California Girl

I get asked this simple question a lot: "where are you from?"

I am always proud to say "born and raised in San Diego" every time I am asked.

Many times, the asker flashes a knowing grin or shakes his or her head.

Is it that obvious that I am a California girl?

What gives it away -- the fact that I sometimes say 'like" or "dude"? my laid back attitude? 

It can't be the tan (or lack thereof).

Traveling as much as I do, I ask other people this question a lot as well.

I am beginning to think this is a much deeper question than physical location.

Where you are from, in many ways, is who you are. How you were raised. What you value and believe.

I often tell people who are just meeting me "well, my parents were married on top of a mountain in 1970. That pretty much covers who I am."

Without my "hippie" parents and my Southern California upbringing -- I would be a totally different person.

Geography, as well as genetics, is powerful.

I will most likely never live anywhere else than San Diego and I don't have a problem with that. I'm pretty sure no one who ever had the chance to live here loves any place he or she has lived more.

I have been shaped by palm trees, ocean breezes and salt water.

By liberals and hippies and surfers. 

By parents who loved me for me.

By days and days of sunshine. By a wardrobe of shorts and flip flops. 

By endless beach days and gorgeous summer nights.

By the idea that sunsets are made to be watched and life can be lived slowly. 

All of these things make me who I am, a California girl. 

This is not LAX

Living out of a suitcase has its ups and downs. One of the things I can count on as an "up" is being able to hear people say the craziest things. Airports and airplanes and car rental shuttle busses press you closer to other people than is comfortable sometimes so you might as well take advantage of the tight quarters and entertain yourself somehow. 

Today, it was the shuttle bus driver who provided the entertainment.  As usual, people were pushing and shoving their way on to the bus as I stood back.  With two big suitcases that tend to be heavy, I usually stay out of everyone's way and get on last. I figure it's good karma as well as good manners. 

Sure enough, everyone at the Ontario airport rushed in front of me as I stood back. By the time I got to the door of the shuttle, the driver turned to me and said "not sure what the rush is, this is not LAX!"

Indeed, it's not LAX. 

The woman who checked my bags for my Alaska flight told me with a smile "see you upstairs, I'll be boarding the flight too!"

This is a small, almost sleepy little airport. What's the rush?

In life, I think we act like we are always at LAX - rushing through things, panicking that we are not moving fast enough, not getting far enough.

What if we just took a breath and slowed down for once?

This is not LAX.

I wonder how much more we could get out of life if we slowed down more often. If we took our time. If we did not worry about being the first on the shuttle bus.

As I exited the bus, I thanked the shuttle driver and said "thanks for reminding me that this is not LAX. It's a good life lesson."

He said - "yea, it is. If you have time, you could just stay on the shuttle and take another loop with me. It's a great route."

"You're right. Such a pretty view. I'll enjoy it more next time instead of staring at my phone!"

He giggled and then he picked up my bags, put them on the curb and said -- "Where are you headed with all this stuff? Hawaii?"

"Not quite. Seattle."

He smiled and said "have fun and send me a postcard!" 

In the words of Ferris Bueller -- life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. 

Addicted, Part Two

Looking all the way back to my childhood, it pains me to think I was perceived to be (by myself and others) the chubby kid. 

I was most likely completely average and normal (if there is such a thing) and the pictures of me as a kid show that.

The problem is -- I never felt that way.

It's not as if I got taunted and teased. It was just that I was made aware, by other people's comments and my own self consciousness, that I was, compared to many others, bigger than them.

They say comparison is the thief of joy and I was guess I was never as small, as thin, as tiny, as whatever (insert body perfection word here) as anyone else.

In high school and college, I was likely 20 pounds heavier than some of my friends but by no means was I the "fat kid" that I labeled myself to be.

I got used to being called curvy in college and beyond.

I just took it as a nicer way for people to call me fat.

No matter what, I was not seen as having the ideal body and I certainly let other people's opinions of my body shape my own feelings about it.

But was it deeper for me than my size and shape?

When I dieted and got thinner, I got more attention.  Great.

God knows I love attention.

But was there something deeper than just my body image that I needed to "fix"?

No matter what shape or size I have been over the years (and I have been many) perhaps the real issue was my addiction to food. 

This is something I never examined about myself until I started a detox program in September of 2013. 

Feeling every bit of my 41 years, and suffering from it while on the road so much for work, I wanted to do the program for many reasons -- losing weight being the primary goal.

Little did I know that I would come face to face with a completely different challenge -- my relationship with and addiction to food.

When I started the detox program, I began to feel the benefits right away -- better sleep and better skin being two huge bonuses.

I had more energy, I was not tired all the time. 

No more roller coaster feeling coming up and down from caffeine.

Sticking to a fairly tight list of what I could and could not eat felt very confining at first and then very liberating.

I was not "allowed" to be unkind to my body by filling it with unhealthy food and empty calories.

At first, it was the "I'm not allowed to eat that" that kept me on track.

Later, it was "it feels so much better when I don't eat that" that kept me motivated.

The 30 day program got me focused on how to take care of and respect my body.

Wow -- what a life changer.

Before the detox, I ate what I wanted, when I wanted it.

Food was a comfort, a distraction, a way to cope with stress.

Food was entertainment.

Food was an escape from boredom or too much negativity.

I can distinctly remember my toughest (and last) year of teaching.

Whenever I had a bad day, there were three places, just down the block from school, where another teacher and I would head straight to after all the parents had picked up their kids -- Starbucks, Cold Stone or Roberto's.

We numbed out almost every afternoon with our drug of choice -- a frappacino, a huge ice cream cone, and/or a mondo burrito.

With that food in our hand, all of our cares would melt away.

I ate like this for years and brushed it off as normal.

It was not until the detox that I learned just how much food controlled my life -- what and when would I eat next being my first thought after just finishing a meal.

After the detox, I had a "lightbulb moment" when discussing the results with Danielle, who so expertly lead me through the process.

I told her -- for the very first time in my whole life, I can confidently say that I am not addicted to food.

I guess I never really knew I was until I wasn't.

Or maybe I knew I was but I could not admit it.

When I look in the mirror now, I don't see fat or thin or fit or not.

Any strides I have made in having a healthier body and healthier lifestyle from a body image perspective take a backseat to the fact that I ended my addiction to food -- a very powerful and liberating life change.

What really matters is not how people see me (or have ever seen me) but how I take care of myself and honor the one body I will ever be given.

Thanks Danielle for guiding me to this life changing revelation.

I may still be addicted to shopping but not to food...

As long as you are not standing still.....

For a few years, I was a religious Jazzerciser.

5:30am class, Monday through Friday.  Weekend classes too if I was feeling motivated.

I loved it.  It was like going to church.  A place where you could get away, feel good, and refocus.

Cherie and Christy, my instructors, helped me start so many days off right.

It was a healthy ritual that made me very happy.

When my travel schedule picked up for my Nordstrom job, I had to stop going.  I was simply gone too much to make it worth the money.

I had to trade the ritual that I loved for the job that I loved.

Needless to say, my current job keeps me on the road even more than before.

It's pretty hard to drive down the block for a morning exercise class if you are never sleeping in your own bed.

This week, I was home on Sunday morning and I was about to rush off to the gym and then I remembered....wait, there is an 8:30am class.  I'll go to Jazzercise instead.

I drove to class, so excited that I could "plug back in" for an hour and go back to a place I enjoy so much.

As luck would have it, it was "free class week" and I sailed right in and grabbed a spot in the back.

Given that I don't go to class anymore, I did not want to stand in the front if I don't know what I'm doing.

Susan, the owner, is the most amazing woman and I was so glad to see her smiling face when I walked in.

Monica, a woman who I used to see at the 5:30am class all the time, is now an instructor and she was teaching.

Felt like it was meant to be...

The music started and a smile spread across my face.  The warm up song was "Alive" by Krewella, the song that I use as my "entrance song" during my Lincoln Academy trainings.

(long story as to why I have a song....)

As class got going, I got lost in the music and the hour passed by so quickly.

At one point during class, Monica did a piece of the choreography wrong -- but I never would have known that.

She corrected herself and said "well, I guess it does not really matter what we do here as long as we don't stand still."

As long as we don't stand still....

At a place like Jazzercise, the focus is on the fun -- the fitness comes when you just let go and dance.
There really is not a right way or a wrong way to do it as long as you are not standing still.

What a great metaphor for life....as long as you don't stand still, you are doing it right.

There are so many times in life when we stop and don't move or don't act for fear we are not doing it right. 

My guess is -- as long as we are not standing still and doing nothing -- we are doing it right.

I made myself a promise after that class to go back to Jazzercise as much as I can whenever I am in town.

I want to be in a place where I can let go, have fun and dance.
A place where, as long as I am not standing still, I am doing it right.

Thank you El Cajon Jazzercise for being one of those places where it just feels right.
Thanks for teaching me not to stand still.

Readers -- play your entrance song and dance any time you can.  As long as you are not standing still, you are doing it right.

One day at a time.....

One day at a time....

Ever since I turned 40, I have been living my life guided by one simple motto: one day at a time.

Living in the moment and trying to enjoy it has always been something that came easy to me - but even more so after some of my scary infertility experiences. 

Being more present to people and really focusing on the here and now is something I have really been working on the past few years. 

Believe me, I'm the first one to admit that my phone is attached to my hand and it's hard for me to put it down. 

But I'm also the first one who is relieved if the plane (every now and then) does not have wifi (like right now!) so I can unplug for awhile.

Where did my desire to live one day at a time come from? When did I become better at living in the moment and taking things as they come? 

Or is it a skill I have had all along and I just called it something else?

Looking back, I suppose I have been a spontaneous person most of my life. Growing up as the youngest child (those 12 stubborn minutes have got to count for something) I was well known for my fun loving, slightly rebellious, and, at times, attention seeking nature. 

Someone had to be the "baby" of the family and I still wear that title proudly. Maybe too proudly at times.

Using it as an excuse can only get you so far....

I am 100% sure that my parents worried about me growing up way more than they worried about my responsible and brilliant older sisters.

Don't get me wrong - we all worked hard, got good grades, and made my parents proud.  

We all had hobbies we enjoyed and passions we explored.

But I can guarantee that I am the only Goebel Girl whose kindergarten report card (and probably most of them after that) said "does not keep hands to herself" and "talks too much to her neighbors".

What can I say? Social might as well be my middle name.  Being impulsive and talkative and a little ADD (before that was a diagnosis) never got me into too much trouble.

Growing up, I was rewarded for being cute or goofy or funny. I was the comic relief people needed - always ready with a story or a way to distract them from feeling bad. God forbid anyone sit in that negative space for too long -- "people like me" (thanks Dad for that!) can't stand that. 

I never did anything risky or scary or illegal. In fact, I'm probably a goodie two shoes compared to most.

But I did a really good job distracting people around me - and maybe myself - from worrying about what could go wrong and focusing on what could go right or on right now. 

Even as a kid, I wanted to focus on the positive. I did not want to worry about what could be, I wanted to focus on what was. 

I have had this internal debate going on in my head for a while now -- is saying that I am living "one day at a time" just an excuse to "fly by the seat of my pants" or is it actually evolved, present moment, be here now consciousness?

I'd like to think I am a fairly evolved, philosophical, and grounded person but here's a good example...

I showed up at the airport one day and was checking my bags. When the skycap said "two bags to Tucson" and my response was "if you say so". You should have seen the look on his face.  This could be a sign of a zen like approach to life or the sign of total disorganized and chaotic  living.

(Note to self and you, dear reader: probably not the best thing to say at the airport but he blew it off and my bags and I made it to Arizona.)

I'd like to think that the skycap story proves that I live in the moment. What choice do I really have? I live out of a suitcase and some times don't know what city I am in when I wake up.

I have to do it one day at a time or the stress would overwhelm me.

I breathe in, I breathe out, I enjoy the ride, I love the people I meet and the work that I do. 

I say yes to big things (leaving my job at Nordstrom after 8 years) and yes to small things (sure, I'll blog for 30 days) and I do the best I can. 

Most of all, I try to live each day knowing I won't get a chance to live it again. 

But it can only be one day at a time.

I can't relive yesterday or worry about tomorrow. There is honestly not enough space in my room for that.

Zen like? Irresponsible?

Relaxed? Reckless?

I can't really say but I do know that this one day at a time thing has worked for me so far....why stop now?

One day at a time.....

The 3 G's

GRATEFUL, GENUINE, GENEROUS -- what are your three words?

I am writing today for Friday, Saturday and Sunday so it is a three part blog.

What better topic then to use this time to talk about my three words....

As most of you know, I love inspirational quotes (seen my Instagram lately?) and I love to have a new theme for each new year. 

In 2013, it was Love/Luck/Purpose and now it's Fun Fearless 14. 

It got me thinking about choosing another theme or set of words for myself personally -- traits that I want to be known for or words I would aspire to have people use to describe me.

Again, as most of you know,  I am a "go with your gut" and "fly by the seat of your pants" kind of girl and it did not take me long to land on three words: grateful, genuine, and generous.

No surprise that I like "g" words and groups of three having grown up as the youngest of the three Goebel Girls.

Why these three?

I'll start with grateful.  

I know when I choose luck as a word in 2013, there would be people who said there is no such thing. I respectfully beg to differ.  Life really is one big crap shoot. I could have been born the Queen of England or I could have been born into poverty. I'm not really sure how life gets "decided" but I am god damn lucky that I got what I got. So, since luck has been on my side, the next step is being grateful for the life I ended up with.  Gratitude for it all -- the easy times, the tough times, the sadness and the laughter. Grateful that the luck of the draw found favor on me.  If you have had a chance to read some of my previous posts - heck, I'm lucky to be alive and I'm so grateful that I am.  My entire perspective on life changed after our infertility struggles.  I could have become bitter, jaded and pissed off.  And, to be honest, for a while I was. Mad at the world, feeling cheated, feeling like I drew the short straw. Quickly, that became tiring and it drained me of all the joy I had.  I once looked at a picture of myself taken a year or so after my second surgery.  The minute I saw the picture, I said (out loud) - "oh, that's what my smile looks like!" I had not seen it for a while and I was so grateful that it came back. 

I want to be a grateful and gracious person and live my life at every moment, aware of just how lucky I am.

Genuine.

If you ever ask Matt, "what do you think Margaret's best quality is?", I can guarantee he will say this:

She is a genuinely kind person.  Authenticity has always been something that is important to me and it feels good that my husband can see to the heart of me -- I'm a nice person. There, I said it. I'm proud of it. For so long, I used to think that being nice made me a pushover or opened me up to being manipulated. It was definitely not a badge of honor to be called "nice".  However -- deep down inside, authentically, I really can't be anything else.  Like I said in a previous post, being nice, being genuine and kind, has got me this far -- why stop now? It's not a surprise that when I saw a psychic (think backyard party fun, not sketchy roadside neon sign) she told me -- "the  first thing I see about you in how pure your soul is.  You should never lose that side of you."

Even though she could have told me a lot of the same things that she told everyone at that party, that statement stuck with me. I'm far from perfect and I can be a bitch sometimes but I try to live my life from that pure soul, that place of kindness. I want to earn that best quality and be genuine. 

Generous

If I have never bought you coffee, hit me up next time we are together. Generously is the other quality I want to be known for -- not just with my money but with my time. Giving of myself makes me happy.

I love being asked to help people and I enjoy being able to make an impact on other people. I have been given so much and I want to share it -- easily and without expecting anything in return. 

The "without anything in return" is the hardest part but the most rewarding as well. I want to be known as someone who has a generous heart and as someone who gives of herself - time, talent, or treasure.

So -- readers.....I want to know what your three words are....

Why gild the lily?

During a particularly poignant Good Friday service (many years ago) Monsignor Portman, widely known for his dramatic and touching homilies, got up and said -- "I'm not sure what else I can say. Today, Good Friday, is the reason why we believe. We die and we rise and we believe in redemption and resurrection. What else can I say? As my mother told me many times, why gild the lily?"

He turned around, walked back to the altar. Homily over and the service continued.

Today, during my workout at the gym, I had a "why gild the lily?" moment and I am turning my blog over to this story today.  When I saw it this morning, I just knew I had to share.

Not sure there is anything I can say that is more powerful than this story....make sure to watch the video too....

http://www.today.com/news/homeless-d-c-valedictorian-earns-full-scholarship-georgetown-2D79795428

Confidence (part two of Body Positive)

 

Confidence (part two of Body Positive)

I have been thinking a lot about this word lately after a few people told me that they thought I was confident.

It is not a word I have ever really used to describe myself but I think they are right so I started examining where my confidence comes from.

The first thought I had was this: well, when you are born a twin and you have never known the feeling of going anywhere and never been without a built-in support system, how could you not turn into a confident woman?

Add in an older sister who is only 18 months your senior and it is almost like being a triplet.

I never faced any situation alone -- new school year, new activity, new people. From preschool through college, I always had someone by my side anywhere I went. I never knew the fear of walking into a class, a party, or a new situation alone.

When you always have a wingman, how can you be scared or nervous? Sometimes it is tough to be confident alone, but it is not when you always have support.

I am also a naturally talkative and outgoing person so that can come off as confidence as well.

But where does confidence come from? How have I become strong enough, bold enough, carefree enough to appear confident to others?

My thought is that confidence comes from love and it comes from acceptance -- self love and self acceptance but also the love and acceptance of others.

When we love and accept ourselves, and have a support system that backs up our own self love and acceptance -- confidence comes a lot easier.

Kudos to my parents for raising all three of us in an environment where we could be ourselves and do what we liked while they loved us no matter what.

Jennifer played Little League and I took tap dance and that was cool.

My sisters studied and I was social -- that was cool too.

I was not told I had to be a doctor or a lawyer or anything other than what I wanted to be.

I could make decisions and be confident that they loved me and supported me no matter what.

I have a husband who regularly says "do whatever you want to do as long as it makes you happy" when I tell him about changing jobs, changing my hair, whatever....

Some of you might now that I am obsessed with an Alisa Michelle cuff bracelet that I own.  I wear it as much as I possibly can. In fact, I am wearing it right now.

It says: Be confident. Too many days are wasted comparing ourselves to others and wishing to be something we are not. Everybody has their own strengths and weaknesses and it is only when you accept everything you are - and are not - that you will truly be successful.

We are good at different things, we are gifted with different purposes in life.

We are different shapes, different sizes, different people but if love and acceptance surround us - who are we not to own who are and be confident?

As long as we embrace everything we are and are not, every strength and every weakness we have, why not do it with confidence?

Be confident.  Too many days have been wasted being anything but.....

BODY POSITIVE

Before you read this blog post, please repeat after me.

I LOVE MY BODY, JUST AS IT IS NOW.

I can't hear you...let's try again.

I LOVE MY BODY, JUST AS IT IS NOW.

Oh, what's that? 

You'd love it if your boobs were bigger and your ass was smaller.

You'd love it if just (fill in the blank) was different.

You'll love it when you gain some weight or lose some or when you get a tan or when you get some surgery.

but you simply can't and don't love it JUST AS IT IS NOW?

What's that?  This is the body that got you through skinned knees, playing outside, going to prom, your first time, your last time.

Maybe it got you through a 5K or maybe 26.2, maybe it got you through childbirth or menopause or both.   Maybe your body survived cancer. 

Point being -- it's been there for you, but you can't love it. don't love it, won't love it.  Or maybe you do and good for you...

It took me almost 40 years to love mine and I'll tell you how I did it and why I hope you can too...

Right before my 40th birthday, someone said to me -- now that you are 40, maybe you have an excuse to stop being so nice?

My gut reaction -- wow, being nice has gotten me this far in life, I think I'll stick with it.  It's worked for me so far.

It got me thinking -- what else has worked for me SO FAR?

It took me back to a time when I was going through old pictures and I found one of my sisters and I standing in front of what we called our playhouse growing up. 

We stood happily at the door to the playhouse, decked out in terry cloth tops with matching shorts (mine was red with white stripes down the side of both the top and shorts) smiling widely, crooked teeth and hair a little messy after a day of play.

I am standing sideways so you can see my proflile - me on the right, Elizabeth in the middle and Jennifer on the left like in so many of our childhood pictures.

Looking at the picture, I stared straight at my thighs.  I marvelled at how the shape of them then is the exact shape of them now.  In fact, Mary Margaret and Emma, my neices, have those very same "Goebel"  legs now.

Just  as when I was asked about staying nice or not, I thought to myself -- those thighs have gotten me this far (30 plus years after that picture) I think I will stick with them

It was the first step I made to loving my body, JUST AS IT IS NOW.

What other choice do I have really? I am not going to be given another one.

It is such hard work to love and accept our bodies, but think of it this way.

Would be ever talk about someone elses body the way we negatively talk about our own?

Would we talk to others the way we talk to ourselves?

Think about what your body has gotten you through.....

Think about the minutes, hours, weeks, days of time you could get back if you gathered up all the time you have criticized your body?

What could you have done with that time? 

What could we all do if we stopped using that time to criticize and used it to love instead?

Recently, someone said -- I'm glad to see more pictures of you on FB lately, I was beginning to forget what you looked like. 

True story -- I had been intentionally not posting them because I was not happy with the way I looked.  I did not want any one to see me.  

What a waste of time.  

It's still me: same smile, same short hair, same thighs.

I know I am asking a lot when I ask you to love your body, I know because for a long long time I hated mine. 

I know it won't happen overnight but I want you to know that loving your body is not only possible -- JUST AS IT IS NOW -- it's also important.

Join me and be body positive....take baby steps if you have to.

Repeat after me....

I LOVE MY BODY, JUST AS IT IS NOW.

See, you did it....keep going....your body deserves it, it's gotten you this far.

People like us....or the good news is: a post for my dad

My dad is turning 69 today so I wanted to dedicate a blog post to him.   Happy Birthday Dad – thanks for being such an amazing human being and for loving me unconditionally!

*******

I am sure all of us at one point in our lives have had something come out of our mouths that gave us the chills and made us say “oh my gosh, I sounded like my mother just then!”

The other day I realized that one of the things I say most often actually comes straight from my dad and not my mom.

My dad often says “well, the good news is…” during any conversation he is having.  He has an uncanny way of steering things toward the positive and being able to point out what is working in any situation. When I caught myself saying “the good news is…” the other day, it was like my dad speaking through me. I took a step back and realized that I say “the good news is…” quite a bit.

Why does he says that so much?  Why do I?

Maybe it’s because I am trying to help people see the positive.....or maybe it is because I am so uncomfortable with negativity.

A conversation with my dad yesterday during his birthday lunch shed some light on this for me.

Not only I am lucky to have such an amazing dad, I am also blessed to live in the same city as him and over lunch yesterday, I told him about my use of his phrase “the good news is…”

He laughed and smiled and said –“ yes, people like us say that a lot.”

I asked  “What do you mean by people like us?”

My dad said  “Like a 7 on the Enneagram, avoidance of pain.  We always want to look on the bright side and that’s not bad.  We just can’t let it be too limiting.”

DEEP THOUGHT.

(Side note: google the Enneagram if you need more info!)

Since re-starting this blog and getting back into writing, I feel like I have spent quite a bit of time on those negative emotions and my own personal sadness.

But my dad is right.  I don’t sit in those negative emotions for very long because it makes “people like us” feel so uncomfortable. 

Writing the blog has been scary but also really liberating and healing.  It is definitely the biggest dive I have taken into sadness for quite some time.

I knew I could not start writing again if I was not willing to tell my true story and talk about experiences that made me sad and mad and uncomfortable, even though part of me just wants to pretend that none of those emotions exist.

One of my thoughts as I chose “write 20 minutes a day” as my 30 Days of Hustle goal was --I could go through life posting inspirational quotes on my Instagram and Facebook every day or I could just get real. 

Or could it be "both/and" instead of "either/or"?

I started blogging and wouldn’t you know it – “people like us” are capable of "both/and" if we really force ourselves to tell our stories.

Once, I went with my parents to a talk at USD.  One of my very favorite spiritual teachers, the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, was speaking.  There were so many great moments during his talk but I remember one most clearly.  He said something like – “why do we treat our suffering the way that we do? I would suggest holding your suffering like you would a baby. Holding it close and really embracing it. Talking to it like you would a child. Taking care of it.”

Needless to say, I was crying so hard as he spoke given that my suffering was, in fact, the loss of a baby. Two for that matter.

This concept of really owning and embracing your suffering, holding it like a baby, is the last thing I wanted to do.  But I realized that is was only through feeling it completely, all of it, owning it and coming to terms with it, that I could eventually get over it and move past it.

During our infertility struggles, my mom once told me that my dad had pulled her aside and said these simple words:

"When she is sad, I’m sad."

Even though I felt so bad to be bringing sadness on him, those words meant so much.

"When she is sad, I’m sad."

“People like us” don’t want to be sad and we will do anything not to feel negative emotions.

“People like us” just want to say “the good news is…” and change the topic.

It’s my dad’s sadness for me and his support and his wisdom as well as the support of so many other people that has helped me not only be able to hold my suffering, but to embrace it and eventually heal from it.

My dad has taught me a lot and I am so grateful.  I am proud to be one of the “people like him”.

I love you Dad.

Being Different

When Matt and I started picking up the pieces after my second ectopic pregnancy, it took us quite a while to talk about what the next step in our journey would be.  To be honest, it was a relief not to talk about it. We had spent almost three years being totally consumed with infertility and it was time to start a new chapter.

We had a few options if we did want to have children: adoption, IVF, surrogacy.  Fact is: we did not have the money to do any of those things.  Furthermore, I am not sure we had the mental and emotional stamina either.

Eventually, we started talking about our options again and none of our conversations yielded a decision.  Finally, we agreed to take a few months to just think about it on our own. We promised to come to each other when we had made a decision in our own mind, in our own time.

I still remember the conversation quite clearly....

Matt came home from work one day and I was sitting on the couch.  He said:  "I think our life together is great and even though having kids would be awesome, I think we have each other and that is enough. You make me happy and I like our life. What do you think?"

I breathed a sigh of relief and said "I am happy too and one of the things I am not ready for and don't want to do is get to that sad, rock bottom place again. I am so glad that both of us are in the same place and we can move forward and be happy together."

We hugged and for the first time in a long time, I felt a real smile spread across my face.

That moment is one I will never forget because we turned the page together.

What I did not expect was some of the feelings I struggled with afterwards.

I was ready to embrace a life without children and to make the most of what we did have instead of focusing on what we did not have.

What I was not ready for was feeling so different than all of my friends.  As time went on and we settled into this new chapter of our life,  these differences became more and more apparent.

While our friends had play dates and milestones and Disneyland vacations -- we planned nights out and trips to Las Vegas.  While their holidays revolved around toys and Santa, we spent Christmas morning quietly sipping Starbucks and playing with our cats.

I've never been good at being different.  I am not a follower necessarily but I like to fit in. I crave acceptance and at a certain level, sameness.  I am a twin after all.

Being different felt different.  I was (and still am) one of the only 42 year old women I know that can not claim the title "mother".  Sometimes it's tough to be the odd woman out and it's a feeling that took me a long time to embrace.

Even though the decision Matt and I made was good for us, it still made us different and I did not expect that to feel so strange. It took me a while to feel ok with being different and to see that it could be good. 

Most of all, being different has taught me a very important lesson -- your path is your path and my path is my path.

One of the best things we can do is live our own lives the best way we know how while allowing others to do the same.

So many people have helped me embrace my path, accept that it's different, and help me celebrate that difference.

Thank you all for letting me be different, letting me mother you every now and then (I can't help it) and for letting me share your path with you.

Thanks for following....
xo
Margaret

Still Alive

I missed my chance to write yesterday so longer post here....this is another one of my stories that I have not shared with many people but that I feel compelled to write about....thanks for joining me on this journey.

If you did not read the blog post "take it from the top...or start at the bottom" - it might be helpful to read that first.

Back story:

Matt and I took a break after my September 2006 ectopic pregnancy to move past the loss and decide what we would do now that there was an actual reason for my infertility.  Having one functioning fallopian tube typically means that a pregnancy can only happen every other month so we stepped back to re-assess our next steps.

At the beginning of 2007, I started on a pretty aggressive, but natural treatment plan including chiropractic, acupuncture and Chinese herbs, and some guidance from Randine Lewis' book The Infertility Cure. 

Although I was the one who sometimes hated all the well meaning advice I was given during my time as a fertility patient - the three treatment options above are amazing (for fertility and well-being in general) and I have been known to tell people that in a very "well meaning" way.

Deja vu all over again when March came and I woke up one morning.  I remember it so clearly. I sat up in bed and just felt different. I said to myself "when have I ever felt like this before?" and it all came flooding back.

I sprang out of bed, grabbed a pregnancy test out from under my sink (still had quite a few) and sure enough -- the word "pregnant" appeared for the 2nd time in my long, crazy, exhausting fertility journey.  Matt's reaction was exactly the same - "how did that happen?" -- and we were thrust back into the feelings we had just a few months before when the stick said pregnant -- nervous, excited, surprised, and maybe even relieved.  All the hard work, the money, the strategizing, the planning (makes trying to conceive sound so romantic, right?) had paid off.

As before, we wanted to schedule a sonogram right away and we went into fertility patient mode all over again -- but this time, I was not under the care of my fertility doctors as we had been "taking a break" from all of that.

In fact, at the beginning of 2007, I had changed insurance plans thinking that the new one would be better for the more advanced treatment we might need after my ectopic pregnancy.

Fast forward a week or so and I finally convinced the OB/GYN who had seen me and my mom for years to do an earlier than 8 week sonogram for me.  He is an amazing man and I was so lucky that he said yes to my request.

Same as before, Matt and I met at his office and prepared ourselves for the sonogram.  In the back of our minds, we were hopeful but also scared.  As before, we sat holding hands and trying to be calm.  When the doctor called us back and we got started, it was eerily quiet and I looked at Matt's face very intently.  I could just see it in his eyes and feel it in the room.  Deja vu all over again.

Of course, my doctor knew about my first ectopic pregnancy which is why he agreed to this early sonogram. I turned to look at him and braced myself for what he was going to say.  It all felt like it was in slow motion.  The familiar, awful, sinking feeling washed back over both Matt and me.

I don't remember exactly what he said but he was so kind and so sweet and so sad for us too. I guess there is not good way to hear that news for the second time, but it was definitely a bit better coming from someone who really cared for me and felt so sad too.

We were sent off to another imaging center right away where they were going to take a more sophisticated sonogram in order to help plan the next course of action: drugs so that they could preserve my one fallopian tube or surgery.

After the imaging center and my doctor consulted, we were sent to the hospital by my doctor who called and set up all of our care in advance.  Ironically, it was the hospital where my mom works.  We had not told anyone this time around and we could not avoid that any longer.  Matt called her and told her that we were on our way.

It was a surreal few hours and thank God that my mom was there - she got Matt a parking pass, got him something to eat and was all around awesome like she always is.  There was one point in the procedure where Matt was asked to step out and my mom got to stay and my mom said something funny like "I think he has seen her ass just as many times as I have!" -- I laughed in spite of the awful circumstances.

By the time we left the hospital with very strict instructions of what I could and could not do for the next few weeks, I had been given methotrexate and told (long story short) that I would still have one fallopian tube.  Good news out of very bad news, we thought.

Fast forward a few weeks...

All of my blood tests showed that the pregnancy hormones in my body were declining and that the drug had worked.  We went to Las Vegas for a few days and spent some time away just to escape the sadness of the last couple weeks.  Life was going to get back to normal and then we would decide what to do next.

On Sunday April 15, 2007 - I went to church for the first time in a while.  My parents had started going to a church in Mission Hills with a female priest and I thought it was awesome.  They were out of town in Sacramento as my youngest niece had just been born a few days earlier.  I sat down next to one of their friends and as the service was about to start, I felt the worst pain I have ever felt.

I was not sure what it was but I knew something was wrong. I told their friend that I was leaving and literally hobbled out of church.  I made it as far as the hallway and into the bathroom.

When I had been discharged weeks prior, they had told me -- if you have fever, chills, abdominal pain etc...take it seriously. 

I had all three.

I had been feeling fine for a few weeks so this sudden turnaround was scary.

I had left my cell phone in the car but wanted to call Matt right away and ask him what I should do.

I could barely walk to my car but had to in order to get my phone.

I was wearing a dress and heels and I remember kicking my shoes off so at least I could hobble a little faster to my car.

I called Matt and then my mom and they both said -- drive to the hospital now. 

Thankfully, the church was only blocks from the hospital and I walked into the emergency room barefoot in a church dress, trying to remain calm.  I was not as calm after the admitting staff took one look at me and buzzed me through to a different waiting area right away.

The minute I said "ectopic pregnancy", they sprang into action.

Matt arrived and a quick sonogram and consultation followed.  Before I knew it, I was signing papers to have surgery again, his parents were on their way and they were soon wheeling me off to the OR.

I did not even really have much time to process what was happening.  What I did know is that me being so close to the hospital and not hesitating to go there were two very lucky and smart decisions.

I woke up later that night hooked up to a bunch of stuff with Matt laying in the hospital bed next to mine.  I looked down and what looked like a crazy, crooked metal zipper was across my bikini line.
Staples -- I would find out later -- but I was too drugged up at this point to know that.
All I remember doing is shutting my eyes, letting the tears come, and falling back to sleep.

Monday April 16, 2007

I woke up the next morning and got to hear the whole story -- ruptured fallopian tube, internal bleeding, lucky she came when she did....

Matt was there by my side and we spent the day in my hospital room, watching TV and just holding hands.  So surreal.

As we watched TV, the news of the Virginia Tech shootings came on and we watched in horror as they reported 33 dead. 

Even though I was laying there, preoccupied by my own sadness and loss -- two words hit me right away:  still alive.

I am still alive. 

These 2 words come to mind on a daily basis still, 7 years later.  Any time I have something to complain about, anything that is bothering me, anything making me unhappy -- I try to take a deep breath and think "still alive". 

No matter what I have gone through, what I have lost, what sadness I have experienced - I am alive and that is the gift.

Matt by my side, friends who called or visited me, all of the people who supported us for the next few weeks that I was off of work -- I was still alive to share my life with them.

A profound and life changing moment -- in a hospital bed, still alive.

What a tough time those next few weeks were for us but we were sustained by the love of our incredible family and friends.  My doctor (the one who did the sonogram) even came to the hospital one morning and sat with me.  All of Costco arrived in our kitchen the morning I came home.
My mother came over and laid in bed with me a few times like I was still a little kid. I loved it.

Vince brought me a card that said: When life gives you lemons, just add vodka.

Cupcakes and flowers and phone calls. Matt's work gave him a week off to take care of me. 
So many amazing people took care of me and Matt during this time.

But I kept going back to those two words -- still alive.

I had a choice to make -- lay in bed for weeks in my pj's eating grilled cheese, candy, and drinking fruit punch juice boxes (true story) or get up and get back to being alive.  Being fully alive.

Enjoying life on a whole new level -- because I can, because I should, because I am alive to do it.

Nothing seemed more important to me than to use the gift I still had -- life -- and make it matter.
Live it with a purpose and make it mean something.

This awful, sad, scary experience could either define my life or transform it.

Still alive.

Still alive to be transformed, to be open to life, to say yes, to be positive, to be hopeful, to love.

Still alive.

Light out of the darkness, life out of loss, hope out of despair.

Still alive.

And grateful for that.

Thanks for following....
xo
Margaret

Addicted

Many of you already know that on May 30th, 2014 I made a bold pledge on my Facebook page:
no shopping for new clothes, shoes or accessories (hello Holy Trinity) until my 42nd birthday on September 6th, 2014.

Are you crazy?

Why would you do that?

You...of all people?

I give you one week!

These are a handful of the responses I got -- none of them surprising.

It is widely known that I love shopping and approach it with the commitment of an elite athlete. After 8 years at Nordstrom, it's almost expected but I have loved shopping since a young age.

I vividly remember shopping not only at Nordstrom Fashion Valley with my mom and sisters (think first bra, first pair of shoes in the women's department moments) but also Bullock's in Mission Valley -- the building that is now Macy's Home Store.

My mom still has one of my all time favorite childhood dresses in her ceder chest -- none other than a YSL blue pin-dot sailor dress with white cotton and lace collar and red grosgrain bow.  Heaven.  I'll have to dig up a picture of me in it for TBT.  It's a wonder Jennifer pledged Delta Gamma and not me in college given the nautical flair I fell in love with back then...

As an adult, for many years now, shopping is what I do to escape, to relax, to feel creative, to feel attractive.

Shopping is what I am do when I am happy, when I am sad, when I am bored, when I am home or when I am on the road.

It fills my time and when I am not shopping, likely I am planning my next trip or making my next list or on my phone making my Nordstrom Wish List even longer.

When I recently found an Old Navy bag with 6 new items in at just sitting in my closet -- it gave me a moment of pause.  Wow -- I guess I shop so much, I don't even know what I have.

Then -- that thought got a little deeper -- can I stop if I want to or am I addicted?

This "shop my own closet" challenge will certainly be a way to get in touch with that possibility.

Have I been tempted this week? Yes!

Have I shopped?  No!

Admitting it is the first step.

It's going to a long 90+ more days but I think I can do it.  What I know for sure is that I will learn a lot about myself during the process.

Want to join me and not shop too?  Supporters welcome!  God knows you could come shop my closet and find WAY more than you could ever need!

Thanks for following and thanks for your support!
xo
Margaret