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I read an article yesterday in the Wall Street Journal called something like “When did you first feel old?” It was a clever little article quoting the minister of longevity from Stanford (an actual thing) and quotes from people from their late 20’s and beyond on when “old” feelings first settled in.

The obvious push is to answer the question yourself. When did I first feel old? 

In typical fashion, my first instinct is Nev-er.

I am young at heart. In reasonably good shape. With a lot of vibrant energy. I honestly feel like I could be 25 most days.

I choose 25 intentionally because I had my first baby at 27 and all hell broke loose for the next decade. That sweet little princess and her two siblings to follow were all terrible sleepers. Real deal sleep deprivation does not make one feel young.

So I harken back to 25. Nope. Not me. Not old. Still a spring chicken.

And then, I realize, if I’m being honest with myself, this is not true.

It’s a completely embarrassing story, but I will share. The first time I truly felt old – or certainly old-er than I would like – was several years ago. I’m going to guess I was about 35ish. When I realized I was older than Justin Bieber’s mom. That’s right. True story.

My big kids were huge fans. And truthfully, so was/am I.  I can’t remember how I figured this out. It could have been watching one of his documentaries (with my kids! although the first one was actually quite good). Or reading an article. In any case, yep, not only could I be his mother, but I am actually older than his mother. By just a few years in my memory. And I think she had him when she was like 16. But still.

Eye opening. 

Now, sometimes at work, when I’m in a meeting with real “millennials” or people many, many years younger than me, I do feel old-ish. But then I quickly brush it off.

Because I still hold true that age is just a number. How you feel. How you act. How you embrace life – this is what matters, not a number.

I’m going to keep hanging on to 25ish…even as it becomes decades in the rear view mirror. And with certainty, I ignore all of those “what not to do after 40” articles that are all the rage. Wear a bikini? Heck yeah. Ripped jeans? My favorite. Long hair? For sure. High heels? Absolutely.

All potential rule-breakers. All totally me. What really matters is not how old you are – or if you feel old. But are you making the most of the age you are? I always want the answer to be definitively yes.

Today I went on a field trip! For real. With a group of seventh graders, including my favorite seventh grader, my son. Our destination was the National State History Museum in Tacoma.

I love a good field trip. You get to see your kid interact with their classmates. It’s like an animal in their natural habitat. And I’m an anthropologist. Observing, watching, and soaking it up. If he reads this, it will likely be my last field trip. But anyway.

It’s a K-8 school and I’ve known most of these boys since kindergarten, if not pre-school. To see them now, so big and teenage-ery, is wild. They’re mostly all taller than me. And somehow, my son is almost the tallest kid in the class. Unexpected…from this 5’1″ mom.

The field trip wasn’t that notable really other than my own little anthropological study. But a certain sign did catch my eye.

It’s possible I’m the only one in the whole museum that even read the sign about artifacts. It was small and obscure. But it spoke to me.

Here’s why:

What is this sad little Tigger doing in this blog? It’s a great example of an ordinary object with extraordinary meaning.

This Tigger was on my oldest daughter’s first birthday cake over 14 years ago. It was in a kitchen drawer for many years, alongside other candles and baking supplies. I kept it because it was a sentimental reminder of her first birthday and I am an acknowledged sentimental sap.

Six years later, after I had found out her little sister had an unknown and rare neurological disorder, I was reeling. We didn’t know what the future would look like for her and it was a terrifying and heartbreaking time. Once we got the initial diagnosis, it took three months to get into a neurodevelopmental doctor, and many more months of uncertainty and fear.

During this window of time, I struggled to process. One day, my eye landed on this Tigger. It became symbolic. I could choose to tackle this challenge with fear, uncertainty and gloom (a la Eeyore) or I could be a f#$+ing Tigger. With endless optimism. And energy. Bouncing through the day versus plodding. Choosing joy.

I chose to be Tigger. And I have been embracing my inner Tigger ever since.

Since then, Tigger had a distinct spot on the windowsill in my kitchen for many years. When we moved into our rental house, he ended up in the medicine cabinet by my toothbrush. I’m not sure why, but I see him several times each day.

This morning he caught my eye and I paused for a moment and thought…”hello, little friend.”

So the sign in the museum about ordinary objects with extraordinary meaning caught my eye today. I thought of Tigger. And so many other objects that I surround myself with at home and at work that have extraordinary meanings. They’re my little secrets mostly. But they inspire me. They make me happy. And they remind me of the meaning of life.

 

Recently identity has been on my mind. Perhaps the most existential question – who am I? 

I’ve had a few friends make major life transitions recently. And others considering big moves. It’s interesting to me how many of us identify ourselves by what we do.

I’m a mom. I am a wife. I work at Microsoft. In many ways, it’s a great thing. You must love what you do on some level for your home or work to pop to the top of your life identity.

But if we dig deeper, there is more.

My dad taught me this when I was 20. I was a junior in college. I had a storied running career in high school and had a full running scholarship to the college of my choice (which I chose solely for their top-notch running program). My roommates were runners. My best friends were runners. The guys I dated were runners. I was surrounded by….running. This would have worked out perfectly if my storied high school career had continued.

But it didn’t. I was constantly injured and after my 13th stress fracture and following a double leg surgery that had me largely bed ridden for a week, I was done.

My parents were my biggest cheerleaders. They applied zero pressure yet somehow were omnipresent in their support. So, when I was home on a visit and broke down in tears (very uncharacteristic of me) with frustration, I was expecting open arms and words of encouragement. Instead, the conversation went something like this:

Me: “I’m miserable. I’m surrounded by people doing what I want more than anything in the world and I can’t do it anymore. I feel like a loser.”

Rather than console me, it’s one of the few times I can remember my dad getting angry.

Dad: “Lisa, never, ever say that. You are not a loser. What you do, is not who you are. So be who you are. And don’t confuse dreams and achievement with who you are and what you are made of.” 

I remember it clearly to this day. It was such a powerful moment. And exactly what I needed.

It spurred me into action. I joined a sorority to broaden my friend group, even moving into my sorority house for my last semester of school. Super uncommon, but I kind of did college backward. I officially quit running (until I took another scholarship for grad school, but that’s another story) and turned my attention to preparing for my career in communications. I wrote a 120 page thesis so I could graduate early. And I still had a lot of fun with my old crew and new friends.

But the lesson has been lifelong. When I consider who I am, what is my identity, it is not what I do. It is not me as a mom. Or a wife. Or a daughter. Or sister. It is not my 20 year career at Microsoft. All of these matter so very much to me.

But, they are not what makes me me. Identity is really your soul. And who you are at your core. Defined by traits that are ingrained in who you are. When I think about what defines my identity I think of a few things. Positive energy. Optimism. Creator. Writer. Curious learner. Someone who likes big challenges and takes great satisfaction in pushing to achieve big goals. Hard worker. Likes to lead. With a ridiculous sense of humor and love of fun.

There’s more to me, of course. But when I think back on my life these are enduring traits that define me – regardless of life stage.

So an interesting exercise is, what if we chose what to do, by working back from who we are?

Coincidentally, I had started writing this blog in my head earlier today and wrapped my day with a meeting where I was asked what I like to do most. Interestingly, many of the same themes I identify above emerged.

What a gift it is if you can fill your day with things that reinforce who you are. And if our days are not filled with things that help us be the best – and most happiest – we can be – why not? 

Hello blog universe….it’s been awhile.

A friend encouraged me to write today, so here we go. Tonight I’m thinking about direction. And how we all need a path in life. Otherwise we drift. Aimlessly. Wasting time and opportunity.

The path can change. But without a path, you can end up running in circles. Or into a ditch.

This blog didn’t start from a deep place though. It started in a parking garage. Literally. After I finished a meeting in a building I do not typically frequent, I had a sadly common occurrence. I got in the elevator to the garage, got ready to push the button, and then…hmmm….was it P1? Or P2? Surely not P3?

And then my stomach sinks because I know I’m in trouble. I chose door 2 and hopped off on P2. Made a circle. Nope.

P3? Walked a few aisles and then…definitely not. This cannot be right.

So up to P1. Alright. This must be it. Walked a few aisles and then literally retraced my driving path to my car. Phew. That only took 20 minutes. Of my life. That I will never get back.

And, I needed to pick my son up from an appointment. So I had to call my husband, confess the losing of car, and ask him to pick up our son – now a bit late – because I had optimistically thought, for sure, I will find my car any minute.

If that wasn’t bad enough, this has happened before. Several times. In fact, this is an actual text exchange from today:

son: who’s picking me up

me: Dad

son: when

me: soon…pls stay inside the building

son: why

me: I lost my car. We had to scramble

son: Ok

The worst part? He was not even phased. Totally got it.

So direction is on my mind. And beyond the parking garage.

Because isn’t it so important to have direction in life? So we know where each step is taking us? And our time is spent intentionally, with purpose?

Otherwise, it’s so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day shuffle and hustle of life. We plow through life but we miss opportunity, we miss experiences, and we miss joy if we aren’t clear on our direction.

In many ways, this blog started with a commitment to direction. And even if you don’t know which way you’re going, you’re committed to figuring it out.

So here’s to focusing on the path forward. Direction. I’ll keep seeking it. Even when elusive.

On that note…I was looking for a quote to help convey this thematic. I found the perfect one. For me anyway:)

 

Tonight I’m thinking about risks. In many ways, year #43 has been a year of risk. Project and professional risk. Real estate and home remodel risk. And a few others.

Risk doesn’t have to entail climbing Mt. Everest or leaving everything you know behind to move to India.

To me, risk is anything that challenges you. Pushes you outside your comfort zone. Makes you pause. Weigh pro’s and con’s. Consider if you are capable – and in some cases – brave enough – to go for it.

This year I’ve chosen to go for it in a few different ways. Some have worked out and others haven’t. It’s easy to celebrate the risks that work out. It’s more challenging to embrace the risks that don’t work out as part of your life fabric. The obstacles that make you stronger. Learn about yourself.

Of course, there are a million words of wisdom about risk and failure. Grit is a popular concept that I’m a big fan of (made popular by the amazing book by Angela Duckworth). If I could wish my kids any trait, it would be grit. But a lot of the short quotes are a bit cheesy and over-simplified.

One caught my eye by the wise anonymous “Take risks: If you win, you will be happy. If you lose: you will be wise.” Close….but I don’t like to think of life in terms of winning and losing. And I think you can gain wisdom from winning, and losing doesn’t have to make you unhappy. So scratch that one.

Or the thought-provoking “Your biggest risk will be the one you don’t take.” That makes you pause. And feels a bit scary. But I think you shouldn’t take risks for risk-sake alone. You should take risks when it matters to you. When your heart pulls you in a direction. When you can’t stop thinking about an idea. If you’re lucky, this happens enough to make you feel alive. 

Of course, the worst thing about risk is that you can fail. And failure, generally speaking, is really not fun. Some would say it typically sucks. But this I believe to be true – in the wise words of Wayne Gretzky, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” So I believe we must keep taking shots. Even when it’s hard. Or disappointing. Or humbling. And seek to learn from these moments. And then get back up and look for the next shot.

Ultimately, the quote at the top sums it up best for me. I would hate to get to the end of my life and not know what could have happened. Risk. The best ones are scary – but the most rewarding – whether you succeed or fail, you will know.

Recently I lost a year of my life. It may sound dramatic, but this is a true story.

My sister had a birthday and as she is 2.5 years older than me, I was doing the math to figure out which birthday she was celebrating. #45 – a milestone! Yep, I’m 42, so she would be 45.

And then I was reminded that she was actually 46. Which meant I am actually 43. What?! For some reason, 43 seems…..more old. Barely early 40’s. And more troublesome, how did I forget an entire year of my life? 

I’m sure when I turned 43 in July I knew which birthday I was celebrating. But I honestly forgot somewhere over the last months and if you had asked me my age, I would have sincerely told you 42.

So now….43? Hmmm.

A simple slip of memory. But it really made me pause.

I need to embrace 43! 43 should not be forgotten! I really do believe that every year is precious. Each day should be meaningful. So, oh no 43, you will not be forgotten. 

I asked myself…..am I doing exactly what I want to be doing with each day of 43? Am I making special memories with those I love the most? Am I surrounding myself with people who make me feel great about myself? Am I investing in friendships and girl time? Am I reading and learning and challenging myself? Am I healthy and pushing myself physically, while I still am able? Am I laughing – deeply – every day? Am I taking time to notice and appreciate the big and little things that bring me joy? Am I taking adventures and planning trips with people I love? Am I taking time each day to cherish doing something I enjoy, even amidst my responsibilities? Am I unapologetically living a life that makes me happy? 

These questions all deserve a yes at the end of 43.

So forgetting a year of your life is a good kick in the pants. Get out there and LIVE IT UP! It is #43 – and I only get one of them.

Coincidentally, while I had this epiphany of embracing 43, I read a recent interview with Oprah. If anyone is a role model for making the most out of life, accomplishing, and living an authentic life, it must be Oprah.

So image how overjoyed I was to read this quote, “I tell all women, you don’t hit it until 44. I felt the essence of being a fully grown woman at 44…..Then around 50, it’s the beginning of another phase in your life. You will know that you are no longer supposed to be wasting time on things that are frivolous.”

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Fantastic! I haven’t even hit it yet. I’m just warming up. Next year is going to be a big, big year.

And I’ll look forward to the wisdom of 50 and beyond.

In the meantime, here’s to embracing – and wholeheartedly living – #43.

Tonight I did it! I actually went to hot yoga and I really liked it. Love is a very strong word, so I’ll refrain, but it definitely hit the enjoyment meter. Who knew??

It really shouldn’t be that hard to commit to an hour long class, but since my last blog on yoga, I hadn’t made the time. Yesterday I did a longish run and was tight as usual today, so I went for it.

I wanted to try a new studio that had been recommended by friends, so it required researching class times, driving 2.5 miles, and arriving early (so hard for me!) to sign up. I have to laugh at the 2.5 miles part – living in Seattle totally spoils you to the proximity of cool stuff. There is a yoga class about half a mile from my house that I have been to a few times, but it is a bit too woo-woo for me (it involved a banging drum last time I went). But for some reason, driving the 2.5 miles to the neighboring Greenlake neighborhood seemed so far. It’s funny – and ridiculous – really – I regularly commute 1.5 hours each day to work (not that many miles either, but so much traffic), but I’m daunted about driving a few miles to do something for my health and enjoyment.

But not today! I drove there! I was 15 minutes early! I signed up! I was killing it!

Until I opened the door to the class area and nearly passed out. It was like New Orleans in July. SO HOT! The air was stifling. And the room was full already. For real? I thought it would largely be empty because the Oscars had just started. Who does yoga when the Oscars are on? Die-hard’s that’s who. And me.

So I found a place to set up my mat as everyone laid still like a corpse around me. It’s actually kind of creepy. So I laid down too. Like a corpse. Who was sweating to death and we hadn’t even started yet.

And then the instructor got us going. I really tried to focus. Choose an intention (I’ll share it – it was simply “Relax”) and tried to focus on Relaxing and not thinking.

I was able to do the bulk of the poses, only (nearly) fell over once, and eventually stopped caring that I was sweating buckets. Everyone was. And then I remembered you aren’t supposed to compare yourself to others in the class. So I really tried hard not to look around. Which was just as well. Because I really am not good at yoga comparatively AND I was dressed all wrong. I wore black pants and a yellow sports bra/top amidst a sea of black and grey. My yellow top looked like a sun rising amidst dark clouds.

But anyway.

I considered it a hugely successful class. I focused and <sort of> relaxed. I stretched some very tight leg muscles and hip flexors. I actually did feel much more flexible by the end of the class. I didn’t look at my watch once. And I look forward to going back.

If you can win a yoga class, I think I did it today. For me anyway.

Namaste.

Tonight I will write a usefully bad blog. I love the phrase “usefully bad.” I use it as a guiding light at work on occasion. Tonight I will use it for this blog.

Essentially it means making a move. Even if it’s a bad move. Writing something. Even if it’s a bad something. Anything. But getting the creative wheels turning. Forward motion.

When stuck at work, I will seek to write a usefully bad blog. Or press release. Or set of messaging. Or speech material. Sometimes you have to start in a usefully bad place to end up somewhere wonderful. 

So words hit paper. I try hard to not overly edit. Or judge. Or get annoyed if the content is so bad it may not be close to useful.

The point of usefully bad is just to start. Create a foundation to build upon. Forward motion. 

I hate that I’ve neglected this little blog. I’ve missed it.

The past few weeks have directed my creative energy in other directions – a big presentation at work, researching some interesting new ideas, an aggressive design stage of our house remodel, and spending time with my mom in the evening hours while she visited. There really isn’t time to write when you can be sharing laughs over a glass of wine.

But tonight, I’m ready to get back to it. Even from a usefully bad place. Because sometimes the longer you take a break, the harder it is to get started. So this is my usefully bad blog. I’m officially back at it. 

I recently read a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called “Big Magic, Creative Living Beyond Fear.” Gilbert also wrote “Eat, Pray, Love” and while I don’t have grand plans to move to India on a spiritual quest, I’m all in on seeking big magic in my life.

There is a lot I love about this book, but one of the things I love most is the encouragement to “Say what you want to say and say it with all your heart. Share whatever you are driven to share.” Embracing the authenticity of who you are. She stresses your art doesn’t have to be overly original – in fact, it doesn’t even need to be important. She encourages creating, simply because “I do what I do because I like doing it.”

That pretty much sums up my approach to this blog. Whether anyone reads it or not, I really am loving the process. And it’s so good to be back here – on my laptop, with my favorite candle burning, good tunes playing and a great glass of wine. Someday I’ll write something more meaningful. But tonight, it’s just a usefully bad start. 

And as Gilbert coaches “Your own reasons to create are reason enough. Do whatever brings you to life, then. Follow your own fascinations, obsessions and compulsions. Trust them. Create whatever causes a revolution in your heart.” 

So here’s to finding the revolution. And enjoying the usefully bad process along the way.

My toes buried themselves in the sand as I felt surrounded by the waves of the ocean. The air was a warm breeze with just a hint of mist from the ocean swirling around me. I was at total peace as the yoga instructor spoke calmly to the small class of tourists gathered ocean side for the sunrise yoga class. Breathe in. Breathe out. My mind was empty. Blissful.

But not really. I am really, really bad at yoga. While on vacation, I decided to give it another go, as regular yoga has been on my new year’s resolution list for…. a few new year’s. Who couldn’t love a sunrise class by the ocean?

I know the benefits of yoga are scientifically proven – increased flexibility and strength, reduced stress, increased mindfulness. Some of the leaders I respect most swear by it.

So I’ve tried it several times over the years. For a period of time – post babies and desperate for a return to what used to be physically – I actually went to hot yoga relatively frequently. And then I fell off the wagon. And haven’t found my way back on.

The problem is I’m really not good at it. Running is notoriously bad for flexibility and I’m a textbook case. Even in the yoga class I used to attend frequently, the instructor called me “tight hamstring girl.” She wasn’t kidding. In college, while nursing my cranky IT band, the trainer for my running team did months of dynamic stretching on me to loosen everything up. It totally worked – he would literally strap me to a massage table daily and over several weeks, eventually was able to stretch my foot all the way over my head.

But it required being strapped down to a table with a grown man pushing on me to achieve such flexibility. 20 years ago.

Anyways, yoga seems like such a good idea. Clearly I need the flexibility. And the core strength that doesn’t come from running. And, all the youngish looking 40-something actresses swear by it and who am I to argue?

And that doesn’t even touch the mindfulness aspect of it. The stress relief. The opportunity to choose an intention, focus your mind, and leave the stresses of the world behind.

But I really am not good at that part either. After about 30 seconds, my mind starts to wander. I write this blog. I write to-do lists. I think about how much more I’d rather be running. I wonder if Orange Theory would be just as effective, with good music. I question if this is really even a work-out (until my core is sore the next day). I roll my eyes (internally) at the instructor. I wonder if the other people in the class are actually enjoying this. I plan my outfit for the day. I think about critical work projects. Then try to think about my intention or whatever I was supposed to clear my mind and focus on.

And then, when I can’t stand it any longer, I look at my watch. 7:35. Ugh. 25 whole minutes to go. This is how long I usually hold out before peeking at my watch. 35 minutes feels like a lifetime. And then 25 more minutes goes even more slowly. I try and train my mind to shut down. Don’t watch the clock. And I fail miserably. It feels like a long class in college.

But I’m always so happy when I’m done. I do feel more peaceful and centered. And I’m sure I would be more flexible if I did it regularly. And eventually would get better at the whole mindfulness thing.

So I am going to really, really try. Commit to one hour class a week. It’s nothing! One hour a week, surely this I can do. But I haven’t yet. So here’s to planning on this being the year. If nothing else, I should view it as a key part of my marathon training. And perhaps I’ll surprise myself and grow to love it.

Namaste.

A noble goal for life is the pursuit of Ahhhh……what is Ahhhh you ask? It is a feeling of ultimate calm. Ultimate peace. Relaxation. And happiness that life is, in fact, very good.

Today was a day full of Ahhhh. I was really ready for it. After a few hectic weeks of crazy at work, typical crazy of being a mom of three, knee deep in a house remodel, and oh yes – a killer flu that made me more sick than I have been in decades – I was seriously ready for a moment of Ahhhh.

So today was blissful. Simply, beautiful blissful. It’s not hard to find Ahhhh in Hawaii. And today was perfection. Sunny, beautiful, perfect.

We flew in yesterday afternoon and enjoyed a sunny afternoon on the beach and fabulous seafood dinner. I was so tired from the past weeks and surviving the killer flu that I slept 11 hours last night. That’s right – 11 hours!! Who does that? A gal on vacation who can, that’s who.

The rest of today was about as perfect as can be in my book. A nice run to start the day on a boardwalk overlooking the ocean. Then a quick trip to the gym for the stuff running doesn’t address. A brilliant papaya – my favorite fruit in the universe – for breakfast. On the beach by 9:30am.

Then, a tough alternating day of work from the beach.

To the pool.

And back.

With a few paddle board outings to break up the day. I love a good paddle board. Is there anything better than standing on water in the most beautiful place? So amazing.

I read a book. Nothing heavy or substantial. A book chosen specifically because it didn’t require me to think. A chick lit book, if I didn’t hate the term so much. But so great to read a book end-to-end. A few Corona’s to break up the afternoon. Ahhhh….

Everyone deserves moments of Ahhhh in their life. It’s good for the soul. It can come in many ways. And when it does, I hope you can savor it. Let your mind rest and just be. Because just being isn’t easy. But it is wonderful. 

I’ve had some big things to think about lately and today was a pursuit of not thinking big thoughts. Just being.

As I write this from my room’s balcony, I’m looking at the ocean. Listening to a brilliant musician from down the beach.

Ahhhh. I found you today. And you are good.