Back to Me

I have turned some kind of corner.

I woke up one day recently and realized I’d been in a good mood for several weeks. I’d strung together a few good days, and then a few more, and the gaps were becoming fewer and farther between. I was vaguely aware that something was different, but it sort of came over me gradually until I realized that I’d hit some kind of new record for keeping my anxiety at bay.

When it hit me, I actually wondered whether something was wrong. Was it normal to sustain feeling this good for this long? It certainly wasn’t “normal” for me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on this new feeling right away.

But I soon realized what it was: I felt like myself. For the first time in longer than I can even remember, for the first time in – quite literally – years, I felt like me.

I am still facing the same big life challenges, but I am no longer feeling overwhelmed by and hopeless about them. I’m dealing with them with a matter-of-fact objectivity that’s much healthier and certainly more constructive.

What’s the secret? I suppose it’s got a little to do with timing, and a lot to do with just deciding to work to make it happen. I’ve come a long way in the last year. I’ve healed and I’ve grown and I’ve become more comfortable with myself than ever. I’ve taken ownership of my own happiness by focusing on my own needs and attending to them at a much healthier level than I had in the past. I’m delighted to find that taking care of oneself does not preclude one from taking care of others. In fact, it makes it much easier. I’ve sought out opportunities to spend time doing the things I love, and have minimized time spent doing things about which I’m not passionate. And I’ve become very picky about who I’m spending my time with.

So with all those pieces in place, lots of other ones have started to fall into place on their own. Many of them are music-related, and nearly all of them happened sort of organically – that is to say, without me taking the initiative to get them started. I’ve helped a friend write a song. I’ve been invited to write for a few cool new projects coming down the pike (details soon, I promise). Everything’s coming up JJ! Amazing how life starts to help you out when you start helping yourself out.

It feels so good to feel this good.

There's No Such Thing As Too Much

I will one day look back on 2009 as the year when I finally began to believe in myself as a writer. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t write. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t receiving some form of instruction to improve my writing. I can’t remember a time when I did not identify myself in my own mind as a writer.

But my name has rarely been attached to my best writing. Through my day jobs, I have frequently written compelling appeals and calls to action, but have rarely had a byline; in fact, I often sign other people’s names to them. Sure, I keep samples for the portfolio I’ve never created, but the evidence of my writing does not seem entirely tangible without my name next to it. (Side note – I am not complaining; this is the nature of the kind of work I do – work I find incredibly fulfilling).

In my personal life, I’ve written more poetry than I can even recall. But until recently, no one had ever read it. I write because that’s how I process what’s going on in my life and the world around me. It’s a creative outlet that helps me understand my own thoughts and feelings. It’s just what I do.

If 2008 was the most difficult year I’ve ever been through (see first post to this blog, “I Don’t Know How She Does It”), 2009 has so far been the most inspired. I continue to face some major challenges and obstacles in my daily life, but I’m also very excited to be growing by leaps and bounds as a writer.

I am no good with New Year’s resolutions, but I did make some promises to myself around the first of the year. I thought about how I’ve always wanted to be someone who keeps a journal regularly, and how I beat myself up about not having documented some of my life’s monumental moments. And I vowed to find ways to create opportunities to write. Any accomplished writer will tell you that the way to get better is to read and write. A LOT.

So I started this blog in January. I figure if the possibility exists that someone out there may be reading it, I will hold myself accountable for posting regularly (once a month is the schedule, at least for now, although you’ll notice I missed posting in April). I am encouraged by the positive feedback I’ve been receiving. It feels good to have someone start up a conversation based on something they’ve read here, explore a topic further, and/or share their own perspective.

I also started a gratitude journal. It’s still a journal, of sorts, but it has a theme, rather than serving as a record of all that’s going on (which is sometimes too much to face in the format of a diary). Each night, before I go to sleep, I take a few minutes to reflect back on my day and record five things for which I am grateful. I also write about an interaction I had with someone during the course of the day that made me feel grateful. This ranges from some showing of compassion by my son, to a friend performing some unexpected act of kindness, to a stranger offering me a tissue when I sniffle in a coffee shop. The added benefit of the gratitude journal is that it directs me to focus on positive things before going to sleep. In the past, I almost dreaded going to bed because I’d lay there and my mind would start racing and I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. So the gratitude journal, you see, serves several purposes.

And the biggest piece of the puzzle is the independent study in poetic expression I just completed at Penn State York. I have taken many writing classes over the years, but they’ve all been professional writing classes – journalism, business writing, grant writing, etc., etc., etc. I have never taken a creative writing class in my life. And while I write poetry every day, virtually no one had ever laid eyes on any of it prior to this semester. My enthusiasm for this study is a testament to how much I admire and trust my professor as both an instructor and a writer.

I have always been one who appreciates The Red Pen, but my thirst for constructive feedback has reached new heights in the last few months. This class had, without a doubt, more of an immediate and profound impact on my writing, my work, and my life in general, than all the other classes I’ve taken – combined. It was the perfect storm of one-on-one instruction with a great mentor and absolutely perfect timing. This was exactly the right moment in my life to have this opportunity, and I am so grateful for it.

I am keeping my fingers crossed that all the details will soon be ironed out for a second independent study that will focus on publishing. If you had told me last year that I would be considering – let alone looking forward to – submitting any of my work for publication, I’d have thought you were nuts. Further proof that the only constant in my life is change.

Once I complete the second study, I’m hoping (pending receipt of an undergraduate research grant) to launch a publishing project and invite you to participate. I’ll post details here when I have them – maybe as soon as this fall.

The only thing I've ever wanted to be is a writer. I’m doing what I love. So the lesson here is that the more opportunities I’ve managed to create for myself to write – often and in varied forms – the closer I’ve gotten to finding my voice and honing my skills. This is true with most things in life; practice makes perfect. Go out there and do what you love to do – with reckless abandon.

Personal Anthem

I had a conversation with a friend today that reminded me of a journal entry I’d written back in January, when it was still cold and windy, especially at night.

I have always been someone who has found solace and vindication and understanding through music – or more specifically, song lyrics. And I don’t mean playing or writing music. I do not play any instrument. I do not have a good singing voice. But I am an avid (read: rabid) music lover with a voracious, nearly insatiable appetite for songs I can add to the soundtrack of my life.

So music is the thing that really juices me. I’d like to believe that everyone has that one thing that really – pardon the cliché – makes their heart sing, be it hiking through the woods, or painting, or taking their grandkids to the beach, or enjoying downtime in their favorite coffee shop, or playing a round of golf, or planting flowers in their yard... But I’m not sure that’s the case. I hope you know what that thing(s) is for you, and that you make time for it as frequently as you can.

Below is my brief commentary on the reminder I received, in an unlikely moment on an ordinary night, about the impact music can have on my mood, my perspective, my life.


January 10, 2009

I haven’t been so affected by a song in a long, long time.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t slept much over the last week. I met a friend over drinks and we sat around restlessly, talking about nothing until the lights came on and we had to leave. I said goodbye on the sidewalk in the cold and headed for my car, shoulders hunched up nearly to my ears, my breath escaping in little white puffs.

I turned the car on and just sat there in the yellow glow of the streetlights, wondering what to do next. I turned the radio on just as they introduced a song. I wasn’t listening to anything but the blank space in my head, so I didn’t catch the name of the song or the band. I never listen to the radio. I snapped to attention in the opening chords. I was instantly wrapped in the song as though it were a sleeping bag. I had never heard it before, but it felt like an old familiar friend. It was my story. My right now. I cranked the volume as I put the car in drive and pulled out onto George Street.

I wanted to curl up in those lyrics and take a nap. It wasn’t until it ended that I realized I was driving aimlessly, no longer pointed in the direction of home. The roads around me were completely deserted. It was as if I were the only person out on this cold night, the only one to bear witness to the first flurries of the alleged storm to come.

Some quick research this morning turned up the song info and I went to three stores before I found a copy of the CD. I wanted to hold it in my hands. I wanted the liner notes to have a home in my house. I never buy CDs.

I want to listen to the rest of the CD, but I am not ready to take this song off repeat.

Everyone should be so lucky as to find the songs, artists, writers, etc. that they best connect with, the pieces of art and expression that speak clearly – and with force – to them as if they are the only person on earth.

Sure, I’ve Got Baggage, But It’s Really Cute and It Matches!

I’ve come to view life as a series of peaks and valleys. I’ve got a long family history of anxiety and depression. It’s not lost on me that I have it easier than the generations that came before me. I’ve come of age in an era of at least some measure of stigma-shedding, and certainly of hyper-diagnosis and over-prescribing. This is a day and age where we’re less afraid to talk about mental health, and slightly less likely to remain “stoic” and resist seeking help and treatment when appropriate.

I’ve also been fortunate enough to be someone who could manage (or at least believe I am managing) my anxiety without having to rely on drugs. Oh, I’ll take the occasional Xanax when I’ve been soldiering through one of life’s valleys and recognize that I need a good night’s sleep to properly care for myself, just as I’ll take an occasional Tylenol when a sinus headache is getting the best of me. I have seen enough people around me return to wellness through proper medical attention to view mental health issues from much the same prospective as physical health issues.

I know myself and my body and mind well enough to see certain things coming. I’ve had enough sinus infections, for instance, to recognize the symptoms early and visit the doctor before I end up completely miserable and unnecessarily ill. And I am attuned to recognizing when my anxiety level is rising to a point where it’s going to start affecting my daily activities. If I’m not careful, it will manifest itself in ways that impede productivity, which only begets more anxiety. At the high water mark, the symptoms range from extreme fatigue to panic attacks, to an inability to get anything done, despite an overwhelming sense of urgency to do it all at once.

It may sound strange, but I seem to have the hardest time while I’m on semester break – especially over the summer because it’s such a long one. Once things are up and running again and I’ve got 10,000 things I have to deal with, I tend to do much better emotionally. I think it’s because I’m forced to manage my time really efficiently and also because I don’t have time to get all bent out of shape about the things I can’t control. It’s easier to let things just roll off when I’m keeping busy.

People generally think of me as someone who’s laid-back and doesn’t get caught up in petty matters or let things bother me. The truth is, I owe a large part of my eternal optimism and easygoing nature to the fact that I’m always doing too much to take anything else too personally.

My mother, who has had her fair share of personal experience on the subject, and who also got her degree from the WebMD school of medicine, preaches exercise and proper amounts of rest. These things are certainly important, and I try my best to follow this advice. And for me personally, keeping busy is another critical component of mental health.

Please don’t confuse this with running away from problems – when I have too much down time on my hands, I tend to create problems from things that don’t really have a place in a healthy worldview. Keeping busy allows me to focus on the things I do need to concern myself with and the things that have a positive impact on my life, and, at least by extension if not directly, on my son’s life.

So here’s to the peaks – may they be frequent and high – and to what we can take away from having trudged through the valleys. They make the peaks that much more wonderful.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

In the age of big box stores, chain restaurants, and strip malls, it’s getting increasingly difficult to find and hang onto a sense of community. When my son was born, I knew that I wanted him to experience my hometown in a way that would foster a sense of appreciation and loyalty and make him feel compelled to fight for it one day.

And so we avoid the chains and shopping centers as much as we can. We spend our time and money instead in downtown York, an area that has overcome much but still has far to go in its renaissance.

I often say that witnessing downtown revitalization in York has been like being underwater and watching air bubbles rise toward the surface. It feels like there are more and more bubbles all the time, and they’re all about to break the surface at once. And we’re fortunate to have a front row seat. I have sat on boards and committees for organizations and projects that address needs and issues relevant to the City, and the downtown district in particular.

And much of our free time is spent just hanging out and enjoying all the downtown has to offer. We have been unaffected by the concerns and misconceptions that keep many people from visiting downtown (crime and lack of parking are two of the biggest perceived barriers; neither have ever presented a problem for us).

When my son pulls up a stool at Mezzogiorno inside York’s Central Market House, they bring him his usual drink without him having to order. Other customers greet him, ask how basketball is going this season and whether he’s started piano lessons yet. When we’ve finished eating, we stop at some of his favorite market stands, if not to purchase anything, at least to say hello. We catch up with friends and acquaintances, and a few of the homeless guys who we know from the time they spend in the market, the library, and one of our favorite downtown parks. Then we meander around the block, stopping by some of our favorite shops, where everyone greets us by name. This does not happen when we run errands in the suburban shopping centers. Ever.

Having a minor league baseball team in town has further strengthened the familiar, neighborhood feeling of our downtown. The staff greets us – again, by name – when we enter the stadium, and we run into tons of people we know while we walk around the concourse. We purchase a partial season ticket package each year, so we’ve gotten to know the people who sit near us, as well. I love the social interaction I get from the ballgames, without having to sacrifice family time. And having a home team to root for does wonders for bringing a town together.

We come downtown for special events like outdoor concerts and the annual holiday tree-lighting ceremony. We go to shows and film screenings at the Strand-Capitol Performing Arts Center. We volunteer to help install mosaic murals, plant flowers, clean up litter on sidewalks and in parks, and serve occasional meals at the Rescue Mission.

With limited time and financial resources, it’s important to us to buy local and support these businesses and community initiatives that have brought meaningful interactions and depth to our lives. I have built both powerful business relationships and lasting friendships through my love of downtown York.

I believe in our downtown - and in its potential - and will do what I can to help it, in my own small ways, to grow and flourish. And I know that one day, whether he lives here or not, my son will continue to support downtown revitalization, too.

Things I've Learned: Prelude to This I Believe

I'm hoping to post here at least once a month. A little more often at first because I'm excited to have an outlet like this. As much as I love to write, I have always had a hard time journaling consistently for any length of time. So this may give me a way to keep up with it. I'll start out slow. I've got reminders set on my calendar for monthly posts, just to make sure I don't let too much time go by in between.

My plan is to start with a series of essays about things I believe in, things that are of paramount importance to me. I enjoy listening to the This I Believe essays on NPR, and the blog will serve as my own spin on that theme.

But for now, I'd like to share my list of Things I've Learned, which I originally posted on my Facebook page some time ago. Hope you enjoy them...



So here are a few things life has taught me. These are things I learned the hard way, presented here for you in hopes that you may find something useful so that perhaps you may avoid "the hard way." They're my general rules (well, guidelines, really...I've never been one for rules), the things I try to keep in the back of my head at all times to minimize frustration, heartache, and annoyance.


1. Never date anyone with a nickname that includes the word "crazy."


2. Protect your ears and eyes. This includes wearing earplugs at concerts and sunglasses during the daytime.


3. Wear sunscreen.


4. Moisturize. Every day. If you doubt the value of this advice, take a look at my father's face. I'm a believer.


5. No matter how hard you work to always do the right thing, the course of your life can still be dictated by the consequences of someone else's actions. Do not let this discourage you from doing the right thing anyway.


6. Spring for better seats whenever possible.


7. Splurge on good shoes.


8. Always send a note.


9. Never buy a brand new car. It just doesn't make good financial sense.


10. Know when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, and when to run.


11. Look people in the eye. And not just people you know - the cashier at the grocery store, strangers you pass on the street, everyone with whom you interact. See how it changes things.


12. Do not let the time or geography that stretches between you keep you from letting someone know when you're thinking about them.


13. Shave your legs, on account of You Just Never Know.


14. Be particular. (This is an official maxim of the Sweet Potato Queens. If you are unfamiliar with the Sweet Potato Queens, shame on you. Go read their books. Thank me later.)


15. Do not try to "potty train" your children. This advice (which was given to me and I heeded when Carter was little) will save a TON of grief and aggravation for both you and the child. They'll do it when they're ready. Have you ever heard of a 30-year-old who was still in diapers? Relax.


16. There is no substitute for good company. Be very picky about whom you choose to spend your time with. It is better to be left alone than to be left with just anyone.


17. Practice conscious gratitude. Always.

I Don't Know How She Does It

OK, so here we go...first post.

Thought I might start by introducing myself, by way of explaining the name of this blog.

I've got a lot going on. I have a...shall we say, precocious ? 8-year-old son, Carter. I have a full-time career. I am a part-time student. I am active in my community. And recently, to help pay the bills, I've had to take on freelance copy writing, proofreading, and event planning projects. I've also made a commitment to attend these crazy yoga/pilates core & strength classes at least once a week in an effort to incorporate some exercise into my mostly sedentary life (the doctor says it will help combat stress and anxiety).

So, yeah, I keep pretty busy.

People are constantly asking questions like, "how do you do it all?"

I have always been baffled by these questions. How do I do it? I dunno...I just do.

But 2008 was an extremely difficult year. I had some major life changes to deal with, while trying to hold it together for Carter's sake and simultaneously keep everything afloat. It took a tremendous amount of effort and left me exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I am not exaggerating when I tell you I spent every evening of almost the first six months of 2008 sitting on my couch, crying and staring at the wall (OK, well, crying and watching VH1 reality shows...don't judge me).

I started to think about that question: "how do you do it all?"

And I started to doubt myself. Suddenly it felt like too much. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe one person couldn't do that much. So I cleaned house (not literally. I'm allergic to cleaning). I resigned from nearly all my volunteer commitments, no matter how important they were to me. And I continued to lie on the couch. Life had slowed to a barely-moving pace to which I was not accustomed and all that was left were the issues I had to deal with, like it or not.

In 2008 I was stripped down to the very core of who I am. The proverbial push had come to shove and I got a good, hard look in the mirror. And you know what? I feel really good about what I found there. My beliefs and values were tested and did not waver. And while a brief moment of self-doubt made some room for me to process what was going on in my life, I won't ever doubt myself again.

I began to emerge from the darkest, most difficult time of my life, slowly, cautiously.

About halfway through the summer, through a serendipitous chain of events, a group of acquaintances launched a series of get-togethers. We'd been discussing an impending Monday and how we weren't looking forward to it, rarely looked forward to any Monday. This led to the idea of creating something special we could all look forward to on Mondays, taking away the doom-and-gloom stigma Mondays always seem to have. Thus was born the "Monday-Schmonday" parties of 2008.

We would get together at a different person's house each week. Everyone would bring something, and we often had a theme (Ooooh, I just love a theme). In addition to a core group of committed participants, there was a rotating cast of characters who would attend based on the location, date, etc. We represented a broad range of ages, backgrounds, and lifestyles. It was a perfectly magical mix of people. We would sit around in backyards and on patios and eat and talk about nothing and everything and we would laugh...a lot. Carter and I bonded very quickly and very deeply with our Monday pals. I was grateful for the Monday parties while they lasted (we abandoned them when summer ended and the weather turned cold) because one of the primary lessons I learned this year was to be very picky about who I spend my time with. I had also become hyper-sensitive about surrounding Carter with people who would be good role models, showing him, by example, what it means to be kind and compassionate and loving. They became extended family to us, lifting us up during a very difficult time.

And this was to be my re-entry into the world. My coming-out. I emerged a little worse for the wear in some ways, but certainly stronger, and with a crystal-clear understanding of who I am.

As the leaves started to change and my tomato plants died off and everyone put away or covered up their patio furniture for the season, we all agreed to go on Monday-Schmonday hiatus and resume the fellowship once the warm weather returns in the spring. I hope we do.

Carter went back to school. He signed up for sports. He begged for music lessons. I took a deep breath and faced the fall semester. I planned programs and events for work. I took on freelance projects. I agreed to chair a committee. I registered for yoga at a new studio downtown. Life returned to its normal level of craziness.

How do I do it all?

I had a mantra I repeated over and over to myself throughout 2008. It was a difficult year, and every time I felt like I couldn't possibly take any more heartache, couldn't possibly accomplish all that needed to be done, every time panic started to settle in, I would stare it down and remind myself that people go through worse all the time and they come out just fine. You get through it, you do it all, because you don't have a choice. There's nowhere to go but straight on through.

Straight on through....


Straight on through....