Life tiles

A friend, when I’d texted her about her day, mentioned she’d just had her first mammogram.  To which I responded that she’d just earned a Life Tile.  Of course she didn’t know what I was talking about, who would?  What I meant—and explained—is that she’d done something a little different from everyday life, a bonus experience, the kind that would earn us a tiny cardboard piece in the board game of Life that we’d collect until the end of the game.

I’ve thought of this idea so many times when I or those around me are going through a difficult or growing experience, maybe just a transition, maybe big, many times small.  Just a variety of experiences that enrich or teach, expose us to a different perspective, enlarge our view on the world, expand our knowledge or understanding, provide a little more depth to everyday life.  Triumphs, disappointments, heartaches, accomplishments. All contributing to the person we become.  I guess instead of seeing so many as stumbling blocks or road blocks on the way home, I look at them as little Tiles I can tuck away in my memory to learn from, to derive joy from when life is a little gray, to share with others as they go through similar experiences.  In my mind, none of these experiences is a waste if we use them to heighten our awareness, if we use them for good, if we appreciate that they’re just all part of the mortal experience.  I marvel at the wisdom in this statement, “…all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” Maybe not at the moment, but maybe down the road, maybe to help someone else going through something you’ve already dealt with.

So maybe it’s a mammogram; maybe it’s cancer.  Maybe it’s you, maybe someone else.  Maybe the someone is someone you love more than life.  And you wish it was you instead.

Watching a loved one die.  Attending a funeral.  Visiting someone in the hospital.  Taking flowers to a grave on Memorial Day.  Remembering your dad only in pictures but feeling peace about your relationship.

Saving up.  Taking a long-awaited trip.  Study abroad.  A humanitarian mission.  First plane ride.  First one alone.

Securing a rental car.  Driving in a new city.

Your first apartment. Paying rent. Buying your first house. Signing mortgage documents.  Makes you feel like going out to breakfast and celebrating afterward.  Moving to a new state.

Being new.  At school.  At church.  At everything.

A big kid bed.

Divorce. Maybe your parents’ or maybe yours. Moving out. Dating again after such a long time.  Figuring it all out.  Never figuring it out.

Getting your drivers license.  Losing it.  Giving up driving for good.  Selling your car for the last time.

Being interviewed for the newspaper or a spot on the news.  Starting a podcast.  Or a blog.  Getting published.  Seeing your name in print.

Leaving home and recognizing how much your parents sacrificed for you.  And tried to teach you.  Realizing you’re an adult.  And you should’ve paid better attention.

First day of school.  Every year.  No matter how old you are.  Going back to school as a grown up.

Opening a checking account.  Using your debit card for the first time.

Losing a tooth.  A root canal.  Braces. Dentures.  Oral surgery.

Finishing a quilt.  Refinishing a chair.

Being in charge.  Of an event.  An organization.  Making a tough call.  Loving the people you serve.  Learning from it all.

Installing your new dishwasher.  Replacing a fuse, a windshield wiper, the oil, an engine.

Singing in a choir.  Learning to play an instrument.  Dancing.  Having a solo.

Giving a speech.  Teaching a lesson. 

Graduating from high school. Attending college.  Declaring your major. Even if you don’t leave with a degree.  Getting your GED when you’re older.  Never finished high school.

Learning to ride a bike. Skiing.  Snowboarding.  Surfing.

Writing a letter to the Editor.

Making it through your teen years.  Making it through your kids’ teen years.

Trying out for the team.  Getting cut.  Making it.  Wishing you hadn’t.  Sticking it out.

A first job.  A real paycheck. Starting your own business.  Getting fired.  Filling out tax forms.  Getting a tax refund.

Caring for a spouse or child long-term with no guarantee of full recovery.

Becoming a grandparent.  Listening to others becoming grandparents when you know you’ll never be one.

Letting someone live with you for an extended period of time.

Being able to stand your ground with class and tact when the issue is important to you.

Having a boyfriend or girlfriend; making it official.

Getting married.  Your first real fight.  Sleeping apart.  Making up.

Shaving for the first time.

Writing your life story.

Breaking a bone. Major injury.  Surgery.  A hosptial stay. Flu that keeps you down for a week.  C-section.  Kidney stones.

Learning a different language.  Visiting a foreign country.  Eating new foods.

Signing the papers for a car.  Changing a tire.  Jumping a car for the first time.  Learning to drive a stick.  Driving a really old, ugly, character-building vehicle.

Getting in an accident.  Getting a ticket.  Or a warning.

Road trip.  With roommates.  As a family.  With senior citizen strangers.  With girlfriends.

Painting a room.  Remodeling.  Building a fence.

Planting a garden.  Making jam.  Canning.

Getting a dog.  Losing a dog.  Having an aquarium.  Picking out the fish.

Dropping your kid off at college.  Waving goodbye as you wonder how it came full circle in such a short time.  Remembering your own first week in the dorms.

Camping.  Seeing the national parks up close.

Cooking for yourself.  Cooking for a date.  A spouse.  Making dinner every night.

A first kiss.  A last.

A career switch mid-life.

Fourth of July parade.  Getting it.  Feeling the lump in your throat for the first time.  And every time thereafter.

Positive pregnancy test.  A negative one. A miscarriage.  Your first baby.  Maybe others. Knowing this one’s your last.  Never having kids.

Lifting weights after a mastectomy.  Doing burpies for the first time again.

A snow day

Running a 5K.  Half marathon.  Marathon.  Around the block.  Walking to the mailbox.  Standing up again after being confined to a bed or chair.

Riding a horse

Winning the race.  Losing it.  Coming in dead last.  Trying hurdles or pole vault for the first time. Sticking with the whole track season.

Seeing art in person.

Signing up to be a coach.  Meeting the kids on the first day.

Throwing a surprise party

Living through a fire, an earthquake, a shooting

Been a victim.  Been deceived or taken advantage of.  Rising above it.

Writing a poem or a song.  Painting a picture.  A sketch.  A model.

Prom.  Or not.

Living with roommates.  Meeting them for the very first time.  Knowing you’ll be friends forever.  When you realize how different you are and wondering if you’ll stay friends. Seeing them again when you’re all grown up.  When your kids are all grown up.

Reading a classic.

Learning to swim.  Snorkeling in Hawaii.  Becoming scuba certified.  Going off the high dive.

Losing weight.  Losing your scale.  Letting go of a number.  Accepting yourself.  Being yourself.

Taking care of a parent.  Noticing that you’ve switched roles.  Becoming the parent to your parent.  Moving your parent into a care facility.  And then into the memory unit.

Learning to make bread.

A life-changing accident.  Yours or your spouse’s or your kid’s.  A serious transformation from the life you always knew.  Accepting your new normal.

Watching it all come full circle.  Watching it all through your kids.  And grandkids.  Trick or treating.  Sugar cookies.  Reading the same books you read them when they were small.  Doing it all over again.  Raising your grandkids.

On and on and on.  You can all make your own lists.  These Tiles are what make everyone’s Life experience unique.  At the end of the game, not everyone’s pile looks the same.  None are equal or the same size. Some tiles we’re just given.  We didn’t ask for them, Heaven knows we didn’t want them.  But they’re part of our stack anyway. And they all warrant a tiny acknowledgment, maybe even a celebration.  Not for any other reason than you’re dealing with it all.  You’re learning. You’re stronger than you thought. Or wanted to be. You’re still here, you haven’t given up, you’re willing to stick through whatever comes. In my mind, you’re still in the game.  And if we use what we’ve learned, what we’ve been through, and what we’ve experienced through all the vicissitudes of life, through all the ups and downs, through all the changes and challenges, through all the heartaches and triumphs for good, then we’ve won.

Favorite things

Now that the din of the holidays has quieted, it’s time to reflect on how it all went.  And this is just one little observation.  In fact, I don’t have a ton of experience with this kind of thing, but a conversation with a friend last month made me run back to some of my memories surrounding these Favorite Things parties. When I’ve been invited to something like this in years past, my initial reaction has been to run, or at least avoid it somehow, to check—really scour—my calendar to see if there were any possible conflicts.  I know that’s weird.  It’s just that this kind of thing honestly is pretty much completely out of my comfort zone.  At least back when it first started to show up in my life. My only associations were my mom’s grown up friend hosting her annual get-together.  But she is fancy and knows all about what’s current and popular. It all reminded me of Oprah.  It just seemed something other women did: jumpy women, excited women, fun women.  Not really plain, quiet, serious women like me. Would I be the most boring one there?  And besides, it gave me anxiety. Christmas already left me feeling effectively tapped out. I had no idea what to bring.  What were the expectations? What was a normal or acceptable offering?  What if we played the game where we had to take another gift we liked better? It would take me back to school years and choosing teams.  It all seemed a little over my head. I wasn’t sure if I was the right person for their guest lists.  But flattered and honored to be considered, I’m grateful I decided to attend these gatherings.  I’ve interacted with women I didn’t really know; for what it’s worth, I learned what’s currently trendy or what kinds of tools or products are tried and true; and, best of all, I caught a glimpse into my friends’ lives and hearts.

So it was fascinating when I received as one of my gifts something truly unique and worthy of cherishing.  My daughter and I love this unique present so much.  It’s a box of cards—not notecards—just huge cards like little kids would hold to play Go Fish or Old Maid with.  Beautiful painted depictions of Brave Women on one side with a description of their lives’ work on the back, pointing out their contributions and places in history.  Fascinating, enchanting, so interesting and unusual.  My daughter immediately wanted to collage her room in them; they are perfect on her wall!  So I reported back to the giver how much joy her gift has brought us, to which she replied in essence how grateful she was we liked them.  She was worried about bringing them.

And this is where I confessed I knew exactly how she felt.

This is the part of this kind of party that makes me uneasy.  Because I—like her—am forced to expose a corner of my personality I’m not sure will be entirely welcomed.  There, I admit it.  That’s the crux of it.

Which is actually the beauty of this kind of gathering: sharing ourselves with others, being vulnerable, allowing others into our hearts by sharing something dear to us, a little peek into what makes us each unique.  But this can be hard.

Because I’m almost positive no one actually hoped to get my favorite kind of kitchen towels and good-smelling Christmas soap.  Boring.  Practical.  Everyday.  Less than thrilling, exciting or intriguing.  And yet, these little tokens scream my name.  I’m in the kitchen a good chunk of every day.  I hate stale crusty kitchen towels.  I like to wash mine every couple of days.  I believe they should be replaced as they fray and thin and wear out. I prefer them to match each other.  I appreciate a good quality scented soap that invigorates and pampers me.  But that’s just me, two things I splurge on.  And I wanted my present to reflect the real me.

I was afraid to bring beauty products.  Goodness knows they’d call my bluff in a heartbeat.  What qualifies me to know anything about hair or makeup or nails? You all know me better than that.  I don’t like chocolate even though every other woman I know does.  I don’t own or wear fancy jewelry of any kind, and I certainly have no idea what’s fashionable as far as clothes.  And I don’t think anyone really cares for my style in decorating (at least for their own houses).  Basically I knew I couldn’t impress anyone, and so I just dug into my bag of just me.

My conversation with my friend reminded me of these original awkward feelings I’d had when I was first invited to a party of this sort.  And even deeper, it made me aware that maybe we all have these uncertainties when presenting not just our gifts, but ourselves.

But here’s where I have to just be ok with my bundle of my favorite things.  This is me. This is what I have to offer. I don’t know if it’s acceptable or desirable, but I am willing to share a piece of my heart with you. To be honest, I have no idea what happened to my gifts; for all I know they were regifted or put in someone’s Good Will pile. Just as I have no idea what people say once they leave a dinner or evening with us.  Maybe our relationship will be relegated to the discard pile as well.  But these gatherings have encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone, to ask myself what’s truly reflective of who I am, to engage with amazing women.  But above all, I’ve come to enjoy these occasions as a joyous way to celebrate the season.  And to celebrate the unique gifts each of us has to contribute.  Beyond those wrapped in brown paper packages tied up with string.

Measuring twice

I had to laugh at myself. Kind of.  I was one-and-a-half times-ing my pizza dough recipe.  But I dumped in two teaspoons of salt instead of, obviously, one and a half.  So I’m left to retrieve half a teaspoon of salt from a white quick-sand-like substance.  Good grief, I have no idea if I got the right amount out.  But then I did it again with the oil like 21 seconds later! Two tablespoons instead of one and a half.  For the love.  Oil was maybe even harder than salt, it started to sink faster in my glue-filled pool.  I felt like a was bailing out a rowboat that had sprung a leak.  I collected what I could into the palm of my left hand.  Caren! Where is your head?

I think of all the measuring and cutting Todd’s been doing on the window trim.  He’s so particular.  So careful.  Calculated.  He’s very methodical about measuring twice so he doesn’t waste precious boards, a quality I absolutely adore and appreciate in him.  Let’s just say I’m no where near as exact.  About anything.

Except when it really matters.  And here’s one area I care deeply about getting right: words.  And I think this is something we can all become a little more scrupulous about.

How often have I said something without measuring its implication or taking time to consider how it might land on someone else’s ears?  How many times have I shared news that simply wasn’t mine to lend out?  How could I have been so insensitive and told a child—even in a joking or round about way—that (s)he is lazy or forgetful or slow?  I can’t believe how many times I’ve accused Todd of being insensitive (in other words of course, but still).

I’ve thought about all the messes—oh so many entanglements—I’ve gotten myself into over the years because I didn’t think about my words more carefully.  I spoke without thinking. I relayed tidbits I had no business communicating.  I passed judgment.  Period.  I meddled under the pretense of caring when I had no reason to be involved in the first place.  So often I want to make sure to get my point across in the moment.  While we’re talking about it.  When it’s fresh.  When I’m all warmed up and my head is connected with what I’m feeling.  So I don’t forget later.  Oh my. I don’t even want to get into it all.  I will understandably start to cry right here on the keyboard.  Let’s just say I’m probably not alone in my indiscretions.  Maybe we all wish it were as simple as retrieving salt or oil from a thin paste of flour and water.  Because honestly, this was exactly what I was thinking as I worked through the task.  This is the perfect object lesson about how hard it would be to collect the millions of thoughtless things I’ve said.  And regret.  Because I know from years of mishaps and misspoken words that no matter how sincere an apology, those words remain like burrs that adhere to a person’s heart and memory.

So how much wiser would it be to take a moment to pause?  To really think our words through.  To consider how they might be interpreted and accepted.  To contemplate if that’s really how I want to go about it.  If this is the best way to communicate.  With our kids, spouses, co-workers, the check-out lady, the driver next to us, a neighbor, a group of friends at lunch, a Facebook contact, the insurance guy.

We don’t even have to say it out loud.  We know.  There’s a better way.  We can start the day intentionally.  We can open our hearts each new morning and decide we’re going to try harder to regulate our speech, determined to only communicate in ways that elevate, enrich, inspire, uplift, help, and refine.  We can start with a prayer or quiet minute pledging we will look for opportunities to do just that throughout the day.  And we can promise ourselves that we will no longer be hasty.  About interrupting, about being the first one to spread the latest news, about being right, about making sure our view is heard, about letting others know where they’re wrong.  We can change.  Of course we can. Over the years, over decades of falling down and getting up again, I’m learning how powerful our words are and I’m committed to becoming more precise in at least this one sphere of my life.

Personally

I wonder how often we take what someone says or does to heart—internalizing something minute—and apply our thoughts that create a little tear in our hearts.  We maybe put more stock in simple interactions than necessary, and maybe it’s a good strategy to adjust our thinking.

Just a few examples from the past couple weeks, tiny really.  I parked next to a big truck for the music concert at school one night.  The place was packed, and Montana truck drivers generally take up more than their share of their stalls.  So I came out after a beautiful performance to find a note on my windshield.  Being the optimist and me, I thought it might be a love note from a friend who’d recognized our van.  Until I realized it was a torn envelope with a mean start, something like thanking me for parking so close.  I immediately crumpled it and refused to give it any of my time.  It still left a knot in my stomach and I asked myself over and over if I’d been wrong to park there.  I didn’t think so, I was in the middle of my space; he just had a truck that was too big and should’ve parked far away.  But maybe it was inconsiderate of me to park next to him.  There was nothing I could change at this point, he was gone.  I could stew over it or let it go.  I decided on some level writing a mean note did something for him, and so I accepted that that’s all it was about.  And I’d try to be more thoughtful next time.

I was at an appointment with my sister and gave our friend a bottle of lotion for Christmas.  She opened it and squirted some out and rubbed it in and let her friend smell it from the bottle and again when she had it on her hand.  Both times this fellow worker kind of wrinkled her nose, didn’t answer except with a miffed nothing when our friend asked didn’t it smell good.  Anyone with manners would gush—even slightly—“Wow, that’s such a Christmasy smell.” “I bet you’ll love that.” “How nice of them to think of you!” There are ways to maintain your integrity (and opinion) while creatively validating the people around you.  I just supposed she’d forgotten her manners and let her be.  I was hurt that she rejected a gift I’d brought—I was sitting right there—and that she refused to join in her co-worker’s happiness, but once again I figured this all said a lot more about her than me or my lotion.

I was doing puzzles with an 89 year old friend last week.  Several times she corrected me, telling me to do my own side of the puzzle, reminding me I had my own pieces, she could do it, etc.  So I bowed out completely and sat back.  It got to the point that I actually felt hurt inside.  Like I could cry.  Which is exactly crazy; she’s old.  Old people become like little kids all over again and so remarks are straight-forward instead of tactful.  She’s got dementia and doesn’t really know what’s going on, let alone that I’m her friend and on her team.  I had to put it all in perspective while at the same time acknowledging that I was butting in her business and that I could allow her a little more autonomy.

A friend mentioned how beautiful someone thought a mutual friend’s hair is, the perfect kind apparently.  I absolutely concurred.  But I absorbed the comment and reflected on my own short straight hair, the exact opposite of her long and curly luscious locks.  But I pulled myself together and told myself it’s a very personal preference, it doesn’t mean blunt and blond is bad, nothing like that.  It’s just an opinion.  Breathe.

Of course I hear about lunches and parties and gatherings I’m/we’re not invited to.  Obviously.  And I can choose to be disappointed and wonder why not.  Or I can let it go and be grateful for one less thing to do.  And I can remind myself that maybe it doesn’t mean we’re not friends.  Maybe it’s just a similar grouping of people and we’re not really in the mix.  And maybe I can ask myself if we’re off-putting or boorish or if there’s room for social skill improvement.

These and a million other scenarios and interactions with those around us can teach us a couple of lessons.  One is to ask ourselves if there’s any truth in what someone is saying.  Almost always, yes.  I honestly think I should’ve allowed that truck more room (it was just sooo cold!), maybe that lotion wasn’t the best smell and actually made her nauseous, maybe I should reconsider my decades-old hairstyle and color, maybe we should be the ones to invite people over more, and I have learned to allow my senior friend a little more space when we do our puzzles.

And the other is to remember most exchanges are more about the other person than us.  When someone gushes over us, it’s definitely because that person sees everything as wonderful and she simply has a rose-colored view on life and people, not so much what we’ve done.  Likewise, when we encounter grumpy people, it’s likely that it’s not really about anything we’ve said (especially if it’s as benign as “I’d like to exchange this.”); it’s got more to do with what’s going on inside their heads and where they’re coming from.

Just an observation that has helped me process these and other experiences more appropriately and healthily so I don’t end up crying in the bathroom or wasting time or journal pages over nothing.