The other woman at the table

The first time they sat down together was not a happy one. Yes, they were seated at the sturdy old table that had made its way from her grandparents' kitchen to her own, the table that knew generations of joy and love. Of course it had seen its fair share of tears and hurts as well, and on that chilly afternoon, it had to absorb a whole lot more. This was not, I repeat, a happy occasion.

Maybe if she'd been less frightened, she would have been able to see the other woman clearly. But she was frightened, the kind of fear that feels like certain soul death. In that state, how was she supposed to see anything other than another one of them, the ones who seemed bent on destroying families? Talk about intolerable pain. Talk about an enemy.

Nearly a decade later, the two women sat down again, this time at the other woman's table. It was a frigid day, colder even than the first, but this time warmed, both by plates of hot lasagna and the spark of recognition that ignites when two people truly meet. Their words traveled from their childhoods to France, then on into the mountains, raising children and building houses along the way. Both could pass on Coke, but coffee? They'd rather die than live without it, just as long as it's black. They're both daddy's girls who find themselves alternately amused, chagrined, and flattered that they now sound exactly like their moms. Their grandmothers were the best bakers in the world, and both women have spent hours days trying to recreate those treats. Each has been forced to lead when she'd rather be hiding backstage, and life has dealt them both hands that sometimes, honestly, they'd rather not have to play. Yet here they are, playing those hands anyway, because, well, that's just what they do.

What changed, you ask? Simply this: one moved beyond her fear and learned to play with, not against, the other.

Facebook: friend or foe?

Like many, I suspect, I see social media as a double-edged sword. Is it great fun? On its good days, yes. A way to stay in touch, reach out, be informed? Absolutely. But it's also a platform for a lot of posing, not to mention a colossal waste of time. At its worst, it's a disturbingly effective way to spread lies, hate, and fear.

I've written before about this love-hate relationship with social media. A while back, the balance slammed down heavily on the side of "hate" when someone started intentionally using a platform-not-to-be-named to alienate me. Some of you, especially those who know me in the physical world, are probably thinking, "Oh man! As if that would work! I bet you showed them!"

Sorry, but no. Not at all. I wasn't angry, you see. If I'm mad, then heck yeah, I'll come out swinging. Nor was there an actual fight, and even if there had been, I only engage in fights if a) they're worth having and b) I'm pretty sure I can win. I was just hurt. So I did as wounded creatures do: I all but disappeared, from the virtual world, anyway.

Before long, I began to love my Facebook-free world. Aside from this blog, social media disappeared from my search histories, and you still can't find apps for anything but Blogger on my shiny new iPhone. I read more books, drank more coffee, got more sleep. I not only protected my heart, I also ceased being agitated by political and religious drivel from all sides of the aisle. Time not spent online was spent with my kids, my pets, my piano, my pen. Life was good.

Then another shift, another injury, this one terribly physical, terribly real. A little girl from our church suffered a horrific car accident. I started logging in again, anxious for updates, for signs of healing in a life in peril. As the story unfolded and the girl began to get well, I learned that without Facebook, it might have taken far longer for her to be identified and her parents to be found. Social media had, unequivocally, saved the day.

Thus began my quest for balance, for a way to be online with something like mindfulness, or at least a clear sense of intentionality. I limit my time, and I choose my interactions wisely (at least I try!). I only log in if I'm in the mood, and that's not always all that often. If I get hurt, annoyed, or worse, I walk away, but now only until perspective returns. Why bear a grudge for something that exists only on a blue-bordered screen? Social media, like any other experience, is ultimately about how each of us acts, and even more how we react. You can and will find good in the virtual world. Just last night, I was drawn into a Twitter conversation with people who share my passion for changing our treatment of the mentally ill, and came away encouraged. It is surely no accident that this happened on the same day I read Omid Safi's wonderful blog post, "Shine a Light on the Good and the Beautiful." Maybe this post, in some small way, can serve as a response to his call to "stand next to one another, shoulder to shoulder, mirroring the good and the beautiful."

Social media can be anything we want it to be. That is both its curse and its strength. Having a share in building that strength is why I'm back, at least for now.

Love is an action verb

So this week-end, the Internet, and presumably everyone else, was all about love.

Or were they?

I'm not trying to be cynical here. It's just that I'm pretty sure that for some, their words were just that, words. A bunch of empty phrases in honor of a saint about whom we don't know as much as we think we do. I have nothing against Valentine's Day, but it always feels to me like an awful lot of people are getting it wrong. I think I've finally figured out why.

Love, to me, is an action verb. It is not a warm fuzzy feeling or an emoji-bedazzled Facebook status or even a dozen roses or a diamond ring. Sure, all of those things can go along with love. And if you happen to be in love, there's a pretty good chance they are part of the package. But make no mistake: they are not love itself.

So in belated honor of Valentine's Day, here is are some things that for me, represent real love, love as action.


...delivering a casserole
...lending a car
...babysitting
...accepting help




...driving the extra mile (or ten... or more...)
...changing a tire
...giving up your bed
...admiring the six hundredth Lego creation

...making gifts of the stories you love
...playing Monopoly when your game is Scrabble
...granting permission for the date
...saying no to the broken curfew





...cheering for the winning goal
...crying over the ball that didn't go in

...sending your children off to school
...welcoming your children back home

...sharing a coffee with friends
...sharing a coffee with a stranger
...picking up the phone
...turning off the phone for real face time




I could keep going, but I think you get the idea. What about you? What are the things that show you love is an action verb?

The Internet of People

There has been a lot of talk lately about the Internet of Things. It's an intriguing concept. But I've been thinking more about what I wanted to call the Internet of People until I found out that this, rather perplexingly, does not refer to human beings but rather to the technological devices they might wear. Silly me. Here I was thinking people and their electronic accessories were entirely different entities. I for one have never confused a person for his Apple Watch...

Anyway. When I think "Internet of people," I am reflecting on what the Web can...and can't...do for human relationships. Note that I said "for" and not "to"– the latter is a subject for another day. Also note that I am not just talking about romantic relationships– those are yet another subject for yet another day. I mean all relationships.

Case in point: I logged onto social media for a few minutes the other day, something I hardly ever do any more. One of my Facebook friends had an entertaining post about his (mis)adventures in the kitchen. I smiled, read a few more posts from other friends, then logged off and went about my day. It was only later that I realized that my smile wasn't so much about the post as about the fact that this is someone from my real, day-to-day life. I know that kitchen, those pots and pans, that home. And thinking about all that is what made me click "like."

At the same time, I have online friends I've never met in real life, yet with whom I also share a lot. I'm thinking especially of my sister warrior moms. We may not have that extra layer created by meeting in person, yet I feel such a strong sense of connection with these women. Are those ties any less valuable just because they were made and might always remain in cyberspace?

And what about this blog? I have no idea how many people actually read it, though I see the page views are climbing. Does it reach people? Do they feel connected? A friend pointed out blogs can feel one-sided. She's right. Not to mention that it's hard to remain true to my voice when there's no dialogue. Maybe people will start commenting here and then the spirit of exchange will come to life. Meanwhile, I'll keep reading every post aloud to be sure I still sound like me.

This brings me to what I see as the biggest Internet relationship conundrum: one's relationship with oneself. As the mother of three teenagers, I am acutely aware of online promises and pitfalls when it comes to self-image. I see people, especially young women, post countless "selfies" in a desperate attempt to establish a sense of, well, self. Sometimes these posts annoy me, but more often, they just make me sad. I want to hug these kids, tell them to look in a mirror instead of a cell phone, and stop setting themselves up to be objects of others' derision or desire. I know they won't listen, but I want to do it all the same.

I guess all my rambling boils down to this: relationships can be built and sustained online. But if, along the way, you lose touch with your truest, best self, then in the end there is no relationship at all.

When The Muffins Win, Everyone Wins

The final horseman of the Apocalypse has arrived: I have been promoted to department chair, and of a brand-new department at that. I am honored, flattered, and... overwhelmed. My main problem? The number of non-spam emails a person can actually receive in one day. They are breeding like rabbits every time I walk away from my computer or phone!

And don't get me started on the pile of paper or the ten thousand other things that seem as though they should have been done yesterday. As for the meetings, I'm still playing ostrich about those. They'll be here soon enough.

Did I say overwhelmed? Feels more like drowning.

Thankfully, I have learned a thing or two over the years. One is that the solution to drowning is not to keep swimming out to deeper water. Instead, find the shore, regain footing if you can, then make a plan. Translated into yesterday, that meant enjoy my coffee first, then meditate and go for a run, all while leaving the phone behind. On purpose.

That done, I performed triage on the electronic rabbit colony and jumped in the shower. Following another round of triage on the only-slightly-less-alarming mountain of paper, I headed out to do a few errands.  As I drove, the cleansing effects of exercise and water began to wear off, replaced by a Pigpenesque cloud of impending doom...I mean email. 

(Huh. Just checked my thesaurus. Apparently "doom" and "email" are not synonyms. Who knew?)

Anyway. When I made my final stop, my friend Jane said, "do you want to come in for a minute? There's muffins." Part of me said, "Muffins? Seriously? No time for baked goods. Not today! Not unless they can occupy my right hand while I write or type with my left."  But a bigger, wiser, and more vocal part could smell muffiny glory and spoke up with an enthusiastic "sure!" The next two hours found us curled up on a couch to share coffee, muffins, and a good old-fashioned chat.

And guess what? After that, it was all good. Yes, the paper and the e-mails were still right where I'd left them. In fact, they'd gone forth and multiplied. Again. But it was fine. I needed to run, to meditate, to shower. And yes, I needed to do the work (which did get done, by the way). But most of all I needed the connection that only a muffin, coffee, and friend can bring. With that, you can take on the world, doomsday rabbits and all.

The Art of Showing Up

Not so long ago I had someone offer what I'm sure she thought was "constructive criticism" on my performance at work, which she had found, well, lacking. I truly believe she meant well, but predictably enough, I got hurt, then mad, and by the time I went home, I was beating myself up over what she'd said.

Admittedly, it has not been my best year since entering the college teaching profession. It might even be one of the worst, given that the whole year has felt like a living illustration of Murphy's law. 

So yeah, it's not been my best year of teaching. I have definitely been distracted, and I hate that, most of all for my students, who deserve better. But it's time to grant myself a little grace too, something I'm just now learning to do. After all, it's pretty obvious that most of this stuff was beyond my control. And...in spite of everything, every time it was even remotely possible, I was there. Maybe I wasn't polished or put together, maybe organization became a distant memory, and maybe I was working off plan B or even C or D, but I showed up. I sat down with my students, and one way or another, we got it done.

It is true that we need people to be there in a real and productive way. We need effective teachers and doctors and people with snowplows and villages to help us raise our kids. But sometimes we just need people to be present. They might not know what to do or how to do it, but they muddle through with us anyway. They sit in hospital rooms, offices, restaurants, cars. They are THERE. Which, as it turns out, is almost always enough. So here's to the art of showing up, the one thing all of us can do.