To Rock or Not to Rock...

For those of you who do not know, I am a volleyball coach.  I have been for fifteen years.  Like any coach, I’ve had good seasons and bad, some players I miss and others I do not, some amazing memories and some I would rather forget.  When I first started coaching, at the ripe age of 19, it was really all about the game - how we played, how we could get better, were we winning, etc.  However, as time progressed and I worked with more and more athletes (and students; I am also a teacher), my perspective changed: it’s really about the life lessons we learn through team sports more than anything else that matter.

For a long time, I recognized my part in those lessons, and it became my passion.  I worried less about results and more about teamwork, dedication, effort, goal-setting, etc.  I have noticed of late, though, my patience is wearing thin and my ability to keep the big picture in perspective is waning.  Mind you, this does not mean I am once again focusing on results; rather, I become more and more frustrated with the lack of dedication and focus.  I have a difficult time remembering that despite having said the same things for the past fifteen years, each year brings new sets of girls who haven’t heard them and need to learn it for the first time.

This season has been exceptionally challenging, but I have had the good fortunate to have two former players helping me.  When I see them play and coach, it reminds me of why I have been doing this.  Yesterday, though, I got a big ol’ slap in the face that made me realize I haven't been true to my coaching philosophy; I haven't been keeping the big picture in mind; I haven't been remembering these are kids who are still waiting to learn the lessons I have been expecting them to already know.

At the end of practice, one of my former players sat with the girls to talk about their lack of focus and drive. My team sat in a circle, wide-eyed and enraptured by her. I got a little teary-eyed, not because they were listening to her over me but because in her I saw everything I had hoped to be imparting manifested. In that moment, I realized three things:

1. We impact the people we encounter in ways we don't even realize, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

2. There are times in life when we let the world wear us down and lose focus on what is most important, and

3. As much as we have the ability to impact people, so do others. We are replaceable.

That moment has been simultaneously uplifting and humbling and a bit overwhelming... in fact, I am still reeling from it a day later. And I am not quite sure why.

Perhaps it is the inevitable self-imposed shame I feel for not giving my girls the very best of me. Perhaps it is the weight of the responsibility, a weight I have ignored lately, crashing down on me. Perhaps it is the ache in knowing that someday, just like everyone else, I will be a story swapped at a reunion or over Thanksgiving dinner. Perhaps it is the jolt of all this together reminding me of why we are here.

Our time may be fleeting, the ripple of our wakes ebbing, but we have the choice to make as big of a splash as we want. It doesn't matter who may jump in after us, or who jumped in before; our waves have a rhythm all their own. I want my rhythm to rock.

Puzzling Friends

I had this thought today:
 
   If all of my friends were to meet in the same room, would they have anything in common besides me?

I'm not talking about professions or politics or hobbies, though I do think those are indicative of innate traits; I'm talking personalities.  I mean, think about it: how many of your friends are or would be friends with each other?  Do you have any who might possibly twitch in the presence of each other?

Of course, this led to me imagining my friends mingling about a room, drinks in hand, and meeting and greeting.  Just typing that image brought a smile to my face, for a variety of reasons: 1. some of my friends would bond immediately and become even sassier, or 2. some of my friends would look at each other and wonder what in the world we have in common.  It is an interesting dichotomy.

I think I've always been aware of the different types of friendships in my life, how some people are just awesome to party with while others are the ones who will answer at 4 AM and still others are those who may be out of touch for months but we pick up just where we left off.  Rather like a jigsaw puzzle,

 each of the friendships we have in our lives fits some opening in just the right way to complete the picture.  If we are truly lucky, some of the pieces fit in more than one space; those are usually the ones without whom the picture would be indecipherable.

So, in honor of the truly amazing friends I have, I want you to know I am thankful for you because:

• you call me out on my BS.  Whether I have the rose-colored glasses on and think everything in the world is birds and sunshine or I have my head up my butt and can't see beyond my own struggle or I have my head in the sand because I just don't want to deal, thank you for having the courage to tell me about myself.  
• you make me smile or laugh when I struggle with the frustration or sadness in life.  Or, you just make me smile or laugh because you know how much I adore it.  Either way, usually just thinking about you brings about that response.  
• you encourage me when I stumble.  This might be an "At least you tried!" or "Well, not everyone can be good at everything." depending on your level of sass, but you always have a way of letting me know it was worth the effort.
• you challenge me to grow and think outside of the box.  Mind you, this isn't throw-down, meet-at-high-noon kind of challenging but rather raising the bar by what you do, how you think, inspire-the-heck out of me challenge.  I have blatantly told some of you how you do this for me; others have no idea the impact you've had.
• you engage my spirit with your humility, compassion, open-mindedness, thoughtfulness.  With you, my faith strengthens and grows.
• you celebrate life with me.  If we've laughed together, cried together, enjoyed a sunset together, we've celebrated life.  That's what it's all about.
• you let me be my random, weird, emotional, philosophical self.  Without judging it.  That's huge.

While my puzzle certainly isn't complete, I am grateful for all of the pieces who have been building the picture with me - it wouldn't be the same without you.

Sweet Sixteen: Thoughts for my Niece on her Birthday

Your mom and I had decided to throw Grammy a 50th birthday party, but we had it in February instead of her actual birthday to throw her off, so technically, it was her 50 1/2 party.    Because it was winter, your mom and dad had set up tables in the garage for everyone to sit and eat.  You were about 18 months old, toddling around and using new words daily, but you were still using a high chair.  You were sitting in it by one of the tables, and I am pretty sure your hands were a mess from reaching for whatever food was on the tray.  When I walked to the top of the steps to go into the garage, you looked at me, moved your hand away from the food to point at me, and said, “Aunt Beth.”  I am pretty sure, at that moment, all the love I felt for you bubbled up inside and spilled over until there was a little pool of gooey-emotional-Aunt Beth laying at the top of the steps.  It was a moment I will remember for as long as I live.

A little over fourteen years later, and I still have these moments of ooey-gooey-emotion, and not just in the memories of you as a cute-as-a-button baby, which you were, but in the everyday blessing of being Aunt Beth.  Seeing you make a running one-armed save or perfectly dig a rockin’ hit in volleyball brings tears to my eyes.  Watching you prepare for prom, a picture of grace, makes my cheeks hurt from smiling.  Listening to you in conversations, a quiet confidence and humility, and my heart beats with pride.  

Turning 16 is such an awesome-crazy-scary time.  Hope, questions, answers, fears, faith, strength, fearlessness, insecurities, confusion, certainty... it is quite possibly the most paradoxical time in life.  The best part of all of it, though, is the unlimited possibility that stretches before you.  Yes, it’s a little scary, too, but I think that is what makes it even more exciting.  I am not going to bore you with some curmudgeonly advice about learning from my, or any other adult’s, mistakes.  While I do think it’s important to do that, I also realize that one: it doesn’t matter how many people give us advice; we usually think we have it figured out on our own, and two: making mistakes is how we figure out who we are and who we want to be.  Making mistakes means making memories, some good, some not.  Making mistakes means we are willing to risk falling in order to rise.

I have another memory of when you were young:  for your first Christmas Eve, I bought you some crazy pajamas with a matching jester hat.  Obviously, you had no idea what was going on or why everyone was ooohing and ahhhing.  Now, I’ve never been called a fashionista - good heavens, if I could wear sneakers and tee-shirts and shorts every day, I would - but I can remember buying that for you.  Yes, I wanted you to look adorable, but I also remember thinking how important it is to be silly sometimes, and how important it is to laugh at our silliness.

I am absolutely certain you are going to weather the awesome-crazy-scary time of 16 and beyond not just because you are determined and compassionate and witty and trustworthy and intelligent.  Those are amazing qualities indeed, and I have seen those amazing qualities in you time and again.  But I have also seen you giggly with your sister, punchy with Rachel, and giddy with me.  This is what makes me so sure of you: you know how to be silly.  It is an amazing quality that will make the lessons from mistakes easier to see and gives us strength.  You know how to laugh at yourself, and you don’t even need a funny hat to do it.

Awkward Compliments and Other Perks of My Fitness Journey

 I wouldn't say that I was a particularly active child.  In fact, I much preferred television to the out of doors.  I wasn't much in to sports, other than bowling, which doesn't require a whole lot of cardiovascular endurance, and I loved to read.  Let's face it: reading doesn't get the heart rate up all that often either, unless of course it is a rather riveting plot.  However, when my sister joined the volleyball team as a freshman in high school and I went to watch the varsity team play in the state playoffs, I fell in love with the sport.  So, the moderately-coordinated and decidedly less-than-instrinsicly motivated eleven-year-old girl suddenly had to learn how to control her muscles and push them beyond the need to walk through the neighborhood.

I was not a natural athlete, but my love of the game made it worth the work it required to learn the game and eventually master it.  I remember many days of passing against the wall of my house in the spring and summer and many evenings of my coach working with me after practice during the season.  There was a lot of time on the track as well.  It's interesting to think back to that time.  I can remember feeling challenged and it not being easy, but I also remember it being super fun because I loved it.

My fitness journey since my playing days has been something of a roller coaster, as I imagine it is for most people as time passes.  Once I began my teaching career, I also began coaching, so I have always been around the sport I love.  Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, beginning my teaching career also introduced me to a previously undiscovered pastime: drinking beer.  (I know what you're thinking: how did I get through college without discovering that?  This chica was too paranoid about her scholarship to even touch the stuff.)  As pretty much everyone who has ever discovered the effects of ingesting lots of hops, the calories add up and the weight goes on.


It took about five years before I woke up.  At that point, I discovered the love of running.  Truthfully, it was awesome.  I loved the time on the pavement.  Not only did it shed the extra weight, but it shed so much of the frustration and stress I hadn't even realized I was feeling.  I entered races; I finished them.  It was great.  But you know how you can get to feeling super good about everything and you stop paying attention?  Suddenly, the red flags are going up but you are ignoring them?  Yeah, that's what happened to me.  Feeling good about myself, enjoying life, meet an intoxicating person and fall in love... pretty soon the intoxicating person became just plain toxic, and 8 years and 60 pounds have passed.

After finally letting go of that, and getting help for what I suspect has been a life-long struggle with depression, the next leg of my fitness journey began.  In the past several months as part of the process of not just learning to live but learning to thrive with depression, I have implemented some rather dramatic lifestyle changes.  It started with an aerobic step and a free metronome app; then came cleaner

eating; then resistance bands; then falling in love with the game I had thought I would never enjoy again; then running; then tennis... it's been amazing to go from literally lying on the couch all day to getting antsy if I sit for longer than twenty minutes.

The perks have been pretty awesome, too.  In addition to losing weight and changing sizes, I feel like I am ten years younger.  I have energy to spare and my depression feels more and more like a backpack rather than seven pieces of luggage bogging me down.  I am rediscovering old friends and making new.

Typically when people start getting fit, friends and acquaintances notice and comment.  Sometimes in a super-suave way, as in a colleague who said to me one day, "What's up, Slim?" and sometimes in peppy, encouraging ways, as in, "You look great!"  On the other hand, given how loaded of a compliment it can be, it has also given me some riotously awkward, grin-inducing, belly-laughing comments as well.
     A friend:  You look different.  Your teeth.  They look bigger.  Did you get them capped?
     A colleague:  (in a whisper) You have been losing a lot of weight.  Is everything okay?  Are you ill?
     An aunt:  So I'm waiting for the announcement.  You're getting married, right?  That's why you're losing all this weight?

Many people have asked what my goal weight is, and I just smile and shrug.  While I think having a goal is important, part of me is terrified that if I put a number on it, once I reach it I will stop.  Admittedly, being fit is a rather broad goal, so I try to look at different numbers: my resting heart rate, my mile, the number of forehands I make.  However, the number on the scale is a number that implies too many other things in our culture.

As I continue my journey, I hope I can keep things in that kind of perspective: that it is a journey with no specific destination but rather pitstops of benchmarks and achievements.  In the mean-time, I'm thinking about getting my teeth capped, a medical bracelet for my wrist, and a cubic zirconia for the left hand - they are great reminders of the importance of good people and good perspective.

   

The Female Brain: A Celebration

What should I wear?
What should I order to eat?
How can I help my friend who is struggling for inspiration?

I want to throat-punch the d-bag who insulted and hurt my friend.
I live in an awesome city.
If I order the pasta, I will have to double up the workouts tomorrow.
Oooh!  He texted me!
     What is he thinking?
     Do I make him uncomfortable?
     I wish he was here.
Why are women so hard on ourselves and each other?
Instrumental music is better for conversations.
What is it like to be married? to be a mom?
     Will I ever find out?
Is it weird that I am so happy? but sometimes sad at the same time?
     Why are some people threatened by happiness?
I need to remember I am not in my 20s anymore.
Maybe I'll just walk instead of run today.  No, you ate the pasta: you will run.
I can't wait to play tennis.
Lord, I'm sorry I've been so focused on the world.
Oh no.  Why did I have to run into the ex today?
     Are You trying to tell me something?!  If so, what?
The goal in tennis is not to hit a homerun; get your frustration in check, girl.
I am so happy my friend had such a nice day with her dad.
I need a nap.

*The above is an edited excerpt from the inner-monologue running through my brain in the past 18 hours or so.  Many thoughts have been deleted for two reasons:  1.  a true transcript would more than likely be a small tome, and 2.  some thoughts are too trivial or otherwise inappropriate for all audiences.  We'll consider this the PG-13 version.

While I was sitting at dinner with two lovely ladies yesternight, several topics came up.  Being that the three of us share the same profession and many of the same passions, such as writing, it is not surprising that our conversations never lack for substance.  At one point, I was talking about the irony of me writing less now that I have hit a particularly happy place in my life.  One of my friends immediately said, "You should write about that!  Why is it easier to find words when we are sad or angry?"  Thus, an idea was born.

However, over the course of the remainder of the evening and this morning, when I encountered and entertained some not-so-happy thoughts and feelings, the idea shifted and I remembered another conversation from last night, this one via text:
     Me:  "I think too much."
     Friend:  "You're a girl"
Aside from the obvious, which I thanked him for noticing, the man has a point.  The female brain is something else.

*A clarification:  I am not here to disparage my sisters or to attempt to figure out the maze-like complexities of a woman's mind.  Frankly, I do not think I am capable of either.  

Rather, I want to celebrate it because as much as it make drive the fellas crazy and as much as it often drives some women, if not all, crazy themselves, the passionately-hyperanalytical, paradoxically illogical logic, or logical illogic, is capable of feeling such a wide spectrum of emotion it is the stuff of legends.

*Note: I am in no way implying the male species incapable of such a range of emotion, but given my own XX pairing, I am unable to speak to it from first-hand perspective.

I am not gonna lie: I wish I could install a mute button or turn it off at times.  My brain can take a random scene in a movie (or commercial or tv show) and reconstruct it so that obviously I will be alone forever.  Or, my brain can take a chance meeting with someone from my past and turn it into a complete re-evaluation of my worth.  Or take a memory of quality time spent with a friend and turn it into a future of happily-ever-after, be it either a happy friendship or happy romance depending entirely upon the particular path the synapses take in the maze that is my mind.  If you want a fair visual representation of this phenomena, check out this clip from Scrubs.  (Start around 6:25 for the full effect)

As much as these twists and turns can lead to assumptions and conclusions quite a bit off the mark, I am still quite thankful for them.  Without them, I do not think I would know such profound happiness that it feels as though it may begin seeping out of my pores.  I do not think I would be able to support others who grieve because I would not know the overwhelming fullness the ache of loss brings.  I do not think I would love so deeply that her successes make my eyes water with pride, that his good news makes my heart race for him, that her frustration brings a dull pain I can literally feel within my chest activity.

Yes, the labyrinth of a woman’s mind can lead to dark places, but I think the deepr one plumbs anything, the less light from the outside world intrudes.  Maybe, though, it isn’t meant to be seen with the light of another place but rather felt, lived, and navigated with its own illumination.  I have a feeling that illumination casts a reddish hue.

Why My Dog Almost Lost Her Life Today

Once upon a time, there was a woman who wasn't very much into gardening but wanted a splash of color on her front porch.  Thus she invested in planters.  Then, the Big Bad Mutt came.

The Big Bad Mutt decided that two planters are an evil combination, or a tasty afternoon treat, or just too many, and thus, one needed to be destroyed.

So she dragged it off of the porch, dumping its delicious contents for a more easily accessible dining experience.

Finished with her appetizer, the Big Bad Mutt decided to savor the main course in a more shaded ambiance.

Thus she dragged her main dish across the yard.

As you can see, she enjoyed some of the meal.  Unfortunately, the waitress interrupted her before she could finish.

Needless to say, she did not get dessert.

The waitress, however, earned a great tip: if you can't hear the diner, she is probably getting into mischief.

Lohocla Tceffa: An Anthropological Observation

Once upon a time, in Ancient Greece and Rome, philosophers posited four elements that were the basic foundation of all things: Earth, Air, Water, and Fire.  Some time later, Hippocrates associated various physiological temperaments with those same elements:  Melancholic, Sanguine, Phlegmatic, and Choleric.  In a recent conversation with a friend, we deduced that these elements and temperaments are perfect representations of alcohol affect: the human nature that surfaces when imbibing the hoppy-ness of beers and/or spirits of wine and liquor.

First, let us examine Earth, or the Melancholic.  This person, after reaching the magical limit of alcohol consumption that flips the switch, can become a variation of two things: the Weeper or the Philosopher/Poet.  The Weeper is one who becomes outwardly demonstrative about all of the things s/he typically will not express in public or to others.  This person may suddenly lament all of the hardships in life or may begin offering some form of the oft-heard, “I love you, bro” in the wee hours of the morning.  The Philosopher/Poet is one who believes s/he has a profound grasp of all things emotional as well as an expansive vocabulary to express her/his observations.  This person may randomly comment on the symbolism of the brownish hues of beers representative of the natural state of man.

Secondly, we have Water, or the Phlegmatic.  This person, once hitting the magical ratio of alcohol to

blood, can become either the Peacemaker or the Therapist.  The Peacemaker wants everyone to get along and will either interject her/himself into an argument to smooth things over or may bring up past disputes to make sure that the old wounds are healed.  The Therapist, on the other hand, can often be found listening attentively to someone, perhaps the Weeper or Poet, and giving a rambling montage of cliches or other expressions of encouragement and/or support.

Next we have Air, or Sanguine.  This person morphs into some manifestation of either the Player or the Rock Star/Clown.  The Player, sometimes secretly, sometimes obviously, thinks s/he’s all that and that everyone in the joint should realize that.  This person often starts flirting, or at least some incarnation of her/his interpretation of the word, with everyone and often doesn’t understand why the efforts go unrecognized, sometimes to the point of anger and frustration.  The Rock Star, most commonly seen when karaoke is involved, is the one who demonstrates some sort of talent s/he believes is

unparalleled by everyone in the place.  This person may decide to bust a move on the dance floor, which in fact turns out to be spinning in circles like an uncoordinated seal, or sing the live version of “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” by Poison or “Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash.  The Clown, though, is the one who is all about entertaining the group: sassy comments and funny anecdotes are often heard in her/his company.

Lastly, we have Fire, or Choleric.  This person, having consumed the last of the Jagermeister or Natural Light, transfigures into some semblance of the Antagonist and/or Beer Muscles.  The Antagonist likes to stir the pot, often revealing secrets that were previously unknown or mocking some sort of faux pas made by someone in present company.  This person doesn’t necessarily want to be part of the conflict; s/he

usually enjoys sitting back and watching the drama unfold.  Beer Muscles, on the other hand, is all about being part of the conflict.  S/he often uses sarcasm to provoke or, if that doesn’t work, will insert her/himself into an argument as random as why the two bands who played that night were(not) awesome.

After having this conversation, I took some time to reflect.  I ain’t gonna lie: I am guilty of just about every one of these at some point.  While I think most of us have a tendency toward one more than the others, I think a lot of it depends on the mood we have before that second, or seventh, or seventeenth, whatever your magic number, drink.  Some of them are more entertaining; some are downright annoying; some are paradoxically both.  What I think is interesting, at least from this girl’s over-analytical brain, is when we stop to think about why we became that element. If it was for not so healthy reasons, well, then perhaps it’s time for a heart-to-heart with the self.  If it was for a healthy reason, like, for example, good times with good people, then all the merrier (assuming everyone is safe, of course)!  

In the meantime, may your element be one in which you shine and your adventures be safe!

Incandescence

Have you ever had a moment when you realize the absolute delight of living and loving, when you pause and drink in the scene around you, wanting to memorize the sights and sounds and smells and tastes because you know way down deep in the parts of your heart you are most afraid to reveal that this moment is as close to perfection as can be realized in your very brief tenure on the planet?  When this awareness fills you with such joy it feels as though your heart will literally burst?  

I felt that tonight.

Ten years ago, my cousin married the love of his life.  It was a wedding quite different from the traditional ceremonies given that it was performed in the church they had recently bought and renovated into their home and its attendants and guests were costumed in myriad ways.  It was a day of great happiness and celebration, the bride and groom radiating light wherever they moved.

A decade later, we gathered once again, this time in a farm they had bought and renovated.  While nieces cast fishing lines in one of the ponds and friends’ children rode bikes and scampered about, a bluesy band assembled on the deck.  Fireflies hovered over the darkening lawn, matched only by the twinkle lights strung merrily around the deck.  The brilliant full moon marked the summer solstice in the east as the tiki torches flared, jealously flickering at the bonfire blazing by the barn.  Small hands reached for glow sticks and sparklers while family and friends talked and laughed in small groups here and there, four generations come together to revel and make merry.  Fireworks rose about the trees, streaks of reds and greens and blues and golds, temporarily hiding the emerging stars in a cloudless sky.  

As I sat and watched this one-time bridegroom strum his guitar and sing the requests being proffered from the crowd, I turned.  In the soft light of the torches and twinkling bulbs, his bride stood slightly apart, a crooked smile adorning her face.  In her eyes was the same look I saw ten years ago as she came forward to meet him at the altar: a fervent glow, incandescence.  

So much love.  

To have seen my family laughing and singing and talking and clapping and hugging; to have witnessed that moment; to know there is so much love in the world, and to feel it all around me in that space and time.  I am blessed and humbled beyond the words I usually find so readily.

The Vault

I think most people have thoughts and feelings they primarily keep to themselves.  There may be one or two people with whom they will share but rarely more. Some may not share with anyone, some may share with everyone. There is a vulnerability in sharing your heart.

I am one of those who doesn't share with many. Don't get me wrong, I am not afraid to say what's on my mind most of the time, but there are some feelings I simply don't have the courage to put out into the world. Mostly, I think this is because I fear admitting weakness, which is frankly inane. I mean, realistically, everyone has weaknesses, chinks in the armor of our humanity. However, to admit that is to give someone ammunition that may possibly be used at a later date, in an unforeseen battle.

In the handful of times I have revealed these truths, I haven't realized it until after the fact. It has happened as we've gotten to know each other over time, when suddenly, I realize how much I've shared. It has been a bit scary but I went with it because I have always believed this is what humanity is: sharing our hearts because each of us is broken in ways only other people can complement. (Before some of you start protesting - notice I did not say we need other people to fix our brokenness. We do need other people so we can open ourselves to healing.). Sadly, there have been times I let down my guard with the wrong person. However, this is the risk we take, a risk that is worth it in my humble opinion.

For the past four years, I haven't done much sharing. Most of what I've felt and thought has been kept safely locked inside. And it's altered me. I used to be someone who loved to laugh, and was quick to do so, loved to be with people and there for them. Yet, when I was locking everything up, I started locking people out, and because of this, I lost my smile.

Things have been changing of late, though. Gradually, I have been opening myself not just by sharing what I've kept deadbolted for so long but also by opening my heart to what others have to share as well.  Fortunately, I have some amazingly patient people in my life.

A few years ago, I was having a rather soul-baring conversation with a friend. During the conversation, he jokingly referred to keeping our words private by saying, "I am hoping we can keep this in the vault." This is a rather apt metaphor, not just for keeping personal conversations personal but also for our own overwhelming feelings we would rather not share.

It is scaring the hell out of me to open this vault, not because I do not trust who I am giving the key. I think it is because this time, I know I am opening myself or will open myself. I am willingly risking vulnerability because I believe it is worth it. And it's been a long time since I've believed it's worth it. There's a reason Pandora closed the box and kept Hope locked in. It can be a powerful thing, capable of changing the world, and change can be scary.  But, man, is it worth it.

Going for a Swim

I have been a mess as long as I can remember - an overanalyzing, jumping-to-conclusions, borderline manic-depressive, impatient mess. And I have hated that about myself. 

I've decided I am not going to do that anymore. I am going to embrace the messiness of living with my heart on my sleeve and my filter off.  I am going to tell people I love them or they've rocked my world or they make my toes curl or they make my head hurt or they make me sad or tired or angry. Not in an in-your-face, obnoxious, it's-all-about-me kind of way, but I am going to be real. I'm done worrying about whether or not they will still like or respect me or whether or not I will scare the hell out of them. 

Life is complicated - feelings are messy. 

It's all about whether or not we are willing to wade into the mess, willing to swim in it until it's either not such a mess or it becomes a comfortable mess that determines how passionately we feel and how passionately we live.  Passion, by definition, brings pain.  But it is worth it.  

I am thankful for the good, good, good people who have been there through the mess and the brave, brave, brave people who are willing to wade into it with me.  You are why I rediscovered my smile.

Every Contact Counts

When I was in high school, I had a particularly demanding coach.  Hours on the track, hours in the gym, lots of sweating, some crying, and even occasional bleeding.  It wasn’t always pleasant, but it paid off.  While I have many great memories of that time, there are two that stand out more than any today.  

The first happened all four years: preseason camp.  Running from 7 am until 4 pm, we had a lot of time, and we always, always, always drilled and killed the basic skills.  I can distinctly recall running through the passing and setting progressions, two of the most basic skills of the sport, every blessed morning.  As most of you can imagine, it can get pretty boring to go through the same drill every single day, morning after morning.  Especially for high schoolers, who usually think they know everything.  I remember, though, quite clearly, my coach’s voice ringing above the sound of the volleyballs bouncing off of forearms or the floor, saying, “Every contact counts.”  Over and over and over again.  Walking around the gym, saying it repeatedly.  And it paid off.  It turns out that all of those mind-numbing drills created the foundation necessary to win three state titles.  It turns out that the care and precision we took in the fundamentals of the sport made the more advanced stuff, like a first tempo offense, so much simpler.  

The second memory developed from the first.  As challenging as my coach was, he was also willing

to give everything to players who were giving everything.  For me, this resulted in countless hours of him staying after practice to drill volleyballs at me so I could improve defensively.  And when I say countless, I mean at least an hour every day.  (What can I say, I fell in love with the game!)  The contacts from practice weren’t enough for me; I wanted more to get better.  It became a matter of pride: he would finally have to tell me that he was only hitting a set number more, so I had to get all of them or I felt like I’d failed myself.  (Yeah, I was dramatic - wait, I still am.)  Three years of this.  I loved every single minute.

Not surprisingly, life is like this. If we go through the motions on what we think are the mundane things, the big stuff will come crashing down around us.  If I am not willing to make each action purposeful and work to execute it with such purpose, I bet I will see the results of that time and time again.  Maybe not immediately, but eventually.  It is the person willing to take each action seriously and willing to do this every single time who will ultimately consummate the dreams for which s/he strives.

I am incredibly thankful for the sport of volleyball, especially that I fell in love with it when I was young.  So much of what I’ve learned about life, of who I am as a human being, stems directly from my experiences with the sport: how to lead when necessary, how to recover from mistakes, how to take criticism, how to win and lose with grace, how to set goals, how to achieve them, how to work together with people I like or don’t like, how to set priorities and maintain them, how to balance my time, how to deal with pressure, how to work hard, etc.  I literally could type a list as long as my arm.

I don’t know whether it is one of the many things volleyball taught me or if it a result of all that it taught me, but I can honestly say volleyball has given me an internal drive that I do not see in a great many people.  It’s not something I have figured out how to teach or instill in the youth I coach and teach, but it’s something they need.  It’s something we all need.  I am not talking about a drive to succeed in the big things in life or a drive to get better, though they are part of it.  I am talking about the drive to make every action purposeful, even the “little” ones.  I am talking about making each contact count.

Politics and Poker

Day 5...

Politics and Poker

I would be a horrible poker player because I am terrible at hiding how I feel.  Anyone who knows me knows I wear my heart on my sleeves, and if someone isn’t up to looking at said sleeves for him/herself, I have little fear of speaking my mind.  I don’t think this is a bad quality at all, but I can tell you that there are some proverbial games in life that I just fail.  

Unfortunately, politics plays a pretty big role in my job, and since I don’t have a poker face and I shoot from the hip, I can honestly say not everyone is a fan of Ms. Ryce.  Granted, I am not here to make fans, but I find it rather amusing how it’s usually the adults who take the most umbrage with my forthright ways.  The majority of my kids respect it because they know exactly what they’re going to get so there aren’t any surprises.  It baffles me why some adults don’t want that very same thing.  I know I much prefer it.  

For those of you who haven’t had a conversation with me to know this, which begs the question why you’re reading my blog since it’s pretty much just a few friends who check this out, but for those who haven’t, I am an over-thinking-analyzing-brain-picking kind of gal.  Like, to the point of keeping myself up all night or making myself nauseous.  So when someone isn’t the heart-on-the-sleeves kind of person, his/her words send my manic brain into overdrive.  Not surprisingly, I usually jump feet-first into the pool of wrong conclusions and the water is cold.  

Student Response:
"Why are you so honest? What made you that way?"
"Are you only super honest in specific situations or is it all the time?"
"Who is the speaker?"

She Wondered

Day 4....

She wondered why he smiled at her,

why he said her name.

She wondered why he called her

after several of his games.

She wondered why he asked to meet

to talk and have a drink.

She wondered why his smile and laugh

made her overthink.

She wondered how the time with him

could make her feel so new.

She wondered how he thought of her

was it many times or few.

She wondered how to hide her heart

so the racing wouldn’t show.

She wondered how to breathe in deep

to make her pulse go slow.

She wondered what to say to him

so he wouldn’t guess.

She wondered what he would think

if he knew she’d been a mess.

She wondered what to show him

of her wounds and baggaged past.

She wondered what his eyes would say,

“I understand,” or “run away, fast!”?

She wondered why he reminded her

of who she is and wants to be.

She wondered what to share with him

to show him how much he means.

She wondered how to tell him what

a difference he has made.

She wondered if they would remain

good friends or somehow slowly fade.



Student Responses
"I wondered what he wonders. Maybe you should include that." (to which another student replied, "That would be kind of hard for her since she's not a boy." - he's one of my smart kids.)
"What if you made it a story instead of a poem?"
"Was this a time capsule?"
"What happened that gave her wounds?"
"What if there was a stanza where she didn't wonder?"