TRotS (The Rest of the Story)

Although I haven’t backed down from them…I haven’t really considered myself a thrill-seeker or risk taker. I am not an adrenaline junkie. Rather, I like to think that I am pleasantly comfortable with butterflies in my stomach, as long as they are attached to something fun. Unfortunately, most of my butterflies have come from feeling anxious about something. These are not the butterflies that need feeding. These are the ones that need to have a short life span.

Adding hang gliding to my bucket list came almost accidently. I have many memories over the decades while living in Colorado, of driving along Highway 93 in Golden, and seeing hang gliders in various stages of flight. Golden is a very popular area for this particular sport. I always thought it might be fun, but never had a burning desire to experience it first-hand.

That all changed one day, in December of 2013, when I was having breakfast with my Brazilian friend, Sandra.  Months before, she had provided an email introduction between me and her friend, Jorge, who lives in Rio de Janeiro. He and I had begun to correspond back-and-forth, and were speaking in loose terms of me visiting Rio “someday.” However, it was this particular breakfast that put a plan into motion.

She described in vivid detail what New Year’s Eve is like in Rio. She also talked about other cool things to do while there…including hang gliding. That meal was all it took to motivate me into making a plan. I contacted Jorge and he was wonderfully willing to play host to me in Rio for New Year’s. (Mind you, the entire plan came together in just a couple of weeks.)

As the plan unfolded, I let Jorge know that the only activity I really wanted to do while I was there was hang gliding. There was just something about the way Sandra had described it that made me want to add it to…and then cross it off…my Bucket List! Jorge made my reservation for the first day I was to be in Rio. Unfortunately, due to a comedy of errors (which will be shared, no doubt, in another post), I was delayed in getting to Rio by one day.

Jorge was not about to let me leave Rio without hang gliding, however. On January 2, he needed to return to work, so Jorge suggested he drop me off that morning at Pepino Beach so I could make a reservation. He assured me that he would communicate to the “pilot” that once we had made the reservation, I was to be put in a cab and the pilot would tell the driver where to take me. (Although I managed to get myself around in Rio, via cab, I butchered the language every time I used my translation book, so it was always a challenge to the driver.)

With that, Jorge introduced me to my pilot, Paulo, with whom he had been speaking, and promptly left. Thankfully, Paulo spoke English and told me that we needed to go get my “license”…a loose term for accepting all liability for any danger I might be putting myself into. Once that was done, I fully expected to set my appointment and be on my way…released to anticipate the thrill of it all. As we walked back down to where Paulo’s helpers were packing up his glider for transport, he turns and says, “Are you ready to fly?” “What?? We’re going NOW??,” I screamed in my head. With no time to reconsider my decision, I got into the vehicle and off we went, and the butterflies took flight.

A few thoughts crossed my mind as we started up the mountain: (1) I am in a car with three men, two of whom do not speak English, (2) I am in said car in a foreign country…one that cannot be entered into without a Visa that requires advance issuing, and (3) I have paid these men $250 to get into the car willingly.

As we careened up the curving, narrow, mountain road at a rate of speed that made taking in the view all but impossible, I found myself acknowledging that if I survived the ride up the mountain, the flight down could not be any more terrifying.

At the top, the Pedra Bonita Ramp awaited us. As Paulo’s assistants assembled the glider, he helped me into the harness and donned his own. I expected to be thoroughly instructed as to the finer points of hang gliding, and I suppose I was…in his mind. Once the glider was assembled, we were attached and with the glider set down on the ramp, Paulo had us “hang” so I could get a feel for the harness. Then we stood up, he said “no matter what, don’t stop running!” That was the extent of my instruction.

A few seconds later, we were running down the ramp about to jump into nothing. My mind was screaming, “what are you doing, Karen??!!!” In the moment that we ran out of ramp, my body was instantly suspended horizontally, and the most glorious sensation of floating replaced the terror. There was no drop. The butterflies had calmed down, and I was flying! 

We floated, circling the beautiful landscape below. Toward the end of the flight, we were out over the ocean, where I could see some of the larger inhabitants from an incredible vantage point. As we neared the end of our flight, Paulo detached the harness from my leg, then pushed the bar forward. Doing so made the glider drop, losing altitude very quickly to prepare for landing on the beach. The butterflies were alive and well as I squealed with surprise and delight. Within moments, we were running along the beach, bringing the glider to a stop.

What an incredible experience! I was absolutely amazed, when I viewed the video, to learn that the whole flight only lasted less than 8 minutes…it seemed like much longer. It was an extravagant thing for me to do, but the memory will continue to feed my butterflies for the rest of my life.

Beach Worthy

I took this photo from “our” beach on Siesta Key, Florida in April 2015. Watching the sunset is a ritual there. We always give thanks for the day that was, as well as the days to follow.

There is something more to watching a sunset these days. These days (and by these days I mean being somewhere that is most likely past Middle Age), sunsets are a metaphor for this stage in life. It’s not a melancholy association, just a reality that life is going WAY TOO FAST…like the final minutes of a sunset.

With that perspective, I recognize that some of my struggles have been my constant companion throughout the journey. Namely: self worth. It is such a complex subject and I have a lot of questions about it. Like this: why is it that I can completely own all of my choices without regret (well, except for one), and yet internally still cringe a little for having made some of them? How can I love my life, like myself, and still have a nagging feeling in my gut of something like embarrassment or guilt?

The frequency with which I am sharing my journey with others is astounding to me. I am constantly sharing the “cliff notes” version of my life, because I am meeting more new people now than at any other time in my life. In the telling, I realize that it’s the milestone moments that get shared, and many of those, for me, are the stuff of country songs.

For instance, take right now:

My dog’s a dyin’

I got no place to live,

I’m always a flyin’

He’s got no love to give.

No wonder I sometimes struggle…right? On the flip side:

I have three wonderful kids,

Who give me joy and love.

A job that’s amazing and fits like a glove.

I have all the time I need to decide where to live

And endless adventures which to myself I give.

The background may be country, but a beautiful symphony is woven through my tapestry. It’s when I look at the sum of my life’s choices that I realize I AM a perfect reflection of God.

So, why would self worth ever be questioned?

2013 - The Year of Grains and Brains

I know, I know...goofy name for a year. I wanted to be clever and I wanted it to reflect, in just a few words, something about what I will experience this year. So here's the long version.

2012 was an amazing year for me...like none other in my 55 years on this planet. I began the year employed ... and thankfully, ended the year wearing that moniker. However, the 47 weeks in-between found me unemployed and on a journey that tested my faith, patience, resilience, friends, family and emotions.

By year's end, through the generosity of many, I traveled extensively - Hawaii, Florida, Indiana and lots of trips within Colorado; sold the home where I had resided for 22 years, downsized and moved to a townhome; let go of unhealthy relationships and welcomed new ones into my life; changed schools and my major; and applied for dozens of jobs. It was a very busy year!

My greatest take-away from the year of extremes is the understanding that living in the moment is a skill which takes constant practice to master. I am no where near a level of mastery; however, the year brought me to a place where I can remain in the moment for much longer periods than I was ever able to achieve before. Most of all, this year taught me to trust my gut in all things...a painful but very necessary lesson for me.

In the midst of all the pain and challenge, I was awash with blessings almost constantly. I just read a statistic about people enduring three difficult life events in a single year - such as what I experienced by losing my job, the resulting financial challenges, and selling my house. Isolated people are three times more likely to die following such a year. Die! I am so thankful that I didn't experience it alone. When I needed to laugh, friends and family were there. The same goes for the times I needed to cry. I am constantly humbled by the love I am shown.

For Christmas, I received the most extraordinary gift I could imagine - one year of unlimited travel on United Airlines. ONE YEAR!!! If this doesn't help to quench my insatiable thirst for travel...I don't know what will! In the last few weeks, I have had such a blast just imagining and researching places I could see this year. Actually seeing some of them will be nothing short of sublime.

Since it is such an extraordinary gift, I want to share it. Hence, this blog. My plan is to travel every other weekend to a destination that will offer up literal Grains (as in grains of sand) or figurative Grains (as in grains of wisdom), and some type of learning or knowledge (the Brains part of the name). I might play "Where's Karen?" and make a guessing game of my destination, or I might ask for suggestions (and help with small details like couch-surfing possibilities or sights to see).

There you have it! I hope you will come along with me on this adventure. I have no idea how it will unfold, but given how the universe seems to share its bounty with me - more often than not in a humorous way - I hope it will be very entertaining. :)

Adios for now (that's a clue to my first destination).

 

A Big Fat Mom Moment

You don't have to be a mom to feel disappointment, pain, loneliness, failure, but when those feelings are caused by your kids, they are felt in a completely different way. My very worst Mom-moment came about 3 and 1/2 years ago when I answered the phone at 10:00 at night and I heard one of my children say, "Mom, we're in trouble." Two of my three children were, indeed, in trouble. But for one, it would mean time in prison. Shortly after I hung up the phone that night, I found myself quite literally in a puddle on my bathroom floor. The pain I was feeling was so exquisite...as if inflicted by a surgical tool so sharp that there was no blood. I sobbed. Then, I sobbed some more. At some point during that interminable night, I actually questioned whether or not one could die from crying. But...I didn't die. I found my faith...not the "oh, I have faith" variety, but the "I give this to you, Lord" kind of faith...only this time, I really did.

"Time heals," they say. It may not heal, per se, but it does distance us from pain. In the instant that I gave my son's path to the Lord, I was free to love him unconditionally. It enabled me to share his experiences these past 3+ years, see the purpose of his life in prison, and be more proud of him than I thought possible. Gifts I could not have imagined awaited me...and all I had to do was acknowledge what I always knew...God was in control.

To quote a beautiful Facebook posting by a beloved friend, "sometimes the people with the worst pasts, create the best futures." Aaron's story is unfolding...but so is mine...and so is yours. That is God's design until our last breath. Today, Aaron begins anew. This time is different. This time, we both believe.

A Fountain of Forgiveness

I have always carried a level of guilt with me since childhood. Gut level because there is no identifiable reason why I should feel guilty about anything from my childhood. I was a loved, cared-for child. My first recollection of the irrational guilt came in the form of embarrassment. In the fourth grade, my family was disintegrating and we were undergoing family counseling. I remember being in those sessions so horribly embarrassed that we HAD to be there - that there was nothing I could do to prevent that humiliation of my family. Never mind that it was not mine to do anything about…I just felt like I should be able to fix it. Obviously, I couldn’t and I think that’s when I started to see myself as invisible. It played out over and over in my family. It was broken and I couldn’t fix it, so I made myself smaller and more invisible with each fracture. I finally found a way to remain invisible…by being involved in marriages and relationships so broken to start with that I couldn’t possibly fix them…thus ensuring my invisibility.

Last September, I realized a life-long dream to visit England and Ireland. I had many moments of déjà vu during that trip, but my final night was down-right surreal. After a day of traveling back to London from Ireland, I spent the evening seeing the people, shops and sights of Covent Gardens, followed by shopping in Picadilly. I was exhausted and my feet were screaming. I parked myself on the side of the fountain right there in Picadilly Circus and soaked up the sights and sounds. There was a dance “crew” busting moves right in front of me; a guy dressed up as Mr. Britain – head to toe and then some in Union Jack; a man playing a digeradoo; and, of course, all the neon lights competing for my attention. The crowd was vibrant and excited to be in London on a beautiful autumn night. I soaked up the sights and smells…committing them to memory.

As I did so, I had the overwhelming feeling that my wound in this life started there…right there in Picadilly Circus. I experienced a physical memory and an emotional response so profound that my associated thought was without doubt that I had not only been there before, but that also I had been at a crossroads with someone. I intuitively felt I had had the opportunity and power to make a choice that would fix a situation. I could’ve fixed it…but I chose not to. In an instant, I found myself sobbing at the memory of circumstances and a place I had never been before.

In the midst of this very strange and yet so real experience, I realized what I needed to do. It seemed so appropriate that I should ask forgiveness for not fixing whatever it was. For not choosing repair and resolution. Even though I don’t know who or what or why, I do know that when you send a word, thought or action into the Universe, it finds where it needs to go.

At least I know my request did, because the next thing I felt was release. Grace. Awash with forgiveness. As I walked away from Picadilly Circus that night, I knew I was leaving part of myself behind. The guilt I carried with me for half a century in this lifetime...was left at that fountain...and I walked away with a lighter heart and eyes on a future free of the past.

Summer Solstice

I've been pondering the longest day of the year. Tonight, in an empty house, following a work day that was less than satisfactory, I am thinking about the longest days I have known...literally and figuratively. My most memorable Summer Solstice was in 2002 in Banff, Canada, in the most beautiful place I could imagine. Where the sunset was at 11:00 (or nearly then). Where I saw my first Black and Grizzly bears in the wild. A family vacation that will never be surpassed. Sam was 5 and Harry Potter incarnate. Lydia was 9 and loved to organize us and any temporary home we resided in. Temporary is the norm. A Great thing when there is pain. Not-so-great when you love a certain temporary...like being a stay-at-home mom with a do-over opportunity to raise my kids. I wasn't that to Aaron, my first son, and I know we both missed out.

Kids grow...temporary.
Marriages end...temporary.
Jobs change...temporary.
Friends are the beautiful threads that weave in and out of the temporary...some unravel...some fade with time...some are comfortable like your favorite T-shirt...but temporary in the places in which we meet.

I am the constant in the change...the change in the temporary.
I am....NOT temporary. I am permanently ME.
Sometimes, like now, I wish that brought me more comfort than it does.

What's in a name?

In the case of my blog, simple: I'm in my 50s (quinquagenarian) and I'm getting an education (abecedarian) - and not just the education I'm gaining through my studies. In fact, that education is pretty academic (oh, yes, TERRIBLE pun intended)...my real education has been, is and hopefully will continue to be that which I gain through experiences, relationships, challenges, faith, joy and the wonder of waking up each day to experience it all anew. Does the universe need another blog? Probably not. But I've been told to write...so write I will. You don't get to be a quinquagenarian without amassing some stories from the road ... so when inspired, I will pull one out of my cerebral hard drive and share it.