“I hate dump trucks,” I declared as I maneuvered out of range of one that had been driving alarmingly close to my car. “I knoooooww mom,” my son replied next to me, emphasizing the response with an eye roll. Clearly, he’d heard the dump truck story before. And obviously, I was going to tell it to him again anyway. 😊

Many years ago, when I was a mid-level HR leader, I felt that I had a lot to prove to get to the next level in my career. And so naturally, I did a lot of proving. I was well organized and prepared - for every meeting, every presentation, every interaction. I had lists and agendas and talking points. Everything I did screamed, “Look at how put together I am!”

My mom has always said, “If you’re feeling down, you should go do something nice for someone else.”
As a kid, I didn’t love this advice. I was wallowing, darn it, and someone else should make me feel better! “Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart,” was her typical empathetic response.

Every January, I hit the goal planning HARD. I love setting new goals and intentions for myself. It’s the time of year that I dream up all kinds of new skills to learn, targets to hit and adventures to experience. I’m currently at about 47 items for my 2024 list and I’m not sure that I’m done yet. (Though I suspect my coach will have something to say about the current count!)

Which question do you lean towards - the one about what you need, or what you need to get done? I am firmly in the latter camp. As soon as I wake up in the morning (and sometimes the middle of the night) my mind anxiously swirls on what I need to get done. The email I forgot about, the appointment I need to schedule, the friend I haven’t responded to, the proposal I need to write.

Are you feeling depleted, disconnected, and in need of a rejuvenating escape? I have just the thing. I’m very excited to offer Seattle-based women an opportunity to join me for a mini retreat in November!

Ok, it wasn’t an actual fly. It was probably a small gnat that flew directly into my mouth and down my throat while I was out for a morning run. The air was warm on my skin, the light held a rosy hue and I could smell the ripening blackberries as I ran by. Idealistic, except for the gnat I just swallowed. “Deep breath, swallow a few times, let it go,” I coached myself. I did just that, not missing a beat

Deep inside me lurks a harsh inner critic, a saboteur. She seeks to control everything around her in order to ensure the right outcomes. She tells me that if she doesn’t control everything, it will all go to hell. I’ll lose my autonomy and others will seek to control me.

I like to think of the five-year-old version of me as the essence of who I am. Before I fully learned all the lessons that gender socializing would have to teach me: be cautious, don’t be too much, the world won’t always embrace what you have to offer.

When my son was two, someone played the Beastie Boys for him. And that was it, he was obsessed with their music. Sabotage was his favorite song, and we played it over, and over, and over for him. Even now, I could probably sing every word of that song.

I love the end of the year because it’s a natural time of reflection. What did I accomplish this year? What do I want to do next year? Some of the holiday activities naturally lend themselves to good thinking time. I was especially reflective the other day when I spent the morning putting together IKEA furniture for my kids’ Christmas presents.

Family vacations can be so beautiful, and so ugly. They are an exercise in self-awareness and patience. Last month, we loaded up the car for a five-day getaway to the Oregon coast. Predictably, the amount of gear being stuffed into the car made it appear that we were going for several weeks, possibly to a remote location where there were absolutely no amenities. We were ready for (almost) anything.

Have you ever pictured what you would be like at the end of your life? I recently did this as part of a guided visualization exercise, and I found it both difficult and insightful. I was asked to picture myself as an old woman, enjoying my birthday celebration towards the end of a life very well lived. My present-day self would drop in on the celebration and talk with my older, wiser self.

We arrived midafternoon, turning off the highway and onto Canyonland’s dirt road with our silver, swaying sprinter van. A Winnebago outfitted camper van, dubbed Wine Bag on the back. Someone had carefully etched out a few letters on the van’s label to graciously let the van’s purpose shine through. As we shambled further into the park, the landscape opened up and I took in the full view.

For Valentine’s Day, my husband gave me a blanket. This is a fairly random gift, but makes sense because I am almost always cold. It’s a super soft, light grey throw blanket with knobby tassels fringing each end. What my husband didn’t know when he made the spontaneous purchase is that the blanket would turn out to be a gift for my grandmother as she lay in a hospital bed, cold and hurting everywhere.