Fuel

On Friday of last week, a group of my friends and I crammed into our tiny SUV and went to early vote. It's the first time I've ever early voted. It's the first time I've ever gone with a group to vote. The feeling was electric.


We didn't discuss politics in our car ride there or back. We didn't argue or debate. We joked around, laughed. We respected each other and everyone at the polls. For a minute, just a few moments in time, we were all connected by a common purpose.


These days we seem to forget that we are ever connected. We fight over every little thing. We spit and claw. We lash out. We hate.


We're living in a time where our leaders want us to be divided. Divided, we're easier to handle. Divided, we're easier to control. It's a cliché for a reason: united we stand; divided we fall. My call to action for you? Don't let that happen.


Disagree with people. Know that we're all different and so we're all going to have different perspectives and opinions. And it's okay that we disagree with those perspectives and opinions; it's okay to have discourse and discussion and conflict. What's not okay? Hate. Ever. In any way. I don't necessarily prescribe to any certain set of religious or spiritual beliefs, but I'm pretty sure almost all faiths encourage kindness and love over hate...and if they don't, maybe find a new faith.


But gosh, lately, there seems to be a lot of hate. It comes in the form of name-calling, belief- and opinion-shaming, passive aggressive statements made under our breaths and just within earshot, ugly memes and jokes on social media. It honestly reminds me a lot of middle school. And who liked middle school? Aren't we better than middle school, y'all?


I get it. There are a lot of polarizing issues. There are a lot of people challenging beliefs and ways of life on both sides. This isn't easy stuff. But at the end of the day, it's not going to do any of us any good to hate on each other. At some point, and I hope this happens soon, we need to be able to come together, despite our differences, and hear each other. Hear both sides, hear all sides, and then work together on compromises that can benefit the whole and the future.


We can't hand the world over worse than we found it. Today, we're poised at a crossroads where we can make change for the better, where we can make the world better. Let's try to do that, through love and respect, kindness and listening. Because really, what is the alternative?

Shiny Happy Voters Holding Hands!

Reframing

When I was a kid and my parents realized I needed glasses, they took me to the eye doctor, and I picked out the tackiest, most ostentatious frames a twelve year-old had ever dreamed of.  Those glasses were hella ugly, y’all, like blue and yellow and pink zigzags and dots with lenses the size of tea saucers. And I wore those ugly things for the next several years, completely oblivious to my optical faux pas.

High school called for some new frames, and the ones I ended up with weren’t much better than those hideous glasses of my preteen years.

Finally, at 35 years, I’ve reached glasses Nirvana with a pair of black wayfarers that embody my nerdy, vintage style perfectly. 

The point of this long winded trip down memory lane is to talk about the importance of reframing your outlook throughout your life. Just like I found myself new frames for my glasses for different periods of my life, so have I found new frames and perspectives as I have grown and developed as a human.

I read an amazing blog this morning that reminded me how important this reframing process is in life.  The article challenged its readers to reflect on the insecurities of their youth that they now look at as strengths. This process of reframing was so poignant and powerful to me, particularly since I’ve always struggled with overcoming my insecurities. Growing up, I hated many things about myself. My freckles. My sensitivity. My height. Nowadays, having traveled at least partway down the road to self-love, these are some of my favorite things about myself. My freckles are the constellations of my skin, charting the course of a childhood spent in the woods and in the sun. My sensitivity helps me connect with people and forge strong ties built upon empathy and trust. My height makes me feel powerful and beautiful, if not still a little awkward sometimes.

From this reflection on how my view of the insecurities of my youth have changed, it occurs to me that many, many things in life are truly about how we look at them and what lens or frame we look at them through.

We all have different frames we look through and different lens coloring our world. These frames and lens change as we grow, as we have new experiences, as we meet new people. We are lucky to be complex, evolving creatures who can embrace a variety of experiences and perspectives; we are lucky to be able to change, because change is growth.

This recent election and many of my current challenges in my own journey have made me happy that I am a fluid, open-minded creature, who can embrace many perspectives. Because here’s the thing. None of us are completely right. None of us have all the answers. None of us can be the one true ring. But together, with all of our many lens and frames and experiences and beliefs, we create this kaleidoscope of humanity that is truly something to see, something to embrace, something to learn from.

So next time you’re feeling particularly sure about an ugly pair of glasses, maybe take a moment, practice the pause, and see what other options life has in store. You just might find the wayfarers you always dreamed of.

As a kid, I loved those stupid glasses with the bright frames and huge lens. Looking back, as an adult, I completely hate them. But that’s the beauty of growing up, we can change our minds, we can be better people, and we can learn to fully love ourselves. Freckles and all.

Demons

Sometimes you wake up with demons.

They don't announce their presence right away, but, by the time you're fully settled into your morning, right around the time you're waking up and trying to be a fully functioning adult human, they pounce.

This morning was such a morning, and lucky for me, the demons stuck around all day. 

Being a big feeler of big feelings, sometimes my greatest fear is losing people. The demons know that, and they prey on it.

When I was a young girl, playing on the playground, under the nurturing branches of the friendship oak, I lost a person.

Her name was Naomi, and she was my "best friend." Despite the happenings of that day, Naomi remained my "best friend" for a few years after that, but on that particular day, she was feeling a little mean. On that day, she announced, "I'm no longer your best friend; I'm Heather's best friend." And off she went to play with Heather, leaving me a big puddle of emotional trauma and scabbed knees.

There are moments in life that define you, and looking back, I guess that was one of my moments. When asked by those that love me, "why do you lack any self-confidence or self-worth," I don't really have a good answer. I grew up in the loving arms of loving parents. I was reminded on a daily basis how great I was. But for some reason, I always focused on those moments like the one on the playground. In spite of all the love and care, I couldn't seem to get past the self-doubt.

When I lost Naomi that day, I didn't really lose her completely. As I said, we remained friends for a few years after that, although I eventually moved away, thus ending our grade school relationship. No, instead of losing Naomi completely, I think I lost a little bit of my trust in people. And with that loss of trust, friendship became a bit of a pattern for me.

Wish for friends. Get friends. Don't fully trust friends. Let anxiety dictate friendship. Lose friends.

As a 35 year-old adult, I now know what true friendship is.

There are no best friends. Love and friendship can't be boiled down to labels. My friends today know me for who I am, warts and all, anxiety and all, self-doubt and all. And yet, they still choose to love me. They choose to be there on days like today, when the demons are bad.

And, today, I woke up with demons. And they're still here. They remind me of the child version of me and tell me that everyone will eventually get fed up with me; they tell me that everyone will eventually abandon me. They dig in with their claws and rip apart what little trust I have in others.

With the help of my friends and family and love, they will subside, these demons. They will gradually hide away, lulling me into a false sense of confidence and security, waiting in the shadows for that next moment of weakness, waiting to kick me while I'm down. On that day, like today, they will feast upon the insecurities of a woman who never really grew up from the child who could never really see how incredible she was and is.

The truth of me: zit, mascara smudged from tears, lips hopelessly chapped.

Becoming

"All life events are formative. All contribute to what we become, year by year, as we go on growing. As my friend the poet Kenneth Koch once said, "You aren't just the age you are. You are all the ages you ever have been." - Fred Rogers

Becoming is an interesting thing. As you grow up, as you encounter challenges and experiences, you become yourself. Even though you were always yourself, you somehow become more yourself. The self you were destined to always be.

When I was a little girl, I was me. I was shy, a little cautious, a lot awkward and quirky, and I stumbled through, always making the most of life and what it offered. I had a real soft spot for animals, and my parents indulged this through a crazy cat named Cocoa and a lazy basset hound named Barney. I also pretended to "own" all the wild animals that would visit our house in the country. The deer (one of whom was my pet named Bambi), the birds, the squirrels. And I had my fair share of self-doubt.

Now, I am me. Shy, a little cautious, a lot of awkward and quirky...still stumbling through and making the most. Still having a real soft spot for animals. Six cats! Countless birds at the bird feeder. A daily visit with the neighbor's dog, whom I've given my own names: Old Yeller and Fuchsbau. 

And yep, still that ever-present self-doubt. 

It's weird to think that you can go through so much, so many life experiences and still be essentially yourself. It's comforting to think that. I like me. 

Through my life, I have been exposed to my fair share of Fred Rogers. Through Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Obviously. But now, through youTube videos and books and quotes. He, along with my parents, my PawPaw, and Jimmy Stewart, is my hero. I have lots of heroes...probably more than listed here...because I admire a lot of people. It's easy for me to see the good in others. But despite the powerful words of Fred Rogers, it's sometimes hard for me to see the good in myself. 

This was a hard week. I trusted my instinct. I made tough decisions. I felt overwhelmed. I stressed. I was basically a walking nerve-ending by the end of the week, ready to collapse from the sheer anxiety of it all. And I wasn't perfect. I kept stumbling. But with each stumble, I learned. I grew. I became. 

I'm a lucky person. I have been nurtured. I am cared for. And when I am at my very best, the very best version of me, I am nurturing, I am caring for. I have had the opportunity to do a lot of nurturing and caring lately, a lot of just being there. It's simple and brilliant at the same time, and it makes me deliriously happy. Sometimes, I let that happy fall victim to stress and to doubt and to other. And that's when I get mad. I let the anger roll in, and I scream that it's UNFAIR.

And then, I pause. I breathe. I become. 

Sometimes, it's hard to like me. When the self-doubt takes over. When I listen more to the naysayers than the lovers. But at the end of the day, I am proud of the person I am and the person I'm still becoming. 

And if today and tomorrow and the day after that I can strive to become more myself (and maybe a bit more like Fred Rogers), I'll be proud.

With Feathers

I don't pretend to know grief. Not because it hasn't touched my life; it has. In the last year, it has touched the lives of my family in a deep and profound way from which we are still reeling. In truth, a life not touched by grief doesn't really exist, but still--I don't pretend to know grief.

I don't pretend to know grief, because I have seen through the grief of my sister, through the grief of my nephew and niece, that grief cannot truly be known. 

To each of us, grief is different. For me, when my brother-in-law Ken died a year ago today, grief first manifested itself as anger. The anger has long since subsided, but in that moment, in the time of the longest year of our lives, the grief I knew was red and raging. 

Well-meaning people always try to understand another's grief. They try to define it. They try to compartmentalize it. They try to push it along. I was well-meaning. In my mind, I wanted my sister and her children to be healed immediately. I wanted them to go on about their lives without a ripple, without a pause. 

Watching my sister hurt was unbearable. It intensified my anger in such a way that was alarming, nearly overwhelming. I watched as she cried, as she held everything together for her kids. I watched as she searched for a place to put her grief, as she pointed her pain to rebuilding her life. 

Well-meaning, as I was, I hoped she'd heal. "Hope is the thing with feathers/ That perches in the soul," and the thing about hope is that it can fly away as easily as it lands. My hope that my sister will heal hasn't gone, but the reality of grief has finally dawned.

When feathers appear, angels are near.

A photo posted by Katie Ross (@katieross83) on Jan 23, 2017 at 7:53am PST

I don't know grief. None of us do. Oh, we may be intimately familiar with its ebbs and flows, with its phases and stages. With the bullet points and books and hollow words that attempt to explain it, to explain us to ourselves. But grief has many faces. It wears many masks. It speaks in tongues that our ears cannot hear and cannot know. 

My sister's grief is her own. I don't try to understand it. I don't try to define it. I don't hurry it along. I don't know what words will help, so I stick with an old stand-by that never says enough: I'm sorry.

And I am sorry. I'm sorry that I ever tried to know her grief. I'm sorry that her grief has become her constant companion. One that she faces bravely even on the hardest of days. 

Today is a hard day. I know it will be, but I can't know how hard. Only she and her children are living the reality of their tragedy, the daily weight of it that punishes and takes.

I watch them survive and thrive despite the pain. I watch her raise two of the most loving, intelligent children I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.   

But a life passed doesn't just disappear. It doesn't vanish. It doesn't end. 

Ken lives on. He lives on in so many ways. In Garrett's silly dances and songs, in his stubbornly huge heart that constantly watches over others. In Tessa's sweet giggles and sharp intelligence, in her perfect hugs and bright, smiling eyes. His children were his perfect gift. 

The grief we feel over Ken's passing is unique to each of us. We live through it every day. And yet, life does go on, even when you feel like it shouldn't. 

A year has passed, and it's been both achingly long and breathtakingly short. We miss you, Ken, and wish daily that instead of this unknowable, unbearable grief that, just for another moment, we had you.