Your Crazy is Showing

There is a conspiring voice women use to help each other be presentable. Your slip is showing, we whisper, urgently. So the poor woman can settle all her parts into place. The closer we are to her, the more quickly we tell her. Strangers in bathrooms are close in their own way. Shared experiences matter, even when they are our most private moments. Maybe, especially when they are our most private moments. So in these moments, these women temporarily become our sisters, friends, mothers, and we look out for them and any parts that might appear out of place.

This is a little how I feel we handle crazy too. Oh honey, your crazy is showing. Urgently, we whisper a warning. You wouldn’t want everyone to see your crazy, would you?

Maybe a little crazy is good sometimes. Maybe a little crazy is exactly what keeps things moving. Passion is a little bit crazy. Relentless pursuit of a dream is a little crazy. Falling in love is a little crazy. Becoming a parent is a lot crazy.

All of the best things in life seem to be a little bit crazy.

Crazy can also be a stunningly effective motivational tool. It can be helpful in certain situations for people to know you are a little bit crazy.

My daughter has recently been stepping out of respectful communication and needed some correction to get back on track. I talked to her about tone and intent. I warned her when she was dancing too close to the line for too long. We discussed expectations. And with all these discussions, she was getting dangerously close to being out of line. So, I let my crazy show. In a controlled way, in a loving spirit, though she would disagree, I let my crazy show and allowed it to magnify the message I had been trying to convey. The glimpse of the power of crazy served to give power to my words and my daughter responded, after tears and hand written notes about sadness and life, with a renewed understanding that I am the parent here and as a parent of this particular family, I expect respect.

Sometimes, a little crazy is a good thing.

So, thank you very much for pointing out when my crazy is showing, but I already know. I know because sometimes, I let it show.


Weeping Endings

Endings are difficult.

Most writers knows this. I know this as a reader. I see the misses. I don’t know how these writers turned authors could do things differently. Endings are tricky. They require satisfaction. A long breath out. Thoughts dancing in your mind from the experience.

Not everyone nails this.

Elizabeth Gilbert nails it. Every single time.

Weeping. The beauty of the completion of the arc of the story. The lovely reflection tie all the gorgeous bits into a stunning whole.

Bravo, Liz. Bravo!

Under Rock Bottom

There is a place below rock bottom. Darkness and Fear live in this place. They cloud your vision and you are unable to see rock bottom. They like to keep you there with them. Your life force drained for their greedy appetites. Darkness and Fear are relentless in their pursuit of your light. They wish to extinguish it.

They lie to you about what the place they inhabit really is. They call it life. They tell you this is just the way it is and will always be. No use trying for anything better, they shrug with feigned indifference. They distract you and you are unable to see rock bottom. You don’t even know you are deeper than rock bottom because Darkness and Fear are constantly in your ear, tricking you with whispered lies. Convincing lies.

I hope you can learn to navigate this space. If you want to live, you must. No one can do it for you. If you will only look up, you will see how far away from the light you have wandered. If you will only look up, you will see your proximity to rock bottom and know it is time to engage in your return to yourself.

Look up, my sisters. Look up.

Gifted Books

Books can do amazing things. Like bring people together who might not otherwise meet. Books can bring a person out of their own head to find some other people. People who also like to get lost in books.

I joined a few book clubs.

This was terrifying for me. This fear has not always been a part of who I am. I am not sure when it happened. Somewhere along the way of life, I became a full on homebody. I have fully embraced it for the last decade. Kids make it easy to hide in yourself. You give so much. Everything. Everyday. You don’t have much left. So you decline invitations. You avoid crowds. You sink deeper and deeper into the land of no people until the only ones around you are your sweet babies and the village you create for them consisting of only family and maybe a couple of highly trusted friends.

I dived deep into this land. It was safe and sweet filled with babies, kisses, lots of laughs, family events and love. So much love. And it was enough. It was all I needed.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I needed something. Something for me. Something fun. Something new.

I remembered I love books. Like a lot. I love to read books. I love to talk about books. I love to write about books. In the spirit of living this year with the theme of love, I decided to crawl out onto the limb and find some people to talk about books with. I decided to follow love and it nudged me to books which inspired me to talk about books. I joined a few book clubs and started reading the books.

The first meeting was not really one at all, as it would turn out.  Today was the actual first book club meeting and it couldn’t have gone better. I met two women who I have plans to see again soon and I had a terrific time.

I was scared. I was nervous and a bit anxious. I went anyway. I am so glad I did. I can’t wait to see what else and who else might be out there in the world, ready for new adventures. And of course, lots of wonderful books.

Books can do amazing things. Like take you outside of your comfort zones so you can reside in the space of growth. Books are gifted like that.

Still a Win

I’m socially awkward. There I’ve said it.

I’m also pretty good at faking it so most people don’t know that about me. Now, you dear readers, know the truth!

I took a step outside of my comfort zone, with the help of books. I joined a couple of book clubs. Today was the first meeting I signed up for. The book was good and disturbing so perfect for discussion. I was a little nervous, ok terrifird, to attend. I take that to mean I was on the proper path. 

The meeting was cancelled a couple of days ago with a caveat that if anyone read the book and wanted to go ahead with the meeting, please feel free. Normally, I would take this as an out. Breath a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to go and move on with my socially awkward ways. 

Not today. Today I showed up. 

I felt a little silly with my book on the table like a red rose signalling a blind date. I did it anyway. I enjoyed lunch while waiting to see if anyone would show. 

I’m calling it. It’s a win.

In case you’re wondering, the book is All the Ugly and Beautiful Things by Bryn Grrenwood. It is not for everyone. Those that enjoy proactive contango we written in unique stlye may enjoy this one. If anyone has read it and would like to discuss, I would love that! I am all amped up to talk about books and would relish the chance to do so. 


It would be possible for me to live forever in the pages of books.

As a child, I would devour books. Library books from the elementary schoolhouse library were meant to last a week. How am I supposed to read this one book for an entire week, I would often think to myself. I would take my newly borrowed book home and return the next day, finished and never satisfied. I wanted more.

I started reading above my grade level. The books were longer. It made sense. So I started the part of my book loving journey that included questionable and possibly inappropriate reading material. That is not to say that it could have anything outrageously adult. I was confined to my school library and our small town library, in a highly religious area. Still. There were books that were maybe not meant for the eyes of an elementary school student.

No one seemed to be noticing what I was reading. So I kept reading. And reading. And reading. When the lights would be turned out and the house started to settle, I would wait for my sisters to drift off to sleep. They were tattlers. I would bring my book into the bed and with the light from my alarm clock, pick up where I left off. Many a book saw the dim red light of the digital numbers as I moved the alarm clock across the pages.

Books shaped me. Books connected me to something bigger than myself. A lifeline to the heartbeat of the world.

My first job was at a bookstore. As a teenager, working in the mall was ideal. Books and malls. Perfect for a reader who was also a hopeless teenager. It was fitting for me to work with and around books. It felt like home. Bookstores, the few left, still feel like home.

My love affair with books was put on the shelf in recent years. Kids, husband, career, social media, life, it all took the time and space in my day. I didn’t make room for books. I was in a dark place in that regard. I would read sporadically but it was nothing like before.

Until now.

The reader is back. I’m flying through books. I’m sharing books. I’m talking about books. I’m sending books as gifts. I’m once again, happily, obsessed with the art of the written word.

In a stunning move of bravery on my part, I have joined a book club with complete strangers. I signed up for the next meetup and read the entire book in a morning. I’m excited to discuss it with others who read it recently and I’m also a little terrified of the experience. That feels right. Putting myself out there for the love of books. Feels right, for me.

If you will excuse me now, I must be getting back to my books. They are calling me and I intend to answer the call the brings joy to my soul.