My Favorite Thing To Do

The Hows & Whys

This fall, I’ve written down a few goals for myself (I can’t wait to share them here!) – one of which has been to get some rest. I’ve been organizing jewelry onto hooks and clearing books from my nightstand and, gosh, there’s just something about fresh, new clean sheets, you know? So far, it’s working wonders to have a retreat that feels inviting but inspiring, and I’ve found myself heading to bed earlier and earlier knowing that a peaceful, uncluttered haven awaits me. 

This fall has been one of the busiest seasons yet. And it’s weird, because from the outside, my life looks very not-busy-at-all. I wake up at 7ish, make breakfast for Markus and get ready for work, reading books and studying for school. It’s one of my favorite parts of my day – so calm and peaceful and morning-like with no technology pings or alarms or reminders to pull us from the moment. And then I head to my work at 8 to sit down in a corner of the world with a massive mug and a matching to do list. I nearly always pack up by 5 and bring home some take-out (thank you, Chipotle, for sustaining the family), settling in for a night of dinner and showers and talking time, and then, after Markus goes to bed, it’s time for more school work. And that’s when things get hairy.

And of course that’s not a sustainable course of action. I know this. My heart knows it, and my gut knows it, which is why I get a ping of anxiety when a new assignment rushes in and it’s a new one I know I should submit right away, but know that I shouldn’t. Should-but-shouldn’t is the soundtrack playing in my head, looping unnecessary stress and playing sad songs no one wants to hear. So this month, my new goal is this: rest and rejuvenation. It seems fitting that I always seem to throw myself into the fire during fall – the bright, bold colors are ablaze and eventually give way to the calm of winter. But this year, I don’t want to wait for the white space that snow provides. I want to create it myself.

Here’s to rest and white and clean sheets and self-care. Here’s to fall goals, friends.

Traveling with Hockey

My son has garnered more passport stamps in sixteen short years than I had in forty plus. He learned to walk in Paris. He learned to whistle in Germany. Just this weekend, in Boston, he learned the fine art of balancing a profound wanderlust for this wide planet with the delicate yearnings for home:

“Can we come back again, but next time with you?”

And so, for all of the advice out there, I will simply say this: Find a way.

Find a way to travel with your kids. Find a way to make it work. (But they won’t remember it!) Of course they might not remember it. But you will.

You will remember how uncomfortable it felt to have throw up on you and all down the airplane window jostling a motion sick 9-month-old, the graciousness of a stewardess bringing you a plastic bag for your dirty clothes. You will remember the kindness of strangers carrying your suitcase down airplane ramps. You will remember running out of breast milk somewhere in Berlin; you will remember the resourcefulness of a t-shirt.

You will remember it all.

This world unfolds in ways not unlike the very map we use to navigate it with. Travel stretches us. It is taxing at times, and achingly beautiful at times, and we will always, always return home a bit crumpled but a lot changed.

We can do this anywhere: the crumpling, the changing. We can fly across the country for hockey, finding provisions for players.

You will remember it all.

Enough

A few nights ago, I hopped a red-eye home from LAX with a carryon of swimsuits and books, toothpaste. I’d gone glamping with this crew, although glamping is perhaps a reach to write. One morning, I woke to find glitter in my shoe.

—

There are two ways to get enough. One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less.

—

I have for most of my life been mindful of budgeting. My parents were wise to raise me with the most basic concept in money management: 

Always, always live below your means.

We were frugal, is all. I was frugal because my parents were frugal, they because theirs. Once I became [somewhat] gainfully employed as an actress on commercials, I was taught to make choices with my paycheck: Splurge it all on the new Nike or spend a little on Bonne Bell Cherry flavored lip balm and save the rest?

My decision was always the same: May it be known that the summer of ’82 was a very good year for me in terms of lip hydration.

—

The paycheck has changed, the circumstances have shifted, the foreseeable needs and wants and musts have all been altered. (Although I hear good old Bonne’s Cherry flavor is still all the rage, as it should be.)

And yet, my parent’s example continues to serve me well:

—

Always, always live below your means.

—

Markus and I sometimes ask for help on living a single-income hockey life. How did I pull it off? How have we managed to carve out a life of travel  – both of us sometimes when schedules permit, maintaining a secure, stable paycheck? Isn’t it scary? With three kids, especially?

And you know, I do have a few thoughts on the subject…

—

1. Put in the work up front.
   I lived a very disciplined life throughout my 20’s. I was both interested in saving the bulk of paychecks and investing wisely (I chose real estate at the right time). When friends were shelling out cash for expensive dinners and late-night concerts, I packed a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter and people-watched at the park. It didn’t quite matter what I was saving for as much as it mattered that we get in the habit of spending far, far less than we made. It’s a habit that has never led me astray.
2. Be content.
   My income has changed with my circumstances, but my spending habits haven’t. I still drove the same car I first purchased in college (shout out to my Honda CR-V!) over 12 years ago, because it worked in getting me from A to B. It was functional, and I was content with it. That is hard work, certainly (confession: I would get mildly envious of those luxurious seat warmers, although truth be told, I’d even settled for automatic locks and windows!), but it’s a secret I’m convinced of: Contentment is always a worthwhile choice, in finances and in life.
3. Trim the fat.
   I used to make traditional budgets with spreadsheets when I was twenty, and a few years later, I began using Quicken to track our everyday expenses (head’s up: those automatic categories are a dream come true when tax season rolls around). Once you watch the budget tally up your $4.50 smoothie habit, you’ll rethink that daily juice shop visit.
4. Learn from your mistakes.
   We all make poor financial choices (the once-used pressure cooker in my pantry is my own evidence of this), but often, failure is the first step to learning. Over time, you’ll learn your triggers. Love shoes? Steer clear of the mall. Gluten for junk? Avoid the Target $1 aisle. Often times, budgeting is about avoiding short-term comfort in favor of long-term comfort. The more you learn about yourself, the easier this will become.
5. Ease up.
   With financial planning, it’s easy to be either all too lax or all too rigid. What good is planning for tomorrow if we’re not attempting to enjoy today? Take a good look at your family’s values and invest in those, whether that means piano lessons for the musical ones or a backyard trampoline for the neighborhood. It’ll look differently for everyone, as it should. The less I find myself focusing on money in the day-to-day, the easier it is to remind myself that saving money is a tool to achieve goals, but not the goal itself.
6. Lower the overhead.
   This is especially helpful when opting for a lower-stress route, because a set paycheck is truly never guaranteed. For us, living below our means has meant avoiding overhead. Saving your dollars until you can afford to make a purchase in cash means you get to own your things, and your things don’t get to own you.
7. Be generous.
   Sure, it’s simple to hide all of your funds for a rainy day, to amass piles of cash for someday use. But for me, allowing room for generosity and investing in kindness toward others has always offered far greater rewards. I’d rather be rich in love than in dollars.

—

Yes, that quote was right.

There are two ways to get enough.

You can want for more, or you can want for less.

—

But there’s also a third way to get enough:

You can want for precisely what you have – not more, not less. You can enjoy what you’ve been given and enjoy when you’ve been given it, and you can be good stewards of the rest.

(And may we wake to find glitter in our shoes.)

Back To Basics

 #TheGoodList is not a new concept, hardly original, as there are a number of gratitude chasers sharing slivers of their happiness under a wide variety of hashtags. My friend Erin has a gratitude practice she calls #LovelyThings. Another friend shares #3ThingsToBeHappyAbout. The list, and lists, go on.

If you’re inclined to join, no matter the hashtag, I suppose I do keep a few principles. These aren’t rules, necessarily. Rules are to be offered by members of authority, and really, who can safely call themselves an authority on Instagram?

And yet: here’s something.

—

 The truth is, there is a generation that has blurred the lines between the documentation of our lives and the distribution of our lives. We trap sacred moments and offer them for public consumption. We wield ourselves into broadcasters, talking into tiny screens to share on Instagram stories, like TV reporters without hairspray and stick mics. We turn our days, our travels, our children into regularly scheduled programming. We replace contentment with content, and we call it a life.

#TheGoodList is not that.

It is, simply put, a naming of happy moments. It is for surveying our days, for calling it good. It is for noticing, for paying attention, for practicing the fine and weighty art of gratitude.

The practicing is the good stuff.
The publishing? Entirely optional.

CALIFORNIA

What did I do in California? you ask. 

A whole lot of unlearning.

—

The short of it is this: I traveled to Newport Beach with my incredible friends, including Laurie at Great Artist Mom to check in on a girls only trip and with the fine lady at LIMERICKI. (More on that front, obv.)

The long of it is this: I traveled to the other side of the country to see there’s no such thing as the other side of the country. The country doesn’t flip, after all.

We do.

—

Here’s the first truth:

A month before the flight, I learned about the trip they’d been planning for months. Planning came for me quickly. I was suddenly free, and the importance of finances was so big, and the timing of it all felt serendipitous, natural. Too unreal.

Was there space in my schedule for a weekend trek? I wondered.

Was there space in my heart?

And so I left for California, feeling full, energized.

I packed at the last minute – a blur of distraction – only putting in my bag what I thought I needed in the way of linen tees, sandals, rosewater spray. My shoulders felt the release of too much as I threw my weekender through security, the last one on standby at the gate, onto the last seat on the plane.

The luckiness matched my already cheery spirit.

—

So then, day two in Huntington. We wake early, still giddy, still cheery-eyed. We walk to the beach for breakfast, readying ourselves for croissants and conversation. We smooth our sun dresses and sit down on a quiet, breezy cafe to order orange juice, fruit. We read through the menu, chatter along about upcoming mission visits, trips to other countries, a visit to the seamstresses. We rave about our love for gelato, for chocolate. We make plans to see Fashion Island.

Walking along the beach I find a paper cup. Printed on the outside are these words:

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

And in a single sentence, I realized it all. 

My spirit wasn’t empty. It was simply making room for something else.

—

I’ve always operated under perceived scarcity. Is there enough time in my day for this? Enough space for this? Do we have room for that? Is it essential, necessary? Are you sure?

And yet, abundance exists. There is enough time to go around, enough space for us all.

There always has been.

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

As the weekend progressed, smiles were given and gifts were exchanged. Lunches and second lunches were served, dinners and second dinners were enjoyed. 

Another gelato? Here, chocolate.

The California I visited was rooted in community, in generosity, in abundance. There was one answer and one answer alone to the question, “More pizza?” and to tell you the correct answer, I will show you my post-Newport waistline. (No I won’t.)

At the beach, you say yes and in the sand, you say thank you.

Yes, I’d love to dance with you. Thank you.
Yes, we’ll be here for you. Thank you.
Yes, we can help.

Thank you.

Yes, yes, yes.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And for all of the work I’ve done as an adult to learn how to say No, I must say: Yes was a refreshing change of pace.

—

Saying no has become a badge of honor in our culture. Minimalism is the new black! we cheer, and we pride ourselves on living a life of routines, in time and money management. I KonMari my closet. I seek deeper relationships with fewer people.

We call this being responsible. We call this self control. We call this wisdom.

We call this editing our life.

The most Important Lesson I Learned in California, And Why It Matters.

“But life isn’t something that should be edited. Life shouldn’t be cut. The only way you’ll ever discover what it truly means to be alive and human is by sharing the full experience of what it means to be human and each blemish and freckle that comes with it.” -Iain Thomas

—

I pride myself on saving time, on protecting my space.

But is it really my time, my space?

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

Or is it everyone’s?

—

There’s a Hindu proverb I read in the middle of a crowded airport in Los Angeles, and it is this:

Help your brother’s boat across, and your own will reach the shore.

Here’s the second truth, then:

I have, for many years, given reason upon reason that I cannot help my brother’s boat.

I’m in a busy family season with small children.
I’m under-qualified.
I don’t have the time.
I don’t have the energy.
I don’t have the resources, the skills, the talent.

But a cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

Things are never as they seem.

—

Cali taught me the art of abundance. Of generosity. Of depleting yourself, of emptying your cup, of trusting that it will be filled with the precise amount your community will need.

Not filled with the precise amount we will need, of course.

Filled with the precise amount our community will need.

It’s not really about us, is it?

It never really was.

And I suppose that’s what traveling does to you. It’s an act of surrender, of abandon – an acrobatic exercise. You fling yourself into a culture so unlike your own, and you grasp onto tiny truths that land you safely into a new perspective. Your mind flips.

Your heart does, too.

—

I don’t know how I’ll live out Newport’s lessons in my own life, in my own little family, in our own little apartment. But I know there’s room for a somersault or two.

I know there’s space.

I know there’s a thin tightrope we walk between independence and selfishness, between minimalism and wastefulness, between intention and rigidness.

Sometimes, the tightrope wobbles just beneath and we lose our footing.

Other times, we string it taut between two boats – yours and mine – and we help each other to the other side.

I nearly said No to California.

And if I had, I would’ve missed the boat entirely.

  

To Olivia for these amazing photos: Yes, yes, yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Things I Wish I'd Done, Today

A Random Note, From Future Me

I have a short list of things I wish I’d done in my 20’s (respected my more-amazing-than-they-are-now legs, spent more time with my grandparents, backpacked through Europe). It’s ridiculous, really, because I couldn’t possibly have mustered the energy to do any of them. What I wanted to do in my 20’s was what I actually did in my 20’s: worked, worked out, had three babies, watched them nap.

I don’t keep those lists anymore.

—

Here’s what I want to do in my 40’s:

???

—

I know my future self will likely wish that I’d volunteered more, will likely wish I’d worn a bikini (it’s only going downhill – literally – from here, folks), will likely wish I’d yelled less when Morgen poured two buckets of finger paint onto his carpet (I’m painting, Mom!).

I wish that, too.

But wishing is wishing.

Living is something different.

What I think my future self will wish I’d have done in my 40’s is precisely what I’m doing in my 40’s: floundering, failing, living, breathing, lamenting, celebrating, questioning, doubting, enjoying, trying, doing.

—

Outside, today, it is sunny. My future self would say: ‘Brenda – go play! Dance in it, sing in it, you’ve still got your knees, you crazy kid! Use ’em, for the love!’

But it’s sunny, and I don’t know how to appreciate my knees yet.

So I write.

—

I’ve always had this sort of paralysis with too much future talk, too much hypotheses, too much crystal ball peering. I don’t read the news. I like small, and quiet, and today. Give me what I already have. A nap, a walk in the park with the ones I love, perhaps some cheese in the fridge.

It has been said: “When the student is ready, a teacher will appear.”

—

A surefire formula for a teacher’s arrival, and a student’s readying:

Failure. Desperation. Heartbreak. Dieting the wrong way, so we can eventually learn what it means to do it the right way.

Frame of reference to bring the ready made meals to my door in exchange for a table and chairs.

Age. Wisdom. Experience.

—

And so, I hope my future self tells me this:

“You’re not gonna get it. You’re not gonna believe me when I tell you that your legs are immaculate, that your parents are geniuses, that backpacking through Europe is an incredible use of your small, hard-earned resources.

And you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t believe me. You’re not there yet.

You will be.

And you can believe all those things when you are.”

—

Cosigned,
Future Me

So Long, Sweet Summer

Summer is winding down, and I’m one of those crazy fools who starts mourning the loss of summer before it’s even passed. I can’t help it – my brain just trajects a million miles an hour, a racecar on the final lap. And yes, I do walk around with internal whiplash pretty much daily, you are very correct. So here’s my remedy for the unwarranted end-of-summer-blues:

Aria

So I generally show everyone I know the video's of Aria singing about them to make us all feel better (always an expert at presenting facts, this girl), like about how she will be attending school allllll the way over there in New York through a performing arts school (it’s called The New School, and you have to say it with a New Yorker accent, all pronounced and stuff: The NEEEW School) in search of stardom. And bam! They found it – would you believe it? – in OUR ARIA!?! They’re thrilled.

And we’re thrilled that they’re thrilled.

Summer and Aria, don’t leave. (But since you must, thanks for leaving pumpkin lattes on your way out the door…)

Stay Cool

The dog days are here. Saturday, I photographed a group of teenagers standing in high-heels on a grassy front lawn, cherry red lipstick popping from their lips, cheeks, fingernails. Flowers blooming every where in the garden sprinkler a flurry.

Summer.

best wedding EVER.

Nadalynn & Chris

September 7, 2019

Nothing more to say. 

MY Kind:

today's photo

So, technically this is a photo from yesterday, but I’m flexible. You should know I’ve been here three times in two other teenagers, by the way, solely for the photos (which are amazing).

I’m jetting out to LAX Friday, so I’ll be back in the West when we meet here again Monday. Care for more photos, albeit more than likely not as cool? Let me know and I’ll oblige. I rather like taking daily photos these days.

p.s. I wrote this post with an English accent. Can you tell?
p.p.s. I think no sleep is catching up to me.
p.p.p.s. I don’t mind.

thank you, natalye!

That's Natalye ^

I feel like Natalye has just been crowned homecoming queen of Murray High. Thanks to Markus, who told me "Have you seen her?? She's gorgeous!", and a BIG thanks to him for helping me find the most popular tie of the day!!!

Chasing Slow

I'm Writing A Better Story

My story is more than likely the same as your story: a clear beginning, and a murky middle, and then a new beginning again. 

A slow crawl back to the middle, a few inches closer to the goal, then another misstep right back to where I began.

It’s a story of relearning.

This chapter is about slowing down, about stripping the excess, about refusing to consume in a world that shouts for more.

But it’s also about the in between. It’s about what it’s like to vacillate between different parts of yourself and not get dizzy from the whiplash. It’s about living in the tilt a whirl that is standing up for something, then losing focus and vomiting over the handrails. It’s about staking a claim into the ground, then tripping over it on your way into the house for dinner. It’s about what happens when you strive for excellence and fail, and when you allow grace to change your mind.

It’s a story of less, to be fair.

But it’s also a story of much, much more.

weekend mash-up

 Happy Sunday, friends! 

I’m back from some family time today and am soooo excited we went to crash the state fair for a caramel apple and a meatball sandwich. Of course, I had way more fun since I was driving my new awesome Chevrolet Bolt (instead of a huge Chevrolet truck!) and one of my niece and nephew’s came too. I’m kidding, I suppose. Doesn’t matter what you drive as long as there’s a fair (whee! I can rhyme!) 

The truth is, I’m slowly learning to fall back in love with my western roots. Sure, there are great mountains (and beautiful mountains at that!), but it’s all in your perspective. Wherever you live, you’ve gotta make it yours and press onward. Besides, home is where you keep your vintage scrapbook collection, yes?

Happy weekend, guys!

I’ll sign off for now, but before I go, remember Marilee's Solar Panels? Yesterday, she sent over a sneak peek image of her new real estate agency (not yet on her site) that she just finished working on, which I posted above. Amazing, right?

Happy weekend, guys!

p.s. World Market is having a 50% off sale this week. I’ll be there virtually, of course!