built on common interests and transcending barriers like age and location to provide support and encouragement in so many ways.

Little things that let us all know we aren’t alone, in our thoughts and ideas, in our fears and insecurities. For every experience or feeling I have, you’ve shown me there’s someone else out there with a similar experience and almost the exact same feeling.

Little things like witnessing unbelievable passion and love through the eyes of a mother, who said without fear just what I’ve wanted to say all along.

Little things like learning about someone else’s culture or viewpoint, learning that something we may have judged before or misunderstood isn’t so different from us after all.

Little things like witnessing the brilliance of a writer as she grows and fearlessly dives in, reaching out for a dream that is reaching right back for her.

These little things all make up my experiences as a blogger, as a lover of blogs. They are why you make me smile, work harder, and devote much of my free-time to my passion. I couldn’t possibly list the many people and words who have touched me through you, but I did want to devote at least a few of my own words to the difference you’ve made in me and in my life, my perspective, and my  writing.

Thank you, blogs, for being so much more than I ever thought you were.

With love,

Katie

What are some of the things that make you love blogs and blogging?

Author's Note: If you have the time, I encourage you to take the time to click on the links above. They are just a few of the many people and posts that have touched me as a writer and a blogger. I hope they can touch you in the same way. Oh, and this is by no means a complete list of the people and blogs who have influenced me and left me speechless. I wish I could name them all!

This was written for The Lightning and the Lightning Bug prompt: Valentine. 

Ode to Katney: the Odd Couple

For me, friendship has always been an elusive creature. I’m not skilled at making friends, and I’m even less skilled at keeping them. I probably have several social disorders that compound my problem, but to put it most simply, I’m shy, awkward, and self-conscious. Not the best combination when it comes to social situations. 

High school was hell. The phrase “fish out of water” comes to mind, and boy, was I. Flipping and flopping and gulping for breath as I navigated a dry land that was foreign to me and impossible to grasp. Needless to say, I wasn’t popular. 

I had friends, though they could probably be described as acquaintances at best, because I could never quite let them in all the way. Anxieties constantly dictated my every move, and before I knew it, I was pushing someone away for some stupid reason or worry. It was the one thing I could count on. 

I can still count on it. 

But not too long ago, something changed. I made a friend...and have kept her for almost two years. 

As far as longevity goes, I’ve had friendships that have lasted longer, but what sets my relationship with this friend apart is its depth. She knows me, knows the flaws, the quirks. And yet, she still likes me. 

She knows my anxieties, too, can probably list them by name, and instead of judging me for them or cutting ties with me because of them, she accepts them all. Accepts me. 

I can say with certainty that only a few people have accepted me, me and everything about me. I guess it’s hard to love a neurotic, phonophobic, anxiety-filled, obsessive weirdo who loves and feels with her entire heart. But this friend, she loves me. 

We couldn’t be more different. She’s never afraid to share her opinion, never concerned by what someone may think. Our viewpoints and beliefs are as opposite as cats and dogs, and we fight over them like cats and dogs, too. But we’re still friends. 

And she’s taught me what true friendship is. She’s taught me that a missed phone call or a passionate fight are not the ends of a friendship but just the parts that make it real. And when I try to push her away, she pushes right back, unwilling to give up on me or on what makes this friendship the friendship of a lifetime, especially for a social pariah like me.

Author's Note: Whitney's the best buddy a girl could ever ask for. She's honest, insightful, and loyal. We clash on as many things as we agree on, and yet, it works. Much to Whitney's dismay, not too long ago, I even decided that we needed a "friend name" to seal our friendship forever...mwahahahaha! Our "friend name," cleverly, is Katney, and I'm pretty sure Katney will last until the end of time. Love you, friend!


This was written for the Write on Edge RemembeRED prompt: Exploring Friendship. 


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The Frenemy

Via

From the first moment I saw her, I didn’t like her. Mainly because she was everything I wasn’t. Confident. Brash. Impulsive. Petite. Her tiny stature and birdlike limbs made my plodding and gangly figure look like a giant next to a delicate flower.

In class, she would sit with her arms and legs crossed, leaned back in her desk, chin tilted defiantly. Professor nor student would dare disturb her, and if she spoke, everyone listened.

What made it all worse was how smart she was. Sharp and witty, nothing got past her. When she deigned to speak to the rest of us, her voice carried the short abrasiveness of a New York accent and seemed to demand that you pay attention and believe every word she said.

Nope, I didn’t like her one bit…until she started paying me a little attention. Typical. As a card-carrying People Pleaser, I craved the attention of those who were popular, important. And she was important…at least in my eyes.

She came into my life like a furious, brunette tornado, turning everything upside down in her wake and changing me forever.

 I don’t know why she would have liked me. I still can’t say that I understand it. I was shy, withdrawn, understated. Everything she wasn’t. Looking back now, I suppose it’s because every girl like her needs a girl like me. I was her sidekick, her devotee, her number one fan. I fed her confidence, and strangely enough, she fed mine.

We found common interests. Writing, theatre, cute English professors. We started taking the same classes, going to lunch together. It didn’t take long for us to become friends.

Our friendship was a whirlwind of new experiences for me. Parties, dates, bars. Long conversations that would wind into the night about her latest conquests. Men were as attracted by her as I was. She was elusive, an enigma that they all wanted.

I soon learned that she wasn’t as perfect as she seemed. Without fail, she always chose the wrong man. She seemed to have a knack for it. She’d fall for the married guy or the drug addict. The 18-year old jail bait. As smart as she was, she was clueless about relationships.  I was just as clueless and, on top of that, lacked her experience. When out on the prowl, we made quite the pair. She, over-the-top. Me, under-the-radar. But we always had each other.

Or we did for the duration of our two-year long friendship.

As our relationship developed, we realized that we shared more than the fact that we were fellow English majors and had a crush on a couple of our professors. We were both passionate, opinionated. Together, we were combustible. Our friendship came to a crashing halt soon after she moved back to New York.

It couldn’t have lasted. We were too much alike and too different. I wasn’t willing to be her tag-a-long, and she wasn’t willing to be my hero.

But for that tiny little island of common ground that we shared for those two precious years, I am grateful. And because I knew her, I am changed. 

Author's Note: This was written in response to The Flicker of Inspiration prompt "Common Ground." Check out some of the great posts linked up at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug.

Female friendships are definitely strange animals. Have you ever had a friendship where you were the hero or the tag-a-long? Have you ever had a frenemy? Why are female friendships sometimes so hard?