Category: podcast

Magic wrapped joy…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay4 Comments

Anyone who truly knows me can attest to the fact that i LOVE gifts. Long before anyone was publishing books about Love Languages, I was enamored by the mystery of a wrapped present. I loved the magic of giving them, even when I clearly knew what was inside. Emotionally, I engaged in the unveiling of the secrets, with the recipient. I am even an absolute fan girl of the empty wrapped gifts meant only to adorn hotel lobbies in December. I don’t know why.

I was just sharing a story, with a friend, about one Christmas when I was a little girl. My grandmother would put her wrapped gifts out weeks before Christmas and I loved looking at each one. While I obviously had a vested interest in the packages with my name on them, I held a pretty committed intrigue to each gift, regardless of who it belonged to. On this particular Christmas, my grandmother had a wrapped gift for me, in the shape of an octagon. It was roughly ten inches long, and octagonal around. I was enchanted. Every empty moment spent at her home, that season, became filled with me sitting cross-legged beneath her tree, that gift in my hands. What WAS it? What could it possibly be? I would rack my brain imagining everything I knew, shaped even remotely similar. I concluded it had to be a candle. A really large, octagon shaped pillar candle. The disappointment of receiving a candle for Christmas was real, but also much smaller than the satisfaction I would obviously feel, come Christmas Eve, when I unwrapped it and had been right.

If gift guessing had been an Olympic sport, I would have gone out for it EVERY SINGLE YEAR… (I also would have been disqualified in ’85 for tearing 2″ pieces off of the back of every present beneath my mom’s tree- the equivalent to “doping”, in this event)

Christmas Eve finally came. Our tamales were eaten, merriment was high and, as the youngest, my time came to begin the unwrapping festivities. I’m sure you will be surprised to learn that the amazing mystery gift was not a candle. In fact, it was two Barbie boxes taped together. (because Barbie boxes used to not be square) It was absolutely GENIUS and while I give my grandmother full credit for being the family Einstein of gift wrapping, she inspired my creative gift wrapping beast to emerge… (Yes, I DID learn it from watching her! Thanks, ’80’s, for the commercial sentiment that is applicable to so many things!)

So yeah, now that it’s a legit “love language”, it is safe to say that gifts are mine. As I’ve matured, my gift giving has too. i LOVE it. It is my absolute favorite thing, of all times. (EVER!!!) If I had the money and corporate sponsorships of Oprah, everyone would be getting presents, all of the time. I keep running gift lists for everyone in my life, from friends to family. I have a ridiculous number of loved ones reach out to me for guidance and direction year round. (I wouldn’t say I’m a gift expert, but I will say I am pretty ok at it.)

I’m not Oprah though. I’m not Ellen. I don’t have awesome companies giving me things to give to people I like. I have me. I have my starving artist budget. The plus side to this shiny (and yet equally dull) coin is that this means I am far more intentional about the gifts I do give. The less than fun flip side is that I don’t get to give a fraction of what I would like. (If you were hoping that this silly post might end with presents galore, it won’t. I’m sorry- but I do promise imaginary puppies for everyone!!!)

Take my husband, for instance. Gifts are NOT his love language. They are not something he cares too much about. He could never again give a gift to anyone and be absolutely capable of both sleeping at night, and seeing his reflection in the mirror… (I know, it sounds like I’m describing a MONSTER, but I’m not. Chw is a really great guy, he’s just a little flawed when it comes to presents. I have learned to accept him…) He also, hasn’t been the best gift receiver. Personally I feel that it may be my purpose, on this earth, to one day create a course helping weak receivers not shatter the hearts of the generous givers they love- because this is REAL. If you’ve never known such hell, count your lucky stars… Because when you pour all of your love (and thought and time, and therefore self) into the perfect gift, for it to end up shoved in a drawer or never worn/used- it kills… You just can’t please some people… (by no fault of their own, of course. They just don’t care. And are damaged. They may crush souls for breakfast, but I’m not here to judge. Whatever.) Even with this reality, I love him, so I continue to torture myself and therefore, for him, I have three gift lists…

There’s the:

  • ridiculously boring stuff he actually wants that, in my opinion, make for really crappy gifts. (a tire gauge? really? Nothing says Merry Christmas, you are the love of my life like a tire gauge- am I right?)
  • awesome gift ideas that he should love, yet fit within my crazy small budget.
  • the ten million dollar list of things that i KNOW would make him blissfully happy, (Apocalypse Tesla? YES! Your own Japanese Steakhouse, on call, in your own kitchen? DONE!) but that I also know I will never get to give him, and that’s ok… It’s still fun to dream, and the dreams that really make me happiest are the ones when I imagine I get to give really wonderful gifts to the people I love…

Take my podcast, for instance. Every single guest I talk to, I think of the perfect gift for them. I can’t buy it for them, but I deeply wish that I could in an overwhelmingly powerful way, send them a creatively packaged present, after we chat, so that they could hold how much I value, respect and appreciate them, within the palm of their hands.

Perhaps loving via gifts, is less of a gift itself… I don’t know. I am a tortured, writer soul, i am no expert. What I do know is that Christmas is around the corner and so many of us go above and beyond (heart wise, time wise, stress wise, and financially) and it isn’t healthy. This season that we are approaching is the most depression filled, suicidal season within the average calendar year. While there are many factors at play here- finances and the expectations around our capabilities concerning our money/spending/gifts/travel are huge. It doesn’t have to be that way. I have something coming, that can help… If you aren’t on my email list- sign up to stay in the loop because next Friday a few great things are happening. Relevant and timely things… (Just keep in mind, I’m not Oprah!)

Back to that Octagon Christmas… While I remember the amazement I felt, discovering what the package was- I couldn’t begin to recall which Barbie’s they were. I can’t tell you anything else I unwrapped, that year. I have literally zero recollection of what Santa brought Christmas morning. I am forty-three years old, and do you know what I DO remember? The beauty and the magic of that gift. The mystery, and the weeks of wondering, which led me to absolute joy.

The moral of this story: The JOY is in the giving. (the second, somewhat deeper moral: If there’s no joy in the process- it’s not right and you need to stop.)

On being naked…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment

Over the past month, or so, I’ve been really privileged to spend evenings in deep conversation with various women who were guests in my home. Sometimes there was laughter, and quite often there were tears. In some instances there were glasses of wine, while every time there was an abundance of food. In these moments I found myself humbled by the absolute magic that forms when we simply bring women together, in a cozy environment, and let them be. Let us be, because this includes me too.

Women are so heavily armed in layers. Many design their layers out of fashion and appearance, but in truth these shields of armor are much deeper in roots than that. While our multi-tasking minds can be a huge asset in many areas of life- it is a hinderance here. Subconciously we can judge another woman in an effort to make ourselves feel validated, while simultaneously obliterating our perception of self worth in the very same fragment of a second that we are taking stock of the countless negatives we bring to the room. It is exhausting… And we walk around under the weight of these silent, habitual patterns twenty four hours a day.

Until the magic moments happen, anyway…

Lights low, maybe a little background music. Glasses full, with whatever she wants- no judgement here… Around purply-plump grapes, cubes of cheese, warm breads piled with butter and richly colored seasonal produce. Everything warm and pleasant- slowly our layers fold back. A woman opens up about a heartbreak, and every single time another tears up because she can relate.

In that space it is suddenly safe to be truly naked, naked from our self protection and our shames. In that space we are seen.

In the times that this has happened, over these past weeks, the magic moment of amber beauty has caught me off guard, stealing my breath, every single time. You’d think I would be better prepared, but I am not. I finally realized why- because we cannot script or plan for these times. They cannot be forced or coordinated. The stripping and pealing of layers must happen organically, on their own.

May we find more naked moments…

Making Peace…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

Few women would admit to being at peace with their bodies when they are dwelling in a moment constructed of vulnerability. We pretend, sometimes. We curl the hair, cake on the mascara and do all of the things we can to make it seem like we’re so happy within our skin.

Essentially, I guess you could say we are pretty well versed at living the life of an Instagram Filter. Beneath that well manicured surface, (or maybe it isn’t well manicured at all, perhaps it is frumpy and careless because we’ve given up. Few people continue chasing something once the reality sets in that it is far more fantasy than truth.)

I have a beautiful friend who lost over 200 pounds. She was absolutely stunning before this transformation, and she is absolutely stunning now. While she has been fairly open about this journey, the most fascinating thing about sitting in her sideline is the way her self perception has shifted. She did not magically love herself and feel beautiful as soon as she reached a certain size. Isn’t this exactly how we imagine it would be? It has been a process for her, a journey… A daily walk, and she admits there are days when she still sees herself as unchanged.

Several years ago I lost 130 pounds. I’d had a medical procedure despite most of the medical professionals involved thinking it was a long shot. I felt desperate for change. Prior to the procedure I was not a soda drinker, I was not addicted to sugar. I lived on salads and smoothies, worked out regularly and did all of the things, but remained over weight. I was unhappy. I felt restricted, unattractive and sick over my patheticness with every breath. A few years before the procedure I had nearly died from Pneumonia and the biggest concern I had with bed rest was that I would put on more weight. My weight had ballooned up within the first 23 months of a hysterectomy. I was 24 years old and the whole thing was a shock to my system. (Additionally, I also had super crappy genes, so I guess maybe I was screwed either way.) Every time we relocated, a new doctor would take one look at me and decide I needed to go on a severely restrictive diet and take the weight off immediately. He/She would deliver this information clinically, making no effort to hide how deeply the disapproved of my lazy, sloth-like lifestyle. Then, as our visit would begin to develop, and the layers of my health history would unfold, their tune would change. Due to hormonal complications, there would be no weight loss, their words would be delivered with such compassion woven finality. Psychologically the best I could do would be embrace my body/self and love me for who I was. (The irony was lost on them that those very impassioned reassurances were trailing their emergent warnings about how terrible it was that I was overweight, mere minutes before…)

The surgeon wasn’t convinced my hormonal situation would allow longterm change after the procedure. I had been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia earlier that year and I knew that I needed to take some sort of action. I wasn’t in bad health otherwise. Perfect blood work, great heart. My (favorite) doctor would constantly reassure me of my perfect health.

All of this is important only because, as I said, I lost 130 pounds. I was 45 pounds away from the target weight I needed to be able to have surgery to repair the sagging skin. I was well on my way to everything I had ever wanted, and then my marriage fell apart. Smaller, (and if you aren’t familiar with WLS let me clarify- it is NOT an easy way out. It is the HARDER way out, but sometimes it is the only way out.) I did not love myself any more than I had before, I only liked the clothes I wore better. I still kept my eye on something that wasn’t where I was. My husband didn’t want me, and all of the years that I’d spent believing (to my CORE) that life would be so great if my jean size were smaller, had been wasted. If you’re wondering how this story ends- Well, the medical professional’s speculations were all right. The results of the procedure had tricked my body into a 30 lb weight loss almost immediately. Being 30 lbs lighter meant that I could be more active with significantly less chronic pain. I hit the gym 2 hours a day, 6 days a week. When I wasn’t at the gym I was either behind my laptop working, or being constantly active. It was so freeing to move without the pain I had grown accustomed to. The weight continued to fall off, though at a much slower pace. And then, it stopped. I plateaud for around eleven months, and then slowly the scale started to go the other way. Hormonally, they say, I regulated and well… Some days a walk around the block is excruciating.

This time, though I’m not happy about the weight gain, and I do wish I could even be back to the plateau size that I didn’t appreciate, I also don’t allow myself to refuse to truly live my life because of my weight. I think I am still holding in far more frustration than peace, for my body, but I am far better than I was. We’ve all got our thing, that justifiable (to us) thing which holds us back… and this truth is the same in all areas of our lives- physically, mentally, spiritually, relationally… We all have that thing that we use to excuse why we can’t simply accept ourselves, love ourselves, make peace and move forward.

In this week’s NEW episode, of the Collective Podcast, my cohost Nikki and I sit down to talk with author Lyndsey Medford about her book Making Friends with My Body and God, and the journey she took to get to that space of peace and friendship. She’s a lovely, brilliant woman with such a motivating way of facing what can be difficult things. Episode 52 is a great episode, and I can’t wait for you to get to meet Lyndsey. Hopefully you’ve read something here, or you’ll hear something there, that helps you take a step towards love for your journey.

Uncovering Magic…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment

The whirring of the fan, bringing outside air in, consumes most of the sound space. Beyond that, the hum of the dehumidifier is almost defeaning. I don’t mind powering them off for this moment. It is October, yet the world of western Pennsylvania is not quite ready to relinquish us to sweaters and wool socks. Soon, she promises.

From the room across the hall another fan can be heard, but beyond that there is only normal Wednesday morning silence to accompany the clacking of these laptop keys.

Even when the world seems silent, a lot can be heard when we take the time to listen. When we intentionally turn off the noise, sink in to the present minute we’re fortunate enough to have, and tune our ears to take it all in…

Can you rest in this moment, wherever you are, and try to hear?

There are birds in my distance. Almost yelping, that is if birds yelp. (I don’t know what kind of birds they are, though truthfully I wish I did. Living here, with such a heavy wildlife presence I think of wanting to learn more about the birds, but I’m not in that place of self education quite yet.) It is that squawky sound of an entire flock of birds, known to accompany autumnal sounds. Are they preparing for their long journey south? If I learn what they are, will they take me with them?

The coffee pot beeped, just now, telling me that it’s patience for me is over.

The trees sway, though slightly, so with them comes no sound. At least not sound that I can hear from this side of my window glass.

I need to commit myself to pausing more. Busy is ok, but the quiet, still, absorbent moments are essential. The faint giggle of far away children trickled through that still air just as I typed out the world essential and I was reminded of how magic moments truly are. Real life magic is all around us, but quite often we are so busy (or distracted) that we can’t see it.

Recently, a guest on the Collective Podcast reminded me of the Maya Angelou quote “When you know better, you DO better.” and since our chat, I’ve thought of those words often. I am just as guilty, as the next person, of being slow to learn things and even slower to put them into practice. I am not proud. My life truth is probably more like When you know better, you should do better. What I do know is that each time I take an intentional pause to make notes of what I hear, what I see, and allow my soul to simply absorb the unplugged and real life happening within the world around me, I feel far more recharged than anything actual electricity is going to bring me.

If you’d love some really great wisdom about how we create our own circumstances, “logging out” of the busy and just embracing who we are at our core, tune in to today’s podcast episode #51! The show is back with all new episodes and I am so lucky to get to spend time connecting with such extraordinary and brave women! I can’t wait for you to know them too!

Middle…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay5 Comments

Hello and Happy Friday!

Most Fridays I join the lovely little community over at Five Minute Friday, with a weekly writing prompt by Kate. This week’s word is Middle…

I hear it all of the time honestly, middle… 

You don’t know what I’m in the middle of. 

I’m sorry, Ive been in the middle of ________. 

I think the biggest thing standing against me is that I’m a middle child.

Middle child, middle of divorce, middle of a big project… We seem to, as a people, keep ourselves purposefully stuck in a middle. We allow this seemingly negative space to hold us captive to something else, even when those somethings may lead to better, even desired new spaces for us. There may be some honesty within our middles, but we also use our middle as an excuse- as a crutch…

There are many overused, yet accurate, statements such as the middle of the road, or middle class, which also- though not technically negative, are infused with just the right amount of something unpleasant that we equate them as such.

Let’s be honest- middle is safe, most of the time. (and not in a really great, rescuing us from danger sort of way) We walk the middle line, metaphorically, so that we don’t have to decide or claim ownership of a commitment completely. If we don’t actually decide, or choose, then we can’t be wrong. If we we aren’t wrong, we won’t fail. While these subconscious patterns elude us into believing we are being responsible, we are inhibiting our personal growth.

Sometimes we will veer from our safe middle ground, and we will get hurt. That’s ok. This is how we grow.

What if we tried to drive down the middle of the road? We would cause absolute disaster. The middle may sometimes be the best choice, (obviously not when driving) but the middle isn’t as safe we often want to believe.

~

Since I have you here, I wanted to share a few things SUPER quick, so that we can get on with our reading of other Middle themed posts and (Hallelujah!) our weekend!

  • There is a new season of Heartland, on UPTV and I’ve linked a teaser for you!
  • Our new episode of the Collective Podcast features an interview with writer Brie Jacobson, as she shares her story about surviving the Route 91 Music Festival shooting, in October of 2017.
  • Lastly, I did CampNanoWrimo this month and finished a 50,000 word writing challenge! So much lay ahead, regarding this precious (to me) manuscript of mine. I’m hoping to have the first draft done very soon, and move into editing. I have such a supportive readership, and so I wanted to thank YOU for that! This is as much our project, as it is mine. We’re all in this together….