serendipity to the core

"for whatever we lose, like a you or a me, it's always ourselves we find in the sea." -e.e.cummings

I spent a lot of time at the beach in October. Oh how my soul longs to live by the sea. Destin, Florida is a home away from home. My family has retreated to the same place for over a decade. We know the staff, year-round residents, and even the couple that puts out the chairs and umbrellas. I love traveling to new places, but nothing beats going to where you know you belong.

My favorite thing to do in the world is to go for a long run and then sit with a book on the beach to watch the sunset. One afternoon in my last trip I was reading by the ocean and I started to wonder what made the sea so special to me. I paused to stare at the ocean and it hit me: simplicity. It is that it is constant. It's so comforting to know that no matter how many things change within a year, I sit in front of that massive body of water, and everything seems to be well with the world.

On this particular day, something unique happened after I'd been sitting there awhile. Scott, a surfer, called out to me and said "ashley, look!" I looked up where he was pointing and saw something extraordinary: a double rainbow. On both sides of the sun was a rainbow. It baffled me because it hadn't even rained at all. He said that it was a very rare sight. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. It was a perfect example of serendipity. I went to the sea expecting yet another lovely sunset, but I went away with something more.

When I go down by the sandy shore
I can think of nothing I want more
Than to live by the booming blue sea
As the seagulls flutter round about me
I can run about when the tide is out
With the wind and the sand and the sea all about
And the seagulls are swirling and diving for fish.
Oh – to live by the sea is my only wish.
-Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy

we've hit the glass ceiling, so now what?

[to Katie]
Hubbell Gardner: You hold on and I don't know how. And I wish I did. Maybe you were born committed... I can't get negative enough. I can't get angry enough. And I can't get positive enough.
-The Way We Were
ok so i have a love/loathe relationship with Maureen Dowd. Yes the firey red haired columnist for the New York Times. Yes the uber left liberal. I check the New York Times like it's my day job. Like constantly. And every time she has a new column I will hesitate before I click on the link which will inevitably lead me to reading a column that makes me question what I once thought was so true.

So this one was about happiness. Males v. Females.--who's happier?
It got me thinking. I think women are more overwhelmed than they used to be. This whole breaking the glass ceiling effort was supposed to rocket women into CEO land where they could rise to the same position as any man. But ay- here' s the rub. Women still wanna cook. Wait. Stop. Not me of course. I don't wanna cook. But a lot of women still wanna cook.

Excerpt from her column: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/20/opinion/20dowd.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1253885003-3X1x9abQGna8ny6wffaa7g

Women are getting unhappier, I told my friend Carl.

“How can you tell?” he deadpanned. “It’s always been whine-whine-whine.”

Why are we sadder? I persisted.

“Because you care,” he replied with a mock sneer. “You have feelings.”

Is that why women are unhappier overall? Because we care? That disturbs me and fascinates me at the same time. Does caring lead to overanalyzing which leads to feelings of helplessness and unhappiness?

Sometimes I feel sorry for my male friends. They say how was work? or how was yoga? or how was your weekend? A simply question in their mind. A question they probably want a "great" or even "fine" answer for. But no, usually they get something longwinded and by the end of the conversation I've told them what book I'm reading, what I had for lunch, and how I am freezing but no I still won't start wearing socks. Luckily they feign interest.

When I am frustrated with a person or situation or being overcommitted and am talking to one of my male friends, he will usually respond with this little line: "Then why are you around him/her?" or "Then stop." I usually respond "I can't. I care. So I can't stop." and they say "Then I don't know what to tell you. Wanna go get Wendys though?"

So what's the answer? Care less? I think though that caring is what is lacking in society. If people cared more, they'd give more. And giving more would lead to less poverty, and less suicides, and less unhappiness?

so hmmm. that's all i gotta say. hmmm.

Harry Burns: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally Albright: Which one am I?
Harry Burns: You're the worst kind; you're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
-When Harry Met Sally

her cup runneth over...

As in the case of wines that improve with age, the oldest friendships ought to be the most delightful. --Cicero
I don't remember a time when Laurel was not in my life. I am two and a half years older than her, but we might as well have been born the same day because my earliest memory contains Laurel. There's something to be said for that...for that person that has been there as long as your memory goes back.

Laurel's mom and my mom have been best friends since they were in 5th grade. Pam, Laurel's mom, served as maid of honor in my mom's wedding. My mom served as matron of honor in Pam's wedding. If I was Catholic then I'm sure at some point a ceremony would have taken place making Pam and her husband my godparents. They are family.

The Laurel I know now can be described sweet spirited, elegant, intelligent, and displined with both work and school. The Laurel of my youth? Hell on wheels. She sang country songs at the top of her lungs. Drank a gallon of milk a day. Drug a dog named scooter around like it was a cabbage patch doll. Insisted on opening my birthday presents along with me at my birthday parties. Picture all that behavior combined with her also being the most adorable little girl you have ever seen. Her mom dressed her in the cutest children's clothing. She was the definition of the expression "awwww." Behind that though was guts and glory. She knew right out of the womb that it was just a matter of minutes before she was going to hit the stage and so therefore spent her young years preparing for that debut. I just knew she'd eventually have a tattoo. And a boyfriend name Zeke. Think Gretchen Wilson and that's what I thought Laurel would become. I would have taken her as a country music star, probably would have begged to have been her personal assistant. I am pleasantly surprised though to have seen her grow to be one of the most eloquent, mild mannered, and graceful women I know. A person of faith who wants to be a teacher. Little Laurel? Rambunctious. Adult Laurel? Classy.

When Laurel was little, she thought I hung the moon. No exaggeration. She acted as if I was literally the coolest person on planet earth. I remember going out to eat and if the waiter asked her what she wanted before they asked me, she'd say "Ashley, what are YOU getting?" This ran all over me! One time I think I even ordered something I knew she wouldn't like, to test her allegiance. Didn't phase her. She ordered the exact same meal. I should have been flattered because Lord knows I was NOT the coolest person on earth. I should have been delighted that she put me up on a pedestol. But it irritated me to no end. Then I remember the day that we went to dinner and she didn't ask what I was ordering. It broke my heart. That day I wished for was here and now I didn't want it anymore. I never envisioned a day that she would assert her independence and not strive to be just like me. If you are not convinced yet how much she loved me, let me tell you this: I nicknamed her Wart when she was younger. I don't remember why I started calling her wart but I did. I think I said it was because she never went away. She didn't even mind that nickname. Pretty sure she liked it. She would even write Wart underneath her signature when she sent me a card. Anybody else would have said, by the age of 16 at least, "pick another nickname, that's cruel!" But Laurel embraced it and kept the tradition alive up until a few years ago. And actually, while I'm thinking of it, I'd like to remind her that she's slacking on using that term of endearment when she sends me a card. Bring that tradition back.

Make no mistake though: deepdown I have always seen myself as Laurel's security guard. I will defend her to the death. Even though I don't fight, I will admit that when I've heard a story about anyone being mean to Laurel or hurting her feelings, I've actually considered hauling my hiney to the culprit's house and showing them who's boss. Laurel is so nice that I have never been able to understand how anyone could be anything but kind back to her. Very few people are completely free of mean bones. Laurel is one of those people. She is incapable of being rude or mean.

When people talk about having a sister, I've never felt like I missed out on having one. I never felt envious or jealous. I always felt like Laurel and I were sisters. We are both only children, so we kind of have the best of both worlds. We are sisters in every definition of the word, except we are not blood related. We each have a wonderful set of parents though too that have showered each of us with as much love and affection as any children in the world have received. We have been through countless experiences together: each of us has moved more than once to a different city, we've lost family members, experienced the joy of successes and the disappointment of failures. We've even watched a cow give birth. Nothing has been off limits in this friendship. What connects and roots us most deeply though is not supporting each other through experiences. It's not even that our moms are best friends. It's our bond in Christ. We pray, serve, and worship the same God. I can't imagine a better thing to share with a friend than a common love for the Lord.

Last night I get a text from Laurel that represents another experience in her life that I'll be there for: her upcoming marriage to her fiance Wes!
Last night I got this text from Laurel:
"Shut up! Wes just proposed! I am speechless."
I started to type back: "What?! But you're just a baby?!"
But instead I wrote back: "Did you say yes? ;) "
and she replied: "I don't let a good opportunity pass me by."
The funny thing is that while we were at The Frist on Saturday, I said to Laurel's boyfriend Wes "hey Wes, I hope you're ok with Laurel hyphenating her last name when you all get married, which I'm assuming you all will because we decided in Chicago she may need to hyphenate her last name. " I can't imagine what he was feeling inside knowing that he was about to propose.

So, I'm writing this to the loveliest girl I know. I hope she realizes I'm filled to the brim with excitement over this news. Her living out her dreams brings me as much joy, maybe more, as when my very own dreams are fulfilled. I am writing this also as my plea to her to not decide to elope. I know she is humble and doesn't like receiving a ton of attention, but I hope she'll let me be there. Whether it's a huge event with a gazillion people or a small affair with a few guests, I hope she'll let me be there. Because, with a few exceptions where I've failed to be there, I've been present for all the other big events of her life. This should be no exception. So please let me be first on the invite list. And when you send it, in the return address section, leave off the return address label. Just simply write Wart... and know that I'm thrilled you've never gone away.

Said Mrs. Browning, the poet, to Charles Kingsley, the novelist, "What is the secret of your life? Tell me, that I may make mine beautiful also." Thinking a moment, the beloved author replied, "I had a friend."

lesson on love

So I was in a house recently that was not my own. I didn't know the people. I was there with someone because they were looking to possibly buy the house.

When I was looking around the house, something caught my attention. A big framed family picture. It was a beautiful picture of the family, complete with a mom dad son daughter and dog. Not to be cliche, but they really did look like the all-American family. As I looked at the picture, something else caught my eye. It was a framed letter sitting next to the black and white family print. I hadn't even noticed it at first because it was downplayed by its size sitting next to the 8x10photo. A lot of people would have respected their privacy and not read it. But I rationalized that it was out in the open and they knew that people would be touring the house, so obviously they wouldn't mind.

It was a letter that a girl had written to her friend. It was dated 1997(the month and year i don't remember) , written at Notre Dame (maybe they were in college together). The woman had written down her thoughts when she suddenly realized one night that her friends (I'm assuming the people that lived in the house I was touring) were right for one another. She wrote her observations down about this couple, how she thought they completed one another, balanced each other out. It was so endearing because she was so honest about both of their personalities and stressed how thrilled she was that her best friend had found a guy that was meant for her. She didn't even know at that point that these two people would get married, so she said that she'd put the letter away for safe keeping and hope that maybe her senses were right about them. The couple must have received this letter around the time they got married (1999, I saw another picture with the date in the living room. Again, I know I'm nosy). I can imagine it really touched them to read someone's prediction that they would tie the knot. I don't blame them for framing it.

I'm getting to my point, slowly but surely. I'm writing this because one particular passage of the letter stuck out to me. It was just the most beautiful thing, besides some excerpts from the Bible of course, that I've ever read about love. I went so far as to type this much into my Blackberry. I hope you'll look past the fact that I kind of stole this. I usually don't take intellectual property without asking. Let this be the one exception.
"But it is more than temperament or personality that seems to forge this bond, it is one might venture: God, letting us know that love is alive and well in the world and God's circuitous ways and timing, while not our own, are more sure and and more steady than the moon's brilliance or the sun's path. When we stand in front of and near such love, such mystery, we do well to see Her there, acknowledge and most importantly rejoice that She has given both of you this gift of your commitment to one another. For what was framed before time began, needs only to be blessed by us and received in compete joy and hope."
So if this doesn't make you melt a little, I don't know what will. The world, reminding us constantly of the divorce and adultery rate, wants to lead us to believe that there's no hope for lasting commitment. But that's just not true. I know that things get bad sometimes. Marriages end. Relationships are lost. I know that the chance of failing is high. But after reading that letter I was convinced, more than ever before, that it's better to be an eternal optimist than to be the alternative. I don't think I'll stop being a hopeless romantic anytime soon. And I hope one day I'll have the nerve to send that couple that I don't know a letter thanking them for helping me believe in love. I'd like to thank them for the reminder that it's better to throw caution to the wind and take the risk. A character in the movie Meet Joe Black says it better than I ever could: "Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived."

I guess what's I'm saying is this: at the end of the day, all I can do is keep hoping, keep praying, and keep holding on to the belief that if someone is accountable to God, and not the world, they can't really lose. The world says "why even try?" God says "stick with me kid, you might not be able to find a way. But I assure you, I know the way. Follow me. The view up here from heaven is much clearer than your tainted one there on earth." And hope that I end up loving someone who always prefers being under God's wings as well, letting Him and not the world, be our guide.

the eternal puppy

So this week I have been very pensive. Ok, so I'm always pensive. But this week especially so about my dog Layla. She's about to turn 8 and I've suddenly realized that while she is still so incredibly youthful, she's not really a puppy if we take into account that in dog years, she's 56. So before I went to sleep last night I began to reminisce. I began to think of all the memories I have of Layla, the eternal puppy. And I couldn't resist sharing with you my thoughts about life and love with Layla.

First, a short list of Layla's "adventures"....
Year 1. brought home in police car. wanted an education so tried to hang out in schoolyard.
Year 2. Layla finds her way underground. Goes missing for 3 days. Find her underneath metal grate . Call city to remove grate and lift Layla out of ground.
Year 3. like her owner, develops expensive taste in footwear. Unlike owner, literally tastes (eats) shoes.Layla gets bored during the day, everyday. Decides to re-format the flower pots. The flower beds become Layla beds, due to flowers being removed to make room for Layla's tush to sit.
Year 4. bunny rabbit found dead in yard. Layla pleads not guilty.
Year 5. Schwanns delivery men and UPS drivers stop wearing hats to keep Layla happy.
Year 6. 3 custom framed Broadplay play posters(i.e.: WICKED) destroyed. Layla again pleads not guilty.
Year 7: Festus, Layla's boyfriend enters the picture. Summer of Layla in Love. Like any smart girl does, lets Festus know who calls the shots in the courtship. Steals Festus' footballs&sticks, eats all of his food, and only allows one kiss (lick) per week. Festus continually forgives Layla and lets her back in his yard.
Year 8. Decides that playtime is 2 am every night.

I am one of those owners who constantly says "my dog is the best dog in the world." But what I think we owners really mean is that "my dog is the best dog in the world- for me." Because for every shocking, inconvenient, ghastly thing she's done, she's made up for it with 1000 wonderful acts that have exhibited her loyalty, sweet spirit, and forgiving heart. These are just a few of the things she does on a regular basis: sits with me by the pond for hours watching sunrises and sunsets, protects my home from intruders, never complains, is the perfect sidekick for afternoon running, greets me with joy in the morning and helps me to wind down at night every single day without fail.

You'll never understand the phrase "dog is mans best friend" until you have one of your own. No one story, one picture, one explanation can explain it. All I know is that somewhere between hearing those screeching sirens of the police car, burying a bunny, and looking at my watch long after I waved the red flag surrendering to Layla's desire for a 2 am stroll, the puppy that was the last one left in a box at a flea market became my best friend.
"I was aware that maybe he held the secret for a good life. Never slow down, never look back, live each day w/ adolescent verve and spunk and curiosity and playfulness." -John Grogan, "Marley & Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog"

clicking my heels

Recently I went to a yoga workshop (shocking i know, you'd think I'd be workshopped out by now, but i can't get enough). It was at Sanctuary for Yoga in Nashville. Martin Kirk was the guest teacher. I'm always a bit hesitant about the beginning part of the workshops, the time when the teacher lectures. Sometimes I agree with what they say, sometimes I don't. I am just careful because of my faith as a Christian not to get wrapped up into the self awareness and discovery parts of yoga. I don't want to claim to have a lot of knowledge. I think it's much better for me to give God the glory and encourage people to find their strength in Him. I've found that when it's about me, I get disappointed every time. When it's about God, there's no chance for failure. He won't ever let me/you down. Yoga for me is a time to meditate and focus on what God is doing. I don't empty my mind. Instead, I concentrate on the cross on other things that lift me higher. I'd rather fill my mind with the thought of a wonderful thing than empty it.

Anyway, back to the point of this post. I was pleasantly surprised when workshop teacher Martin used The Wizard of Oz in his talk. Now that got my attention, using one of my favorite movies and relating it to yoga and more importantly, life. He stressed that sometimes we search for something, when it was there all along, when we already had it. For example, Dorothy stepped onto the yellow brick road, on a search for the wizard. She thought the wizard would bestow knowledge on her, give her something better than what she had.

As everyone knows, the wizard was a disappointment to Dorothy. Long story short, he was a fraud and had no power. Dorothy suddenly became disenchanted with Oz and suddenly desperately wanted to go home. It dawned on her how wonderful life in Kansas really was. She had already been happy, but it took comparing Kansas to Oz and being away from her family for her to realize this. She pleaded with Glinda, the Good Witch to help her get home. Glinda the Good Witch told her, “You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.” She told Dorothy that all she had to do was click her heels again and she'd be home. Dorothy was stunned, and so was the scarecrow. “Why didn’t you tell her?” Scarecrow asked. “Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself.”

So too have I embraced this concept. As I get older, I'm realizing that what I want most in life I already have. Faith, family, friendships. Everything else is secondary and only further enhances my already incredibly high state of happiness. Not to say that I don't wish for things and sometimes want to click my heels and go to a faraway place, but when it comes down to it, I always end up clicking my heels at the end of the day (or at the end of a trip when I am physically somewhere else on my travels) and saying "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."