My Season of beLonging

July 7, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

In the summer of ’78, I betrayed myself. I sold my soul in an effort to fit in.

It was a scar that was forgotten until recently when an old friend posted a pic on Facebook for “ThrowBack Thursday.”

The distinction between being a Chicago White Sox or a Cubs fan is a strong one in my world. Those who say they are fans of both really aren’t baseball fans, in my opinion.

“Cubs or Sox?” was the second question I asked my future husband on our first date. Colors run deep (and good guys wear black). And while the current state of my life and baseball make it harder for me to really follow my team with any depth—it’s still a part of my core.

I grew up a Sox fan in a suburb of Chicago where that meant I was in a minority. I didn’t care—I wore (and wear) the distinction proudly. But in the summer of ’78, I pretended to be a Cubs fan in order to fit in better with my extended family.

I hid my Sox gear and started to watch Cubs games. I had a photo of Bill Buckner on my wall. I even got my hands on a Cubs shirt and wore it–which is what I was wearing in the Facebook photo.

I did all of this because my cousins were Cubs fans, and as we spent more time than usual with them that summer, I desperately longed to fit in.

We are social creatures. Whether introvert or extrovert, the need to connect is strong. For me, it was strong enough to betray what I knew was my truth in order to be accepted as “one of us” by others. As someone who values loyalty above so much else, it hurts to admit.

The betrayal lasted a season before I returned to my senses, and as the years went by, I buried the memory of my weakness. But the Facebook post brought back those memories and opened the door to my infidelity.

Let’s just say I’ve heard about it from a few people.

As a parent, I’ve had more than one conversation with my son (who is coincidentally the same age that I was when this story took place) about the difference between fitting in and belonging. I’ve shared with him how fitting in means altering yourself to be accepted, while belonging means being accepted for who you already are. I’ve shared how I believe this is a struggle throughout most people’s lives in one way or another, and the ultimate goal is to be yourself and then find where you truly belong, while accepting and loving others for their truths, too. (Unless they’re Cubs fans. Just kidding. Oh, shut up. Why don’t you go and think back fondly on your 1908 World Series win?)

Participating in the World Series 2005 Championship Celebration

So, yeah…our team loyalties are strong.

Sox celebration — Did I mention the White Sox were World Series Champs in 2005?

When my son saw the photo on Facebook he was slack jawed and confused. “Mom!?! What is that?!”

As you can see from the photo below, he has been a Sox fan from the start.

And so I had to cop to it and tell him my truth of the summer of ‘78. And it was a funny but teachable moment that reinforced the very point about desiring to belong rather than fit in, and how peer pressure to conform can lead you to compromising your values.

As I wrote in one of my Facebook comments on the photo, I just talked to my son about this—and how peer pressure can cause you to make HORRIBLE choices!!! (Choosing to masquerade as a Cubs fan is just slightly better than choosing crack cocaine!)

Yes, it is a topic that is non-threatening and (somewhat!) light-hearted, but he got the point that altering yourself from what you know is your truth in order to be accepted by others can lead you to choices that can run the gamut from embarrassment to shame and regret—and sometimes even worse.

While I am not about to fool myself into thinking that this is a “one and done” lesson where he will forever make the right choices, I do think it was a memorable example to help drive the message a little deeper. Maybe my season of betrayal had some purpose after all.

We all long to belong—to find that place where we are loved simply for who we are. Where our passions and quirks are accepted, and we are embraced—flaws and all. Where our metaphorical hair can be let down, and not only is it okay, but we have support to help us comb through the tangles.

At the very least, I believe my son knows that one of those places for him is right here with his family where, no matter what, he is loved thoroughly and unconditionally—even if one day he does come home…wearing Cubby blue.

And…Action!

June 30, 2014June 30, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

When I was 9, I learned how to juggle. When I was a senior in high school, I won the P.E. Student of the Year based primarily on the fact that in our unit on Circus Stunts (oh yes, we did) I could juggle. (Let’s just say I took a little ribbing about that from my all-state wrestler friend.)

Juggling for me is like riding a bike—I can go a long time without doing it, but I never forget how. That’s why when I heard of a casting call for jugglers for the web series Tough Season 2*, I had the nerve to apply for it.

And I was chosen. To juggle. On camera.

Me.

And here is my story of the day I became a professional juggler.

I was told to bring “hippie attire” because it was a scene where a bunch of free spirits are at a juggling retreat. I raided my closet and found whatever might possibly be considered such, and off I went.

As soon as I arrived, I immediately feared I wasn’t worthy of being there. Walking behind another extra with a rolling suitcase, I commented, “Wow, you brought a suitcase…” to which he responded, “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

It was for me.

I stood in line for wardrobe between an older man and a young woman who recognized each other from a juggling event they both attended last year.

Oh, boy, was I out of my league.

The girl had a suitcase full of juggling clubs and hippie wear, and there I was with just my three balls.

I was a juggling fraud. What was I thinking when I said yes to this?

And if that wasn’t welcoming enough, there was Mr. Professional Extra who felt compelled to tell me how things are NORMally done. Over and over again. And then one more time, just in case.

The wardrobe woman looked my duds over and quickly decided I needed more, so she added a shimmering jacket, boa, and free flowing skirt to my top, and I was deemed acceptable.

my "free spirit" outfit — practicing in my “free spirit” outfit

Though my clothes were given a thumbs up, I still wondered if I had what it took. The casting agent told me all levels of ability were welcomed, but it’s amazing how quickly I was ready to discount myself.

By the time we walked out to the set, the jugglers had all introduced ourselves and broken the ice with a few laughs here and there. We all wondered how it would be when the cameras were rolling. It was good to know I wasn’t alone in my doubt.

And then we started to practice…and…I wasn’t the worst. I wasn’t near the best, but…I had every right to be there.

Now there was just this little hurdle left of being able to juggle after the word “action!” was shouted.

The actor who played the juggling teacher was to say, “Remember—the first rule of juggling is not to drop the balls!” while we all juggled our little hearts out.

Of course, the line was delivered, and inevitably one of us would drop the balls. Not that that was a deal breaker—because we were supposed to be at a retreat learning—but it was funny how we spazzed out just because we knew the cameras were rolling.

How many things are like that in life? Where you are able to do something just fine, and then you’re under a little pressure and suddenly you lose the control you thought you had?

It was as though my day as a “real” juggler was like a living metaphor for this blog—I can juggle. I will drop the balls. And then I will pick them up and start over again. And it’s the same for everyone else—no matter how skilled you are. We all can feel the pressure, make mistakes, and then choose to give up or pick up and begin again.

Sometimes trying too hard not to fail results in exactly that: failure.

Accepting that there will be the inevitable dropped ball here and there makes me a better juggler.

Before I knew it, the scene was over and we were done. We still had to hang out and wait…and wait…to see if we might be needed, but the overall experience was really a whole lot of fun.

I not only made some nice pocket money, but I learned I did have what it takes after all, and I had a great reminder to share with you here—that the juggling life we lead will always have dropped balls, and though it may get harder when life shouts, “Action!” we need to shut down the doubts and focus—and we will get the job done.

And, ultimately…knowing how to pick up the balls and keep going is maybe the most important skill of all.

*The web series Tough Season is in its second season and is a production of the NFL, the Onion, and Lenovo. I’ve watched some episodes and found it to be amusing. If you’re interested, check it out on IMBD and The Onion.

It’s as Simple as Punkin

June 23, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

I love dogs for so many reasons.

Bad day?
I’ll snuggle up to you and we’ll exhale together.

Good day?
Awesome! Let’s celebrate!

Leaving?
Bummer, man—really? Okay…but please come back soon. Please. Soon.

Coming home?
YES!! My prayers have been answered! You’ve returned! I love life! Let’s play! Did you bring me anything???

They ask so little—some basic care and decent treatment—and in return, their love is amazing. It doesn’t get much purer than a dog’s love.

I’ve been blessed to have great dogs throughout my life, and each one of them has had a distinct and wonderful personality. We have so much fun watching the two dogs that we have play and interact—they are a continual source of enjoyment.

Don’t get me wrong—they can drive us crazy, too—especially when someone has the audacity to walk by our house and the dogs bark like two raving banshees on meth. Then I maybe might raise my voice a teensy bit and gently tell them to shush. Just maybe.

But by far the blessings outweigh the challenges.

Our one dog Vito is a shelter dog that I am so grateful made his way into our lives.

I’m very comfortable admitting that there are many sharper crayons in the Crayola box than Vito—but he is our quirky little boy and we love him.

One of V’s little quirks is Punkin. It’s his absolute favorite toy, and the only one that has survived over time. While other toys made it less than a week when he was a puppy, Punkin was loved but left whole.

For whatever reason, Vito treats Punkin like a child would his favorite pacifier or blanket. He actually suckles the thing. He holds onto it with his paws and his tongue nuzzles a spot that is now worn bare.

And when Vito is extra happy, he goes and gets Punkin. When one of us comes home, inevitably Vito will run and get the toy and celebrate with a few suckles. Yea! My people are all home! I love life! I love YOU! How was your day?! Do you want to play? Have I told you lately how happy I am that you’re home?!

Punkin equals joy for Vito. It dependably lifts his spirits and helps him rejoice. To me, it’s representative of one of the great things about dogs—that easy and complete love that they are absolutely ready to give.

And so I love dogs. I love how they love with their whole hearts and forgive quickly and repeatedly. I love how they are fiercely determined to protect those they love. I love how they are thrilled to see me—even if I’ve only been gone a few minutes. I love how they will offer their bellies up as a way to say, “Go ahead—love me. I trust that you won’t hurt me.”

Dogs just bring it down to the simple. Beyond having their basic needs met, it’s pretty much all about love. What a great reminder for me day after day. I aspire to love with that same kind of openness and joy.

So while Vito won’t win any smart dog contests, he’s certainly won my heart. And I think he’s pretty okay with that.

PS–I’m totally not a fan of dressing dogs up in silliness, but Vito gets chilly when we go for walks when it’s cold, and can he help it if he looks this studly wearing his jean jacket? I think not.

Do You Remember When That Guy Did That Thing?

June 16, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 9 Comments

I was standing in line for the deli at my local grocery store when I thought I saw a familiar face and wondered if she was someone I knew. My mind immediately went to its tattered mental Rolodex of names and faces…and I drew a big, fat blank. But I swore I knew her in some way.

Just then she swiveled her head my way, smiled and said, “Hi!” Validation! I DO know her…but…how? “Hey! How are you?” I responded, hoping she might say something that would give me a little more context to work with. No luck.

I HATE that feeling.

I hate knowing that I should know something that I don’t.

I hate forgetting.

I am happy to report that hours later it dawned on me how I knew this young woman. My frayed Rolodex found the right page.

A minor mental victory.

I feel like my memory is challenging me more and more of late, and it’s very frustrating and disheartening. Sometimes even scary. As someone who values experiences as the biggest treasures to accumulate in life, this threatens my booty, so to speak.

I don’t want the memory pirates storming my ship and stealing my goods.

Hey, lady--give me all your booty! Rrrrrrrrrrr! — Hey, lady–give me all your booty! Rrrrrrrrrrr!

Though memory loss is a worry of mine, I hang onto a lesson I learned long ago that really made sense to me—courtesy of Marilyn Vos Savant’s Q&A column in Parade Magazine, of all places.

While I didn’t save the column, I remember it well. The questioner wanted to know what value there was to seeing a play—or reading a book or anything along those lines—if you eventually forget the content of what you saw or read. Why bother if the memory fades? Does it still have worth? Does it matter?

Vos Savant’s answer drew a parallel to having a friend in kindergarten. She said that while most adults no longer remember the specifics of that friendship—maybe not even the name of the friend—isn’t it still important? Wasn’t it of value at the time and still of value now because it helped shape us into who we grew to be?

Though we may forget, it still matters.

I used this parallel throughout my teaching years when students would ask similar questions as to the value of reading. Once you’ve been touched by something, you never see the world in exactly the same way, I would tell them.

When we pay attention and let something soak in a little, it helps to shape and shade our perspective—maybe just a teensy bit—even if we can no longer bring it to the “front” of our brains, as I like to call it.

That’s what I comfort myself with when I look at a book on my shelf and barely remember the story or know I’ve seen a movie but can only recall that Morgan Freeman was in it…My memory may be cloudy, but each experience or creative work that I “let in” leaves a mark on me, even if only slight—it still touched me.

That question to Vos Savant was posed before today’s fractured world of multi-tab pages and content coming at us from all directions, and we don’t do our memory any favors by consuming experiences in that way, in my opinion. There is little time for anything to sink into our brains with scattershot. For me, nothing beats some quiet time with a book or a darkened theater about to light up with the hoisting of the curtain. Push away the distractions and engage.

Still…even with raising the odds like that, most likely the plotline will grow dim and eventually I will just remember that I really liked (or didn’t like) the experience.

And I’m pretty sure it’s only going to get worse.

And that’ll have to be okay because there’s no way I want to live in a world where the only thing worth doing is that which I know I will never forget.

Because I won’t be doing much.

Just ask the girl in line at the deli counter.

The 9/6 Perspective

June 9, 2014February 26, 2025 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

There are few times when a finger is pointed at you that it’s a good thing. Maybe you’re getting picked for a game of kickball or maybe you’ve raised your hand to be chosen for Let’s Make a Deal…but usually a finger aimed at you is a call-out of some sort.

Merriam Webster defines it as “the act of blaming someone for a problem instead of trying to fix or solve it; the act of making explicit and often unfair accusations of blame.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting exhausted with our culture of finger-pointing.

The polarization of society is something that really hurts my heart. Be it politics, religion—any number of social issues—people are so busy being adamantly, unwaveringly “right” and often just denigrating and denying the other side’s perspective, that our world is filled with hatred and so-called “righteousness.”

When I taught high school English, one of the exercises I created to try to get students ready for a healthy debate was what I called the 9/6 Perspective. (I had to put the numbers in that order because calling it the 6/9 Perspective would cause too much giggling in a room full of teenagers).

The exercise was very simple. I wrote a figure boldly on a piece of paper, set it on a desk, and had all of the students circle around. Then I’d have two students stand on either side of the desk and tell me what they understood to be written on the paper. Without fail, one would say “a 9” and the other would say “a 6.”

I’d ask them “Are you sure?”

“I know my numbers, Ms. Ancona….”

“Of course I know a 6 when I see one…”

They were certain of the facts in front of them.

Then I would ask the rest of the class, “Well….who’s right?”

This would result in multiple voices speaking up…”They both are!” “It depends!” “If you’re on either side, it looks right!”

And so on…And eventually we would put words around the reality that each “side” saw their own truth—though the answers were completely different.

But it was still their truth.

How you see things matters. Where you’re coming from matters.

And the same goes for the other person.

Now don’t think I see myself as righteous in this respect—my own stances can be passionate for sure (ask me about equal rights, gun laws, or preaching love over law and be ready for an impassioned response)—but I know that when we shut the other side down with scorn and disdain, we simply grow farther apart when the real challenge is learning to live together.

Acknowledging and listening doesn’t mean agreeing or embracing. To listen to a 6 when you are a fervent 9 doesn’t mean they win or you give in, but it hopefully brings the debate to a healthier level where opinions are offered without calling names or spewing hatred.

The ease with which we can “plant our flags” and take stands on Facebook and Twitter has only made the situation worse. It always saddens me so when I see someone share their hatred of “the other side” in a post, and then see the “likes” and comments that follow.

Before the ease of social media to share such things, the circles of disdain or hatred were smaller—or at least more under the radar. Now people share how others “disgust” them right after they post what a great time they had at the beach.

I think we can be better.

The person who sees a 9 when you know a 6 is right is still…a person. So while we can hold tight to our belief in 6, let’s not just be “disgusted” by the 9-seer. Let’s instead work toward what we might be able to do to get that person to walk over to our side of the desk and see the 6. Or maybe we need to do the very same to see their 9. And maybe when we’ve done that neither side will have budged a bit, but at least we might better understand why they believe in what they do.

I don’t mean to simplify life’s complex issues and people.

I know it’s not easy to extend grace when we are passionately entrenched on an issue…

…but I believe it’s what we are called to do.

And I very much believe in what the late, great Maya Angelou said time and again: “We are more alike than we are unalike.”

And if we look at one another that way rather than with contempt, we just might have ourselves a better world to live in.

It’s Not About the Burgers

May 26, 2014May 25, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 1 Comment

flag star — A star from my father’s flag.

It’s that time of year where we speak of “the kickoff to summer,” as we celebrate a long weekend and fire up the grill…

But it’s not about the burgers, is it?

Of course, it is a great opportunity to hang out with family and friends and enjoy time together–but if we don’t stop to remember why we have this day off, well, then…we miss out. Memorial Day isn’t just an arbitrary Monday off in the US.

It’s so much more than that.

Since I post to this blog on Mondays, I knew that there would be a post of mine from last year’s Memorial Day. In looking back at it, it still pretty much says what I feel about this day, so I’m going to share it here again. I hope that you will find it worth a few minutes of your time. And I hope that you make the time to remember this day for its true intent: to honor the fallen who gave their lives so that we might be able to live ours in freedom.

[To the international readers who grace me with your visits–thank you! And I hope you can understand and appreciate my focus on today’s American holiday of Memorial Day.]

On This, We Can Agree

Originally published 5.27.13

Most people recognize that today’s America is extremely polarized. Hostile camps are set up on pretty much every issue, to the point where our government can’t even work together to solve very solvable problems, and our population is all too comfortable denigrating one another’s views. But on this—I hope, I pray—we can agree: we thank and honor those who have given the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. And we are grateful to all those who serve.

crosses at cemetery on Memorial Day — Thanking and remembering ALL.

Memorial Day was created after the Civil War to honor both Union and Confederate soldiers who died in that war. (And, of course, it has evolved to honor all Americans who have died in military service.) But perhaps its origin should be a lesson to us today—that extremely opposite sides can come together to honor the sacrifices made for this blessed country of ours.

I don’t mean to be simplistic about this at all. War is certainly not just good vs evil. Sometimes it is not even right. But no matter what the gray areas are of any given conflict, we must always remember that we have people who say, “I will risk my life for this”—and the “this” is ultimately the freedom we Americans enjoy—warts and all.

My dad served in World War II. My father-in-law was present at the Cuban Missile Crisis. I never got to know a cousin of mine because he died in Vietnam when I was just a baby. I have friends and neighbors who bravely serve and have served. Hundreds of thousands of people who don’t even know me are taking care of business on my behalf.

Thank you all.

I pray that as a country we strive to be better people every day, and that we grow in acceptance, respect, and love for one another. To me, anything less is a dishonor to those who have given us their all.