Hit your own instant replay

Hey there,

How are you feeling? Today? About the week, the month, the year? How are you feeling right this minute? I bet you can’t name just one feeling. I bet you can’t name only three.

Stop and think carefully before you answer. Because knowing and believing in your feelings is pretty dang important, especially right now, in this world, with so much going on all around us all the time.

How are the people around you feeling? About the week, the month, the year? How are they feeling right this minute? The people you work with, the people you live with, and all of the people you love. Have you asked? You should ask. And you should share.

Want to know how I’m doing? I’ll share too. Thanks for asking.

I’m stressed, you guys. I’m overwhelmed. I’m grateful and I’m nervous. I’m anxious and I’m thankful and I’m cautiously optimistic for the future, even if that future comes as quickly as the next ten minutes or the next hour or the next day. I’m sad. I’m worried. I’m feeling so many feelings. I’m feeling guilty and I’m not sure why. I’m also exhausted.

Aren’t you glad you asked?

I hadn’t been paying attention to how I was feeling lately, until it hit me like the weirdest wake up call. In this current world of Covid-19, we were about two weeks into our stay-at-home order and doing our best to just…do our best, you know? Uncertainty was (and still is) everywhere. The air is thick with it. Uncertainty is this pungent smell, this uncomfortable taste and this swirling, whirling something that just makes our nerves a little more tense than usual.

It was in this thickness, this sludge, that hubs and I were passing the baton of full-time work, full-time teacher (schools are closed), and trying to stay part-time sane. Details aren’t important, but honesty sure is, so I’ll tell you this. I said something. He said something and I was angry.

I wanted to chase after him, probably not the nicest words flowing from my mouth. I wanted to be angry on the outside because I was angry on the inside. Feelings, am I right?

But I didn’t. I walked downstairs. I stood in front of the kitchen window, looking outside. I breathed, once, twice, three times. And then I thought. I thought about what I wanted to say and the fight that would have ensued. I thought about why I was angry and I realized it wasn’t because of the exchange of words but it was because of the state of the world. I am angry.

But I paused, and I hit my own instant replay. I watched the movie that played out in my mind how much worse off we’d all be if I immediately reacted, overreacted. I didn’t want to live that movie scene. What I really wanted was those few deep breaths, to really understand where my feelings were coming from, and probably his too.

Instead of an immediate reaction, I gave myself the gift of time to process. We don’t receive that gift nearly enough, even when its our own selves gifting. So when we finally reconnected, it was coming from a place of shared empathy, instead of shared anger. That movie was way better.

We’re all stressed. We’re all feeling all of the feelings right now. But if I can offer something I learned about myself in hope that it’s a lesson to whoever reads this - watch that instant replay before you react in real life. Consider intentions. Consider what might be going on behind the scenes, because I promise you, right now a little more understanding is the reaction we all need.

Stay well.

XO

Own the jackass.

One decade is a really long time.

Really. Long.

It’s, like, a really long time.

One decade is ten years, 3,650 days and for us, one decade is buying a house, raising a child, and doing a whole lot of growing up together.

Happy anniversary, babe.

I am not a fan of the mushy-gushy, but after being married to this guy for ten years, I’ll just say this… I am overwhelmed by the kind of man that my husband has grown into, turned into, and I’ve been able to watch the evolution from twenty-something boy to thirty-something man. And there’s this element that girls, women, when you find it, grab it. Never let it go. I was reminded about that on said anniversary.

Relationships are weird and wild, right? And if you know me through this little corner of the internet or if you know me in real life, I think you know that we’re on the road a lot, we work full-time jobs, we have our hands in a lot of side projects and overall, we’re just busy. Sometimes we might go a day without really talking or texting or Facetiming, depending on where we are. Sometimes we’re moving so fast we forget to slow down for the important moments. Sometimes we forget what makes us great.

And sometimes, we remember.

It was a rainy fall evening in September, our anniversary.

I was in the bathroom putting the last curl in my hair, ready for a dinner date with the hubs.

“Mama, your present is outside. You have to hit it reaaaaaly hard.”

That was my clue. And I was clueless.

I followed her on her excited jaunt to the front yard, underneath the apple trees. It was there that I found hubs, wearing a huge grin. He handed me a wooden stick. Next to him was a pinata, hanging from the apple tree. I was a little confused.

This wasn’t just a regular old pinata. It was special for two reasons. First, he (the king of selfie hate), had taken and printed a selfie and taped it to the face of the pinata. The pinata was in the shape of a donkey. Also known as an ass, a jackass.

This is my husband. He handed me the stick, put a red bandana over my eyes, and encouraged me to take a swing.

“For all the times I’ve been a jackass…”, he said.

Okay.

Batter up.

I swung and I swung and we laughed and we laughed and we laughed some more. At some point, the pinata exploded over the wet grass, and our daughter ran straight for what was inside. But inside wasn’t your typical pinata fixings. Inside was special too.

Inside was representative of the last ten years of our life. Inside was candy worms (I hate worms) an acrylic wine glass (I love wine and durability!), a welcome mat, and so many other things that gave me all the warm feels and reminded me of the journey we’ve been on this past decade. Out of this jackass, came all of the things that so beautifully make us who we are.

Our daughter ate the candy worms.

She also took a selfie with us.

Maybe you have found that special someone and maybe you haven’t. If you have, be sure you’re reminding them once in awhile how great your collective story is. Fight for it. Fight hard.

If you haven’t, I challenge you to look for someone with all of the qualities that are important to you, whatever they are. And as a small public service announcement, just stop waiting for the knight to ride in on his white horse. That Disney dream is a wonderful story but isn’t real life. Real life is more wonderful, because it’s so real. Anyhow, look for these things too:

• Look for someone who knows the value of a moment, of a memory.

• Look for someone who understands the meaning of adventure.

• Look for someone who knows the levity you need in what might be a dark moment or a heavy moment and find that person and let them bring that to you.

• Look for someone who wants to keep getting to know you, ten years later.

• Look for someone who wants to create something special for you, ten years later.

Okay, so that list got pretty long, kind of fast. Maybe just look for this one thing:

Find someone who fights hard to see you smile. All the time.

That jackass is yours. Own it, and own that sometimes you might be the jackass too.

XOXO

Hot to Cold: Lingerie to Ice Machines

I was having a drink with a friend. We were catching up on kids, life, relationships and reality tv. You know, all of the important things. She shared with me that for her last birthday, her husband surprised her with the purchase of TSA Precheck. 

Yup.

And my reaction - Wow, that's so romantic. She enthusiastically agreed. We continued sipping our drinks and the conversation continued through the evening.  On my way home, I couldn't help but think what twenty-one-year-old me would have thought of such a gift. I'm sure I would have been mortified. Twenty-one-year-old me would have preferred something romantic, something personal, something that smelled good or made me feel sexy. But thirty-four-year old me, the me of today - that kind of practical gift was about as romantic as it got.

Like me, that friend travels a lot for work. The regular commute to the airport is taxing on her, and the rush out the door, savoring the final few moments with her family before she was about to literally jet somewhere else was a common and precious activity. I get it. I often times find myself doing the same thing. So when we arrive at the airport for a few work-required days out of town, breezing through the TSA Precheck line is a gift. It's a gift of time saved, a gift of stress gone away, and a gift of an extra few minutes with the ones we love. To me, that's romance. 

A note to my husband: I already have TSA Precheck, so for my next birthday, you'll have to think of something else. 

Another friend shared that for Mother's Day, she wanted a night alone in a five-star hotel. She wanted to order room service and stay in her pajamas and watch movies all afternoon. She wanted to sleep all night and wake up late in the morning. Twenty-one-year-old me would have been, again, mortified at the idea of a MOTHER wanting to spend MOTHER'S DAY alone. But today, with a toddler who doesn't sleep through the night and is deep in a stage of  "Mom Only", I get it.

A note to my husband: I also prefer five-star hotels and room service and sleeping in, literally anytime this could be possible.

My husband's birthday was just around the corner. We've celebrated fourteen birthdays together, and in the beginning, birthday gifts were easy. I might cook a nice dinner and open an expensive bottle of wine. We might whisk ourselves away for the weekend or spend all night in a dive bar catching the last set of whatever band was on stage that night. Clueless of what to do this year, I asked him what he wanted for his birthday.  He knew immediately what he wanted.

An ice machine.

You read that right. For his birthday, my husband requested a countertop ice machine.

Ouch. I mean, have we gone from hot to cold that fast? In fourteen years, did we not want the exciting adventures, the fancy dinners or the unpredictable nights? Have we totally failed each other? Are we boring? Like I said, ouch.

An ice machine.

And then, I got it. His ice machine is my friend's TSA Precheck. It's romantic. At the end of a busy day, my husband likes to sit in the living room with his family, have a cocktail, and an ice machine adds an element of ease to his nighttime relaxation. It means we can entertain more, fill our summertime camp coolers faster, and make sno-cones for the little ones whenever we want. An ice machine is sexy.

Things change over time, that's obvious. But sometimes it's surprising just how they change and how we accept that kind of change. This stage, this phase of life is all about appreciating the things that we have, and finding the ways to cherish our special moments just a little bit more or for a little bit longer.

I know that we're lucky to be in a place where we think about gifts for each other. I know if we didn't "gift" at all, that would be just fine too. I treasure the moments where we focus more on others instead of ourselves, and look forward to seeing just how our perspective and practicalities continue to morph as we grow.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love a romantic weekend getaway but for now, I'll enjoy his ice machine right along with him.

XOXO

Meagan

Falling in love with a four letter word

I did it.

I took the leap. And oh my goodness, it feels good. I'm happier than I've been in a long while. I'm sitting on the couch, hands cupped around my coffee with a smile stretching across my face. I'm staring past the magazine on the coffee table and completely through the turned-off television. I'm not anxious, I'm happy.  Swoon. I'm in love and I don't care who knows it.

I'm head over heels in love...with a four letter word.

It might not really be quite that romantic, but the love and adoration part is certainly true. And the four letter word? Can't.

That's right. Can't. And for you linguists and English Majors out there, I know that can't isn't exactly a four letter word because it's a conjunction and all of that, but stick with me.

I've been reading a lot lately about something called the mental load, and you guys, my mental load is heavy. Really heavy. I don't know why I finally came to this realization, but here's a preview into my month of June and maybe we can figure out together why.

• Multi-night work trips for Meagan: 2
• Single-night work trips for Hubs: 3?
• Losing someone close to us: 2
• Health scare for Hubs: 1
• Hosting a party at our house: 1
• Days without showering or putting on makeup or caring at all about myself: A lot
• Blah blah blah things I can't remember: Infinity

Between the fullness of our calendars, we have to live our lives too. And that means nightly bath time for the little one, making dinners each night, working on personal projects,  trying to fuel some creativity and have a little fun, working on our husband-wife relationship, doing dishes, trying to be good and present parents, yard work (although there's got to be a better name for yard work when you have nearly three acres), spending time with family, seeing close friends, staying active and cleaning our home.

Here's the thing.

I know I'm not the only person on the planet with a full calendar, a busy work life, and I'm not the only person on the planet who tries her best to juggle all of everything. Whether you've got kids or not, there's a lot to going on. I also know I'm not the only person on the planet who drops a ball once in awhile.

And in June, I dropped all of the balls. I felt bad, really bad. I failed. I failed because I tried to do everything. I was standing on a dirty kitchen floor surrounded by dropped balls. Hair in an unwashed messy bun, toddler asking for a second popsicle, which I gave her because, well, easy button.

I can't.

I can't do everything. I just can't. I'm not a magician and I can't pretend that I am. I can't. I can't.

See how much fun that little teeny four letter word is? Can't. (I love you). I can't. Something's gotta give. So, I asked some friends and I looked for recommendations on Facebook and found myself a fabulous house cleaner. She spent the good part of a day cleaning all of the things I've been neglecting and when I finished work, walked through my front door, my house was clean.

Check that off the list. Mental load, lightened.

Because before, I'd get home and immediately start the process of cleaning. And then it's dinner and then it's bathtime and then it's family time and then it's cleaning some more and then it's grown-up relationship time and you guys, I'm tired. And even on the days and weeks and months when everything gets done, it's not all done right or done well and nobody feels good about that either.

Here's my challenge for you.

Fall in love with your four letter word.

• Can't.
• Won't.
• Nope.
• Nada.

Give something up. Stop doing something. I know we can't all afford the luxury of a wonderful fairy to come clean our toilets, but the challenge is to feel okay about saying no. Feel okay about not doing something today, tomorrow, yesterday. I challenge you, moms. I challenge you, single ladies. I challenge you, dads and workaholics, and work from home parents. I challenge you to stop doing just one thing that you feel like you have to do. Find a way around it. Get creative. Ask for help. Figure out the difference between a "have to" and a "need to" and a "want to" activity, and focus on the things that are the most important for you to do.

And in the time you get back in your day - do something with it. Sit outside on a blanket, under the shade of your favorite tree. Stare into the sky and laugh with your kiddos about the shapes the clouds make as they pass by. Crank the music and have a dance party in your living room. Read a book. Spend a few minutes holding your partner's hand. Or, just be thankful and breathe deeply. To me, that's doing something big.

XO

Meagan

Find the passion, be the backbone.

I see you. And I'm talking to you.

I'm talking to you, the woman standing behind me in the grocery store checkout line. Your shopping cart is overflowing with cheerios and whole milk and dinner ingredients for your family. I recognize so much of what you're buying. The baby shampoo and the diapers and the dog food. I watched you toss the latest issue of Vogue on top of your whole-wheat bread and chardonnay. Good for you. The circles under your eyes are dark and I bet your to-do list is long.

I'm talking to you, the man sitting next to me in afternoon traffic. Your windows are rolled up and I see your hand anxiously tapping your steering wheel. You likely worked all day, suffered through yet another mindless meeting after meeting, or schedule full of conference calls and I bet you can't wait to get home to your family.

I'm talking to you, the mom at the baseball game or football game or volleyball game. You're standing on the sidelines and you're cheering. You're nervous and you're stressed, but you're excited and you're proud. You're making time to be right where you are, with snacks handy for the hungry and tired.

And I'm talking to you, the woman at the motocross race. Your clothes have gotten dirty and dusty and your hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. Your brows are furrowed behind your sunglasses, but your lips are tightly smiling underneath your nude lipstick. There's dirt under your fingernails. Your eyes are focused everywhere, on your husband headed to the starting line and on your little one who can't wait for the swarm of bikes to hit the first turn. You didn't just show up. You've spent hours and days preparing for where you are right now. And I know the work won't stop when the race is over because there's another race next weekend. I am especially talking to you. I am you.

We are the backbones of our families. We don't have superman capes to wrap around our tired shoulders. We don't have secret hours to add into our days to get it all done.

We are the strength, the motivators, the voices to keep pressing on. We are the backbone and we drive the passion and we do it all, because doing it all is the kind of people we are.

Like me, you love being able to fulfill this role. You take comfort in the well-deserved thank-you and the extra long, extra tight hug at the end of the day. You don't offer the kind of support, both tactical and emotional, because you have to. You offer it because you want to, and because you can.

We all have a lot of different priorities that we can call jobs. I have my real job, my nine to five. It's my career, and I love it but it's also not all of who I am. I have my job as "mom" to our little one, which is a full time job, sometimes requiring around-the-clock alertness and focus. And then there's the job of being that backbone (or behind-the-scenes badass), and for me, it's a doozy.

The world of motocross is an incredible one. We are lucky to be part of such a strong community of racers, riders, fans, friends and families who call the sport their passion and their life. Each weekend spent at a track, I find myself having sweet and beautiful moments of reflection.

I'm hand-in-hand with our daughter. Her little fingers wrap around my palm, both our hands dirty from a combination of leftover peanut butter and a sprinkling of track dust. And we're there because we support. We respect the mental challenges it takes to be part of the sport. We understand the physical demands and rigorous training required to not only be a safe participant but also a competitor. We support the business and the politics and the time away from home that the industry requires and we do it all because it's part of who we are.

We stand for not only our own rider, but the entire community. We band together. As the backbone of strength, we watch each other's kids as our husbands hit the line. We cheer for the guy in dead last as enthusiastically as we cheer for the guy leading the pack, because he's someone's husband and dad too. And if someone gets hurt (because that happens), we do all we can to support - financially, emotionally. We do whatever we can.

And here's the truth - it's not always easy and it's not always fun. It's not always fair, either. There are days and nights that go without our own kind of support, and that I can do it all mentality wears and weakens us to the core. There are lonely dinner tables and empty beds.  There are our own personal priorities that sometimes find themselves in the backseat while we drive the dreams forward of those we love.

So why? Why do I find myself up late, pounding away on a keyboard, editing my husband's website or drafting documents for a passion project of his? Why is the writing of my own pieces reserved for naptimes or for those sacred hours I find when I wake up before our little girl on weekends? It's because doing these things are my passion too. My passion, our passion, is helping those we love find their own joy. That's where our joy comes from. And when I take time to focus on my own personal priorities, my family becomes the backbone that I need too.

XO,

Meagan

Fight, Flight or Write

If you know anything about psychology, you know that as humans, we are have an innate "fight or flight" response that's embedded deep within ourselves. When something puts our emotions into overdrive, we either want to run far, far away, or we want to stay and fight. We can't control it. It's real. It's serious. It's proven.

For some of us, our response goes beyond that. For some of us, we write.

Our heads swirl, our emotions run high, and the only reasonable thing that we can do is take to the keyboard and get everything we are feeling down on paper. Call it a coping strategy, if you will. I am one of those people. 

I can't tell you the amount of email drafts I have in my inbox addressed to my husband, never sent, because I had to organize my thoughts on paper before I could organize them in person. I talk in circles, a lot. Sometimes, I was so equally proud of what I wrote and heated about the subject, that I did hit the send button. To my dear husband, my most sincere apologies for these few emails you've received.

So, how do we harness the power of everything we're feeling? How do we turn our emotions into productive conversation? Friends, I have a few tips for you. If you're like me, you probably have some tips to add to the list - so please do!

1. Just write. I'm serious. Whatever you're feeling, get it out. Pretend that the laptop screen is your best friend, and the keys you're frantically typing are the equivalent of the words spewing out of your mouth over margaritas at happy hour to your best girlfriend. She just bought you another round. Get it all out. Even the tough stuff, the stuff you hesitate about writing. Get every last piece out on that screen. And then stop.

2. Put it away. Do not hit that send button. You couldn't anyway, because it's not like you drafted a real email, right? Good. Put it away. What you have just written might be messy, it might be nasty, but I bet getting it out of your insides made you feel better. Close the laptop. Go make some calming tea. Relax. 

3. Review. Review. Review. Somewhere in what you wrote, there's some gold. There's something raw and real and something that you've learned about yourself. Dig. Dig deep. Inside of your newly crafted piece, there's a light bulb just waiting to go off. Find it.

4. Revise and share. Take out all of the bad grammar and the parts of your story that you might be embarrassed to have your grandma read at Thanksgiving in front of a table full of relatives. Soften it up. Use that single light-bulb and turn it into a city full of bright lights. And then, when you're ready, share it with a couple of people who you know, and who you trust. And who you trust will tell you if you've gone off the deep end.

5. Find your media. Post that piece on your blog. Link to it on Facebook, Tweet about it, find a photo that relates and makes you smile, and post that photo to Instagram. Ask friends to share it.  You created something that came from YOU. Be proud.

My first successful piece of writing

was posted on The Huffington Post, and in a week had over 4,500 likes and shares. The reason it was successful is because I just wrote. I put it away. I reviewed it and shared with my tribe, and then I gathered up the gusto to put it out there. And the reason it resonated was because it was real. So, so real.

It's easy to get to step one. It's not so easy to look at your raw emotions in the face and craft them in a way that will resonate with others. If you can do it, I want to read what you've written.

XO

Meagan