Keeping Track of What I've Learned

December always smacks me in the face. How do I never see it coming? The cold air, the short days, the holiday deadlines - it all feels like it's about three days after August. Gets me every year.

Phew!

I have a friend who posts lists of what she's learned on Facebook. I've always enjoyed looking at her lists and I've admired her ability to keep track of lessons. Because the truth is we are all learning all the time, right? But with no record - we're at constant risk of "learning" the same thing over and over.

I tried keeping track a few different ways. I tried on the "notes" app in my phone a couple of years ago. Then I tried making a section for bullets in my journal.

Both failed. I did it for a short time, then faded into my normal busy.

Then about this time last year, I discovered these lists from my favorite author (and now podcaster) Emily P. Freeman. I printed them out and cut the pages into four: Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. I kept them tucked into the back of whatever journal I was using at the time. I filled them up here and there, as I went about my daily life. I typically spend time in my Bible and a devotional or Bible study in the morning and I've developed a lovely habit of journaling in the morning. It's been so good for my soul over the last few years.

Anyway. I completed a year of "what I've learned" lists. And I'm so pleased with them! I think this practice really helped me to actually learn. I'll be printing out the lists for my 2018 journals this weekend. I've linked them above so if you'd like to give it a go - you can, too!

I shared my lists on Instagram. It felt kind of risky to put them out there, but almost immediately, it felt right. Obedience. Ah.

Adoption: Talk about putting your heart out there

Doing my due diligence while I'm catching up over here. Burying the lead, as we say in the newsroom, on the biggest news of 2017, and perhaps the biggest news of my entire LIFE.

Michael and I announced to the world in October that we are pursuing domestic infant adoption to grow our family. You can keep up with all things adoption on the website we created: danamichaeladopt.com.

I know I've shared here and there the desire that I've had for a long time to be a mom. I don't remember how much detail I've gone into about our journey so far, but if you watch the video above, you'll be all caught up!

Bottom line: I am certain we are on the path that God planned all along for our family and I can't wait (figure of speech... obviously I can wait... and that's what I'm doing right now) to see how the story unfolds.

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After years of pouring my heart out on the internet, I've cocooned over the last couple of years. I've written though, about how I never stopped writing. I thought about opening up my journal and posting pieces of it here. I posted one. This whole time I've had this tug in my heart to share my story, to be a good steward of my story. I've been trying to discern what that means in my current place. I've thought about starting a YouTube channel. I've thought about starting a Podcast. I wasn't confident about any of the ideas. None felt sustainable. 

I've worried about things like:

• When will I have time to do this?
• Who will care? My life is so boring now.
• Learning new technical skills is overwhelming right now. My brain hurts.
• What am I seeking? Am I doing this for me? If so, as my friend Jo says, "nay nay."

So, here I am. Stumbling out of the gate yet again. Unsure of what I'm after, of what success in this venture looks like. Thankful for a space to share my thoughts and the freedom to do so, no matter what they are. 

It turns out pursuing adoption means really putting your heart on the line. You have to share intimate details of your life. On forms, to social workers and lawyers, in a profile book that is an accurate portrayal of us but not screaming "pick us, pick us!" and in the future - with a child's first family. A family that puts their ultimate trust in us, choosing us to raise their precious baby. That love and sacrifice leave me speechless. 

It feels really vulnerable because it is really vulnerable. But it's so worth it. Please feel invited to come along with us as we put one foot in front of another on this journey. (You can follow the link above to get to our adoption website where we'll be posting updates.)

Oh, hi there

Looking back on 2017, with Chef Boyardee

A few years ago when my husband was enrolling in home health care in one of the counties we were living in at the time (our life has involved a lot of moving, so I can't remember where this happened) a woman he was talking to over the phone said "Let's start Monday."

It was Thursday. Michael shook his head, "Excuse me?" To which the woman replied, "Well, it's almost the end of the day on Thursday and tomorrow is Friday, so let's just start on Monday."

It was ridiculous. Why would you put a much-needed service like home health care off for that long?

But if we're honest, we can all relate, right? I'll start the diet on Monday. I'll go to the gym on Monday. Well, it's Saturday, might as well have pecan pie for breakfast.

I think if we're not really careful we can coast at the end of the year. Well, it's Thanksgiving which means it's practically Christmas, so we'll put that on the New Year's resolution list.

I want to encourage you to spend what I like to call the "Friday" of the year (end of November/December) revving up instead of puttering out. Use these slower weeks filled with holidays to intentionally look back, take stock, set goals and dreams for the new year dawning. I've put this into practice over the last few years and I've been pleased with the progress it's helped me make in my life.

Slow down. Think about what you need, what you want. Write it down. Think about the steps you'll need to take in between here and there in order to make it happen. Pray. What does God want for you? I know this: He wants your heart. Seek Him and you'll find Him. It's not a magic trick. Knowing God doesn't solve all of your problems, but it does give you direction.

From my journal, September 2010: Lessons from a babbling brook

Originally written September 12, 2010, around the time of this blog post.

Right now, I'm sitting outside with Michael on the deck of the cabin we rented to celebrate our anniversary. We're in Luray, VA - in the Shenandoah Valley. I hear bugs, we saw woodpeckers and then a raven chased them off. We ate pie for breakfast (who ever would have known that dessert for breakfast would become such a thing for us and celebrations?) Now we're sipping our second cup of coffee and Michael is writing in his Bible and I'm here. All to the soundtrack of a real life babbling brook.

The occasional car drives by.

The simple life out here in the county is such a nice escape from the hustle-and-bustle of our lives in DC. As I listen to the brook, I think about how people pay major money to recreate these nature scenes in their own environments. Like the pond in my mom's back yard, or those little fountains people buy with the rocks and the flowing water. We are so funny. We want to grow and develop, and build all these conveniences, then all of the concrete and escalators and baristas shouting our names stress us out, so we end up spending $179 a night in a one room cabin at Brookside, escaping the man-made utopia for real, authentic peace.

That's man for you, isn't it? We are always thinking. Always working toward something bigger or better. I know I am. Pretty soon, our closets are over-stuffed with clothes and our kitchens have more gadgets than we could ever use. That's my own manifestation of this truth, at least.

THIS. Is. Church., though. Seeing the slow, slim stream of steam off the top of Michael's cup of coffee (well, 1/2 Swiss Miss, 1/2 coffee) seeing the brook flowing. Nothing stops it. When the warmth of that coffee hits this cool, crisp, fall mountain air, it creates steam. It has to, to escape. When the flowing water, running slightly down hill comes up on a rock in the middle of the brook, it flows over it, or around it, or back into itself. Whatever is necessary. It has to keep going. Momentum is taking it somewhere else.

As I ponder these challenges that we've faced in our first year of marriage, I'm thankful to have a clear head and these examples of triumph right before my eyes. What would happen if the warmth of the coffee didn't escape, if it weren't able to blow off steam? The coffee would probably end up weak and gross. And the term, "babbling brook," that is so much fun to say, wouldn't exist.

The babbling part is the triumph. And you know what? That stream running behind Brookside Cabins wouldn't be nearly as beautiful if it weren't for all those rocks in the water and running haphazardly around the edges. There's no rhyme or reason for where the rocks are placed. Some are big, some are small. There are places where there are lots of little rocks - one right after another. In some places, there is more space between the rocks where the water is more calm. Surely, the water can't see what's ahead, if it's a slope - where things pick up speed - if there's a giant rock that no matter what, the water is just going to splash up against it, there's no way to know what's ahead. But the water just keeps. on. going. It must. It has somewhere to go. It is compelled to keep running.

Oh how I relate to this! Funny though, how I do not see any water down there throwing a fit because it is cold, or wet, or not comfortable. I supposed that would be quite a scene, huh?

Thankfully, for the purpose of this illustration and just in general - water is quite obedient. I suppose that's why people say, "go with the flow."

As I gaze at this babbling brook, I'm inspired by it. I suppose since I don't see a section of water complaining and pouting and feeling sorry for itself, I must relate to a section where the water is just barely squeezing by. And in some places, it's kind of just sitting there. Some of it's been there a while, too - because there is moss growing on the rocks.

Oh, how I have been in that place! Where it's dark and cold and it feels so stuck. And slimy! I hate to say it's been a tough year, I hate even more to write it because then I have to actually see the words on the page. But that's the truth. It has been a tough year, but as I said to Michael this morning as I lay my head on his chest in the morning sunlight shining down through the skylight - "It's been a tough year, but we've had one heck of an anniversary!" Seriously. The Nats game, this trip. What an awesome way to celebrate all that God has brought us through TOGETHER this past year. I'm looking forward to many, many more. With much less "moss."

Gotta just keep moving. Go with the flow, because I've got somewhere to go. And remember, these rocks are what make us beautiful, and special and authentic!

Data doesn't lie, neither do hips, but this isn't about hips

Have you ever heard the term, "data doesn't lie?" This is something I've leaned on in my profession as a journalist and a TV news executive.

1. When you can find raw data, it will tell you the truth in a way a human cannot. Humans experience things through a certain prism. They can only get you so close to the truth. Even if they get you right up to it, it's only their experience/interpretation of the truth. Data spit out by a computer, though, that has no feelings or frame of reference. That is what it is what it is.

2. I used to pay really close attention to TV news ratings. This was how we measured how well we were doing with our audience. Did all the marketing and promotion work? Did people watch? We could tell by viewing patterns if people were interested and how long they watched something, and at what point they left and went somewhere else, by the power of the remote control.

It turns out, as I leaf through old journals and blog posts, I see the truth of myself. I wish it were a prettier, more put-together picture - but it's not - and the data doesn't lie.  I am mostly a compilation of coffee and pretty notebooks and lots of false starts.

I think false starts is how I grow. I am a low and slow processor. Like a brisket. I take a long time to cook on an idea before it's ready to come out and be enjoyed. I'm always afraid when I get back on here that all I'm doing is adding another post to a list of posts with notebook pictures that declare "I'm back," when I'm really not.

You know, you're not supposed to do that. All of the blogging experts tell you not to acknowledge when you've been away, because your readers don't care. They are just glad you're there and they don't really want to read anything about where you've been or hear you talk to yourself.

Oh well. Here it is. I guess I'm still processing, as I write these posts.

I've never stopped writing

It's been really quiet here in this blog space over the last few years. But the truth is... I've never stopped writing. I just stopped publishing.

I don't know that I have the "why" on that figured out. That has me somewhat stuck. That's the way I am. I always want to analyze and figure things out before taking the next step.

But, I have lived long enough at this point to know not only is that not always possible, it doesn't even matter.

A few years ago, I started writing a book. Then, I over analyzed. I read too many things about book writing. I reached out to agents. I had a writing coach. I listened to podcasts, took notes fervently at conferences, I have entire notebooks dedicated to this goal.

Then, I put the whole idea on a shelf. It's been about four years since then. A lot has happened in life. A couple of moves, a couple of big professional steps. Some major losses. Most of it has happened away from the pages of this blog. It's all n the pages of these journals, though.

They are the Dead Sea Scrolls of my life. Joy, love, pain, fear, tears, grief, hope, heartbreak, endurance, character-building, success, anxiety. The stories are all there. I'm so glad they are, too. Because life passes by too quickly to process and I can't publish it fast enough.

Not that it will all be interesting and/or helpful to you. It won't be. But I sure do enjoy looking back and spending time with these old thoughts. Like old friends. Familiar and comfortable.

I've been thinking for a long time about getting back into the game. I feel like life has loosened me up, and I'm good enough to get back in without getting hurt. The basics will come back, right? Like how when I go play second base in a softball game, I just know what to do - even if it's been years since I've done it.

It's grafted into who I am. I am a writer. I experience life as a writer.

Since I feel the call to put words back to the screen instead of just pen to paper - I'm going to be obedient. But - I am also overwhelmed by the task, so instead of trying to figure it all out, I'm going to find things in these pages, and share them just as they were written in my journals.

It may be raw. It certainly will be out of order. I hope, somehow, it does some good.

Do you ever watch yourself and wonder?

I don't know if this is just a me thing. Maybe it's a you thing, too.

A couple of weeks ago, I was working late and I walked around the corner to get dinner. And I didn't take any phones with me. Yes, plural. All the phones. Nothing was in my pocket dinging, buzzing, beeping. A good 10 minute walk with none of this. A rare experience anymore. My phones are my constant companions. I am a slave to the little red notification bubbles. Must clear them all, stat.

Everything is urgent. Everything is important. (except that is a lie from the devil, but you know what I mean)

So there I was, walking down the street - just me and my thoughts. Like the old days. And you know what happened? Something came back that I haven't had in years, probably because of the phones I keep in my right and left pockets and can draw out simultaneously like a good cowboy in an old Western movie drawing his guns from his holsters.

I could hear myself think.

I used to have this running commentary in my head, almost all the time. Like one of those shows that's narrated like a character - Doogie Howser, Carrie Bradshaw style. It was one of the things that made me, me.

It came back, y'all. And it was great. It felt like sinking into a big comfy chair with a hot cup of coffee and the perfect light blanket.

I was watching myself walk down that street and I was proud. Head held high. I am doing this! I have overcome so much. I have earned so much. God has seen it fit to place me right here, right now. I get to do this life of mine. And it's good.

What a complete and total honor!

Note: since this grand revelation, you'd think I'd leave my phones behind for 10 minutes more often. That has not happened. But I have thought about it. And now I'm writing about it, so - progress.

Seriously, though - do you ever hear that commentary in your head? Do you ever watch yourself and wonder how you got here, how you do this? Do you let yourself star in your life? Do you realize you are doing this? You're rocking it out and you're making it happen and you're enough and you're doing a good job? Do you ever tell yourself that, instead of hustling for someone else to notice?

Because you are. You're rocking that school lunch assembly line and still getting to work on time. You're listening to and encouraging your husband like no one else can. You're a best friend. And this is it! This is our life! These are the moments we live for. They're happening right now. Don't miss them.

Don't rush through to the next thing, or panic because you don't know how you'll "do it all." In the wise words of Nike, just do it. One foot in front of the other. You've got this. It will lead to something more.

I recently saw a video a friend posted of how she transfers her husband into bed. You can watch it here.  He is a ventilator-dependent quadriplegic and getting into bed is a long process, and anyone who doesn't understand this spinal cord injury world may wonder how does she do it? 

I think those of us that live life with an extra (obvious) challenge are sometimes tempted to say, "we just do it because we have to." But there is more to it than that. It's an art. And that makes us artists.

The truth is you have hard things in your life, too. They may not be as obvious as a wheelchair. And you endure. You put on the big girl panties. You wipe the dripping mascara off your cheeks and press on. You hear the test results, swallow, pray, and plan the treatment schedule.

I encourage you to watch yourself and cheer yourself on. You wonder how you do it? Here's a hint: you're not alone. Also, all of this has a purpose.

Romans 5:3-5

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into hour hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Did you catch that? Sufferings lead to perseverance, which leads to character, which leads to hope.

I get that when you're in the middle of the suffering the hope thing is kind of hard to grasp. Believe me, I've been there! You can't skip a step! But I promise you if you persevere, you'll get to hope. It will float up. I know this, because it is my life.

The character part is key. It's not fun, but it's a necessary step in growth.

My prayer is that you'll be kind to yourself, keep going, and learn how much God loves you and see yourself in a whole new light.

There you go, that was stream-of-consciousness writing. I'm definitely rusty writing for an audience, but hopefully you see my heart and understand the message I felt led to share with you guys through this.

Saturday Morning Post, 2017 Edition

I haven't done one of these posts in years. But, here I am on the edge of my gray couch. Coffee to my right, next to my journal and the 6-week Bible Study I've been doing since November. Classical music playing, Michael still sleeping and Brokaw content with his blankie.

Saturday Morning Posts are where I take a deep breath, the tips of my fingers hit the keyboard, and we just see what happens. In the words of a Presidential tweet, "Enjoy!"

I can see the Pentagon from this perch. Isn't that unreal? Michael and I just have to pinch ourselves sometimes. Last night we ate out and walked home. We love living in this neighborhood so much.

I love my new job. Yes, it's overwhelming. It always is in the beginning. Like Hope Floats says, "Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that counts. So when you find yourselves at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will."

I had a tough week, emotionally. Well - I guess it was the last two weeks, really. The Facebook pregnancy announcements are killing me! I mean, there is even a giraffe having a baby! I hate that it stings. I am happy for my friends that they have achieved the gold medal. That they have new life on the way. I promise, I am happy for them.

It's just, at the same time, it makes my emptiness feel so urgent. Like when you don't think your'e hungry but then you see an IHOP commercial and then you're like "oh dang I am starving and I need a giant stack of pancakes right now." Except it's not pancakes, it's this life changing opportunity to love like you never have before and this giant responsibility you feel like for some reason you haven't been trusted for. You haven't been picked for the team and it hurts, hurts, hurts. 

I think it was the Facebook announcements. But maybe it's because I wrote the check this week to continue paying off the IVF attempts that didn't work for us. Or maybe it's because I started my period, which every month seems like a cruel reminder of emptiness.

Whatever it was, I want it to go away. I want to be free from this. I want to be free to just be happy for people without thinking of myself. I'm praying for that. God, change the desire of my heart. Help me defer my hope.

I do believe God has a plan for us and our family. I do believe I am right where I am supposed to be right now. I'm so thankful for this new opportunity professionally. I want to use the talents and gifts He has given me for His purposes. I love that Michael and I have more time as "just us," and I want to soak up this season for every moment and memory we can.

I will continue to snuggle my baby dog, Brokaw.  I'll continue hoping. I won't stop dreaming. But it would be great if the emotional part of it could just work with me.

5:00 p.m. Coffee

Currently having coffee at 5:38 p.m. in the tiny house. I made it in the tiny coffee maker. It's really not the best coffee, but it'll do. I had a 5:00 p.m. coffee the other day and the buzz was initially awesome, but then I was up all night and that was not so awesome.

I remember there being a lot of coffee when I was in DC before. There was the "Arlington" video with the Starbucks and the Starbucks and the Starbucks and the Starbucks. Y'all remember that?

I remember basically being a short, blonde ball of caffeinated energy with a White House hard pass, who worked and worked and worked and worked. I loved it.

I remember being a newlywed - overwhelmed trying to find my place in my new world. I remember coming into the role of "caregiver." This blog was kind of invented during that time.

I'm a different person now.

I've been back in DC for a couple of weeks. The novelty still hasn't worn off. There are memories at every turn. I am caught in the romance. This city, all that it represents and what it did for me years ago sweeps me off my feet once again. It's like living inside a high school reunion.

Yesterday, we interviewed the President. It felt great to be back at the White House. Like I'd never left, really. I'll never get over how cool it feels that they let me in. That I get paid to do this work. I love journalism. I'm so thankful for the opportunities it has given me to get to see, hear, and witness history.  After the interview, there was a rush to get clips out. The President made news. It was burning a hole in my pocket. So, I rushed back to the bureau and got into crank out mode, existing on the banana and blueberry muffin I had in the cab on the way back. 2:00 p.m. First time I'd eaten all day. I existed on coffee and adrenalin.

After producing the clips, I went to grab some real food. I walked by a restaurant that used to be McCormick and Schmick's. Now it's something else. But I remember the dinner I had there with Michael in 2012. We were out on date night and I had a big topic to discuss. I was ready for us to start trying for a baby. I wasn't sure what he would think. There was no logical way we would be able to make it happen, or care for a baby on our income at that time - so I didn't know how he'd react.

I just threw it on the table. He bit. And that was it. Cheers. We'd start trying. I left that McCormick and Schmick's bouncing on the inside. Full of hope and ideas. Possibilities. With no idea the road that was ahead.

I was gone for four years, chasing that baby dream. Believe me, I did everything I could think of to make it happen. Nothing, yet.

I didn't think I'd be back here. I didn't think we'd still be "just us." But - here we are. And maybe this is said in grief, and most people won't understand, but if I can't have a baby - being back here - doing this job - interviewing a sitting US President, that's a close second for me.

God has surprised me with His plans. So - I'm determined. I am going to completely live this life we get to have here in this city. Just us. I want to enjoy every bit of it. The journalism. The teamwork. The romance. The opportunities.

These are going to be good years. I just know it.

Back in DC

If it seems like the last two years swallowed me up, it's because that is the truth. What a challenging time! Most of it in a good way. And by "good," I mean the kind of good that totally sucks while it is happening... then you look back at old journals and realized God was at work on your heart the whole time.

How's this for a life curveball? I'm back in DC.

And - you know what? It feels like home. As I type this, I'm at the Panera Bread at Dupont Circle. (It will publish later, stalkers.) Jason Mraz plays in the background and there are a couple of college students behind me, talking about green energy across the globe, and a guy around the corner wathing videos on his phone in a way that makes me think he may secretly be getting video of me. Should I smile?

I'm back in DC. I'm back at CBN News, where I used to work - but in a different capacity. I didn't see this coming, but wow am I blessed to be here. I'm so excited for what is to come!

We are neck-deep in inauguration coverage planning and I love it. I love this stuff! But you already know that.

I didn't plan to come back.
I didn't plan on Myrtle Beach.
Sometimes, the plans come to us.

I know this much: His ways are higher than our ways. I know we are right in the middle of God's will. I just can't wait to get Michael and Brokaw here. After a season of hurt and loss and grief, I am looking forward to this season of us.

I changed their notebook: Thoughts on change

For the last four years, I've used the same Mead greenroom notebook for my day-to-day note taking at work. I've you have ever worked with me, you know I take a lot of notes. My brain works by writing things down, then looking back on them and reflecting.

So - these day-to-day notebooks are a collection of meeting notes, to-do lists, brainstorming sessions, problem-solving. It's all in there. I label them by the date on the top. Depending on the season at work, they can last 2-5 months.

I always buy my next notebook ahead of time. I like to be prepared. I typically browse the notebook aisle every time I'm at Target.

A few months ago, I noticed another type of greenroom notebook. Still greenroom (I like the feel of the recycled paper) but a little bit different. I picked one up, then decided to go with old faithful.

The last couple of times I was in Target, all they had were the new greenroom notebooks. So, I picked one up to try it. And I've been using it for the past few months.

I have not liked it. It's large. It's flimsier and the perforated pages tear out too easily. I decided when I go back to Target, I'm going back to old faithful.

And - there were none. I panicked! Posted on Facebook, pleading for friends to check their Target for my staple notebook, offered to pay shipping. Buy all that you see! I will pay for it! I need them!

After some googling, I realized Mead changed the notebook. Old faithful is no more. This is the new greenroom notebook and there is nothing I can do about it.

You guys - I am not exaggerating when I tell you I lost an entire afternoon of productivity over this. Me, the productivity junkie. I sat there on Ebay, Amazon, everywhere I could think of - looking for my notebooks. I was not happy. How can I rock without one of my key tools? I was mad at myself for not hoarding up on old faithful when I had the chance, and missing the signs that a change was coming.

Then - that night when I was driving home from work (yes, still thinking about my precious notebooks and how it was over) something hit me.

I changed their notebook.

Almost two years ago, I came to Myrtle Beach and became the News Director. This is not me taking credit, please understand that. This is me mourning the loss of a notebook and having an epiphany in my SUV.

I changed their notebook.

I preached "break the template" and "blow up the rundown" and "put the new in and kick the old out" until I was blue in the face. We added new people with a different vision and a faster pace and more newscasts and got a new set and a new graphics package. Things are very different than they were two years ago. We have had a lot of change.

We have a new notebook.

And you know what? They did it! My team persevered. I know not all of them liked it. They liked old faithful. They had done it that way for a long time, and done it well, and it worked.

Then I came in with the big, flimsy notebook with the pages that easily fall out. Metaphor here, people. Follow me.

I changed their notebook.
And they survived. Thrived. Made me so proud. Put up with me as I figured it out along the way. They trusted me.

So - I decided - I will be okay. If they could do it, I can too.
I need to break the template. Embrace the new. Change is inevitable. And it's going to be okay.
And I should practice what I preach, anyway.

I'm finally reaching the end of the flimsy notebook. And I haven't bought another one. I have a few to try. And it's going to be okay.

This is not a political post. I promise you it's super random that I am sharing my change epiphany three days after the election. This notebook thing happened the first week of October. Things have been a little crazy, so I am just getting to writing this out.

But - maybe we should all give the new notebook a chance. And if we don't like it, we will have a chance to try another one in the future. And we will be okay.

Overthinking friendship mid-30s

Thank you, people who read the words I put on the internet. It means something. Please know that. I know we are all bombarded, constantly, with so many messages. And you choose to click over here and spend some of your time with me.

I appreciate that.
It's nice having you.

We all want to be seen. And known.
Except for when we don't.

I hide when I don't want to be seen. I don't know about you. One time I saw a meme or like one of those fake internet T-shirts that said "I'm sorry I'm late. I didn't want to come."

That's been me. For the past, I don't know, three years or so.

I know it's not just me. What is it about the mid-thirties that makes us not want to get to know new people? I've been in this phase where I don't really want anything new at all.

I shop at the same stores all the time: Banana Republic, J. Crew, and The Limited.
I don't mind eating the same thing every day for breakfast: a smoothie and bacon.
I don't even like to watch new TV shows. I'm perfectly content re-watching the same series on Netflix (or Hulu or whatever they're on, Michael pulls them up for me. I make TV for a living but don't ask me to work one at home, or an iPad): Homeland, Parenthood, Gilmore Girls, I wouldn't mind watching all of 24 again.
I could be perfectly happy re-organizing my house every weekend and never talking to anyone.

I like my routines.
I like it when my old friends from other places come here to visit. I will stop what I am doing to meet them for coffee or dinner so we can laugh at things we already know are funny and skip the small talk that's necessary to get to know someone.

Making new friends takes effort. And I don't know about you, but I am tired.

When I took the job I have now, I underestimated how lonely it would be. There is a weird distance when you're the boss. And I get it. It should be there. The distance has a purpose.

Is it the internet's fault? It sure is easier to chat behind a screen than it is to make time to do it in person.

I want to be comfortable more than I want to be known. Because new friends are like work. I have made a couple of new friends here, though. And I am so thankful for them. That they kept asking me to do something, even if I said no 14 times. I have better friends than the friend I am, for sure.

When we get to the mid-thirties, we are all in these different places. Married or not, kids or not, multiple kids or an only child, career-focused or not, Pinterest-perfect or not, go to this or that church or not, have this political party affiliation or not, homeowner or not, etc. Hobbies and jobs are all over the place.

Growing up, we have more in common. Same for college. Even the twenties. But people in their thirties are all over the place. And we feel like we don't fit in with the people who are in their twenties or the people who are in their forties. Or, maybe we do.

It's a weird place to be. Maybe I'm overthinking it. And I have moved a lot over the years, so maybe I shouldn't blame my friend issues on my decade. Maybe I'm just tired from working every couple of years to make new friends.

Anyway. Just thinking about the random collection of friends who read this blog, and wanting you to know I'm so thankful for each of you, that our paths crossed at some point along the way and we weren't too tired or self-focused to miss out on the opportunity to get to know each other.

Dusting off the old blog

Have you ever been in an old house?

When my brother and I were kids, there was this house that was down the street by the church. If you rode your bike all the way to the end there were woods on the left. We would play back there. On the right there was a really old house. All I remember is it all looked like it was frozen in time. And there was cat food.

One time, we decided to go inside.

We opened the screen door on the porch. It slammed shut behind us. We look at each other. Did anyone hear that? Are we going to get in trouble? We tip toe to another door and open it. It's kind of creeky. It opens to a dusty, dim kitchen that looks kind of abandoned. But, we heard a TV on in the other room. We bolted out of there and stood our bikes up so fast and took off!

I don't know what we thought would happen. I haven't thought about this in years! I mean, really, what is the 100-year-old hoarding cat lady going to do, shoot us?

Tangent.
I was just thinking of a dusty, creeky old house and that memory came to mind. That, and the original "Flowers in the Attic" movie. So, I thought that memory was slightly happier.

It's been more than a year since I've creeked around this old space. This old space where my old feelings and dreams are piled up all over the place, covered in dust.

I'm not sure what it's going to be like going back to blogging. Will it be like an old friend who you can pick up where you left off? Or will it be awkward like where you take turns telling stories in chronological detail? Hit the highlights?

In some ways, it's like time stood still. In others, it's like it tick-tocked by while I was watching from a distance.

I don't know what it's going to be like.
I don't know how much I will be able to write on a regular basis.
I can tell you for sure that I have felt my heart being tugged back into writing more and more lately.
The desire to put words on the blank page in this familiar spot never truly went away.
I just got swallowed by life.

Like in one big gulp.
I think it's taken me this long to even realize it happened.
Not saying I'm past it, or I've figured it all out.

The other thing is - this space was where I poured out my soul when I was at my lowest, and it saved me. I put some really raw things on the internet when I was navigating those early days of marriage and caregiving and I lost myself and this helped me. A little virtual life raft.

This blog has changed over the years. I used to write about TV news and shopping and Brokaw, then I got married and it kind of became marriage and disability and caregiving-focused. Then it was dormant. I just kind of opened the valve and let whatever come out.

I don't know if that's smart or if that's how you're supposed to do it. But I am the boss of this space, so I guess I can do what I want. I worry less now about what people think of me. But, I do still care about my career and I don't want to say something dumb online.

So, I will need to be smart. Maybe pause before I hit "publish."

Maybe I'll just figure it out as I go. Isn't that we're all doing anyway? Prepare yourself for lots of writing about coffee and what God is doing (or not doing) in my life and a snuggly puggle and sappy posts about my husband loving me more than I deserve. Once I get my guard down, I'll tell you about this past year.

I think I need to, in order to move on.

Oh, and one other thing - I want to start a vlog. But I'm afraid of that. I'm afraid I'll overshare, I'm afraid you'll see how fat I've gotten, and I don't know when I'd have time to edit.

I cried in front of my staff today

Photo: CNN

I didn't know Alison Parker or Adam Ward.
I've never worked at WDBJ. In fact, I spent the first three years of my TV news career trying to catch up with WDBJ!

The internet doesn't need to hear from me.
But I need this blank screen tonight.

I need its space.
I need its grace.

I was in Roanoke when 9/11 happened. I didn't cry until 9/14. I was 20 years old. I immediately went into "breaking news" mode. I digested facts and video as accounts of tragedy came into a newsroom of Beta tape decks and big fat desktop computers. Churn, churn, churn. I remember thinking I should be feeling something, but I don't. I just keep churning. Update the ticker. Do a cut-in when NBC gives us a local availability. Book satellite time for our crew in DC. Cue the reporters. Write the scripts, sort the scripts. Count the show out and close with a shot of the red, white and blue Roanoke star on top of Mill Mountain.

I was a baby then.
20.
I didn't even know what a terrorist was or where exactly Afghanistan was on a map.
The day before that, I had been working on an animation about shark attacks.
I didn't feel anything for three days. Until my pastor prayed during my 6:00 p.m. newscast. I cried then.

I've worked in Roanoke, Norfolk, Pittsburgh, DC... I've covered plane crashes and school shootings and child abuse cases and horrible things being done to animals. I've been around the news sun quite a few times. I've been shaken a few times but not like today.

Today, I cried in front of my staff. At the head of a conference room table.

This morning, I found out about the shooting on my way to work. I hoped it was just a dramatic Facebook video. Maybe they are okay. Maybe it was just shots fired in the area, and they ducked and they are okay. I got to work and found out WDBJ didn't go on the air for the CBS This Morning cut-in at 7:25 and I knew then - it was going to be bad.

I was sitting in my office across from one of my fresh-faced-first-job-journalists just back from the Poynter Institute. She is newly inspired and I'm unpacking all she learned. The alert crosses my phone: Alison Parker and Adam Ward are dead.

It stopped me.
I fired off a quick e-mail to my staff: We will not be using the video. I didn't even think. I just hit send. It was like a reflex.

Then I went into the conference room for the morning editorial meeting. I bet TV newsrooms across the country had awkward morning meetings like ours this morning. We debated: Do we cover this from city council or preview that? Should we follow up on this bus story? I was trying to hard to listen and weigh in on story assignments but I couldn't hear any words. My Assistant News Director sounded like the Charlie Brown teacher. Time had stopped. I couldn't hear words.

I fired off a couple of e-mails to trusted mentors about the ethics of showing the video. Was my knee-jerk reaction the right decision?

I tuned back into the meeting. It had started with "Man, this is crazy." "So sad." "Did you see his fiancee' was the morning producer and she was in the booth and saw the whole thing?" "Any updates on if they caught the guy?"

Then the time came to talk about the video. Are we going to show it? I think Brene' Brown was whispering in my ear or something. I was trying to be so strong, y'all. But I sat there at the head of the table and shed a tear. I was just honest. Vulnerable. I told my staff: I can't hear anything. I can't focus. This is so terrible. I need your help to weigh the ethics of this video.

There were conference calls and logistics planning e-mails and updates to the story through the day.

In the middle of all of this, I found out my Granny Nora had a heart attack and for about an hour, I didn't know what was going on with her and if this crazy day was going to end at the airport, catching an emergency flight to California.

My morning anchor stood in my door as I got off the phone with my mom. I was almost in ugly-cry mode at this point. He told me to breathe. He was right. Air is good. (Granny is doing okay now, by the way.)

As I have gotten older, the churning has gotten harder. I think some of it has to do with the insane amount of information that comes at us faster than we can even comprehend. I think it's also because I'm not 20 anymore. I've lived more. I've loved. I've lost. These are not just stories we are telling. They're realities. It's not just a line on a rundown. The responsibility of what we do weighs heavily on me.

And I lead with my heart. To a fault!
I suck at hiding my true feelings. I knew I needed to pull it together, so I had to get out of the newsroom for a little bit.

I came back and we went on with more meetings and coverage and planning. But my heart was heavy through the day.

To my fellow journalists: Breathe. Cry if you must. But we have realities to tell. Do right by Alison and Adam. We have to go on.

I bet this is how teachers felt the day of the Sandy Hook shooting. Numb. Empty.
But we have to go on. We have realities to tell.

Do right by all of the victims' stories we tell. It's easy to feel this one, I'll admit. I've been the young producer who was dating a photog in Roanoke. There are 24-year-old fresh-faced up-and-coming reporters who work for me. I'll see them in the morning meeting tomorrow. Sitting right back in that seat where I cried today.

It's not always easy to feel the hurt and the loss when we don't identify with it. The crime victim. The plane crash victim. The people who are not shot on live TV. We need to serve all of them, too.

Breathe.
Forgive me for my tears. They don't mean I am weak. I promise. I am stronger than I look!
So are all of you.
We have realities to tell.

Paralysis Chores Pillow Case

Timehop: Then, now, and trying to let go of the "what's next?" life

I am a writer who requires a lot of space. I haven't had a lot of that lately. But I have had a lot of adventure!

Do you have the Timehop app on your phone?

Life is a giant Timehop, you know.
In the wise words of Truvy, "Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marchin' across your face."

This morning, I had an hour of quiet on the patio. Well, after Brokaw begged me to bring his blanket out there so he could join me. God forbid he lay on the actual ground, you know, like a dog.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude. For where I am. Right here on this back porch.

I never thought I'd be here.
In Myrtle Beach. Random.

I didn't think I wanted to be a News Director.

Timehop.

As I scan the app on my phone, I see a girl at the White House Correspondents' Dinner. A girl sitting for new head shots because she's all about blogging and writing. An eager crossfitter. An exhausted caregiver. A girl who learns how to bake. How to plant a little garden.

I hop from one thing to the next. It's all documented with those little graphics that say "1 year ago... 4 years ago..."

---
I am a naturally driven person. I came out that way. I never struggled with making and reaching goals. My struggle is that I'm addicted to it. I always have to be moving towards whatever the next thing is.

When I was a young producer, it was all about getting to a higher profile newscast. Then a bigger market. My big dream? DC. The White House. I did it. Then it was getting the big interviews on the campaign trail.

When it came to love, I slowly fell in love with a boy over the internet who I always knew deep-down, he'd be the one for me.

It wasn't until I got married that I faced things that I couldn't just hop over.

My husband's disability was a huge one. It rocked my world. Fundamentally changed me on the inside and the outside. I'm used to it now. I've made peace with "three."

A couple of years ago, I thought I'd turn the amp down on my career, move home, make a baby. It didn't work out like that. I was sad for a while.

But, now I look around here where I am, and I'm not sad I don't have a baby. I came through that and ended up in this place. This random place. Myrtle Beach.

It turns out, I love being a news director.

Time marches on.
I'm a grown-up now. Maybe some time soon I'll learn to stop thinking so much about where I've been and where I'm going and enjoy the right now.

Our New Life

The past few months have been as life-changing as any in our marriage.

Looking over our blog posts from northern Virginia, when we were newlyweds in way over our heads just wondering if we could make it through the daily routines, today seems like we've come full-circle but so much stronger.

Dana took a new job in Myrtle Beach in January. We anticipated moving in March because February is a big month for TV ratings. But the company insisted she take her new position BEFORE the February books. So we faced an enormous challenge:

• breaking our lease
• moving to a NEW STATE!
• finding a new apartment
• packing and moving
• establishing all of our systems in our new home

We have never prayed for strangers as much as the family who would assume our lease. There was NO WAY we could pay two leases for a year. We loved our place in Virginia Beach and its location. Even our little community. We were finally on a day schedule and getting settled into life. Had even signed a two-year lease.

Before leaving for Myrtle Beach, Dana crammed in a weekend-long effort to pack everything we wouldn't need for the next month. She labeled each box and sorted things for the upcoming move.

Michael was set to hold down the fort while she found our new apartment.

Somewhere between finding accessible and affordable apartments and reviewing the moving package and costs we realized we could OWN a house for less than rent.

The home buying process was drawn out. We felt like every turn became an obstacle. We faced familiar challenges --nobody builds truly accessible stand-alone houses-- and new --nobody really wants to lend you money without a thorough and invasive background check. Dana collected a novel-sized binder of paperwork for the big purchase.

Our realtor found a couple to lease the place in Virginia Beach. And they didn't want to move in until the end of March. Perfect!

Week after week somebody pushed back us actually buying our house. Had Dana not persisted (with the creative intervention of our amazing realtor) we might have lost our house and ended up in an apartment last minute. Quite literally, it really was THE LAST MINUTE.

Four weeks grew into SEVEN long weeks apart. An ocean-front rental was just empty without Dana's whole family together. And Michael and Brokaw spent many restless nights in a half-empty bed. This reunion in our new home was long overdue!

Today Dana spends long days running the news department at her new station. This is a new, exciting, and consuming role. Michael is holding down the fort at home with the pets. We're still working trough the system to arrange for home health care and other basics. Dana is THE home health care again. We are familiar with that challenge. So, we are still in this transition.

I Didn't See This Coming

It is good to be thankful.

Yesterday, as I was about to leave work, I opened a window on my computer and googled "Thanksgiving Desserts." I started scrolling through recipes, thinking about what ingredients I had on hand, then a thought crossed my mind: "What am I doing?"

And just like that, I shut the computer down, drove to Kroger, bought a cake and came home.

Contentment.

A quick scroll through my TimeHop App takes me back to Thanksgivings past, when I made Pumpkin Trifle, and Strawberry Scones, and Homemade Bread. And the year Michael was sick and we stayed home and I made turkey and all the trimmings on a whim, that day.

Those were great days.
But that's not where I am anymore. I love where I am now. I never would have thought my evenings would look the way they do.

I come home from work, and dinner is either made, or almost made. By a guy who can't fully use his hands. He has limited use of his arms, and no use of his fingers. I never in a million years would have thought those wrists would peel carrots, chop potatoes, sauté asparagus, make Rosemary Chicken, Pot Roast, the list goes on.

But he does it, y'all. It's crazy. He does it and I come home and sometimes chop the meat and always we eat together and gush over how good it is.

It is good to be thankful. It is good to not have to do it all.

When Michael and I got married there were some things I knew I'd have to do. I embraced the cooking. I love cooking, actually! But it does take time at home. And because I work so much, I have far less time at home. So now we are one of those couples where he cooks and she cleans up.

And now I'm a girl who brings a store-bought cake to Thanksgiving and is totally fine with it. Because my identity is not found in the kitchen. Not that I'm saying yours is if you've cut out leaf-shaped pie crust. Go on with your bad self, girlfriend! That's awesome.

Life is season after season after season. I'm content right here in the middle of this one.

A Confession: No Longer Who I Was

I am a girl who appreciates order and color coordination. I am on time, I wake up before my alarm, I read three newspapers every morning and I'm generally annoyingly prepared for anything.

I am a girl who knows what she wants. Once I figure that thing out, I go after it with my whole heart and I almost always get it.

I'm not that familiar with failure. Or heartbreak.

I think that's why you saw me pouring my heart out over coffee and tears here in this blog space a few years ago. Because I met my match. The thing I couldn't outwit, couldn't out perform, couldn't get in front of, couldn't change: my husband's disability.

I have heard from so many of you who tell me my words could be your words. That I gave you a voice. That I inspired you to love your husband and admit that it's hard at the same time. Girls, that gave me so much strength to walk this walk on the days I didn't want to wake up. Thank you.

Thank you for being the community that didn't even exist when I first needed it. Thank you for the flowers and cards and text messages and blogs of your own and pictures of ways to make the little things in life accessible.

We are the quad wife sisters and no one can ever take that away from us. But I have to be honest with you. I've changed.

I am no longer the girl who cries all the time. I'm no longer the girl whose heart is broken when the church people fall all over themselves to help him while the door slams in my face. I am no longer the girl whose hair is falling out and skin is broken out and can't take all of the pressure of doing it all around the house.

A lot has changed. It changed a little bit at a time. I think that's called healing.

What I'm not saying is it's all better. I still have days I cry on the floor. I still have outbursts of anger and fights with God that include lots of "Why?" questions. I still miss the memories I'll never have. I have moments where I see my life as if I'm looking at it from the outside and I can't help but feel a little bit sorry for us. But mostly, I'm just generally happy with what we have.

It's healing. I'm sure of it. I want this for all of you, too. I believe it will come. I think you have to feel it for it to heal, though. So please, poke around here in the archives and cry with me. I'll cry with you. This experience has fundamentally changed who I am. And I'm glad. I'm a better person for it. I never would have made it here without all of you.

But I felt like it was time I came clean. My life is full and disability and caregiving is a part of it but it's no longer the main character. I don't know what that means for this blog. It may be a little more random in the days to come. Less focused? I'm not sure. My boss tells me I suck at poker face. Guess what? I suck at poker face writing, too.

So, I'll write from where I am and you can read from where you are and hopefully, we'll connect some where in the middle and encourage each other to bravely do the hard things and to love like this.

My Pleasure Vs. My Pity

Have you ever noticed at Chick-Fil-A, when you thank them for your food, they say, “My pleasure.” Note: They’ve started doing this at McDonalds, too. I obviously eat more fast food than I should. Anyway, I’m not writing about fast food, I’m writing about giving.

I give a lot in my life. I guess a lot of giving just comes with the territory when you are a caregiver. I don’t only give a lot at home, though. I give a lot at work, too. I am a leader. I believe leaders should be servants. Servants give.

I often find myself at the end of my rope. I am just empty. I hate it. I want to be able to give more, because I can see more is needed. Honestly, that’s the number one reason I’ve strayed away from writing on this blog – because I just don’t have anything to give. To write. To say. I feel guilty about this.

I think it’s easiest to give when it is my pleasure. I wish it was always a pleasure, but it’s not. Especially before I have any coffee.

We work an overnight schedule. Translation: We don’t sleep. Every Friday, we are exhausted and aim to sleep for about 12 hours. When I really sleep on Fridays, I dream. I almost always dream that I am constantly woken up and asked for things. It’s usually Michael who asks me for things in my dreams. Last night, I had this dream back-to-back about 6 times, then I woke up to him actually asking for something, and I got it for him but I was not nice about it. Failure.

This morning, Michael woke up with a scratchy throat. We decided to stay home from church. I was sweet to him, right off the bat. I got him some medicine, stroked his hair. I was all impressed with myself. I got the thermometer to take his temperature, did that, then he made one unsolicited comment – something about wiping the thermometer off with an alcohol swab and BOOM, I got mad.

No longer my pleasure. My service was tainted. I was annoyed, feeling like a victim, like a slave, like I’m just here to do the work. I actually felt the change happen in my heart. And I hate it! I want it to be my pleasure.

I constantly have to fight for my pleasure. I have to confess, pray, listen to music, have alone time, write, talk to other wives who get it, and eventually I can get back to the place where I can take care of him with a sweet spirit. I hate that I have to fight for this. I wish it was easier.
—
Earlier this week, Michael’s home health aide called out sick. (We’re thinking that’s where he got the throat thing.) I had already woken up an hour early so I could be out of our bedroom and out of the way, so I was mad I was going to have to step up and get him up and dressed myself, and I had to do it without an hour of sleep I would have had, had I known when we went to bed that she wouldn’t be coming in that night. I started getting him ready and then we were thrown a curveball. I’m not going into detail, but it was not fun.

I have a mode I go into when this happens and I went into the mode. I am a household appliance. I’m a tornado of plastic gloves, washcloths, anti-bacterial spray and laundry detergent. I clean up the mess and theoretically, it’s gone. But the fact that it happened hurts. And the hurt lingers. And I fight with God: Why? How? So many questions. Don’t you see? Don’t you care?

I broke down in tears and laid down with Michael. Snuggled beside him on his right shoulder. He accepts me when I am a mess like this. When I can’t do it. When it’s not my pleasure. When I pity him. When I pity us. When I can’t climb and claw and fight my way to just face the day.

Once I got him up, I made coffee and warmed up dinner and I went upstairs to get ready for work. And the waves kept crashing. I couldn’t rally. I ended up taking a sick day. I fell asleep on the couch. I made it through the night, after all.

I look back at our live together over the last five years and I remember so many days that were filled with pity in those early years. I serve more out of pleasure, these days, thank God! When this happened the other night, Michael brought up Sisyphys. I told him I used to feel like Sisyphus all the time. Now, it’s rare. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or not. On one hand, at least I’m not pushing that rock up the hill already exhausted. On the other hand, I am out of practice.

The bottom line here is it’s way easier to serve, to give, out of pleasure than it is out of pity.