Be Careful How You Compliment

When I started my career as a teacher, I was always trying to prove myself. I was the new blood in a hallway full of veterans. Every professional learning or planning meeting involved other teachers ignoring me or telling me the best way to do everything. Looking back, I know that I was SO lucky to have mentorship and experience all around me. I could have asked more questions and listened much better. But my 22-year-old self desperately wanted them to respect me. I wanted them to see that my ideas were good and that I was a good teacher. Just to clarify, I was most definitely NOT a good teacher in those years. I had no classroom management and spent most days after school crying in my car because I felt so overwhelmed. Yet, instead of asking for help, I kept up this act that I had everything under control and I was doing "fun" things my students would appreciate later. 

In my 2nd year of teaching, I lost a lot of weight. This was partly due to the stress of my job, but mostly due to my stricter and stricter calorie rules. Went over your calorie limit today? Better not eat at all tomorrow as punishment. Had frozen yogurt with friends? You better walk 5 hours tonight instead of sleeping tonight to burn that off. 

One afternoon at lunch hour, I skipped the staff lounge to avoid the temptation to eat and started walking up and down the stairs to my 2nd floor classroom instead. After 20 minutes, I started feeling faint. As I began to get more dizzy, probably without calories for a very long time, I grabbed the hand rail for support. Just as I was doing this and thinking maybe I should give in and grab something from the vending machine, the veteran teacher from next door to me started walking up the stairs behind me and said, "I saw you walking those stairs and I wanted to let you know how impressed I was. You look great and I can tell you've been working hard. Keep it up." 

That was the first and only time he ever complimented me and I held on to those words for YEARS. I thought of that when I was pushing myself for hours on the treadmill or eventually throwing up my dinner. He respected me. He thought I looked great. I must be making the right decision. This was what hard work looked like. 

I thought about him for the first time in a long while today after a friend told me about her own compliment. She said people in her life were often telling her how "strong" she was and how she never let anything bring her down. While well-intentioned, these compliments started to define her life. She felt like she could never be sad or vulnerable in front of friends and family because they wouldn't respect her anymore. She didn't think she needed to talk to anyone because she was "strong", right? But that built up over time and made her miserable. 

We aren't meant to be happy all the time. Nor are we meant to look picture perfect. Obviously compliments are a good thing, and I try to hand them out regularly. This isn't a post to say compliments are bad. But I'm also trying to remind people who I love that I love them in any circumstance, not just at their "best". Their worth and my love are not conditional. Remember that your words always, always matter. 

 

What We Notice

 Have you ever learned a new word and then suddenly you see this word everywhere? Or had a conversation about a certain place and then see that place in a news story the next day? "What a coincidence!" we say. But I honestly don't think it is. I think those words/people/places were always there and we become tuned in and notice. The world is so full of details that we can't always notice everything. What I believe is that we can choose to notice the things that make life better.

Once I was staying with my grandpa over a break during college. We went out for lunch and grabbed a few things at the store. When we arrived back at his house, he said, "Another day of terrible luck." I asked him what he meant. He listed all the "bad luck" of the day: he hit every red light, they forgot to add fries to his order at the fast food restaurant, the store didn't have the bottles of Pepsi he preferred, a bird had popped on his vehicle, the machine wasn't working at self-checkout and we had to go to another one. This list startled me...because I honestly hadn't really noticed any of those things. I had enjoyed the warm Arizona sun (visiting from Nebraska at the time), had a nice lunch, and successfully picked out all the items we needed at the store. But my grandpa was always convinced of this "curse" he had and because of that, every outing was filled with details to support it. 

One great habit I learned from my grandpa, though, was people-watching. He used to take me to the mall and let me shop while he sat at a bench or at the Wildflower Café and just silently watch people. I honestly don't know what he was watching for or what he enjoyed about this activity specifically, but it taught me to slow down and take things in. We, as busy humans, can be very self-absorbed and not think about all the lives passing by ours on any given day. Over the past 2 years, I've been noticing beautiful things every day in my 1-second-a-day picture project, but in the last few months, I've added to that and started trying to notice beautiful human moments too. The kind cashier or the friend who checks in. The kids laughing together on the playground or the lady who bends down to clean up trash. There's no doubt that a lot of things are very wrong in our society, but I also believe in the goodness of people, and I'd much rather gather evidence of goodness than that of the world going to hell. 

The next time you are getting bogged down with all the inconvenient or unlucky or plain bad parts of your week, take time to notice the good things too. Once you start, it usually snowballs. We just have to take the time to look. What we choose to notice matters. 

Happy to Be Waiting

There is an exit to my parents' neighborhood where there is no stop light. If you need to turn left, you do so against 4 lanes of busy traffic. As I pulled up to that stop sign the other day and saw cars flying by in both directions, my immediate reaction was to feel stressed. 

I will have to wait so long. 

Then, I took a deep breath, and turned my music up and sang along. I was right, I had to wait. But would I rather waste those minutes of my life being anxious about the trip taking a little longer or make those in-between moments filled with as much joy as I can squeeze into them? 

As I returned to my parents' home 30 minutes later, I watched another driver taking the same left turn. She had pulled out into the middle island area and I could see her face was red and her hands were gripping the steering wheel. This small moment would surely bring tension to her entire day. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she'd already had a terrible day and this impatience was incited by that. But what is the worst that could have happened if she sat at that stop sign 4 extra minutes? 

For my job, I often host mental wellness workshops with students. In those workshops, we practice staying in the moment to calm stressful thoughts. So often, we get caught up in worrying about what will come next or dwelling on something that happened in the past and so I teach grounding techniques like using all 5 senses or looking around for something that is 3 different colors. These tasks may sound silly or juvenile (the high schoolers often roll their eyes at me), but they help us to remember where we are right now and make the most of it.

Over the past few years, I have made a task for myself to notice something beautiful and joyful every single day and take a video or picture of it. This has helped me so much to stay grounded. I now literally "stop and smell the roses." Well, not roses usually. I live in Arizona. 🤣 But I find myself grabbing my phone to capture the birds flying or the clouds and it makes even mundane tasks like driving special. 

This is not a new concept. Everyone is always talking about living in the moment. I think, though, we imagine "the moment" to be the big things like enjoying a vacation or spending time with friends and family. But every moment is a moment that we can't get back. I want to savor every sing-along to the radio and smile at every quail crossing the road. I want to notice the stranger's tattoo and guess its meaning. I want to roll the windows down and feel the breeze. 

So, here's to waiting happily at the stop sign. I'm so grateful I got that moment. 

You're an Adult. You Make The Rules.

 A few weeks ago, I was watching Matilda: The Musical and there was a song called "When I Grow Up". In the song, the kids dream about the things they will be able to do as an adult that they can't as a kid. I remember that feeling so well. The feeling of being restricted by all these rules and dreaming of a time when you no longer had to follow others. The dreams those kids have of watching cartoons all day or eating candy on the way to work might not be my own dreams, but I do find myself often telling myself that I "can't" do something I want to do. Who says? 

I remember realizing this for the first time in high school when everyone would wear the same type of clothes every day. School T-shirts and jeans were the norm, but there wasn't a rule. I could wear a dress and still be within the dress code. So I started doing that. I wore bright colors and hats (when not inside) and whatever made me feel pretty. A lot of peers said it was attention-seeking, but honestly it was much more to do with free will and having some choice within my very controlled environemnt. As a teacher, even in schools with strict dress codes that I taught in, you'd find kids with crazy-colored socks or charms on their shoes or wrist bands that showed their personality. We can stick to laws/rules/expectations and still do what we want and I love that. 

The line in the Matilda song I like the most is "I'll play with things that mum pretends that mums don't think are fun." I loved that because I see so many adults say that a movie or show or activity is "for kids." I turn on Disney animated movies often to feel better. I like to go to the zoo, not with kids, but on my own. I think the world would be a better place if we spent more time coloring or playing or using our imagination. We tend to think that in order to be "responsible" we need to be less childlike. I don't think that's the case at all. I can show up on time and keep a job and pay my bills, but still play video games after work or buy myself a sno cone. Life is so short and I'd rather fill my days with bubbles and Halloween costumes than worrying about which insurance to choose, rewriting an email until it's perfect, or ironing my clothes (if it needs to be ironed to look nice, I don't want it.)

There also isn't a universal timeline for everyone's day. This is something I have been reteaching myself a lot lately. If I want to eat my lunch at 10:00am, I will. If I'm tired at 6:00pm and am done for the day, I go to bed. If I'm not tired until 2:00am, I got to bed then. I've even turned on a dance workout video at 1 in the morning because I was struck with the urge to move my body. I do understand that I don't have kids, which heavily impacts daily schedules, but I always maintain my responsibilities. Like with the high school dresses, I can do what I want and still be a great contributing member of society. 

So here's your sign to live for you child self today. Eat a Gogurt. Build with some Legos. Watch Spongebob. Jump on a trampoline. Take a nap. Start a Nerf gun war. It's never too late. 

To Be Known Is To Be Loved

 First of all, I'm back. 2025 was the first time in 12 years I never once blogged. The only writing I did were book reviews and work emails. My self-talk shouted, "What's the point?" and I couldn't seem to drown out that doubt. The point isn't quality writing though. It isn't about the number of readers or if I have any original thoughts or ideas. Instead, it's about me taking the never-ending monologue in my head and releasing it. It's about giving myself an outlet to create rather than always consume. I attend a lot of author panels and the most common advie I hear over and over again from those authors is, "Just write anything. Don't stop and edit. Just write." And that's what I'm here to do. This post will undoubtedly meander and not be concise, but that's okay. 

I've always been the kind of person who is looking toward the reaction, not the action. At the movie theater, I want to watch my friends and family laugh almost more than I want to see the movie. I want to watch the concert-goers dance and sing. I want to see the sports fans jumping up and down. I want to watch the groom's reaction, not the bride in her gown. For me, the most beautiful things in life aren't the sights and the feats, but the emotions and the connections we make. 

Oftentimes, this can be negative for me. I can be so worried about everyone else and their feelings, that I forget to consider my own. But I think this "looking back" also helps me to know people. I remember what songs bring joy to my friends faces when we're driving in the car. I catch the smirk of my brother when he thinks no one is looking. I notice how someone leans into their partner to calm their nerves. The more I watch people, the more I love them. While we fear the things we don't know, we care more for those once we really see them. 

We, as humans, also love to be known. Some of us pretend we don't. We can close ourselves off and not share easily. There's no greater feeling, though, than someone remembering us. A text out of the blue, an invitation, a check-in after a difficult time or just taking the time to listen are such powerful actions that can make all the difference in our lives. I know I'm not alone in this, because I know how popular romance books are. Every romance book I've ever read involves a partner knowing something personal about the main character. Every single one. They might remember their favorite take-out food or take them to their favorite concert. They might buy earrings or a dress in their favorite color. Right now, Heated Rivals is the most popular show on HBO Max. Most of the viewers aren't gay athletes like the main characters, but we all relate. Why? Because the show is shot after shot after shot of them looking at each other. Them seeing each other and knowing each other and loving each other. Millions of readers and viewers eat these stories up. Because we crave to be known. 

I was recently asked what I am the most proud of. For years, my automatic response to that question has been either obtaining a Master's degree or the students I helped in my 7 years of teaching. And that's true. I am proud of my efforts and my work. But honestly, I think I'm more proud of the people I've surrounded myself with. So many people I know lose touch or fall away from friends, but I've tried to make a point of reaching out, noticing, remembering, and listening. I may not talk to some friends very often, but I am confident that if I really needed something, I'd have 15 people that wouldn't hesitate to help. 

As a single person, I have people concerned all the time about me being lonely or sad. I am rarely lonely and enjoy my own company, but I every once in a while I fall into this sadness about not having a person that knows me. No one knows what the last show I binged was or what song I am playing on repeat. No one knows my current snack obsession or my favorite scent. I don't have anyone to care about what keeps me up at night or how to calm me down when I'm feeling stressed. But I swear anytime I feel like that, a friend swoops in to show me I'm wrong. Skye sends a Marco Polo to say, "I was just thinking of you. How did ___ go?" Hillary snaps me with a simple "It's 12:34!" because she knows it's my favorite time. Bailey texts to tell me she is at my favorite restaurant in Lincoln and remembers I always ordered Pollo con Arroz. Someone in my book club chats to ask if I want to go to an event. Sarah texts almost every Tuesday to tell me that I work too hard then watch a horror movie "together." And those simple moments show me that I am known. I am loved. What a privelege. 

Losing a Grandma, Losing a Friend

Yesterday, I sat in a room listening to Elvis croon as I watched my grandmother take some of her final breaths. While she could no longer react to the music she loved so well, I like to imagine she heard his soulful voice as she drifted out of this world. 

I was blessed enough to grow up with six grandparents. Grandma Donna is the last to leave me and in many ways the hardest to let go. 

When I was growing up, Grandma Donna was an enigma. Unlike more maternal grandmothers, she never baked me cookies, took me on a trip, or even showed me much affection. Her home was filled with Jeff Gordon memorabilia and craft supplies and Native American art. I was fascinated by her because she was so different than anyone else I knew. She still is.

Grandma had strong opinions. She told you exactly what she liked...and what she didn't like. And while this caused annoyance in the family at times, I often admired her directness. Recently, my sister said of Grandma, "She doesn't compliment you often, so when she does, you know she means it." I think there is a lot of truth to that. I took her feedback to heart and was often trying to make her laugh. She did love to laugh.

Also, when I think back to childhood, I often group Grandma Donna together in my mind with her mother, my Grandma Marj, because for many years I never saw one without the other. And while they seemed so utterly different in personality and interests, and they bickered constantly, it was so obvious they cared deeply about one another. In her final days, my mom and aunt witnessed Grandma Donna having conversations with her mother once again and I hope she now feels that strong bond again with her mother, who I know she has missed for so many years.

As I moved into adulthood, Grandma continued to be a family member I loved, but didn't really feel extremely close to. She sent me checks each month that I was in college and then called to reprimand me often when I didn't cash them in a timely manner and threw off her checkbook balance. I sent occassional emails and she'd send some back and that was the extent of our relationship. Then something happened. I can't pinpoint when or how it started, but for whatever reason I started calling Grandma just to talk. And then I called her more and more often. She grew from a person I was content seeing once a year to someone I was eager to call anytime I had something to share. Sometimes we talked for hours and I never felt a lull in the conversation. 

She has truly been my friend over the past several years and I feel so lucky to have had a friend in her. But losing a friend is hard. I'll never again be able to call her on a car trip and have her say, "Where in the world are you off to today?" I'll never hear her whine about her stupid phone that she'll "never get the hang of" (she was right on that account). I have a draft in my inbox of the latest "Sports Report" a weekly email I sent about sporting events to watch each week. It will never get sent. 

While I already miss Grandma Donna terribly, she will not be an easy person to forget. She loved Elvis and coloring and the Green Bay Packers. She gave the most ridiculous Christmas gifts. She loved the thrill of gambling or winning a game of bowling. She was very particular about things going exactly in the place she had assigned to them. 

And although my family likes to tease about her OCD habits and routines, she wasn't always as set in her ways as we'd like to believe. Until the very end, Grandma loved discovering new things. For a while, she was obsessed with online bird-watching. She toggled between several live nest feeds and always had stories about the current eagles laying eggs or facts she learned about the hummingbirds she was watching. A few years ago, she tried to learn Spanish. At over 80 years old. She got really into Ancient Aliens for a time. This past year, she decided she wanted to become a true NBA fan. She would ask me questions about all the players and kept extensive notes. I hope I always have that same curiosity until the end of my life, delighted to learn and explore new hobbies and interests.

While I have lost a friend and a grandmother, I am so grateful for everything I gained because of Grandma. She brought more color into my world. My life is better because of it.

A Toast to the Bride and Groom

 This weekend, my baby sister got married and I am so happy for her. Friday, April 12th marked the official signing on to the team. Just like Mahomes and Kelce on the team that brought them together, these two make great teammates. I look forward to all the games I will witness in the days and years ahead. 

I know personally that Brigitte is the very best teammate because she was my first one. My very first vivid memory was holding Brigitte as a baby. She was wearing some frilly pink outfit that she would definitely hate now and I was so proud to be her big sister. Some things never change. I never wanted to let go. As years went on, I kept her close, dragging her to play princesses and rock band and Power Rangers. Every game was better with her by my side. Unfortunately, I lost some signing-day battles for her attention as she often chose her big bro Josh's side in our hallway wars of Pokemon or Beanie Babies. 

Brigitte is such a good teammate, not just because of her willingness to take on any adventure, but also her ability to listen and sympathize. Although she might not always agree with your decisions or opinion, no one in the world has ever understood me better than Brigitte. She listens and remembers and I know she will do the same for Diego throughout their marriage. This also makes her pick out the best gifts. 

As a protective older sister, I have a very hard time thinking anyone is good enough for my intelligent, driven, funny siblings, so when Diego suddenly appeared in our apartment during the shut-down of 2020, I was probably not instantly the most welcoming host. I remember the first time I really understood that Brigitte had met her match. I was taking a nap in my room one afternoon when I was woken up by a loud noise. I opened the door to my room, irritated and ready to snap at them, but then I heard that the noise was laughter. Those two were laughing so hard that they looked like they couldn't breathe. They were leaning into each other on the couch with such trust. I never remember seeing two people so absolutely joyful in each others' company.

Over the years, I watched Diego jump in to every situation. I watched them play intensely competitive matches of sand volleyball and take Ollie for casual evening walks. I watched them work together and go on adventures. And obviously his cooking for me occasionally did not hurt my opinion of him. This weekend I didn't "welcome Diego to the family" as is often said at weddings. To me, he has been a member of our family for years now. But I hope we continue to enjoy each others' company...and maybe I'll practice speaking in Spanish with him occasionally to frustrate Brigitte. 

I hope these two newlyweds continue to embark on adventures and constantly compete to keep each other on their toes for the rest of their lives together. I'm thankful I got to be part of this beautiful weekend full of love.