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.

What a Dusty Ceiling Fan Taught me About Dreams

For the past few weeks, I have been reading Jennie Allen's book, "Restless." I heard Jennie speak at Allume, and her book was in the swag bag.

I thought I was going to write a book this year.

There's a plug in my brain, though. Nothing is flowing out. But, I've been ferociously reading. I can't get enough. It's like I just learned to read and it's new and it's all I want to do. It's been years since it's been like this.

So, I've been going with it. I figure if I have no wisdom to pour out, I might as well be filled up, right?

In Jennie's book, there are journaling exercises. I put pen to paper the other day, old school style, answering the questions in the book. I found myself crying. It was strange. I was sitting on my couch, with a cup of coffee, my book, my journal, my hand in minor pain because I'm not used to actually writing with a pen anymore, and it hurts.

And something poured out, y'all.

Jennie asks, "When you anticipate dreaming, what are you afraid of?"

I am most afraid of wanting something I can't have. When I want something, I get obsessed with it. I think about it first thing in the morning when I wake up, then I google it all day long, then I can't fall asleep because I'm thinking about it. This method of 'dreaming' has paid off for me in the past. I can think of a few specific examples: In college, I dreamed about working in a newsroom. I did it. I dreamed about working at the White House. I did it. I dreamed about falling in love with and marrying Michael. I did it. I dreamed about traveling and covering a presidential campaign. I did it. I dreamed about moving home, decorating this house. I did it.

Recently, though, my dreams have stopped. I think it's because I gave up on them. For a while, I dreamed of having a baby. It didn't happen. I've dreamed of being a writer. Y'all, I'm a reader. Those dreams have seemed so far out of reach, I don't allow myself to continue to dream.

I'm afraid of dreaming impossible dreams. I fool myself into thinking I'm content that my husband is well, my house is clean, I'm doing a good job at work. Oh, maybe I'll dream about making a difference there, that's what I'll do. I'll dream about CrossFit. Yeah, those are good, reachable dreams.
I don't want to be discontent. So I just don't admit that I am.

At this point, I realize I'm a poser when it comes to dreams. Embarrassing.

Jennie asks another question, "Do you feel discontent right now, and how does that discontentment tie into a desire for a purpose?"

Uh oh, y'all. I did not read ahead. I did not know her second question was totally going to hit me where it hurt. I make another k-cup, and proceed with caution.

I'm not sure if my discontentment ties into a purpose or any kind of desire. I think I'm too busy to notice. I do it to myself, all the time. Maybe so that I won't have to face my fear of dreaming? So I am discontent. Damn it!

I fill up my moments with responsibilities. That way, I don't feel bad about being focused on things like work, taking care of Michael, cooking, cleaning, because those are all good and necessary things to spend my time doing. But my days are completely filled up with responsibilities and I am too burned out to even think about dreams, desires, passion and purpose.

Then I stopped writing for a moment, because of the searing pain in my ring finger of my right hand, from the writing. My poor hand was trying so hard to keep up with my brain that is used to working with two typing fingers.

Ouch.

I glanced up at the ceiling fan over our dining room. It's always in motion. That is so me! I am that hardworking ceiling fan! I never stop. That's why I can't see my dust. That's why I don't even realize I'm discontent. I'm always spinning and I am doing my job, a good job, no one thinks to turn me off and so no one ever sees my dust, but oh is it there!

That ceiling fan has a few bulbs burned out. They've been burned out for months. I notice that it's darker. But when the fan is in motion, you can't see that it really needs to be dusted. The lights don't work when the bulbs are burned out, but the fan will keep working, no matter how dusty it is. I imagine, however, that at some point, dust will begin flying off the fan, and will dirty up the whole downstairs.

I should probably clean it at some point.
And, I should probably stop spinning.
And start dreaming again.

On Goodbyes, and Dreams, and Such

I need to write.
I can feel it in my bones.
I ache for my thoughts to become words and for my fingers to tap this keyboard, and for this blank page to fill up.

But, I haven't.
I don't want to.

Because it's hard.
Because it hurts, kind of.

We're moving on Tuesday.

There are boxes piled 7 feet high in our apartment.
There are checklists, and bubble wrap, and e-mails to insurance agents, and goodbye lunches, and parties, and today there will be cupcakes in my office. My mother-in-law has been packing, and cleaning, and taking care of my husband, and sleeping on a futon that is in like a bunker of boxes, near a drafty window.

There is one K-cup in my drawer, a mouse pad, a can of hairspray, and a coffee mug in the space at work where I have lived for the last three years.

It all feels so final.

And like most things in life, you don't realize how great they are, how much you love them, how much you will miss them, until you face that finality head-on.

Like selling a house.
You put in all the work you never did right before you sell it.
And you realize, this is a great house - and you're jealous of the person who buys it, because there is a big part of you that secretly wants to stay.

There is still so much to do.
I need to make copies of keys, and write big checks, and say tearful, mascara lining my face goodbyes. I need to pick up my step-dad from the airport so that he can drive my SUV down to our new home.

But I want to hang on.
I want to drink all of this love that we're being sent of with in, slowly. I want to sip each and every sweet mouthful, taste it, and say grace.

There is plenty about DC that I will not miss - like traffic, and the metro, and parking garages, and people who don't speak English. I won't miss living in an apartment. I won't miss the gate that surrounds our neighborhood that feels like a cage. I won't miss having to walk around with four different magnetic IDs hanging around my neck, feeling like I have to prove who I am anytime I come to work, go to a press event, come home, or get on the train. Like a tagged cow or something.

But, wow is there a lot I will miss, like the sun rising over the Capitol when I'm driving into town. Like my awesome co-workers, who I have traveled the country with so much that I don't think I'll ever forget their middle names or birthdays. Like the hugs of good friends who I know I'm not really saying goodbye to, but I kind of am. Like the thrill of hearing Hail to the Chief, and watching the President of the United States, in person. Like going to White House briefings, and feeling like I'm in a real life version of The West Wing.

Working in DC was my dream when I was a 19 year old college student, interviewing for my first internship in TV news. The main anchor who ran the intern program asked me what I wanted to do, and I told him I wanted to cover the White House.

I am so blessed.
I have lived my dreams.

There is literally only ONE thing that I didn't check off my professional bucket list. Riding on Air Force One. And you know what? I'm not giving up. It could still happen, one day.

In many ways, I'm leaving this dream job to go back.
Back to my hometown, to be surrounded by my family.
Back to local news, where I started this long road of journalistic dreams coming true.
Back to the TV station I watched when I was a little girl, and I first fell in love with news.

I worked there before.
When I was a news baby.
I'll start at WAVY TV 10 almost exactly 10 years to the day of the first time I started there, in February 2003. I was 23 years old. And at that time, I was on a dream track already. Getting that job at WAVY then was my dream. The first step on my list.

Wow, have I been checking things off, since then.

But dreams, you know, they change.
I don't think they die.
But I do think they grow, as we do.

And now, my dreams are different. This opportunity to move to Virginia Beach, to work at WAVY, to be close to family, friends and the people who shaped me into who I am today, is just too good to pass up. I feel like God is smiling down on me, as He leads me down this road.

I feel my heart shifting from a posture of "God - I want this!!!" to, "God, let's do this..." and, I think that's a good thing.

Let Me Tell You About Today

I woke up this morning, really excited about the day.  It was going to be a big day.
I was going to have the privilege of sitting at the Head Table for the National Press Club luncheon today.
Oh, let me mention, the speaker was going to be TOM BROKAW.

Yeah. Like that Brokaw.

But first, I went to work like any normal day, except when I got there to tape our show today, I had to run Playback. Read: I had to roll the soundbites for our show. Which was kind of hilarious because I do not do math well, and am not very technical.

But, miraculously, I didn't screw up!  Yay me.
After that, I hopped in a cab, and headed over to the Press Club!  I tried to do something with my hair in the cab, but it was a flat mess.  Oh well.
When I got there, I was so thrilled to see my old friend, Charlitta, at the pre-luncheon reception! We were camera/stalking buddies as Mr. Brokaw entered the room.  I took a picture for Charlitta, but I was told since I was at the head table, to wait.   I was nervous I wasn't going to get a picture with Tom Brokaw, but I did! Yay. Check!

 Too bad I was having a flat hair/fat face, but as previously, discussed, whatever!  I met Tom Brokaw one other time at the White House, and told him about Brokaw the dog, and he got a kick out of it.  So, I reminded him of my Brokaw today, and again, he was amused :)

When the President of the Press Club was introducing the Head Table, he introduced me as the White House Producer for CBN News and the owner of a dog named Brokaw, no disrespect.  The crowed laughed, and clapped and I tried to explain to everybody that naming my dog after Mr. Brokaw was a good thing!  I thought for sure, when he stepped up to the microphone, that he would say something about my Brokaw.

But, unfortunately, you know who was seated two seats down from me? Freaking Walter Cronkite IV!  Yeah, as in THE Walter Cronkite's grandson!  So, when Tom stepped up to the mic, he shared a couple of funny stories about Walter Cronkite II.  Oh well.

I really, really enjoyed Mr. Brokaw's speech. He spoke about the theme of his new book, and talked a little bit about education, and how journalism has changed, and the nerd that I am, yes, I took notes right there on my iPhone.

And, I took a picture of my cupcake.

And, then I ate it.  What a COOL lunch, right?
Charlitta gave me a ride back to work, where I pinched myself for the rest of the day, as I performed inbox maintenance, thought about the next couple of Presidential debates, and imported the discs from the show we shot today.

Then, my friend Sarah sent me the picture of me with Tom Brokaw, and I had flashbacks of being a little girl, and watching his live report on the Berlin Wall coming down.  Flashbacks of being a 6:00pm producer in a small market, who would always stay in the control room for an extra minute after my show was over to watch the headlines for Nightly News.  My dream job (I thought at the time) was to be the producer who put those headlines together!  Tom Brokaw is one of my major professional inspirations. When I got my dog, I got a boy dog so that I could name him BROKAW.

Wow.
This afternoon, I drove home, anticipating a yummy dinner because, as Michael wrote yesterday, tonight was National Men Make Dinner Day or something like that.  All I knew this morning was that I was asked to get some angel hair pasta out of the pantry, and take some shrimp down from the freezer to thaw.

He had me at shrimp.
House smelled amazing when I got home.

And somebody was real proud.
With good reason.

Y-U-M.
Almost as good as dinner, was the really, really cute proud smile Michael had on his face.  So sweet.
What a great day!
And it's ALMOST Friday!!!!

I Want to Work at a Farmer's Market

I took this picture last week in New Hampshire, at a Farmer's Market we stumbled upon while we were shooting a story about the economy, and the upcoming election.

Let me get this straight right off the bat: I am currently working at my dream job.  My ultimate goal was always to cover the White House.  I've done that.  I've sat in the seat in the briefing room, attended Presidential press conferences, and visits of foreign leaders.  Now, my life is focused on covering the race for the White House in 2012, and I've been following the GOP candidates around the country since January.  It is so much fun!  And I am LOVING it.

But, there's something romantic about a Farmer's Market.  My eyes open a little brighter.  I see the colors of the fresh produce, I smell the home made baked goods, and I want to touch all of the beaded necklaces and bracelets and what not made by hand.

It's like stepping into Etsy, live!

One day, probably not until I'm an old retired lady, I totally want a booth at a Farmer's Market.  I don't know what I will sell.  Not produce, I'm not so good with plants.  Probably homemade bread, and jams, yum!  It would be so much fun to set up a little booth, have a cute little sign, and do something totally on my own.

I'd never get rich at it, though. (Not that I'm ever going to get rich being a journalist.)  I am my mother's daughter in my spirit to create and do things on my own.  But, I am not a born businesswoman.

Ah, maybe someday.  Maybe someday, I could make and sell my own stuff.  And write about it, of course.