Tag: reflection

My Year in Review…Social Media Style

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 5 Comments
Reflecting back... (This was a pic I posted on FB.)
Reflecting back…
(This was a pic I posted on FB.)

It’s that time of year where we reflect on the previous 12 months and decide what changes we would like to make for the coming year. According to Facebook, which now has a feature that shows your “year in review,” my 2013 has been a happy year with various milestones to celebrate.

This amuses me. It looks like the way Facebook creates your year is by taking a random assemblage of your posts with the highest number of likes. Makes sense—in a Facebookian way. Likes = validation, and validation = reality in the social media world.

This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy Facebook, though. I do. Social media, when kept in context, can be wonderful. Out of context…it can be ridiculous or even painful.

I have a few friends who do not “do” Facebook—for various reasons, including “stupid,” “I don’t have time for that crap,” “I don’t want to be a slave to it,” and “I don’t need people snooping around in my personal stuff.” Of course, they have every right to choose not to be on the site, but my response to them is almost always “it is what you make of it.”

Your social world is up to you. And I guess that is precisely what can be the good and bad of it. While some people do post the minute details of their days, most of my FB friends are judicious with what they post, and I get a peek into their lives that I wouldn’t have in an otherwise busy world.

And what is it we are peeking at? Many times when a person chooses what they deem to be “Facebook-worthy,” it’s that they are having fun somewhere or perhaps sharing a slice of life that made them smile. The good stuff.

Another pic I posted that was well "liked." A nice night out downtown.
Another pic I posted that was well “liked.” A nice night out downtown.

But there have also been many times where people have posted something where they needed support—maybe moral support or prayers—for a trouble on their heart and in their lives. This can be the very good stuff of Facebook. It gives me a chance to listen and offer compassion. To let someone know that I “heard” them when they were calling out. It may not be much, but it’s something.

When my mother was rehabilitating from a serious health issue and I asked people to send her cards…Voilà. Cards appeared. How cool is that?

I don’t often post that kind of thing, though, and my Year in Review reflects that. While my mom needing cards to brighten her day made the cut, many other harsh realities did not. And that’s okay. My Facebook 2013 will not accurately reflect all of my 2013 because I get to choose. Simple as that.

And if we remember that most people post with a filter, then perhaps we can reduce the statistics that show that people often feel worse after being on social media. Who needs or wants that?

We ought to be able to share in each other’s joys without it taking anything away from us. But, of course, it always helps to be considerate in what you’re posting, too. (It’s never fun to see photos of a big party where you wonder why you weren’t invited to it.) A little “golden rule” can go a long way.

So with an understanding that people typically choose the “good stuff” to show us, and a consideration that we shouldn’t flaunt our “good stuff,” Facebook can be a great way to stay in touch. Because of FB, I’ve been able to share in the joys and woes of friends that I couldn’t possibly have time to keep connected with in the “real” world. I am grateful for that.

Overall, if my 2013 was a student, I would be sending it to the Dean’s Office. But when I look at my 2013 on Facebook, I am reminded of some of the blessings that I have forgotten amidst the other craziness. What a nice gift.

I’d like to take a moment to say thank you for your readership. I know how hectic and full life is, so I appreciate it very much that you take some time out of your crazy day to read my words. Thank you.

I hope you all have a wonderful New Year and a 2014 full of blessings, peace, and hope…because…here it comes!

Fra GEE lay Redux

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments
Winter sunrise. Hope in the sky.
Beautiful winter sunrise. Hope in the sky.

This is a beautiful but crazy season. More things to get done, more places to go, and more people to see. Highs and lows come swiftly, leaving you in a swirl. At least it’s been that way for me. Continue reading “Fra GEE lay Redux” →

Sometimes You Just Gotta Fake the Flute

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 9 Comments

Did you know I played the flute? Well, I don’t. Yet for one magical year, I was a flutist for our high school marching band, and I never played an incorrect note. How can this be you ask? Read on.

We meant business
We meant business

My high school’s band was (and is) pretty badass—always at least state finalists and occasionally state champions. Being in the band was cool, and I had many friends who were members, including some of my best friends. It was an amazingly talented group of kids, but I wasn’t one of them.

With the band season of my senior year a couple weeks from starting, my friends were throwing a band party and invited me to come as “an honorary member.” It was at that very moment that it dawned on me: I didn’t want to be an honorary member—I wanted to be the real thing.

The next day I walked into the somewhat unapproachable band director’s office and boldly told him that I wanted to join the band. I really don’t know what I was expecting, since I didn’t play an instrument. To this day, I wonder what ran through his head. Two weeks away from his first competition of the year, and a senior waltzes in and announces she wants in.

He sized me up a bit and replied, “We have two openings. The first one is bass drum.” I love drums! I can bang a drum! Let me be a drummer! But once he told me how much they weighed and the physical toll it took, I knew my already bad back had knocked that option out of the running. No bass drum.

“Our second opening is in the flute line,” he offered. I was crestfallen. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t play the flute.” I started my turn to leave when he said, “Well…you wouldn’t play it…you would merely fill the interval…” he emphasized, as though he was speaking to an idiot. I guess I qualified.

He went on to explain that the program had been written and rehearsed when suddenly a flute player had to move away…leaving a hole in the presentation. I would simply learn the steps and pretend to play, filling the hole she left.

band 2Shoot, I could fill a hole, I told him. And over the next two weeks, I learned the steps and had a ridiculous amount of fun doing so. By the time we had our first competition, I was ready to march.

I didn’t miss a step. Here I was…amidst this wonderfully talented group of musicians on a huge field, being cheered on…it was an awesome experience. I could do this!

And I did. For the whole season, I filled that interval—I stepped where I was supposed to, danced, boogied, and jammed when I should, and never played a wrong note—because I played none at all. Judges would walk right past me and never know because the great music surrounding me filled any void my little ol’ flute might have left.

I traveled to all of the competitions—including playing on Soldier Field. We performed in the rain, the cold, the wind—nothing stopped us. I always admired the real musicians whose frozen fingers actually had to move with precision, while mine only needed to look the part. They were a great bunch of kids—so talented.

Once when we performed for a pep rally in our own gym, I had non-band friends come up to me afterward and say, “Hey—I never knew you played the flute! You were great!” to which I replied, “Well, I’m not playing—I’m just faking it to fill the interval…” and they would pat me on the back and tell me what a great kidder I was. They wouldn’t believe such nonsense as faking the flute. Who does that?

I did. And it was an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world. All because in one moment’s realization I decided I wanted to be a part of something. Something I had no business being a part of, yet because I stepped out of my comfort zone, I found that there was indeed a place for me.flute

A wacky, crazy place—but a place for me—a one-of-a-kind place for me.

Sometimes you just have to take the chance in life that results in your version of “faking the flute.” If I would have bothered to think through my impulse to truly be in the band—if I would have considered things like the fact that I didn’t play an instrument…that the season was about to start…that I had never expressed an interest to the band director before—I would have missed out.

I wonder now, with all of life’s responsibilities weighing in on every choice I make, how many times does a chance to “fake the flute” pass me by? Sometimes logic is the enemy of adventure. I need to keep a lookout for the next hole that just might need my filling.

And you, too, friends: please be open to the crazy opportunities that come your way. You just may go on a journey you never knew existed—and make memories for which one day you will be very grateful.

You Can See It in the Wagons

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

old radio flyerCan you hear it?

Pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft-pft…It’s the sound of a helicopter parent…Better duck!

We hear a lot of “when I was your age” lamenting, but parents—myself included—need to see that we are a big part of the change in how kids’ lives are these days. Let’s face it, parents: we’re a bit nuts.

It dawned on me that you can see it in the wagons of “then” and “now.”

The wagon I had when I was a child was a slick red metal Radio Flyer. It was maybe five inches deep, and there were no bells or whistles to it. It was simple…the rest was up to you.

My friends and I pulled each other in it. We pushed each other in it. We loaded it up and went on numerous adventures. We tied a rope to the handle and then tied the other end to a bike for extra speed. We found hills to see just how fast we could go and how badly the steering would be by holding the handle while riding. That wagon was a springboard to our imagination.

When I was 8 or 9, I took my wagon and loaded it up with books I no longer wanted. I then—without my parents’ knowledge (which was not typical in my household)—went around the neighborhood trying to hawk the books. I sold one for 60¢ and was delighted…Until my wagon and I got home to a toe-tapping, arms-folded mother. I then had to have my dad accompany me back to the house where I made the sale and apologize and explain that I had been in the wrong. I must have looked sadly pathetic because the person gave me back my book AND let me keep the money. A small offset to my shame.

Yes, my wagon and I have many memories together.

Today’s wagons are…a little bit more involved. They are thick plastic with seatbelts. And cupholders. And canopies. And those are just the basic models. Others have coolers…tables…cargo storage…and more. I see them at the zoo, parades, the mall. Parents pull these wagons. After all, the child is belted in safely and passively taking in his surroundings.

Watch out! They're not belted in!
Watch out! They’re not belted in!

They are so specific in design that they grow obsolete quickly. I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid older than 4 or 5 hanging around a wagon. Do we even know how fast these chubby plastic wagons go?

Please don’t hear me as saying none of these differences is good or helpful. I’m all for child safety. But it seems to me that these kinds of wagons illustrate the current climate of parenting. Parents want to make it all good and perfect…but the truth is, it’s not.

Maybe it’s just me, but I worry that so much is already created for our kids that we are stifling their ability to design and create and learn on their own. I almost lost it this summer when I saw some kids selling lemonade in a store-bought stand. I wanted to knock on that parent’s door and say “Really??”

lemonade stand
Seriously?

We have enough judgment in this world without my butting heads with a parent who buys her kid a $40 lemonade stand, but…come on. Do we have to design or facilitate everything for them?

We need to let our kids breathe and explore…and make mistakes…and fail…and learn. We are doing them no favors by giving them trophies for merely blinking their eyes.

I’m sure I fell out of my wagon and skinned my knees many times. But you know what I did? I got back in and tried again.

And I need to do my best to let my kid realize that for himself, too. No, it is not easy to watch them learn “the hard way,” but sometimes it is the most important lesson of all.

PS—Happy Thanksgiving!

Bet You Didn’t Mean to Be…But You Were

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

It blows my mind that the 26 letters of our alphabet are responsible for all the words we speak or write in the English language. How powerful those little letters are.

They can bring together and tear apart. They can start fights and end wars. With all that muscle, you would think it best that we use them wisely.

But…we’re human. So it’s a pretty safe bet we mess up on this front. A lot.

Sure, there are the boors in life who are really clueless when it comes to having their vocal cords rub together—like the time I was told, “Why don’t you have any kids yet? You better start soon—you’re not getting any younger.” At the time, I was in my early 30s.

I told the guy, who happened to be a teacher colleague of mine, “You know that really isn’t any of your business, right? And you better realize that when you say something like that to a woman, it’s possible that she could be struggling to get pregnant. How do you think that would make her feel?” His eyebrows were pretty much touching his receding hairline at that point, and I like to think that he never made the same kind of mistake again. But I wouldn’t bet on it.

Don't be a boorish boar.
Don’t be a boorish boar.

While most of us have a bit more sensitivity than that particular example, we still have times where even in our subtlety, we might be guilty of being

INsensitive.
ThoughtLESS.
INconsiderate.

I’ve had a couple of friends lose a noticeable amount of weight, but not because of any direct attempt to do so. They were going through significant life challenges that were painful and were indirectly dropping pounds because of it.

Time and again, though, I would see people come up to them and say, “You are looking GREAT! What’s your secret?!” or “I am so ENVIOUS—I wish I could lose weight like that!”

Now these people obviously didn’t know the truth and weren’t trying to be insensitive, but a change in approach would have been a great choice. In the past, while I didn’t necessarily say those kinds of things, my typical remark would have been, “You are looking fit these days…” But after seeing what my friends went through, I now say, “How are things going with you?” Because it really shouldn’t be about the weight, right?

It is a purposeful attempt to be more thoughtful and aware.

Because if that person truly feels like you care about their answer to “how are things going with you?” you just may learn that things aren’t that great after all. In fact, they could be very far from great.

We just don’t know the battles that others may be waging. And not everyone is going to tell us their story. But keeping in mind that there may be an untold story might help us to be more

Sensitive.
ThoughtFUL.
Considerate.

And couldn’t we all use a little more of that?

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.