Tag: balance

This Too Shall Pass

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

fall-leavesI’ve been blessed to have some important “a-ha” moments in my life. Often they open the door to some sort of personal growth that is usually a good thing. But I’ve also had some “a-ha” moments followed by “whammo” moments that have taken my breath away—both literally and figuratively.

Like the night, many years ago, when my mom and I went out for the first time after my dad’s death a couple months prior. We actually had some laughs, and as we were driving home, I realized that he would want us to have fun and that it didn’t diminish his memory. I said to my mom how it felt good to laugh, even though it felt bad to not have Dad there with us. Within minutes of those words coming out of my mouth, our car was broadsided and we went flying through an intersection. I smashed my head into the window, the car had extensive damage, and my mom realized that my dad had changed the insurance to collision only. It was a costly night in more ways than one. A-ha…whammo.

A sort of personal mantra that often plays in my head like a looping tape during life’s rough seasons is “this too shall pass.” Because it does. We got past the concussion and car repairs from that night. And though I didn’t know it at the time, it was helping to prepare me for more rough seasons to come.

This year has been yet another one of those rough seasons. Included within is another classic a-ha/whammo. While dealing with some rough logistical and emotional challenges in helping to take care of my mother through a major health crisis, it dawned on me that I needed to strive to find joy within the challenges…not wait to get through them. Joy in the moment—not once the obstacle has been overcome. A-ha. The following morning I said aloud to my husband Mike that I felt we were so blessed for him to have his job. And then the next day his boss called him into his office and he was let go. We were completely blindsided. Whammo. The timing would have been laughable if it wasn’t so painful.

We are still in the process of figuring out what God has in store for us next, as Mike is still unemployed, but I do know that this too shall pass. I believe it because I’ve been there before. And while the process may totally suck, I know God is there to take care of the sparrows…and us, too.

But it’s not only the tough stuff that passes. As we all know, the good stuff is temporary, too. It’s all part of the crazy life cycle that keeps us on our toes. Just grab a photo album of days before digital and see if the time flying doesn’t make your head spin—and all the wonderful moments that seemed so big then are now so small—contained in a 3×5 photo and a little piece of your heart.

And that is why remembering “this too shall pass” is so important. Not only does it help me get through life’s blindsidings and heartache, but it reminds me to pull myself out just for a moment and take note that I may not have forever to appreciate my kid’s singing in the shower or the beautiful fall colors or the laughter of a night with friends. It encourages me to savor those moments because I am so very well aware that they do not last.

It helps me remember the fleeting nature of life’s struggles and joys…How the joy fills us and sustains us while the trials make us stronger and wiser (and hopefully more compassionate and understanding). All of it makes us who we are.

So…wherever you may be in life…whatever challenges you may be facing or loving memories you may be making—take heart, take note—this too shall pass.

And Then There Were 52

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

know nothingThis is my 52nd post. Not quite exactly a year ago, I started this little blog. By “started,” I mean actually committed to writing it. It existed in other incarnations for…years. But a year ago, I told myself that I was going to post every Monday, and I have lived up to that internal promise. I’m glad for that. Continue reading “And Then There Were 52” →

936 and Counting

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 8 Comments

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATime flies. We all know this. The only case where time does NOT fly is instances like when you’re stuck in a boring workshop where they have the thermostat set so cold it just may crack off a body part and all you can think about is lunch. Then it’s slow. But typically, another week comes and goes and it feels like a blip on the radar.

Recently, I had a 1-2 punch that was the kind of coincidence that makes me stop and think. I saw a framed graphic at a family member’s house that said something along the lines of “940. The number of Saturdays until your child reaches 18.” Me being me, I checked the math (52×18=936) and wondered why they added the extra month. Googling it, 940 is the number used again and again, but I like the number 936 better than 940 anyway, so I’m sticking with that. (Why the extra four? Can you guess?)

The very next day I was speaking to a friend, and she said her pastor’s message that Sunday was on pretty much the exact same thing. He had a jar of marbles that visually represented how many weeks were left before his daughter turned 18. The emphasis being, of course, that we use our time together wisely. It is fleeting.

So there I was, with two totally different avenues leading me to the same wakeup call: we only have so much time with our children before they are off and running in the world.

Of course, I know this. But when you put a finite number around it, it drives it home even further. Tick…tock…and another week is gone. Another marble leaves the jar.

I have issues with time management. I just do. I aspire to knock the hell out of each day, and before I know it, I’m brushing my teeth before bed.

But the clock of life is wound but once…

My son had his feet resting on my lap the other day, and…they were huge. What happened to the teeny ones that I nibbled on and made him giggle?

He was just sharing with me his fascination with the circulatory system that he’s learning about in science class. Only yesterday he was learning the alphabet.

I tell him—like my dad always told me—there will always be room on my lap for him. But the last time he tried it, we laughed together at how comical we must have looked.

936.

If my math is right, we’ve had 541 Saturdays together…and only 395 left before he turns 18.

395. 3-9-5. Holy crimony.

Thankfully, I am wise enough to know that these days do not need to be chock full and supercharged to be meaningful. I think back to my own childhood, and I realize that while there are some “big” memories of trips and special events—the real things that stick are the small things. The moments. It didn’t have to be anything special—just a time where I felt that I mattered. I don’t even think those thoughts typically cross our minds when they are happening—it’s like they just go into a special reservoir of love, where for some reason, we feel it and cherish it.

So, before I “lose my marbles” with my son, I need to remind myself that the moments count. That just because we may not be able to carve out the better part of a day to do something significant, I can still get out and play touch football with him and his dad.

I can genuinely listen to him catch me up on the first part of the “Full House” episode that I am sitting down to watch the rest of with him.

I can make time for a bike ride on a beautiful fall day, even if deadlines are looming.

I can share in his joy at the occasional 49¢ McDonald’s ice cream cone.

While we still do need to hit the “big” things and make those memories, it’s important to remind myself in the swirl of the day that not all is lost as long as we remember the moments, too.

Because that is what he will remember. The moments.

936 down to 395.

It’s not about us putting more stress on ourselves because who needs more of that? What it is about is keeping the perspective that we do have a finite time with our children, and it does matter—to them and to us—and it is all a blessing of unknown impact and meaning.

So amidst the flurry and chaos of everyday life, I’m going to strive to remember to jump in the leaves. Even if it means we have to rake them all over again.

The Be All and End All

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments
Go ahead and pull for HOURS of fun!
Go ahead and pull for HOURS of fun!

Stretch Armstrong had his 15 minutes of fame when I was a kid. He was a rubber doll whose claim to that fame was his elasticity. You could stretch him to extremes and he would eventually revert back to his six-pack abs self. I didn’t actually own one, but a friend of mine did. It didn’t take us long to decide—along with probably every other kid who owned one—that we would see if we could stretch poor old Stretch beyond his limits.

It didn’t take long till we met with success.

And you know what lurked inside Mr. Armstrong? Jelly. Well, I don’t know what the official substance was inside of him, but it was certainly jelly-like. It oozed. Poor old Stretch wasn’t invincible after all.

Over the years, I’ve found myself relating to Stretch—I’m sure you can relate, too. The pulling and tugging of life in many different directions leaves me ready to ooze all too often. Of course, if being stretched thin meant I actually was thin, I might be better able to deal with it, but…it really means that I may be one tug away from seeping jelly.

I know I fall into the trap of thinking that if I am not everything to everybody, I will let people down. People I love and care about. And who wants to do that? But if you think about it, not only is this a ridiculous way of thinking, it’s actually a bit prideful. Am I really that awesome that I can do everything for everyone? Pretty heady, don’t you think?

The origin of the phrase “be all and end all” is attributed to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, and it has come to mean that if you are the “be all and end all” of something, you are the ultimate—there is no need to look further. Well, if you know anything about dear ol’ Macbeth, things didn’t turn out exactly as he had planned.

In fact, his thinking that he had to be the Be All was his End All.

No, I'm good. Really--I'm good.
No, I’m good. Really–I’m good.

And letting myself be Stretch Armstrong can be my End All, too. While I’m not hoping to assume the Scottish throne, I must come to terms with reality: I am not a superhero. Elastigirl resides elsewhere.

And that is okay.

And for every other person who is being yanked and pulled and tugged…it’s okay for you, too.

This means that occasionally, the word “no” should come out of our mouths in order to make our load more manageable. This means that sometimes people will be unhappy with us because we were not able to do something for them. This means that it is okay to lie down and take a nap when we need one. This means that pancakes for dinner can be an absolutely fine choice when it helps you survive the day’s schedule. This means…that you have permission to give yourself some grace and fall short of what you had hoped to accomplish for the day.

This means you can let yourself off the perfection hook that is a big, fat lie anyway. (More on that another day.)

Maybe what we should do with our Stretch Armstrong bodies is give ourselves a hug—because we could sure use one. Well, now that I think about it, that would look pretty weird. After all, we don’t want to look like we’re making out with ourselves. People would talk.

Maybe instead we should just lighten up and remember that we’re doing the best we can—even when it’s a far cry from where we really want to be. Because being the “be all and end all” isn’t the be all and end all after all.

Always at the Bottom of the Slide

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments
Resting up after some pool time.
Resting up after some pool time.
(That’s me in the middle.)

Over time, the memories we have of people can almost become analogies for who they are to us—especially those who are no longer in our lives to make new memories. We hang on tightly to those vital reminders of what is no longer tangible to us.

My dad died just after I turned 21, and I am now well past the mark where I have lived longer without him than with him. Thankfully, even with my fuzzy brain these days, I still have many important memories of him, as I’ve shared here before. Continue reading “Always at the Bottom of the Slide” →

What Have We Done?

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments
Me at 11. Note McD's t-shirt (Also check out the nifty satin jacket behind me.)
Me at 11. Note McD’s t-shirt.*
(Also check out the nifty satin jacket behind me.)

“When I was your age…” is the start of a sentence that will almost certainly bring an eye roll from the intended audience. And, I must admit, as I get older, I hear myself say it more and more often. I mean…there have been leaps and bounds in day to day life from the time I was a kid till today, and they are amazing to note.

Indulge me for a minute or two, will you? Because while I will begin by pointing out some things that readers around my age will nod at with perhaps an “Amen, Sister,” I do have a little bit of a soapbox point I want to get to.

When I was a kid…

I didn’t ask my mom or dad to “play on their phone.” (Though I did play on the phone, technically, if you count prank calls), and I’m pretty sure we all knew the length of the kitchen phone cord for our “safe zone” when Mom was on the phone.

We had Pong and thought we were pretty cutting edge until the neighbors got an Atari. Living large, they were.

At the start of my schooling, if I had to type an assignment, I had to use a line paper gauge…remember those? And God forbid there were footnotes involved. Then you had to calculate how many notes would be on the page and how many lines you’d need left at the bottom. And if you were wrong? Holy cry. Do it all over again. It was totally exciting when the “element” typewriter came along where you could just backspace and type over your error without having to use the little white-out strip. And word processing? Well, the heavens opened up on that one.

We remember, yes? Now to get to a question I feel worth asking…

I remember when it was big news that we got a McDonald’s in our town. It was a BIG DEAL. And if my mom and dad said we could eat there, we were drunk with excitement. A burger and fries! Woohoo! Life is good!

So…how did the need arise to give kids TOYS to eat junk food? At what point was the food itself not enough? I mean, it’s not like you’re taking your kids to McBrusselSprouts or McLiver. Why the bribe? Why the reward for eating something that the average kid would be happy to eat all by itself? Wasn’t it a “happy meal” already?

What did it sound like around the conference table when that corporate decision was made? “Well, Ronald, I think that in order to convince the kids to eat the French fries, we should give them toys. This way, they can get something for getting something! And then they’ll scream and whine for their parents to get them a Happy Meal for the latest toy, and the parents will cave in in order to get them to shut up and then they will come to McDonald’s more often! Make sense? Let’s vote!”

Oh, joy...another piece of crap. Exactly what we needed!
Oh, joy…another piece of crap.
Exactly what we needed!

I look at the toys they give today (YES, I have purchased many a Happy Meal for my kid), and I think of all the plastic waste generated from these ridiculous payoffs for eating what should already be a treat in and of itself. (And NO, I’m not looking for an argument on whether or not a child should even eat fast food. I live in the real world. My kid eats fast food here and there. If yours doesn’t, that’s great, but I don’t really want to hear about it.)

After about 30 seconds, the average meal toy has used up its entertainment value. I’m sure that landfills are stuffed with these unnecessary prizes, as well as many a kid’s bedroom. All of this just adds to the sense of exaggerated entitlement that “these kids today” are being raised with.

But along with their über sense of entitlement…is the flip of this issue our lowered expectations? Maybe we should start expecting more of our kids so that we don’t continue to foster the belief that the world owes them something. Because you and I both know it doesn’t. It doesn’t owe anyone a damn thing. In fact, we owe it. We owe each other. And that can be a challenging principle to uphold in a world where a treat deserves a treat.

Whew. Okay. I have dismounted my soapbox. If you’re still here, thank you for listening. Now let’s go through the drive-thru…

*The McDonald’s shirt was something I received for participating in a basketball tournament. At least I had to sweat for it.