After a recent Facebook binge, ie. doomscrolling session, my thumbs came to a rest. Traci Blackmon, a minister at the United Church of Christ, had posted this:
“Friends. As we ponder the validity of the CDC’s most recent announcement while the US remains at a 35% immunization rate and new cases and deaths, although significantly decreased, continue. As we reflect upon the surge of mutations that has now brought India to a full stop. Might I suggest the voice of individualism will tell us to count it a victory if I am ok, while the voice of the Divine would…
I was riding in the front seat to go pick up flowers when the phone rang. A (303) area code caught my attention, but I let the phone ring to exhaustion, and the alert landed in my voicemail.
For some reason, I’m still registered on the safety alerts for the city of Boulder, even though I haven’t lived there for close to ten years.
I pressed play on the message, and was notified that a stay at home order was in place for the area of 17th and Grove — where I lived as a college student.
What unfolded in…
As a leader, you plan and proactively problem-solve daily. Carrying the weight of your company on your shoulders may be a common worry. Receiving a call from an employee saying he or she lost a loved one or is facing some other major life challenge? Likely not.
Despite our best-laid plans, life has a way of throwing things off kilter. Baz Luhrman once said, “The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.”
For me, the thing that never crossed…
The goop came in a six ounce mason jar with my name scrawled in black sharpie on the metal lid. A Post-It note with a clear message clung to the glass.
“Call for instructions.”
Carrying the package inside, I placed the mysterious ingredient on my counter. At the same time, the biggest historical event of my lifetime crept closer from overseas.
In February, I was given a small batch of sourdough starter. A family friend fed and split the mix for the last twenty years. With roots in Alaska, the starter followed her to Oregon, and ended up on my…
Leaders keep asking me, “It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”
I nod, knowing this year has brought challenges, fears, and frustrations to each of us.
This season of Thanksgiving won’t be the same as years past. Your worries are likely different. No team holiday potluck this year. People are feeling low about missing family feasts. Or maybe they are planning road trips, and you’re worried about people being exposed to COVID-19 over the holiday weekend.
You’re not sure what 2021 will bring, and frankly —let’s say it —this sucks.
When I was fresh out of college, I took an AmeriCorps…
In the course of three hours, I heard of a colleague with a fever, winds howling, and cabins filled with history and family memories turning to ash. The community where I grew up is threatened by fire. Where I live and work is hurting. It was a tough day.
This year unfolded with more tough days than easy ones.
We’ve been breathing shallowly, and washing our hands, and hoping things will shift.
Whether working overtime or wondering where the work will come from, leaders are facing the double burden of caring for both their people and their businesses.
“I think you may be acting out of your anxiety,” someone gently said to me.
“It will be ok” says my husband on repeat.
Hugging myself, I try to create a semi-circle of grace to combat the feelings of self-loathing because yes, these past few weeks, my anxiety seems to be winning.
Being a sensitive person during a contentious election season is hard. Smack on the truth that 900 people are dying EACH day from a virus the government shushes and I want to scream, “How are the rest of you NOT anxious?”
Perhaps you aren’t. Lucky you.
After six months at home with limited social interactions, I didn’t think I could look much further inward.
Inward is where I’ve been living — perhaps for the last four years. Grief turned me so inward, I turned inside out. Insides exposed — skin raw, even still. Prickling with the constant bombardment of suffering, of loss, of what it means to have tugging skin as your wounds heal and re-arrange. After four years, I was ready to get out into the world again. And then a pandemic hit.
With news cycles imploding on the hour, and violence bursting across our…
The spruce trees sheltering my childhood camping outings burn up into plumes, wandering far from their roots.
Pine needles turn white. Ashes fall.
Landing lightly, the burned remnants smear black, dirty, and dark on parking lots full of cars with nowhere to go.
Hours later wind blows and temperatures drop. Snow falls. Wet, slushy sleet sent to sizzle the flames.
As skies turn from purple haze to a pre-mature, wintery, orange reflection of light, so does my anxious spirit waiting to be extinguished. The world seems aflame.
Embers and ice crystals.
Both forces can’t act alone. When one…
*Trigger warning* — Mentions sexual assault
I remember the first time the connection between the numbers in my text books fused with the actual people generating the data in my brain.
I was a senior in college waiting for my friend from Sociology class to come over to work on a group project. She was late. Her text buzzed in, letting me know she wasn’t going to be able to come over. She’d fill me in when we could be together again, in person.
I don’t remember when she showed up at my door — maybe later in the evening…