Today marks the end of another school year, which, beginning when my oldest was 5, is more important a measure of time than the ball dropping on New Year’s Eve in Times Square.  I’ve learned a lot this year. A LOT.  I disappeared from this blog, among many other places.  Much of my online communication has become fairly generic.  We’ve moved into a new phase of life, in which even the adorable things said by my preteen & teen aren’t owned by me, and thus can’t be shared without great thought.  However, I’m pulling the “41” card and allowing myself the luxury of this, a public message about my little people (and the big one).  Starting with the littlest…

GIRL:

What a ride. What a ride!  I have never seen such leaps and bounds in one person, over one school year.  For her entire angelic first year of life, when she traipsed around with me whenever and wherever, I used to look in her eyes and think, there is a lot going on in there.  Someday it’s going to come out.  And it did, particularly at home or with family.  She’s been a crazy one her whole life, and brings so much of the fun to our family (as captured by the classic videos, “There’s a Box in My Bathtub” and “I. Love. CHEESE!” among others).  Genuinely interesting and hilarious, she is that cliché child who brightens any room into which she walks.  And not just because of her wild golden curls.  The downside is that she spent many years at school banking on that charm, concealing very real struggles in learning.  Until now.

After her incredible compensatory skills were finally overshadowed by her challenges at the end of 4th grade, we knew (with our help) that she would either seize her own opportunity for success, or try (and fail) to get by on charm alone.  As a parent, there comes a time where you can’t really force something.  There has to be buy-in and commitment from the child, too.

She did it. She bought in. What I have seen this year is the beginning of belief in, and fulfillment of, who God created her to be, by her. She decided who she wanted to be, and that is who she is becoming.  Now, she’s only 11…these are big overarching sentiments that gloss over a wealth of daily struggles.  But the child I drove to school this morning is a completely different child than the one who started school in August (in a wonderful, bigger, brighter way).   With the help and belief of some key adults at school, for whom I am forever grateful, she hopped off the fence.  To Ms. Heflin, who cared enough to visit with me and provide resources and ongoing encouragement, even after this girl aged out of her “elementary” domain…to Ms. Urbanek, who revolutionized her self-confidence about math and academics in general…and to Ms. Arnold, whose strict standards and high expectations in dance, balanced by her evident love for her dancers, grew her leaps and bounds in personal pride and responsibility…there are not enough thanks from this lady.

I have no idea what to expect from my girl in the years to come. She is a surprise, all the time.  She is silly and crazy and smiley on the surface, and she is a deep thinker and feeler inside.  She hides hurt well…just ask us how many years she refused to wear her hair down after one too many “backwards compliments” about it.  She watches, all the time, taking in the lay of the land, and responds accordingly.  My challenge will be to help steer her in those responses, as the lay of the land gets trickier and the choices others make take a dive.  She has the very best older girl cousins to look up to, which is a lovely thing for a preteen girl today.   I just can’t wait.

BOY:

Ah, 7th grade boy.  An entirely different species. I spent far too much of this year saying, “why didn’t anyone tell me?”  Which is, of course, ridiculous.  I grew up with two older brothers, and my nephews started prepping me years ago…but it’s different when it is YOUR kid!

From the day this guy was born, that was it…he was my buddy.  Not my “friend” – don’t get me confused with parents who want to be their kids’ friends – but my buddy.  Just as there is a special relationship between a mom and daughter, there is a THING between a mom and son that just IS.  No way to really describe it.  At least, I haven’t figured out how to.

An inevitable part of that THING is the eventual separation that has to happen as a boy struggles his way through to growing into a man.  It’s not a loss of love for his mother, or respect. It’s simply a change.  A daughter’s number one woman in life can be her mother, forever, without necessarily interfering in her eventual marriage (although, there’s a whole other blogpost in that sentence – another time, y’all).  A son, however, has to be able to transition his greatest love from mom to wife.  By definition, there can only be ONE “number one” so – sorry, Mom!  🙂

Now, that separation has been going on for years, slowly and in small increments, but the onset of teenager-hood ramps it up into a different level of interesting.  I find it very hard to be the mother of a 7th grade boy, at least this one (my only experience with it).  I cannot be rational about him, which is shocking considering how rational I can be about pretty much anything else.  I have watched his victories and challenges this year, some of which have been huge.  He has had some of the same social struggles I had at the same age, which makes me hurt all the more knowing how it made me feel at the time.  I have seen kids act as his friend one day, and the next tell him he’s only achieving what he is achieving because his dad has connections or his family is “loaded” (um, did you SEE me cleaning the bathroom at Triple Play last week? Or was it the 2003 and 2005 cars we’ve been driving that tipped you off?).  I have watched as girls have responded to the fact that he finds them genuinely interesting and can have a decent conversation with them…and I’ve seen boys respond to the same thing somewhat differently.  I have struggled with his insane pattern of growth, to which I cannot relate AT ALL, and felt very small in my ability to help him navigate through.  BUT I have seen a ton of fun…just seeing the light in his eyes and the joy in his face as he really, truly discovered basketball this year has been worth everything.

But what I have mainly observed is how that kid just keeps going. He adapts, and keep moving forward.  For a little boy who always hated change, and for whom a little shift in daytime schedule could induce night terrors, it is incredible to me to watch him grow up.  It is more evident to me every day that children truly do not belong to us, but are just on loan from God.  There is so much awesomeness about him that doesn’t come from me, or from Ryan, but is simply – himself.  It’s why I just can’t get too stressed out about mistakes or concerns that I see my peers so upset about. If there was ever a kid about whom you could say, “oh, it’ll come around,” it is this kid.  When we named him [redacted], we didn’t realize how apropos that name would be. He is big in every way.  I’ve said it a million times…I just love that kid.

THE MAN:

And of course, there’s Kjos.  THE Kjos.  You hear very little from me about Ryan.  He chooses not to be a part of social media, and I respect that choice and his privacy – most of the time.  But back to my spirit of “41,” I’m rebelliously putting it out there for the whole world to see, just this once.

Two things initially drew me to Ryan, 20+ years ago.  The first happened during our very first face to face conversation, when he never took his eyes off me to do the infamous “scan the room” all college guys seem to do when talking to a girl. Not only that, he asked me specific questions in response to what I said that showed me he was listening, and interested.  I’ve told my son (and indeed, teenage boys I’ve worked with in youth ministry across the years) that there isn’t much better you can do with a girl than that.

The second was watching him pitch. Not because I liked pseudo-celebrity college baseball players (“Can’t Touch that Stuff of Kjos” read the headlines that year).  But because I love to watch people do what they are brilliant at, and I love people who have unwavering commitment and work ethic about whatever they love to do.  WAY before Derek Jeter said it, Ryan lived out Jeter’s oft-quoted observation that people may have more talent than you but there’s no excuse for anyone to work harder.  Ryan was that way about baseball until the day his shoulder said “forget it” – then transferred that dedication to the next thing. I’ve never seen someone who gives more when it matters.

In addition to years of working to build Triple Play Sportsplex, this was Ryan’s third year of coaching high school baseball at Gateway College Prep, which is a public charter school that does “more with less” since we do not get property tax money.  Most charter schools don’t even bother with UIL competition in anything – sports, academics, fine arts – because that missing money is what funds those programs at traditional public schools.  Gateway is unusual in its level of UIL participation.

The first season Ryan coached, he had 11 eligible players.  Eleven. For those of you who don’t know much about baseball, you have to have 9 players on the field, and pitchers have limits on how much they can throw, so 11 players is basically ridiculous. This year, he had enough players to field both JV and Varsity, and got the school’s first ever playoff win for a team sport, reaching Regional Quarter Finals for the first time in school history.  Yes, I’m bragging a bit.  Our school is not allowed to recruit players from other schools/districts, and Ryan doesn’t.  He does not use ineligible players. He does not cheat the system. He simply looks at what he has, and he coaches.

There is no way to communicate to you what a challenging job this is.  For one thing, there’s a TON of stuff that happens with these various players that would violate their privacy if I told you.  Suffice it to say, teenagers have HARD lives.  People have HARD lives.  HARD things.  A high school baseball coach is easily as much a counselor and minister as a coach.

But per usual, Ryan handles coaching – and kids – with a single-minded dedication and a pursuit of excellence far beyond a high school level. He has a respect for the game, and resulting high standards for players and play, that is puzzling to many.  Don’t get me wrong, he is in it to win it, but his primary focus is seeing players learn how the game is played, and play it well – flawlessly, even.  And, despite the fact that half the teenage boys of the world are so awash in change that they can hardly walk in a straight line…they do it!

My greatest observation this year about Ryan Kjos is this.  He owns our name in this town.   I’ve never understood it more than I have this year. Whether through Triple Play (celebrating 10 years this fall!) or Gateway College Prep, Ryan has built a solid reputation for the Kjos name.  He takes his reputation, and ours as a family, very seriously.  He makes me very proud to be his wife.  As I’ve said for years, he’s the only thing that makes me silly…the only thing that makes me blush.

We are going to close out this long, strange, challenging, exhilarating year with another trip to the campsite at Cutfoot.  I can’t wait.  Anyone who made it this far, I appreciate your indulging me in this singularly selfish ode to my people.  They deserve it.  Friends – “keep your stick on the ice.”

When my little people were maybe 3 and 5, like in this adorable #TBT photo (you’re welcome for the gratuitous shot), they fired my own words back at me for the first time.  We were eating at some fast food place, undoubtedly with the type of playscape to which I credit my children’s outstanding immune systems, and I opened a ketchup for each.

(By the way, I know some of y’all are judging me for the 3 year old with fries.  Don’t try to hide behind your screen.)

“What about your ketchup, Mommy?”

For maybe the 100th time, I replied, “I don’t like ketchup.”

A small face screwed up in thought, and then brightened and tossed back, “But you always tell us we need to try something new, even if we’ve tried it before, because we might like it!”

Yep.  I DID always say that, didn’t I?  But ketchup?  The point of that motherhood wisdom is to teach them to like things that have some redeeming value.  Not ketchup.  However, I decided to take one for the Mom Team and answered, “Well, you got me.  I do always say that, so I will try some of yours.”

So began my love affair with ketchup.

That incident taught me that, as a mom, I was right – we should always try something new.  That became a bit of a mantra for me from that day forward, and I’ve made a point to deliberately try something new (or try again) ever since, at least every year.  I was 33 then.  Sometimes it worked – guacamole (thank you, Jillynn Shaver, Becky Fenlaw and Julio’s on Duval!), raw tomatoes (yea, Shelley Beauchamp, a Groupon and whatever that nice restaurant was in Virginia with the excellent caprese salad!), or coconut (that one took a few years of putting on Dolores McNab’s pile-on faithfully every Chapel Choir Tour announcement party, but it worked!).  Sometimes it didn’t – I gave poi two shots and that’s a big NO, as are mushrooms, although I’ll revisit that one later.

I hadn’t decided on my “new thing” for this year. It’s a big one – 40 – so I was kind of hoping for something a bit more extraordinary than a run-of-the-mill veggie.  And boy, did I just figure it out.

I’m trying something new – failure.

Since I was born, I’ve been a perfectionist. I wish I could go to therapy and blame my parents for their ridiculous expectations. Given that the one time I failed something in school, my dad bought me a five pound bag of M&Ms and told me not to sweat it, I think that option is off the table. No, I’m wired how I’m wired.  Internally I believe wholeheartedly in doing things excellently.

I’m also wired to be lazy.  I’d rather sit and read a book and eat some chips than do pretty much anything I’m “supposed” to do.  I’ve spent my life dealing with the internal war these two things create.  Typically, the “good side” – productivity and excellence – wins.

When you spend your life this way, an inevitable side effect is that you do things fairly well, the majority of the time, leading to the expectation by the world around you that you will continue to do so.  However, because I am human and sometimes the “book and chips” side wins – or, because I’m human and sometimes I just mess up! – I fall short of people’s expectations of me from time to time.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that this has led to an increasingly dramatic reaction from people.  It’s like there’s an inverted relationship between performance and grace for high achievers – the higher and better you perform on a consistent basis, the lower the level of grace given when performance falls short.

I should note that I’m not talking spiritually here, lest my Jesus friends panic.  The only place I’ve come to terms with failure and grace is in my relationship with God.  No worries there. I’m talking 100% here and now.

Now, there are many people who are high achievers who don’t give a rip what anyone else thinks, so the level of grace afforded them by others is completely inconsequential.  I’m so amazed and impressed by those people – I am not one of them.  A big part of my perfectionism is wanting to do things well, not just because I feel they SHOULD be done well, but because I want to make life better for people in any given situation.  People who don’t care about what people think accept their own failures with more of a shrug and a “next time” attitude, not stopping to worry about how it affected others because they know they will essentially make up for it and succeed the next time.  Because they refuse to base things on the opinions and thoughts of others, and consequently the grace (or lack thereof) afforded them by others, the “others” in question eventually back off.  These people succeed because they aren’t afraid of, or intimidated, by failure.  For many of them, they don’t even consider failure to be failure!  So they keep moving forward without letting failure, or perceived failure, stop them.

I want that. I want to be that kind of person.  It’s not exactly how I’m wired, but as I mentioned, I’m certainly wired to be lazy and read and eat chips all day, and I’ve conquered that over and over for 40 years.  Why can’t I decide to move past my perfectionism in the eyes of the outside world and embrace the possibility – the inevitability – of failure?

That’s going to be my new thing.  I’m going to achieve or fail, but I’m not going to do either with an eye toward the reactions of others.   Anyone want to join me?

PS I’m still going to continue down my road of trying to find a new food to like this year, so if you have any suggestions for 40, please bring ’em on!

I’ve mentioned that I am mildly – or possible wildly – uncomfortable with the idea of blogging in the first place, primarily because I feel odd about holding forth for x-hundred words with the expectation that anyone will want to read it.  Thus my inconsistency in writing.  Then time passes, people need things, the road to mission trips and vacation beckons…

Truthfully, I’ve sat down at the keyboard multiple times and stared at a blank screen.  Type, reread, delete, repeat.  There’s too much to write about, and too little.  The WORLD is big and overwhelming and full of crazy people, a notion reinforced every time I look at a screen that is connected to it.  The need to educate myself about the many, many BIG issues going on inevitably brings a malaise that steers toward a cup of coffee, a cookie and a good novel.  I don’t want or plan to bury my head in the sand.  It’s just that the very effort of learning even the names of all the different “sides” to everything going on makes me tired.  The sheer mass of information available, and the persuasiveness of all of it, adds another layer to the heavy responsibility of sifting and winnowing truth from fiction.  Right from wrong.  To whom I should throw my support on any given issue, on any given day.  What friends I might lose depending on what I say today, or tomorrow.

What ultimately sets me to rights is the secure knowledge that I wasn’t designed to effect change on a global scale.  A lot of people are, and I’m amazed and full of admiration for their skills and abilities.  No, I’m a 5-table coffeeshop kind of band – no arena tours for this girl.   My job is more of a behind-the-scenes, right-place-at-the-right-time kind of thing.  “Divine appointments” is the “church term” and what I believe them to be.  The funny thing about writing this blog, which started as a result of the many interesting conversations I find myself in, is that those key appointments are where my ministry and influence lie.  And because those small, specific moments are often pretty BIG conversations to the participants (myself included), I find it impossible or disrespectful to share them with outside readers!

So, as the weeks progress and more world events unfold, I am determined to overcome my malaise and really dive into what’s going on and what it all means.  I want to be prepared for those small, divine conversations that might affect what others – and I, myself – think, and do, about it. I truly welcome your input – I’ve been very surprised by the varying (and who-would-have-thought) opinions of many of my friends online regarding current events.  I’m a big believer in benefiting from the knowledge of people I can trust.  And after a post like this, be on the lookout for an upcoming, obnoxious “how cute are my adorable kids???” edition, complete with pseudo-artistic photos…..

I had a lovely, leisurely lunch with old friends today, a pleasure my hectic schedule has denied for such a long time. It was timely.  I needed that shot of friendship, laughter and genuine interest.  For about the past month, I’ve been in self-imposed exile from social media, with the exception of a few scattered Instagram posts.  After receiving a few rather surprising responses to some of my typical (and in my mind, very non-inflammatory) commentary, I realized that, at least for awhile, perhaps the online platform was not the best place on which to communicate.  

Social media is generally the easiest way for me to know what’s going on with friends and family (because let’s face it – who wants to call at 11:30 at night or 5:00 in the morning and fill me in?  That’s been my life for a few months).   Leaving that arena, I knew I would experience a certain amount of silence and possibly a sense of isolation.  I did, both, in spades.   And it was good for me.  

After only a few days, it became glaringly obvious how much of a window the internet is to a giant world of ideas and people and celebration and heartbreak.  I’m the first to say that in many ways, technology has whittled away at our ability to successfully navigate personal relationships (although, honestly, I see that more with texting than any other format).  But I was amazed – amazed! – at how much of the human experience *I* get to experience through social media.   I have reconnected with people that I would literally never have seen again (or seen at all!) were it not for the internet.  My mind and heart have been challenged with ideas and ways of living and thinking that are invaluable, either because I learned something that made me change my life in a positive manner OR because I was reaffirmed in what I already think or believe.   I have been invited to participate in people’s lives.  Maybe not in the way it was done “back in the day” but meaningful to me just the same.

So I think I’ll jump back in.  Maybe I’ll get my feelings hurt, or maybe someone will take everything I say in a way it wasn’t intended to be taken.  But it’s worth it to learn, and grow, and cheer others on as they learn and grow as well.  

Besides, given my reputation for talking, I should probably break my silence before they send out search and rescue.

Baseball. Basketball.  Doesn’t seem to matter.

“There’s no way that kid is the right age.  Can I see a birth certificate?”  Laughter from moms ensues.

I could write about 10,000 words on this subject, but I’m keeping it short and simple. I am a 5’4″ mom to two tall children.  The younger hovers at the top of the infamous growth chart; the older hasn’t been on the chart since the two month check up (the infamous well check visit where the horrified pediatrician told us he was “too big” which led to her imminent firing as pediatrician).   I’ve heard literally every comment ever contrived about the “big kid.”  But by far, the most common thing I hear in the stands at baseball, or basketball, or pretty much anything is…

“Can I see a birth certificate?”

What a clever way of making a point.  (Yeah, okay, that was sarcasm)  It takes enormous self-control not to turn to those people – including fans on our own teams commenting about the big kid on the other team – and say something sarcastic and cutting. Knowing that no one really means anything by it (as I’ve been told, repeatedly) doesn’t really help.  It’s just rude.

May I suggest something to the “average” people of the world, like myself?  We’ve fully embraced that commenting on size regarding kids on the small end of the spectrum is unacceptable and unnecessary, and rightly so.  I suggest we extend that same courtesy to kids who dwarf their peers.  Perhaps that would free us to see the other, more subtle qualities that we hope define them more than something with which they are born, and over which they have no control.  Kindness.  Intensity.  Character.  Thoughtfulness.  Loyalty.  Dedication.  Work ethic.  Spiritual depth.  Hey, maybe we could look for those things in all people…of all sizes…

And in case you don’t take my suggestion…yes, you can see a birth certificate.  It’s in my purse.  Are we good now?

My extended family is full of great qualities and not-so-good qualities, like any other family.  We do many things well.  We do some things kind of poorly.  Many of our traditions are pretty fun – over the past 30 years, our “Candy Bowl” has spawned copycats across the country (although no one can trash talk like we can – and the next generation is learning perfectly how to carry that torch).  But some traditions are more meaningful.  One thing we do beautifully is “going around the table.”

When someone is celebrating a birthday, my family has a tradition of going around the table.  Usually there’s a prompt – “share your funniest memory of so and so” or “tell the first memory you have of so and so.”  Sometimes there is no prompt at all – everyone just gets to share whatever they want about the honoree.

Can I tell you how it usually goes? Granny or Pops decide who will start, and we literally go around the table, in order, and share a thought.   There are always a few giant laughs.  Almost always a few tears.  The truth is, we all love each other very much, just as we are, good and bad.  But there is rarely a good forum to share the specific things we love/remember/treasure, in front of others who are generally giving their “amen” and thus making those things doubly meaningful.  

It means something to hear people who have seen you at your best and worst tell you what makes you different. Special. Unique.  Loved.  Important.  Hearing those words from a table full of all ages is an experience that I cannot describe. I know that the things my family says to me have mileage far beyond the table.  

Most of life is negative, honestly.  People think far more positive things about others than they actually say.  Stop and think for a minute.  Let’s think of sitting in church on a typical Sunday. How many things do you think about those around you, like…

“She looks really beautiful today”

“I’m so glad he went over and talked to that person, I think that’s a visitor and he just made her feel welcome. So cool!”

“When they sing together, it makes it easy to worship.” 

“Every time I see him, he is smiling!”

Now, how often do you actually tell those people what you thought?  

As humans, we are pretty comfortable complaining/judging/”bless her heart”-ing but we are just pathetic at verbally communicating our admiration, to each other’s faces.  Going around the table provides a forum for us to hear the things we need to hear about ourselves.  And it reminds us just how much we love each other.

Need a lift in your family? Try “going around the table.”   

During our long and lovely holiday (in which I completely abandoned this blog, without guilt), we were fortunate to spend time with a great many family and friends whom we love and cherish.  One of the highlights was a leisurely dinner with friends taking a breather from their full time gig as expats in Australia.  During the course of a very meandering discussion, in which I was only gently ribbed instead of mercilessly teased (friendships required to sustain across continents will do that, I suppose), I first learned of the saying, “she’ll be right, mate.”  This adaptable saying can mean anything from the optimistic “I’ve got it, it’ll all work out!” to an apathetic “Eh, I’ll take care of that…maybe..if I feel like it…”

Learning colloquialisms like this is one of my favorite things about reconnecting with friends from across the globe.  People, their differences and their “normalcies,” simply fascinate me.  As someone who moved with regularity throughout childhood, with a stint overseas in the mix, a broad worldview is important to me.  As someone who is unlikely to move again for years to come, maintaining that worldview is not only important, but vital. I am always pushing to know more. To understand more.  To widen the boundaries of what my children relate to and consider “normal” given that they have lived in essentially the same place their entire lives.   “Different” equals “good” in my world, and anyone who knows me very well, knows this.  But why?

I have a little secret to tell you about this.  I am terrible at change.  There is an inborn tendency in me to curl up into what is comfortable, easy, familiar…and stay there!  I am naturally shy – very shy – and I tend to observe, then process, then act.

Those of you who don’t know me are saying, “And…?” Those of you who do know me are likely shaking your heads and saying “Whatever. That’s so false!” But honestly, it’s true!  And when God began working the tapestry of my life, it is so clear to see how He decided to challenge my complacency.

Moving was by far the biggest challenge to my tendency toward inward living.  When you move, it’s not just a new address and phone number you learn.  It’s a whole way of life.  Sayings in one state are charming, in another state, insulting.  Attitudes that motivate in one country kill morale in another.  All of the moments where we learn by doing – particularly when we mess up! – teach us how different people are, based on where they come from and what they surround themselves with.   If our command is to love each other, we have to know each other.  We have to know what love means to different people, and try to love them in a way that is meaningful to them.

To embrace change, we must be brave.  We must reconcile what we feel and want with what we cannot control.  We have to decide that anything is possible and most things are good – different, but good in their own right.  To be brave isn’t a skill or a gift, really. It’s a decision.  An every-single-day decision.

I may be locked in to where I am geographically for many years to come, but I have decided to continue letting my mind and curiosity wander.  I plan to take my family with me whenever possible.  The more change we experience, and wade through, and successfully navigate, the more accepting of change we become.  And because we will always – I repeat, always – deal with change, there is such value in having confidence in handling it.   I don’t make resolutions, but if I did, I’d resolve to make 2014 the year that I master the art of change. “She’ll be right, mate!”*

NTM

*disclaimer – there is no guarantee I’m using this phrase correctly – but if so, then I’m simply providing more amusement for my friends so it’s all good!

“Everyone hates politicians and says, ‘Get rid of the politicians,'” my client said.  “But I say – the world needs politicians.”

Ah, the forbidden topics…religion and politics.  This conversation was all politics.

Yesterday, I stepped in at the last minute on a photo shoot for a real estate agent with whom I’ve never worked.  Noticing his veteran ballcap, I thanked him for his service (as I normally do) and inadvertently launched an hour-long conversation for which I was excruciatingly unprepared.  Over the course of the hour, he proceeded to lay out very strong opinions on both domestic and foreign policy in the United States, beginning with the conclusion of WWI.   The challenge?  I disagree with almost every viewpoint he holds.  With a peer, I would have engaged in a lively exchange.  However, I decided to tread carefully for two reasons.  One, he is a client, and there’s no need to alienate a client over politics.  Second, and more importantly, his six tours of combat and the many terrible things he described seeing overseas earned him the right, in my eyes, to feel and say whatever the heck he wants.  So an hour of noncommittal murmuring and nodding allowed him to vent in a manner he clearly needed while preserving our standing as client and photographer.

However, in the midst of his many firm statements, he made one that truly stuck out to me (particularly as it seemed to contradict much of his general message otherwise).

“The world needs politicians.”

Why did that statement stand out to me?  Because I agree with him.  I think “politician” has become a fashionably derogatory term.  How frequently do you hear people just dismiss elected officials as “just a career politician”?  All the time. All the time.

I learned a lot – a LOT – from having an immediate family member as an elected official in the Great State of Texas.  The primary thing I learned is that the vast majority of people have absolutely no concept or understanding of the political process, but are completely convinced that they do.  For elected officials of any sway, this has to be one of the most frustrating parts of the job.

Technically, the definition of politician is “a person who is professionally involved in politics, esp. as a holder of or a candidate for an elected office.”  There are many bad apples spoiling the bunch, but on the whole, I find “politicians” to be ordinary people dedicated to a job I can’t imagine anyone wanting to do.  Yes, political power has the capability to turn men and women into people their mothers wouldn’t recognize.   But is there any real career field in which human nature is immune to corruption by power?  Has anyone been to the bulk mail desk at the post office lately?  Talk to that guy sometime and you’ll tell me I’m right.

The truth is, I want a politician in the political process, just like I want a surgeon in the operating room.  I want someone who speaks the language, knows  how to make connections that are meaningful, learns the give and take of compromise.  I recognize that, if you are to only follow the national media, you would say I’m living in a dreamworld and there aren’t politicians like that.  I disagree.  Consider the tens of thousands of people nationwide, serving their city/county/state/country as elected officials.  The most visible are those sensationally drawing lines or making stands for the point of … well… nothing. That’s because the rest – the true politicians, for whom it is a calling – are too busy working. They are working hard, usually behind the scenes.  They are busy preserving the way of life we value that allows us to elect those who represent us in the writing and execution of the laws by which we live.  They are busy celebrating the victory of achievement when they get a bill passed that directly and positively impacts the people who live in their district, and which will never receive any public affirmation or applause.   They are busy trying to balance their commitment to service and their commitment to their families and communities.   The really good ones are generally too busy to deal with the mire of uninformed public opinion.  Thank goodness.

So, Mr. Agent, while I respectfully disagree with you on pretty much everything else, I have to agree…the world needs politicians.

I admit, blogging is an entirely foreign concept to me, or should I say, FOR me.  I have read and admired many people’s blogs, but in general they are written by experts in a specific field, ministry leaders, or friends living out a great adventure and intentionally communicating about it.  As I fit into none of the aforementioned categories, the idea of me blogging seemed narcissistic, to say the least.  What on earth could I write about that anyone would ever want to read?

Then a friend mentioned to me that I am indeed an expert. An expert in talking.

Great, just what I’ve always wanted to hear.  And just what you’ve always wanted to hear, friends.

However, the more I thought about it, I realized that I’m not exactly an expert in talking – simply talking too much does not make one an expert – but somehow I do seem highly skilled in getting into interesting conversations.  Sometimes they originate with me, but most often they start with another person, and usually a stranger.  This shouldn’t surprise me, as I grew up in a home in which lengthy and high-level conversation was a dinner table staple (much to the chagrin of friends, dates, and extended family members less inclined). I realized that, on any given day, I’ve probably had a pretty fascinating conversation with someone, completely unintentionally, that leaves me with a head full of thoughts and nowhere to put them.

So, because I bothered to set up this account and start this whole endeavor, I’ve decided that I will write when I’ve encountered a particularly interesting conversation (which was what the first post stemmed from, anyway!).

This week’s winner?  A newish friend who called me yesterday to discuss the fact that I am writing this blog, and offer helpful hints on how to do so.  Naturally I accepted her constructive criticism and unsolicited advice gracefully – I was well-raised, you know – but one thing she said was very thought-provoking. “People will read this who don’t know you,” she reminded me, “and you have to make sure you don’t seem too unhappy.”

I guess, given the fact that my sole post was about the death of a teenager, her comment was applicable (if somewhat premature – it’s one post, people).  And I have a number of friends whom I can hear now, saying, “How dare she tell you that? We need to be real and transparent and authentic – enough of this ‘fake front’ we put on for each other!”

But what she meant was, make sure your writing reflects who you are – and for me, that is generally happy.  I like happy.  Most of the time, I am happy.  It doesn’t take much to make me happy.  So her advice was spot on, because to understand where I come from on any given topic requires knowing that I am, in fact, an annoying, optimistic, starry-eyed Pollyanna.

What makes me happy on any given day?

THIS.

And THIS.

And THIS.

And THIS.

THIS.

And most of all, THESE PEOPLE.

So you get the idea that a lot of things, completely unrelated, make me happy.  Pretty much anything.  Let’s face it, people are often annoyed by other people’s happiness.   We could hash the “why” of that to death, but ultimately it isn’t important.  This space, for me, is henceforth about The Conversation, and most real conversation (or interesting conversation) goes beyond happy.  Real conversation requires a brain that is fully awake, reasoning that is ready to be pulled and stretched, and a willingness to acknowledge that how a conversation starts does not dictate how it ends.

As I move forward in the blogging journey (assuming I stick to my initial plan of writing once a week – without a goal in mind, I would simply sit down with a book and some sour cream and onion chips instead of writing), I won’t be able to have a conversation with you, reader.  Well, I will, but it will be one-sided! However, I hope that the conversations I encounter will spur you to conversations of your own.

~NTM

*My newish friend has given me permission to use her phone call in this blog.  So nobody yell at me for it.  Thanks!