Holiday Grounding 1.0: The Comparison Conundrum

Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed.

-Mary Oliver

I spent Thanksgiving week traveling up the coast of California.  It’d been a while since I carved out some space and time from work to rest, refuel, and get inspired.  Bustling cities and new scenery are food and drink for my constantly grazing right brain.  Beauty feeds my soul and feast I did all the way from the stunning beaches and glamorous people of Malibu to the magical cliffs and redwoods of Big Sur to the charming European-influenced smattering of architecture, shops, and restaurants in Carmel-by-the-sea.

Sacred

I’m still processing the aesthetic overload of cultural flavors, seascapes, energy, color, and well…just beauty.  Beyond grateful, I’m also spiritually rejuvenated.  I always feel closer to God when I travel.  There is a sacred gravity in the vastness of creation. It seems the face of God is nearly visible for me in nature, diverse people groups, and artistic expression.  The ocean speaks to me of this as well, that gorgeous beast of a force.  I’m reminded that love is so big and powerful, the more I open myself up to it, my tiny universe will grow and expand to absorb its Divinity.

Panic

After a much delayed flight back to Nashville and one heavily scented Uber car from the airport, (think Bath and Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar overkill) all the way home, I hit the pillow and was out fast and deep,  fully satisfied from the week’s wanderings.  I woke up and decided it was the perfect grey coffee shop- kind of morning, so I ventured out for a drive to grab a very late  breakfast at my favorite local joint.  Strangely, I started to  notice this icky panicky feeling rising up in my chest.  About halfway out of the neighborhood my body and brain resounded an unlikely bleating alarm: HELP!

Christmas Vacation

I’ve had my fair share of anxiety before, yet this was completely out of the blue and barking on the heels of a restful week away.  Trying not to judge it, I kept on driving so as to allow it to just come and go.  It kept rising strong.  I looked up in frustration and beheld a very large, very sterile looking house  in front of me resembling a cross between Lord Farquaad’s castle in Shrek and the Griswold’s in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  I did a full-on 360 head turn in slow motion only to discover each and every house around me completely lit up with blow up Santa’s, candy canes, and trees gloriously dressed in red bows and perfectly spaced white lights.

Too Much

Holy Mother!  The holiday race had begun and I was apparently still stretching (alone) at the starting line.  I was pretty sure we had a few strands of lights tangled up in the basement, and I bought a cute life-sized gold wire reindeer from Home Depot last year that nodded its head and lit up at night but our dog attacked it leaving it a mangled mess.  Who has the time to do all of that decorating, anyway? And the day after thanksgiving?  Apparently everyone!? I felt I’d shown up under-dressed a day late to the ball, and my lovely mother taught me to never dress down.  This festive extravagance was overwhelming.  I’d likely still be climbing out from underneath a week’s worth of laundry until Friday at best with my impending deadlines and catch up from the week away.  I was officially suffering a full-on holiday over-expectation attack.

Space & coffee

Okay, okay, I realize my story may sound ridiculous; first-world problems at best.  I finally drove off, the pity party died down, and I talked myself off the cliff after my second cup of coffee and a large helping of perspective.  Here’s the deal though: the catalyst of this anxiety is relative, however, the cold hard truth underlying is one size fits all and may be worth trying on.  Comparison and short-sighted vision were vying for the precious joy I’d gleaned while away on holiday.  Gratitude flooded my heart just an hour earlier, and in an instant, I was ready to forfeit everything in the name of Clark Griswold. Oh, hell no.

Green

Comparison is ALWAYS and in every form a total waste of time and emotional energy.  Period.  I love the Theodore Roosevelt quote, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”  Nailed it.  For all you Enneagram nerds out there, and further, for all you Enneagram fours (The Romantic/Individualist), comparison to others and resulting envy is a familiar pitfall to be aware of.  As a flaming four, I know this struggle all too well.  There’s this insidious coaxing inner dialog that insists the grass isn’t just greener on the other side, it’s sprouting up pure gold over there and what’s in front of me today is a waste of time.

Gratitude

The quick and failsafe exit strategy out of comparison prison is the ever-ready pathway of gratitude.  Remember the homework assignment from last week? Revisit last week’s post if you need a refresher on gratitude journals and do yourself and loved ones a favor: start one.  The minute I stepped out of gratitude and the boundaries of my truth and intention, I slipped into that old familiar chaos of comparison—NOT a good look.

Zoom Out

Then zoom out like one of those fancy wide-lens movie cameras on wheels you see in the behind the scenes.  (I’m sure there’s a proper name for them.)  I witnessed the power of this kind of perspective with new pristine clarity on my road trip up the coast.  I look back at the pictures I took certain points along the way and sure, they’re pretty.  Yet they’re mere snippets of the grand overture that played in my heart as I witnessed the mix of atmospheric changes, crashing waves, bursts of light, laughter, and conversation weaving it all together.  It was a most enchanting soundtrack; a long, unforgettable kiss of space and time.

I’ll Pass

So friends, this season when the comparison temptress calls and lays on her thick irresistible charm and beckons you to look outside of your truth, tell her you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.  Remind her where you’ve been and where you’re going and kindly inform her who’s in charge here.  Tell her how grateful you are for the unconventional twists and turns, the roadblocks, the free and fast stretches of open highway, and all those detours and gains—they have graciously led you to the place you are now.  Explain this curious notion ofacceptance and abundance: we can actually rejoice with those around us who thrive and succeed because the universe is a beautifully loving place and there is more than enough to go around.  Finally, thank her for her time and efforts: the offer’s attractive, yet you must respectfully decline.  Bid her farewellfor now, you’ve got a story to keep writing.

Let me know how it goes. 

Love,

katie

xoxo

Obsessed with Gratitude

Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.

-Rumi

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!  This is by far my favorite Thursday of the year as well as one of my absolute favorite holidays.  I savor the vibrant smells and tastes of seasonal comfort foods, the cozy roaring fire that cracks  and burns in the fireplace, and I adore the fact that in this beautiful country of ours, we’ve managed to preserve the fourth Thursday of every November to remember, cherish, and give thanks.

Feast

Many of you are sitting down around a dinner table of some kind with loved ones about to enter into a food coma at it’s finest right about now. Perhaps you’re already there.  I sincerely hope you enjoy every bite and minute of your day.  Some of you are in places of painful or lonely transition and this Thursday looks much different then you’d hoped.  That Norman Rockwell ideal has once again vaporized into a wishful mist.  My heart knows the pain of similar loneliness and I pray you will find some light in the cracks of that thin space today.

Shift

Wherever you are on your journey, I want to give you something to take with you right now, whatever your situation may be.  It can turn the darkest skies a paler grey, shift toxic, negative energy into grounded presence, and it’s available always in every blink, without fail.  It’s completely free of cost.  It is the most powerful force of breakthrough from emotional bleakness into hopeful wonder.  I’m sure you know where I’m going with this—Gratitude.

Why

You’re smart.  I know this because you seek out truth beyond yourself and you invest time and resources into personal development and progress.  Here’s the catch though: smart people ask “why?”  This is not all bad, mind you.  It’s often crucial to know the why’s of our experience.  However, we get stuck when we marinate in our analytical mind, bowing down to the perceived deity of certainty.

Mario Batali

I’m not going to tell you to stop asking “why?”  That’s like asking Mario Batali to retire his orange crocks and go vegan.  Not gonna happen.  Intsead, I’m inviting you to become obsessed with gratitude.  Buy a tiny journal and keep a running list each day of everything you are grateful for from clean water, to another day to explore, to the sound of a child’s innocent laughter off in the distance.  Be specific.  Be relentless.  Be consistent.  Go gangster with it.  Set a timer on your phone several times a day and keep writing them down, the obvious ones and the more obscure ones.  I’m a big fan of the physical act of writing as it sends a message not only to our brains but also our bodies that gratitude is indeed a holy moment, a sacred act of wholehearted living.

Wide open spaces

You are also self aware, thus will soon catch on to the remarkable shift this obsession with gratitude provides, away from the lack of scarcity and into the wide open spaces of graceful possibility.  Your inner dialog will soften, your tired bones relax, and your heart will most definitely open up.

Remember

God did not bring you here to leave you.  Love is much far more clever than that.  God brought you here to lead you steadily, still,  into a powerful redemption story.  This, my lovely friends, is not the end of that story.  Today as we look back and see how far we’ve come, a thankful heart will surely usher us into the forward momentum of that continued provision.

You

So I will start us off right here and now with my deep and stirring gratitude that wells up in my soul and overflows in my heart daily:  I am grateful for you.  I’m grateful for your courage on the journey that’s brought you, in all of your beautiful brokenness, exactly where you are today.   I’m inspired by your uniqueness and blown away that you show up and meet the world’s deep need for gifts and talents that only you can bring.  Thank you for being you, day after day.  Thank you, thank you thank you…

Love,

katie

xoxo

Matthew Perryman Jones: Finding My Voice

My song was my salvation.

-Matthew Perryman Jones

Backstory

I have been a massive MPJ ( Matthew Perryman Jones) fan ever since I heard his unforgettably haunting voice pair with simple guitar chords at a local church in downtown Nashville probably close to fifteen years ago.  I remember thinking to myself, “Now, THAT is how a hymn is supposed to sound.”  It was this stunning mix of clarity and brokenness; youthful, yet carrying the weighty wisdom of an old soul.  I didn’t know who he was, but I hoped I’d always have access to that voice somehow.  Thankfully, his burgeoning career as a singer/songwriter has opened up a whole new world of music and truth for fans and friends, alike.

Co-write

A couple years back, I reached out to Matthew to write. I knew him indirectly through the years thanks to mutual friends, and sensed a real depth and kindness.  Also, I had started a little musical side project and was concurrently binging on his Until the Dawn Appears record nonstop, so why not aim high, right?  He graciously accepted and we sat down to write a couple of times.  Well, truth be told, each time we got a few minutes into an idea, then derailed with unending chatter about the Enneagram, therapy, etc…  I’m pretty sure it was the death of that song.  However, better than a song, a friendship launched andI am beyond grateful to have him share a bit of his story with us today on the blog.  As you will read, he vulnerably bridges that often despairing gap between creativity and the emotional struggles involved along the artistic  journey, namely depression and anxiety.  Matthew is an artist’s artist: a true master of his craft and a transparent source of light and hope for so many, myself most definitely included.  You are in for a treat today, friends…

The Start

Music seems to have always been with me. As far back as I can remember I was drawn to music and performing for people. It is in my blood to some degree. My mom was a singer, mostly performing solos in church. She has a beautiful voice. She also played piano and accordion in our house early on. My father loved music but was more of a listener. He lived mostly on a diet of folk music-Joan Baez, The Kingston Trio and the like. As a kid I gravitated to my dad’s record collection and would spend hours laying on the floor listening to records reading the lyrics and looking at the pictures inside the covers. I was fascinated. 

Heroes

In high school I started a band with a friend. We called the band “This Island Earth”. Bands like U2, R.E.M. and the Smiths informed our musical aspirations. This was the late 80’s and earnest, passionate (perhaps melodramatic at times) music was abundant in the more underground territory of rock-n-roll (U2 and R.E.M. were actually just emerging from the underground then). I looked up to these artists who were in their early to mid twenties as gods among us. They all seemed larger than life. They appealed to that expanding sense of grandiosity that was inside of me. I felt that anything was possible and I wanted to sing my way into transcendence…anything to take me out of the hardships of home life and the growing emotional complexities that seemed to mark my teenage years. 

Feel it all

I grew up being what might be labeled a “Highly Sensitive Person” (HSP). Since I can remember I have always felt things deeply, both personally and empathically. I have that classic story of not ever feeling that I was like the others, or one of the gang. I would observe other people having a kind of ease about their life that I simply never felt; like I didn’t get the memo (for all you psycho-diagnostic nerds, I fall in that low percentile personality type of the population—Myers Briggs: INFP/Enneagram: 4 with a 5 wing). 

Senses

I had friends and was easy to get along with but inwardly I never felt like I actually fit anywhere. I felt things intensely and was hyper-aware of everything around me. I had a kind of inordinate sense of life. Colors, smells, the feel of the air, the taste of food, were all on stun. For the most part I was intoxicated with these things. I had traces of what I would call depression now and again but I was mostly a highly energetic and incurably optimistic person. I always had a sense of possibility moving forward into my life. But there of course was a shadow cast with the light. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. 

Panic

After a couple years of playing and developing as a band, we split due to the other guys graduating high school and heading off to college. However, right around this time is when my world turned upside down. For various reasons I won’t get into here, my life became more inward. I didn’t have that outflow of expression I found playing in a band. I began experiencing high anxiety. It would come out of nowhere, this gnawing sense that something bad was going to happen. It wasn’t tied to anything in particular which made it more concerning. Eventually these became full blown panic attacks. A panic attack for me was this disturbing sense in my gut and body met with my mind going out of control. The sense of doom brought about thoughts of death and mortality. My thoughts were irrational and out of control, but it seemed I could do nothing about it. I began spiraling into a very dark place. 

Torment

At this point I’m 17. Due to the unpredictable and regularly occurring panic attacks I dropped out of high school my senior year. I didn’t feel comfortable driving and eventually became housebound. My parents would take me to psychologists, psychiatrists and nutritionists. My psyche seemed to be erupting with all kinds of neurosis. I became paranoid and wouldn’t eat food thinking it was poisoned and eventually began having obsessive thoughts, mostly in the form of religious blasphemies looping in my head. Growing up in a Christian home, I thought I was possessed or something horrible. I was 125 lbs and would shake and slap my head to rid myself of these tormenting thoughts. And there seemed to be no help. Medications seemed to just make me a zombie but inwardly I was in hell. I can say without melodrama or exaggeration that I was a person in sheer mental torment. 

Prayer Songs

I would wade through these dark waters for the next 5 years. There were small seasons of mild reprieve where I could function to a certain level. I would go to church (the only social interaction I had) but never fully shared what all was going on. I felt crazy. People who sensed something was wrong with me would prescribe more prayer and bible reading. The fact was that I likely read the bible and prayed more than they did. I had a belief in God that became an absolute lifeline. However, God did not feel real or close at all. I felt abandoned both socially and spiritually. I clung desperately to whatever belief I had and walked through some very dark places on an internal and spiritual level. But in that dark and desolate cave I would sing. My song was my salvation. No one heard me. It was in that dark, quiet and lonely place that I would sing. 

As I write this I am overwhelmed with emotion remembering it. Song was how I spoke to God and felt any shred of connection. I cannot adequately describe how alone in the world I felt; how separated from God and people I felt. I was alone and terrified. But I would sing. 

Light through the cracks

I believe it was during this time that I found my voice. Through the aid of therapy and eventually the right medication the dark fog that surrounded me gradually began to clear. I would slowly notice the birds singing and the crisp blue sky begin to open. I was coming back to life. I felt a profound gratitude for life. I got a job at a grocery store and would stock the shelves…and sing. There was always a song on my lips. But it came from a completely different place than it did when I was 16. I had come through the dark forest and had something to say. 

Healer

For a couple years I just lived, healed and assimilated myself back into “normal” life. Eventually, I went through the hoops to get myself into college. One thing I did during those 5 years of exile was read like crazy. It’s all I ever did (I was far from a reader prior to that). So I was ready to go to school and start finding my path. I thought that what I would do was study to become a therapist. I knew at this point in my life that I wanted to be an agent of healing in some form or fashion. Becoming a therapist was the only thing that made sense at that point. But I was living in a new trajectory and I was open for wherever the path would go. 

Confessions and spotlight

To make a long story just a little bit longer, while I was in college I met a guy who invited me to play in his folk band. I will have to skip over some details here, but the short of it is that I started playing music again. I was writing and singing and eventually performing live. As a performer I was painfully shy. I was not interested in the spotlight or having the attention on me. I found it wildly uncomfortable. But after shows people would come up to me and express, sometimes with tears, how much the music connected with them emotionally and how I said things that they thought and experienced but didn’t know how say it. Some people would confess things to me that they had never told their spouse—hidden depression and dark thoughts. I was hearing all kinds of things. But I was learning that a connection was happening and the music seemed to be opening doors in people they had long locked tight. 

Nashville

Music and therapy seemed to be a good couple. So I went in that direction. I started pursuing a life as a therapist disguised as a performing songwriter. Again, I could write a book about how I ended up in Nashville and began my descent into the music business, but I will stick to the heart of things here. I was playing music for people, specifically hurting people. I directed my voice to the lonely, the confused, the abandoned, the heart-broken. I wasn’t looking for a record deal or fame. I wanted my music to find connection in the neglected and forgotten places. I based my songwriting approach from something I read from Henri Nouwen, “Rarely do happy endings truly make us happy. But often one’s careful and honest articulation of the pains and ambiguities in life brings us new hope”. I wasn’t going to write pop songs. I was going to write people songs. 

Save me

Since that time my career has gone through all kinds of seasons. I have found varying degrees of what might be called success. My songs have found their way into TV shows, films, movie trailers and even a few radio stations. I have been wooed and whipped by the music business enterprise. But to this day I still receive emails from people telling me how my music saved their life. I’ve heard stories of how my voice has accompanied someone through the darkest times of their life. Again, this is where tears of immense gratitude come up. It moves me so deeply to think that something I put out in the world could offer some company to a soul that feels alone or broken by life. 

Staying True

Hearing these stories is why I continue to make music because it’s why I started in the first place. I think about throwing in the towel quarterly. I don’t like the enterprise of the music business. But I tell you, almost with precise timing, the moments I have been on the cusp of quitting I will get an email or have someone at a show tell me another story and end that story saying, “please keep making music, it matters”. 

Mystery

Over the last 17 years of pursuing a life in music and storytelling, I have come back into seasons of depression and hardship. It’s an ongoing process. Always. I have found great help with therapists and spiritual directors and friends. Life ebbs and flows. My belief and unbelief in a God, Source, Ground of Being, etc. has gone through many formations. I’m learning to lean into the Mystery a bit more and be ok with it, even enjoy it.  And I will continue to write about it all along the way trusting that it will find its way to other souls who need a little company as they stumble through their own experience. 

Not Alone

If I have something I am hoping to convey in my music it is this: you are not alone. I believe this is the primary value of music within the world. Music lets people know they are not alone in the world; that there is a thread within the collective human experience. We are not alone. I believe the more personal the writing, the more universal. We’re all cut out of the same hunk of cheese.

As a writer, my job is simply to stay true to what is inside me to say, whether it’s sexy or not; whether it will sell records or not. I have to stay true to that voice that emerged many years ago out of a dark place. No one will ever really know what it took to find that voice but me and I will guard it. I hope you reading this will do the same (wherever your voice finds expression). 

You have a voice. Guard the voice that is yours, listen to it, know it and let it be known. It matters.

MPJ

Legacy & A Broken Hallelujah

Please think about your legacy, because you’re writing it every day.

-Gary Vaynerchuck

I have a confession to make.

Despite years of deep south steeping growing up in Mobile, AL,  I have never been a huge fan of country music.  In fact, I always felt like the odd man out during those fragile years of middle school when the cool kids where discovering the likes of Alan Jackson, The Judds, John Michael Montgomery, and most curiously to me, Billy Ray Cyrus.  I was totally stumped, yet went along with it as my awkward stage lasted painfully longer than everyone else’s and I had just switched to a preppy new school.  The part of me that wanted to be liked was much bigger than the part that couldn’t be bothered.

So I succumbed to country music peer pressure and owned all the cds to prove it.  Looking back, I stand by the fact that it didn’t make sense to me then and it still doesn’t now, not even “Old Country.”  There, I said it. Hilariously, I now live in the country music mecca of Nashville,  and am married to a man who works in that industry.  God truly has an impeccable sense of humor.

Storytellers

What I am a fan of are the rich stories those often simple songs have told over time and the legends who did the telling.  You know the stories: about family, hard work, love, tradition, heartache, and a good time.  From what I’ve learned, the largest radio format in the world is that of country music and has been for quite some time.  My uneducated guess as to why is that these songs and stories are more widely accessible for most people.  They tell normal, relatable  stories and in that normalcy, provide a familiar  and welcoming place to visit.  I’m clearly no expert, it’s just a hunch.

A league of their own

My appreciation of this genre hiked up a few notches on Sunday night as I got to tag along with Daniel for an induction ceremony at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Three icons were to be honored: the legendary songwriter, producer, and founder of Monument Records, Fred Foster (think Dolly Parton and Roy Orbison), Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis.  I felt completely honored to be there and stepped into a totally next level cool kids club upon arrival…way out of my league.   Dolly sang, and in my estimation, definitely still has it.  She could give Adele a run for her money at age 70!  The tiny but mighty Brenda Lee presented as did the likes of Garth Brooks and Vince Gill, (personal crush since forever and the one exception to my apathy for country music).

I mention all of this for one reason: the three icons inducted into the Hall of Fame on Sunday night were honored because of their unique gift and contribution to their fans and the world at large through music.  These three great men were honored for their Legacy.  Merriam-Webster defines legacy this way:

Full Definition of legacy

plural legacies

1:  a gift by will especially of money or other personal property :  bequest

2:  something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past <the legacy of the ancient philosophers>

Shrink

I define legacy with a vivid memory.  I was sitting in a psychiatrists office around age twenty-four and in the throes of some pretty rocking anxiety and depression to the point where I hated to be alone and had tons of trouble sleeping.  Four hours a night was success.  This psychiatrist was unlike most who focus mainly on medication prescription and maintenance (which greatly helped me at the time).  The touchy feel-y talk stuff typically didn’t show up in these types of offices all that often.  My doctor, however, would always spend the extra time asking insightful open-ended questions and practicing the kind of active listening that would make Oprah squirm.

The Big Question

This particular day I was feeling pretty frail.  Upon my impasse of despair, he looked at me with eyes full of compassion as asked, “Katie, what kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?”  Mic drop.  Are you kidding me? I thought to myself.  I’m in tons of excruciating emotional pain and confusion over here and you are asking me to tell you what I want my grandkids to say about me when I’m gone?  That is just cruel and unusual punishment.

Ansel Adams

He didn’t flinch.  Dammit, I had to dig deep for this one.   As I sat there, something shifted inside.  It was like a massive wide-lens movie camera zoomed out and captured my life in an epic, Ansel Adams kind of way.  I saw vast nuances instead of harsh details and gentle peaks and valleys instead of the unflattering flatlined monotony of my current reality.  It was as if someone took a soft, forgiving filter and appropriated it to my life.  It was that good lighting on a first date kind of luck, you know?  There was a spike of hope that arose in my soul.  My heart perked up like the ears of a bored dog who just heard the garage door open.

Desire

I didn’t have a grand, clever answer for him.  I actually can’t even remember what I said.  I do, however remember the gravity of that perspective shift.  The truth was, all I could see and feel in that moment was the intense barrage of my current emotions.  I was landlocked in that sense, but I wanted so much more.

I wanted the freedom of an ocean so I could look back 10 years from then and see a gift I gave along the way to others who may have felt a similar sadness.  I wanted to give so much, do so much, be so much! I wanted to write songs, write books, have a family, love wildly, throw dinner parties, travel the world, run for public office (it was just a phase), own at least one pair of Jimmy Choo’s, you know…the important stuff!  In that moment, I got angry at my sadness.  That anger felt really good.

This highly annoying legacy question gave me the nudge I needed to start making future-based decisions that didn’t always reflect the way I felt in the moment.  

Serendipity

What I later discovered in our work together was that my psychiatrist went to med school at the University of South Alabama and did his cardiac rotation under the instruction of my Grandfather, a talented and respected heart surgeon in Mobile at the time.  All those years later in Nashville, I held in my needy hands the gift of hope and tangled proof of a beautiful legacy.  My own Grandfather paid it forward for me in that moment, unbeknownst to him.  If that isn’t serendipity, I don’t know what is.  I’m reminded of that story every time I want to give up.

I guarantee if Fred Foster, Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis would have listened to the discouragement and naysayers along the way, caving into popular demands instead of following their heart as crazy as it seemed against the great odds of their humble beginnings,  there would not have been a big ceremony on Sunday night.  Well, I suppose there would, yet faces and stories belonging to a different cast of characters.

Amazing Grace

The night ended as it should, with a song.  Not just any song though: an imperfect and a capella Amazing Grace, led by Randy Travis. His words were barely understood due to a severely paralyzing stroke he suffered in 2013.  His velvety baritone still shone through the cracks though.  A tear soaked audience sang along, humbly, lovingly.  A man who had made his mark with that undeniably iconic voice stood at the helm of the night  inviting us to something greater.  He lost control of the masterful, tangible gift we know so well, however, legacy runs deeper than just a pretty voice and a knock out career.  His legacy is the gift of a life well-lived, full of peaks and valleys:  the character of oak and heart of gold that inspires us to keep showing up, one broken hallelujah at a time.  So, my friends, you knew I’d ask:

What will your legacy be?

Love,

katie

Finding Family: The Broken Road Home

You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you. 

-Frederick Buechner

I’m not sure if it’s the fall weather encroaching or the fact that I’m becoming more nostalgic with age, but something has been at the forefront of my heart and mind as of late and I can’t seem to shake it.  I don’t want to shake it.  It’s beautiful, complex, frustrating, exhilarating, heartbreaking, fun, weird, grounding, dangerous, and safe all at once.

 Everyone has it on some level and have been seriously impacted by it, undoubtedly.  I believe we must somehow, either literally or figuratively, leave it at some point in order to honestly choose to love and enjoy it in the end.  This thing is called family.

Longing for Camelot

What comes up for you with the mention of family?  Is it sadness?  Regret? Longing? Love? For me, this slow and heavy wave of gratitude washes over. It wasn’t always like this as my journey of self-exploration and wholeness have taken me through some dark stretches of distance from my family.  Of course there were disappointments due to impossible expectations, yet what I am learning is that many of those expectations are really for myself, not my family.  Camelot was always an illusive grasp away.  This post is a personal one; one I hope you don’t mind me sharing.  It is one of stark honesty and yearning.  This post is for anyone who longs for family- for home; anyone who may sit in a place of loss and loneliness.

This past weekend my husband and I had a marriage celebration for close family and friends in our hometown of Nashville.  We both come from large families and were unable to invite everyone to our teeny tiny wedding ceremony in California.  For this reason, we decided to have a small reception back home for those who couldn’t make the trip.  I saw relatives I hadn’t seen in years and met several new ones I had just gained.  It was truly special.

Late Bloomer

I waited until age 36 to get married.  Though this wasn’tnecessarily on purpose, it was absolutely perfect timing. God knew that all along.  I say this because I have never quite experienced anything like a wedding or shower where I felt the love of lifetime relationships joined together and funneled in my direction until the past several months.  It is humbling, beautiful, and a bit awkward as I always just feel I make things a little bit awkward with my pointed strangeness in the center of an outpouring of goodwill.  Receiving just for the sake of receiving doesn’t come naturally, I like to earn it.

The power of choice

I realize I am blessed.  I realize something deep and glaring and worth its weight in gold: Relationships are the most important thing and should be intentionally nurtured over time.  Sometimes this comes in the form of a family of origin; often times this comes in a family of choice, one we build.

I love how Elizabeth Gilbert puts it: “We must take care of our families wherever we find them.”  The truth is, for many of us, the word family brings up immeasurable pain and anxiety as safety and protection were needs that went missing in our family of origin.  In therapy, we spend a great deal of time unpacking that pain and trauma in order to rewire a narrative of value, love, acceptance, and possibility.  Needs such as provision, encouragement, affection, play, and structure were denied and as a result, had to be met elsewhere.  Survival became twisted resulting in unhealthy relationships, denial of our needs altogether, parenting aloof parents, acting out behavior, and on and on.

Bloodlines

I have been watching, no bingeing on the Netflix series, Bloodlines, recently.  Wow… Talk about some serious family dysfunction.  They (the Rayburn’s) make The Sopranos look like a squeaky non-animated version of the Flintstones.  It seems there is a dominant thread touching every piece of brokenness: dishonesty.  As a result, everyone is operating out of their own best version of who they are and what might be happening.

More of my story

In Falling Upward, Richard Rohr aptly concludes, “When you get your, ‘Who am I?’, question right, all of your,’What should I do?’ questions tend to take care of themselves”.  The first half of life is often spent grappling with identity, or at least mine was.  Hell, some days I feel the ballot is still out.  Our first mirror of identity dwells in the home and is largely held up by our families.  This is the natural flow of life and development, however not always accurate and/or affirming for many.  I have wonderfully loving, encouraging parents who instilled their values and beliefs into us five kids.  This infrastructure is necessary for ultimately receiving, learning,  doubting, questioning, and forming a collective of tested individual convictions from which we grow and live.

The Rub

This was somewhat of a brutal process for me as I had to lay down that inherited set of values from my parents in order to refine and embody a set that brought peace and congruence into my daily experience.  Anxiety, depression, and bouts of seemingly unending insomnia peppered that process.  As of late, I am seeing more parallels with that of my family, however, in the underbelly of that journey of self-discovery, perspective is dim.  This really sucks sometimes.  Mostly because it is a scary thing to leave familiar tight places in order to risk finding something more spacious and free…something that fits and sounds like the truth of our voice and calling.  After all, love looks an awful lot like letting go, so I am learning.  Control in relationships is always fear-based.  

The Human Condition

I can remember like it was yesterday sitting in my spiritual director, Gail’s office.  She had this big old winged-back chair with robin’s egg blue patterned fabric and a worn-in seat.  Her office felt like a dreamy English cottage or something; full of love, tears, books, a host of mismatched story-ridden antiques, and the occasional whip of tired laughter.  During stretches in my twenties I would sit with her and shed stories of disappointment and loneliness as if she had an “all better” pill to give me in the end.  Well, she didn’tand I miraculously was still okay.  I remember her gentle response to my wounded, longing soul, “You know Katie, loneliness is really the human condition and stillness is not the worst teacher.” I know, I know, I would reply with a deflated sigh.

Surrender

Coming to embrace this as truth has been a peaceful rendering for me.  Because we are relational beings who long for and are made for connection, we all ebb and flow on that spectrum of connection, energetically.  It is impossible to stay in a static place of fullness at all times. We are not machines.  I know this when I ask my friends how they are doing that appear bulletproof and fabulous on Instagram only to find out in conversation that they are really struggling with a deep sense of disconnection and sadness.    The rat race of keeping social media appearances may be a glossy and temporarily successful campaign, however it does not satiate the desires that well up beneath the surface after all those hearts and likes cease to flow.

Embracing Longing

There is simply no substitute for family: the one we’ve been given or the ones we have chosen.  “Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible — the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family.” Virginia Satir, family therapy innovator and guru, had it right.  I take that a step further and add this: the flourishing of self-worth and acceptance can also be re-created in families we cultivate along the way; those safe people who have earned the right to hear and bear witness to our stories.

This, like so many things in life, starts with intention and openness.  On your unique journey of cultivating family, community, and home, I hope and pray that you will not abandon ship when the space feels too big and the silence, too loud.  Listen to that constant longing and echo it to the world, though your voice may crack and your heart falls flat.  And then do it again, and again, and again.  You’re on your way to a place called home and that journey starts within.  You are worthy of connection.

Love,

katie