What's the Worst That Could Happen?

One of the best ways to describe generalized anxiety disorder is simply being afraid of anything and everything. When I'm in the midst of really struggling with it, my thought process revolves around what could go wrong, how I could fail, and how others will judge me. It's kind of like being the opposite of a free spirit, though I can't really say for sure seeing as how I have no idea what it's like to be free spirited. In one of my very first counseling visits I was on a rant describing the pressure I felt, the many people counting on me, and the list of "what ifs" that continually run through my mind. She posed the question, "What's the worst that could happen?" I listed some possible outcomes specific to that situation. She validated my fear but then asked, "Is anybody going to die?" I laughed and responded, "Of course not" thinking what a silly question that was. "Well if no one is going to die, then what's the big deal?"

She continued on speaking like a true sage. She always wrote out thoughts during our sessions and I still have all her notes. I pulled them out just now to make sure I was remembering this gem accurately. She said to focus on what I can control and then proceeded to deliver the list of the only three things in life that one can control: 1. Our own behavior 2. Very small house pets and 3. Children under the age of 2 (before they learn how to say "no").

I'm feeling very overwhelmed right now at work. Fall and Spring are crazy seasons in Young Life and this year's insanity is only amplified by my transition off staff and trying to finish strong. Daniel has spent the last few weeks talking me off the ledge when consumed by anxiety. I've been clinging to my counselor's words during these sessions of either freaking out or melting down, "What's the worst that could happen?" The answer is complete failure, but not death, and nothing we couldn't recover from.

You would think after what my family has been through this past year with Hannah's cancer, where yes in this case the worst that could happen is somebody dying, that everything would be put in perspective. We've made it this far and are still making it one day at a time in the presence of fear and uncertainty. We're looking straight into the face of the scariest of circumstances and are still standing. We're still here. There's this notion of don't sweat the small stuff and you realize what's really important in the midst of earth shattering experiences like childhood cancer. This happened to some degree for all of us involved, but at the same time life still goes on. I still worry about work and other dumb, unimportant, trivial, petty stuff. I wish I could say this weren't the case.

I made this little graphic today to remind me of one this new mantra. I need to have it made into a poster so I can look at it each morning. It's a reminder not just for work related fear, but for life related fear. Why not? (I think that will probably be my next mantra.)

Adventures in Imperfection

Tonight was a series of revealing my imperfections. Daniel had all the YL guys over to watch basketball so I was banished upstairs to the bedroom. Two of my girls wanted to hang out, so they joined me upstairs. Now I have to explain that typically guests are not allowed upstairs at our house. The reason being it is a disaster area. The guest room is not so bad minus some dust and the fact that its walls are adorned with pictureless picture frames. But the state of our bedroom and bathroom would gross out any visitors. I couldn't handle the embarrassment. Tonight I didn't have a choice due to our full house. So Claire and Katy entered the Temple of Doom where dirty laundry, dirty dishes, and a general funk awaited their arrival. I'm not exaggerating here, but will spare you the details. Whatever you're picturing...it's worse. Just imagine if you will the home of a hoarder in its beginning stages. I'm ashamed. I feel guilty every time I take a moment to acknowledge the situation and ponder my general failings as a housewife and as just a person in general. Claire's comment was, "How can you live like this? You're supposed to be adults." I gave her my thesis on adulthood being a process which one gradually enters into as they take on responsibility and slowly shed the hygiene habits of college fraternity living. (I do not use "fraternity" to imply that Daniel is the cause of our predicament. I will own this debacle and the state of the union of our sleeping quarters. I use the word rather to give an indication of our living conditions; remember your favorite fraternity house: half eaten food and drink mixed with discarded books and clothing, a place for everything, and nothing in its place.) St.Daniel had completed numerous loads of laundry today and dumped the clothes in need of folding onto the bed. So once we completed that task, there was a clear bed in which to lounge on at least.

We had the brilliant idea to bring the digital projector we use at YL upstairs to watch New Moon. But first I had to grab some frozen custard, so we made a quick field trip to Sheridan's. I began assembling our makeshift home theater consisting of the projector, Blu Ray player, and CD player for the speakers. It was a balancing act as the items sat in carefully crafted formation mounted upon stacks of books and a dirty bowl and plate. One of the speakers rested atop the dust-laden headboard providing surround sound. With all the excitement and activity my old friend IBS decided to join the festivities. Rumble, rumble, knock, knock. Who's there? IBS:)

Since I haven't told an embarrassing and thus hilarious story about this condition of my intestines, allow me to fill you in now. A by product of anxiety is a sensitive stomach. It was the worst in college as I wasn't willing to acknowledge the condition and thereby make any changes to prevent it. Now after a visit to my doctor and a conversation with my counselor, I am aware of what triggers it and can take precautions. However, when it occurs now its onset is always the result of positive stressors. For example tonight's occurrence was the result of dairy and sugar (i.e. frozen custard), lots of physical activity when running out to my car and up and down stairs during the home theater construction, and a general excitement about what is taking place. It happened to me my first night while traveling in Dallas too. We had just eaten a large meal, briskly walked a few blocks back to the hotel, and I was just really excited to be around friends from all over the country. A trusty formula for my colon is this: Food + Jovial Heart = Less than Jovial Visit to the Restroom.

So I had to pause in the midst of the excitement to remedy my issue. Our bedroom and bathroom are close quarters, so I made the girls turn the TV up really loud and ran the water in the sink. I'm so cool, so smooth, so lady like, so perfectly embarrassed.

I would love to keep everyone downstairs when it comes to their view of me. Tidy, orderly, smelling nice. But the reality is that my upstairs is a better reflection of who I actually am. Abnormally messy, chaotic, and sometimes a little smelly. What's funny, and why I probably am so open about all of this imperfection here, is that the more people see the chaos of my life, the more endeared they are to me. What is it about imperfection and honesty that is attractive to people? This seems so backwards though I know it to be true because I've experienced it over and over in my life. Isn't it most sensical that others would be drawn to the most attractive, smooth, put together, and accomplished among us? Maybe it's because most of us are nothing like that. We have our moments of cool and smoothness, but most of the time we are fumbling and far from a picture of cool. Imperfection can be funny. YL kids probably feel more at ease with an adult whose life looks nothing like an actual adult, someone they can laugh at, poke fun at. They can relate to that because it makes them realize that their imperfections are nothing compared to mine.

So I leave you tonight licking my wounds and counting my bruises after getting knocked off my pedestal. The views kind of nice down here. Entertaining to say the least. I'm sorry about the smell though; there's no excuse for that.

Being the Bad Guy

One of the hardest parts of being a leader is having to make tough and sometimes unpopular decisions. Most people know what it's like to disagree or have a difference of opinion with a coworker or peer. But only those in a position of authority understand what it is to bear the weight of the decisions you make on the behalf of those you lead. Parents for sure understand what this is like, but I'm assuming the backlash from your children though annoying, doesn't sting as much as it does in a non-familial relationship.

Since my days in college I've gradually had to grow a thicker and thicker skin. It's easy to talk leadership theory and strategy in a vacuum, but the minute you try to actually take a group of people to a new place, your plans aren't usually easily enacted. This summer will mark 2 years for me as the Area Director for Lee's Summit Young Life. During these past two years I've faced more criticism than in any other leadership position. I'm assuming this is the way it works. As you move up the ladder of authority so to speak, there are less people for others to blame. And when it comes to criticism...well the buck stops at you. The past few weeks, especially this one inparticular, have been a series of me having to be the Bad Guy. I hate this. But in most cases they have been pretty common sense situations where the decision was clear. They just happened to make me extremely unpopular with those on the other end. My conviction is strong and I know in each circumstance I did the right thing. This doesn't mean that I didn't take time to think through each decision and ponder each side.

I find it helpful to remember past criticisms when I'm feeling especially disliked. Being removed from the verbal assaults by a few years allows me the time and distance needed to laugh at them now. I'm sure in a year or so I'll laugh about the attacks I am ensuing now...hopefully. I could go into a whole, more spiritual, commentary about the power of words and how the negative ones stick with you so be careful what you say because you may be wounding someone on a deep level, yada yada. But I find it more fun to laugh (or cry) at myself instead. So here's to some memorable quotes!

"I can't believe you're taking over. This is just like it was in the Bible with Israel: one bad king after another. I didn't like him (former authority) and I don't like you. It's going to be terrible all over again."

• Ah the reference-scripture-attack...very spiritual.

"You have no character. I've lost all respect for you. " (followed by slew of cursing)

• No messing around there. Pow! Right to the kisser.

(Sent about me to my human resources department) "She has made a terrible decision and as a result our children will no longer attend Young Life and we will no longer support her or the ministry."

• I've offended them so badly they took it to the national level. Awesome.

"You're such a loser. You hang out in the stands with all of us like you're still in high school. You're too old to do that. You're a creeper."

• The spurned-high schooler who once liked it when I conversed with him during games.

"F*@# Young Life."

• I like it. Simple, straight to the point.

Seriously though have you ever been cussed at, had doors slammed in your face, had your character attacked, had someone who once liked you suddenly decide they hate you all because of a decision you made? It sucks and I'm sorry if it has happened to you too. It really does hurt..a lot. Some of these comments haven't stopped hurting yet. The wounds are still open. I'm not calloused to them. But I'm still standing so I guess that counts for something.

The Man in Plaid

Last night Daniel invited me along to dinner with his new found friend Max. Max has a resume as thick as a book, but is famous in the internets world for his blog All Plaidout. Daniel thinks very highly of him, so I was excited to be invited along for dinner. Luckily I was already wearing plaid that day, but I did pull out the iron in honor of our visit with the plaid connoisseur. I'm writing about Max because he lives his career life the way I would like to live mine. Most of my readers know by now, but for those anonymous followers out there I'll fill you in on what's happening with my job. I'll post more later, but after 6 years on YL staff, the only real job I've ever had, the only career I ever really envisioned myself having, I am leaving my job this summer. My leaving is a long story, but I'm leaving on great terms and will stay with Young Life as a volunteer leader (new job permitting). I love the organization and what it has done for me personally and what it allows me to do in the lives of kids. My transition shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who reads the blog faithfully as it's written between the lines in so many posts where I talk about "remembering who I am", "waking up from a slumber I didn't know I was in", and not wanting to "put my dreams on hold".

The short of it is that God is stirring me to delve into more creative fields of work. This little blog project of mine has opened the floodgates of creativity and freedom in me and I am changing through this process. I thought it would help me to work through my fear of failure, but I had no idea how much freedom I would experience as a result of letting go of that fear. I am not who I was a year ago, heck even just a few months ago. I remember having a conversation with a friend where I scoffed along with her as she told me about another friend who was quitting her job without knowing what job she would do next. You can't just quit your job! You can leave one job when offered another in its place. But to leave before knowing what is next? Well that is simply unacceptable. Now here I am in a similar place, certain of only one thing: it's time for me to leave. I have no idea what is next, no idea what job(s) I will try to pursue, no idea what life outside of Young Life looks like. And you know what? Not only do I feel peace about this unknown, but I'm actually excited by it. Hattie from a few months ago would have been terrified by all this, panicked, and staying in a comfortable job despite not belonging there anymore. I mean this is the worst job market our generation has seen and I'm quitting my job. Call me irresponsible, 3 months ago I would have said so. But the Hattie of now sees a world full of possibilities, multiple jobs (not even necessarily careers), and experiences waiting to be adventured through.

So back to my new found friend Max. His resume and list of contacts is intimidating. He's only one year older than me and has already done things I would put on my bucket list and still never accomplish. He's lived in The City (you know the one that doesn't need to be specified, the city of all cities, the capital of the world, the one I long to live in someday). He tried acting and was in a few movies. I had to press him to name which ones specifically. Though he's in the background, let's just say he referred to Philip Seymour Hoffman as "Phil". You see though his experiences are intimidating to a small town gal like myself, his lack of any pretension is completely disarming. Within 5 minutes of sitting across from him in our little booth I felt like he genuinely cared about me and Daniel's life despite our lack of credentials. (Maybe I was duped and he's just a really good schmoozer.) He moved onto editing at Conde Nast. And you know someone's not name dropping when they feel the need to explain that Conde Nast is a publishing firm. (Yeah, I know who they are.) For him it's not about touting his accomplishments, just answering my questions of where he's been, what he's tried, and what he's up to now. His now is fashion design and sales working alongside a lot of innovative and respectable collaborators.

This being said I kept pondering during our conversation how someone goes about life accumulating experiences like these all before age 30. Like an inspirational poster he quotes, "Life is about the journey not the destination." But when he says it, after hearing about where he's been, what he's seen, and who he's met, the cheesiness of that saying is replaced by an authentic embodiment of that truth. Every part of me was battling to not ask him, "So ultimately what do you want to do?" I wasn't getting it. Sure he has ideas about things he'd like to do in the long term, but understands that truly successful and innovative people are usually able to accomplish those things as an overflow or product of their collection of experiences.

Daniel brought up my blog which I was terribly embarrassed by feeling incredibly inadequate in front of such a successful blogger. After explaining the premise of the project he quoted Eleanor Roosevelt this time with the idea "You should do something every day that scares you." It like he's got this stock pile of go-get-em inspirational cheers. (He must own a daily Successories calendar or something.)

Everything Max said and his life as an example was simply a confirmation of the desires God's been stirring in me. It was like God was showing me that yes indeed I can live a life made up of a variety of adventures. If I want to write, I can write. If I want to try my hand at design, go for it. If I want to front a band at weddings, then sing my lungs out to Celebrate Good Times.

I've talked about this briefly before, but at some point I started stifling myself, quieting those urges to do the impractical. Things have changed though. I'm feeling brave. For the first time in years I'm excited about the future. I'm relieved to know that God has new things in store for me beyond the path I always pictured. Now I'll be the one to quote someone...Rob Bell in Drops Like Stars presents the common sentiment when tragedy hits, "I never would have imagined my life like this". He then flips that on its head saying, "Yes it's terrible that she got cancer, that he left me, that she died" and "I never would have imagined my life like this". But out of tragedy and pain and the most bizarre of circumstances, sometimes good things happen as a result. He's by no means saying that God is cruel and in each case causes those bad things to happen in order to bring about good. But sometimes when stuff is already terrible, he can redeem it and use it. So the quote now reads, "I never would have imagined my life like this (It's never what I expected or planned on, but it's more incredible than I ever could have imagined)." That's where I'm at now. I never expected to have any job outside of my current one. But I am hopeful and eager about what lies ahead, even though I can't see it now and have no idea what that future entails.

So thank you to the Man in Plaid for embodying what God has been trying to tell me.

A Little Love for Hatties All Over the US of A

You know how most people can go to the keychain rack at the gift shop and easily find their name etched in plastic glory? I can't. This was troubling for me as a child to be excluded from personalized trinkets. How I longed to find my name printed on pencils, hair combs, collector spoons, anything. I'd run to the kiosk and scan the H's...Hannah and then the dreaded jump to Heather. Where was I? Why was I left out of personalized plastic heaven? Who am I if I cannot claim a personalized magnet of my own? Luckily I have a mother who was sympathetic to my gift shop induced identity crisis. She was always great about custom ordering me stationary and stickers with my name enblazened across them for special occasions. So when I saw this movie poster at the theater today, you can understand my euphoria. Daniel shrieked, "Hattie!" (I don't suppose he'd be too pleased with me describing his raised voice as a shriek, but that's simply what it was.) I replied with the customary, "What?" And he had to point at the poster in order for me to understand why he kept repeating my name.

It's nice to meet you Hattie from San Francisco. Congrats on the new movie. Your career is really taking off. Good for you.

I've had a few times when someone has told me their aunt or grandmother shares my name, particularly while working at Young Life camp in Georgia seeing as how Hattie seems to be a southern name. I was in college before actually meeting someone in person who shares my name. Prior to this I had an ominous experience at the civil war cemetery downtown during a second grade field trip. It turns out Hattie was also a popular name amongst slaves. My class joined me in counting the number of headstones bearing my identity. Something about being 8, in a cemetery, seeing your name written across multiple tombs can be a little on the terrifying side. I had made it a goal to meet another Hattie in person in my lifetime. While attending Mizzou there was a visit to Target in which I was reading birthday cards in the Hallmark aisle and heard someone call my name. As I turned to respond, a tall, olive skinned, brunette came around the corner to answer her friend. I almost approached her to exchange an awkward and fumbling "Hey uh Hattie, that's my name too, Hattie that is, um cool, so I wanted to meet you seeing as how we have the same name and...stuff. Okay, bye." I held my tongue and watched her walk out of my life forever. My missed opportunity was redeemed when my friend Amy told me that one of her YL girls was a Hattie too. She arranged a much less awkward meeting, a more run-into-you-casually meeting, where we exchanged stories of mispronunciations and misspellings and other woes of an unusual name. It was delightful and cathartic. I believe my inner 8 year old was also relieved to see a Hattie in the flesh, alive and kicking, caucasian, and not bearing the burden of cruelty and enslavement. What a relief.

Radio Companions

When I got in my car this afternoon I was hoping to listen to a little Fresh Air on NPR, but was disgruntled when I heard these words, "So call in now or you can even give online. Our number is...". Oh boo! It's KCUR's spring pledge drive. I hate pledge drive season and not because I miss out on all my favorite public radio programming. That certainly is annoying, but actually sometimes they'll play highlights from old shows as a kind of highlight reel of the best of the best. So in reality if you tune in at the right time you can catch better programming that you would have during a normal week. But that's if you're lucky and even then they'll interrupt right in the middle of it to "break away" for a pledge update. So yes this is annoying, but the reason I despise the pledge drive is because of the extreme amount of guilt I feel.

The line that is always the kicker for me is, "How long have you been mooching off of the donations of others who make this free radio possible for you?" Ugh. Mooch. You cut me deep KCUR. You cut me deep.

NPR has been a reliable companion for me over the years. It all started with grabbing my news from All Things Considered on my way home from work back in college. Then I listened to the Food Critics and movie reviews on the Walt Bodine Show during my mid morning commute when I used to live in Overland Park. Fresh Air always has the best guests and I can catch it on my way back from West after visiting Young Life kids afterschool. I will often sit parked in my car outside my house listening to the end of the interviews. Saturday morning errands mean America's favorite quiz show Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me or if I'm up early enough I'll giggle along to Car Talk. And when I'm driving home from downtown after a late night out I'll always turn on the BBC news to help keep me awake.

Certain shows serve as markers for different periods in my life. And the radio personalities with their unique and ethnically diverse names have become old friends. Michele (Me-Shell) Norris, Guy Raz, Kai Ryssdal: seriously though what ethnicity are these people? Part of the reason I've become attached to the anchors themselves is because 98% of the time I'm in my car by myself IF my radio is even on, it's tuned to NPR. The other 2% is silence. (Sometimes music agitates me so I prefer to sit in quiet. Blame it on the anxiety rather than me being weird.) And out of that 98% I'm probably only paying attention 42% of the time (these are very precise figures). I find extreme solace in the soothing voices reporting the world's events. It's like having a therapist or a librarian or a yogi speaking to you non-stop. It's not what they say, but how they say it. No matter the content or issue at hand, the tone is always the same: serene, peaceful, rocking me slowly and gently to a place of relaxation. Most people make fun of their soft spoken and passive inflection, but for me it's like having a hypnotist riding shotgun. It's a lot like turning the TV on at home to provide background noise. You're not really watching it while you work in the other room, but it breaks up the quiet and somehow keeps you company. This is exactly what my NPR friends provide for me...companionship.

So my guilt associated with the pledge drive comes not as much from taking the quality programming for granted as it does from betraying my dear friends. Their livelihoods are dependent upon the donations of others benefiting from their efforts. I of all people understand this as I work for a non-profit and my salary comes from charitable contributions. Maybe because I understand it so well is why it stings to think about what I'm doing to my radio companions. They have gotten me through my morning commute, my afternoon errands, and my mid-day stress when I just needed Steve Kraske's mid-western accent to calm my frazzled nerves. And then there's all those late night drives home. If it weren't for my British pals across the Atlantic, I could have fallen asleep at the wheel. Who's to say they haven't had a hand in preserving my life?

So what is my life worth? $15 a month? $25 a month? A flat $100 donation? Beyond guilt this pledge drive is causing me to have a full on existential crisis. I'm sure my smooth talking radio friends would never want me to fret like so. I'm sure they forgive me. I'm sure they'll still be there for me regardless of my pledge or lack thereof. They have always been there for me in the past (minus the few hours of symphony music); why should I doubt their reliability now? Thank you dear friends

Spring Break 2010

This was the scene at the end of a long, action packed spring break. The pups partied hard and spent the day recovering.