Today I am proud to share a guest post, written by my dad. This essay was not written intentionally for my blog. It came to me in the form of an email my dad sent to our family earlier today. As background, my Grandma Jeanne  (his mother) was diagnosed several years ago with dementia. The disease has quickly robbed her of much of her memory, and just a few months ago she was moved to a full time care facility. My mom, dad, and his siblings have spent much of the last 12 months grappling with her decline and all of the logistics and emotions that come with the disease. This short essay made me cry for many reasons. I cry for my grandma, and the confusing life she is now leading. I cry for the journey my family is walking through as we slowly lose her. I cry for the insight and vulnerability my dad isn’t afraid to show. And, I cry for the loss of material things…because sometimes they really do matter.

Most of us are taught as we venture through life not to love or covet material “things” because “things” don’t matter.  We are told things come and things go and we shouldn’t put importance on things.  We sometimes tire of things but we often then replace those things with what we think are more important things.  It is the people in our lives that matter the most, not things, right? We are supposed to say yes, that of course material things don’t matter.  The people in our lives should always be more important than things.  Today I am struggling emotionally with the parting of a “thing” because this thing evolved over many years to become more than just a thing to me.

John, Patty, Lynn, and I sold my mothers 1966 Oldsmobile today.  To most people my mom’s car was clearly just a thing, an old, beat up, uncomfortable thing.  For years I thought the same about this thing.  Mom’s car was too big, it was a gas hog, the air condioning no longer worked, the radio didn’t work, and the interior was shot.  John and I tried to convince mom for years to sell the car and get something smaller, more comfortable, and economical to drive.  John and I would banter back and forth with her, often getting her “irritated” as we would laugh about the “hog” that she refused to part with.  Mom loved that car.  She owned it for 44 years.  She stopped driving it years ago and she never would say why.  I think it was because mom was uncomfortable and unsure of herself driving it, and she was too darn stubborn to admit it.  Stubborn is a trait that did not fall far from mom’s genetic tree, but I digress.

As mom started having trouble doing her finances, I began helping her write her checks.  Every 6 months her car insurance would come due.  Every time I would say, “Mom, your car insurance is due.  Is it time to maybe sell the hog?”  She would hem and ha and try and convince me that she really was considering selling it, then she would say, “Let’s go ahead and pay it this time and I’ll think about it”.   I would smile and say ok knowing that this issue would replay itself again in 6 months with the same result.

John, Patty, Lynn, and I, all learned to drive in that car.  The first car I drove in by myself was the hog.  Many cars today look the same, and they are bought, sold, or traded in routinely.  Rarely anymore does a car identify someone.  That was definitely not the case with my mom and her car.  Friends and neighbors knew when they saw that sea foam green tank coming down the road, that Jeanne Sebek was behind the wheel.  It took me awhile to realize this, but Mom’s Oldsmobile had after many years become more than a thing to me.

Our mom came from modest means.  She was born on Christmas Day, 1929.  The same year that the Great Depression began.  It’s just a coincidence that mom showed up at the same time.  There is no direct correlation of her birth to that event that I am aware of.  Because of growing up in this era, mom was and still is very frugal.  Mom accepted what she had and she NEVER, and I mean NEVER, complained about what she didn’t have.  I have, and I always will admire her for that.  That is why she was not just content, but proud about owning that car for all these years.  That Oldsmobile had become synonymous with mom.  My irrational mind said that no one else should own this car.  This car is mom.  As I walked away from the Olds for the last time, I knew I was walking away from a part of my mom.  Another chapter closed today in my mom’s life story and that makes me sad.  Sometimes things do matter.

Post note: In June I was able to squeeze my big pregnant belly behind the hog for the first time. This picture captures the fun joy ride I took with Allison and Jonathan- my first and last time behind Grandma Jeanne’s sea foam green machine. I was trying to look cool behind the wheel but let’s just all agree I look incredibly silly.

I am soaking up our last month on 39th Street. A surprising sadness is creeping in now that we have closed escrow. The painting and boxing has started, helping me to look forward to moving into our new house. But I am also wallow in the bittersweet emotions of leaving an apartment we love very much.

We didn’t really choose our little place. Like many decisions over the last five years, our apartment was the only option. It was a hot July day, just weeks before school was supposed to start. We’d spent a few days in Sacramento looking for a place to live but nothing was really panning out. As we were leaving town, we passed by a beautiful old home on 39th Street. A “For Rent” sign caught my attention. A few days later, once we were back in Orange County, I sent Sharon to look at the inside.

“It’s really cute,” she said. “The kitchen is kind of strange, but I think you’ll like it.” And, we have. In early August 2006 we signed a lease before ever seeing the inside. I no longer notice the lovely 80′s floral wallpaper in our kitchen.

I have filled our apartment with loving hand-me-downs from various family members, along with a few Craig’s List purchases. I won’t lie- I’m happy to soon get rid of some items that are worn and dated. But what I’m not ready to let go of are the memories. Furniture may physically fill our apartment, but it’s our friends and family who have truly filled our home. They have stopped by hundreds of times for pizza dinners or a glass of wine; nights watching Grey’s Anatomy or opening a bible together.

I few days ago I left the house early for work.  Leaves cover the lawn at this time of year, the dew gluing them to our grass. A fog had settled around the huge brick church on the corner. The street was eerily quiet. Usually cars and hospital buses rush by. Instead bells welcomed the day. When I returned home tonight the bells were again ringing, the street again quiet.

These bells are a familiar part of our routine. They ring longer at the end of the day, sometimes chiming familiar hymns that I hum along to while sitting on the porch. I hear them from the bathroom when I’m late for work, and I’m reminded to move faster.

We are entering a new phase of life; where memories will be made, neighbors will pass by with their dogs, and new sounds and light will bounce off the walls in a rhythm of eventual familiarity. But, until that house starts to feel like home I will allow a tiny bit of sadness to sit in my heart because with it comes a gratefulness for all that we’ve been given in our past and our future.

She’s always reminded me of my teenage self. And on Wednesday, the resemblance was even more striking. On a similar June afternoon ten years ago, I, also a Warrior, stood dressed in a red gown. This time, I sat in the stadium seats between hundreds of proud parents holding leis.

When Maddy walked in, I spotted her easily. She’s taller than most of the other girls, and some of the boys too. How I know that feeling. Her long blond hair was down, and her cap on tight. She scanned the crowd looking for mom and dad. We all waved when she looked up.

When they welcomed her to the stage, their valedictorian, my own speech came rushing back. Unlike Maddy, I hadn’t received the highest honors. But, similar to her, I’d also stood on that podium.  We both felt the weight of this moment perhaps more so than other high school students who speak to their peers on graduation day. This speech couldn’t be confused with the lyrics of a Vitamin C graduation song. No, this speech had to be better than average. It had to offer new perspective, depth, and meaning. It couldn’t be about us.

She delivered her speech beautifully, touching on her time spent in Fresno on a missions trip. She spoke about joy and community. She spoke about tough stuff. She spoke about hope. And, she made me laugh, as any good speechwriter will do.

When she finished, she sat back down into a sea of students who would soon become distant memories. They would march out of that stadium together just an hour later, into their own lives. Some of them will go on to do great things. Some will fail miserably. They will all realize that high school, while formative and fun at times, is not the real world. The real world, they will discover, is not about us. No matter how “successful” we become this world is not about the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the promotions we seek, the accolades we achieve. As Nicole Nordeman sings, our life should be about: “Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough to leave a mark on things? I want to leave an offering…a child of mercy and grace who blessed your name unapologetically and leave that kind of legacy.”

It’s not very often we get the chance to stand at a podium, and speak mercy and grace. But each day, we have opportunities to love big, and offer God praise for these great lives He has given us. I am so proud of Maddy for taking her moment at the podium. And I am reminded, to keep going back to the podium myself.

I stood in my closet, right foot resting flamingo style on the left knee. This is my thinking pose; and on Monday night I needed to make an important fashion decision for the following day.

Most days, getting dressed is a short process that happens while brushing my teeth in the morning. My office allows us to dress casually, so unless I have a meeting or event, I don’t need to look perfectly put together—which is fortunate because I’m not a perfectly put together type of girl. My makeup is minimal, my hair is usually straight, and the clothes I wear are often from Target.

I’ve always wanted to dress nicer than I do. Don’t most women say that? Even the ones who are always well dressed? I remember feeling fashion challenged for the first time in sixth grade when all the other girls got body suits and Guess denim shorts. Suddenly, the clothes I had from Limited Too didn’t seem as mature. My mom assured me I looked cute, but I sure didn’t feel as sophisticated as all the other girls.

Sophisticated is exactly how I wanted to feel on Tuesday night. A co-worker and I were nominated for a business award in Sacramento. It was an honor I didn’t expect, and one I felt highly unqualified to win. For that reason, I wanted to look the part of an actual adult. I didn’t want to be the 28 year old kid who shows up to a bar wearing Limited Too when everyone else has on body suits and Guess shorts.

I tried on several outfits. None of them seemed right. How do girls know which shirts go with which pants? When do I need a skinny belt? Can people see my bra through this? Does an undershirt look silly? It’s spring—but it’s raining—so what shoes do I wear? Open? Closed? And, do I have time for a pedicure?

Jonathan didn’t really get it. His most difficult fashion decision each day is deciding what tie to wear. Oddly enough, even this decision can be a challenge for him. And while he gently poked fun of my dramatic closet scene, I found myself lecturing him about how the importance of this very moment and how it might translate to the rest of my career. Was it overly dramatic? Um, yes. (*blush*) But, was it somewhat true? Possibly. Women remember what other women wear—right or wrong—and first impressions count. It’s no wonder we worry so much about finding the perfect skinny belt.

I settled on a short sleeved Target blouse and brown skinny pants. My older heels would have to work, and I’d go without a belt since I don’t own one. The next morning before leaving the house I decided to grab a vintage yellow necklace I’d purchased earlier that week at a consignment store. I’d never shopped at a consignment store before, and it’s rare that I buy jewelry for myself. The necklace was certainly, for me, a step outside the typical.

I fiddled throughout the day with my outfit. The shirt didn’t stay tucked in very well without a belt, and I was cold because of the rainy weather. I started doubting my choice of clothing as soon as I walked into the event not because I was dressed inappropriately but because I am new at this game of playing career woman.

After drinks and appetizers, the award presentation began. I didn’t win. I felt a sense of relief as soon as the last name was called. I wouldn’t have to tromp across that stage in heels with my shirt hanging out. I could go home, change out of the costume, and feel like a kid again.

Shortly after the program, a woman walked up. “You’re Lesley! I’ve wanted to meet you in person.” She was the owner of the consignment store where I’d bought the necklace, and she recognized me from Twitter. I smiled as my hand found its way to my neck.

“This necklace I’m wearing—“ I began.

“Is from our store? Yes. I know. My mom and I recognized it from across the room. It’s so cute. I’m glad you like it,” she said.

I stood a little taller, and smiled a little wider. My self worth isn’t based on appearances. It’s not based on winning an award either. But, in that very short moment, my yellow necklace made me feel like the grown woman I’d been pretending to be.

Maybe I don’t need that skinny belt after all.

photo credit: elsita on flickr

I had just thrown the stuffing mix and gravy into the shopping cart when he called.

“Hey love,” I answer.

“Joe’s not coming to Thanksgiving anymore,” he responds. I try to ignore the hint of disappointment in his voice. “His sister-in-law hasn’t had the baby yet, so it turns out Joe’s family is coming into town.”

I glance down at the bulging cart, trying to quickly assess how long it would take to put back a few items. In preparation for hosting our first Thanksgiving I’d decided on a mostly homemade menu with the exception of the pre-made stuffing, gravy and rolls. The only decision that hadn’t yet been made was the type of meat to purchase.

“Well, that’s okay,” I respond. “It will be perfect with just the two of us.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I remember him saying not too convincingly.

I thought back to a month earlier when we had cheerfully decided to protest the eight hour drive and holiday traffic by staying at home in Sacramento— free from turkey (which neither of us really liked anyway)— and a quiet night at home on the couch. No fights over which Christmas movie to watch. No stress over squeezing in multiple families over the course of 48 hours. And definitely no stomach aches from three straight days of Thanksgiving. Jonathan would get all the studying done he needed, and I’d relax from a season that had been filled with too many busy nights and weekends away. At one point, so confident in our alternative Thanksgiving plans, we even considered scrapping all tradition in exchange for a sushi dinner.

As the day drew nearer though, our holiday plans began to look like a bad idea. I remember the others in my office leaving earlier to beat traffic on the 5 freeway, while I plugged away on projects until the sun set. When I got home that night, we had the awkward conversation about how there was still time left to change our minds. We moped around the house until about 9pm before heading to the drive-in to see Four Christmases, a story of one couple who has to visit four different family members on Christmas Day. The movie hit a little too home. I watched the headlights on the highway as the credits played and though about all the holidays my family had spent driving from house to house. It was always so stressful, but it was tradition.

Of course, a year later, I look back on our holiday at home with fond memories. We bundled up that morning and biked to the starting line of Sacramento’s Run to Feed the Hungry where we then ran a 10K with thousands of strangers. We watched football together and ate tons of appetizers. We slaved over Cornish game hens, and as I’d imagined, we ate by candlelight. It was quiet and romantic, lonely and lovely. I don’t have a desire to spend Thanksgiving alone ever again, but, I’m so glad we made that memory together. Sometimes you need to be reminded of all that you have to understand the blessing. Tomorrow, we’ll be eating with both sides of our families for a combo holiday meal. I have never been so thankful.

photo credit to CarbonNYC

I have writer’s block. And it’s Twitter’s fault.

The last few months I’ve found it very difficult to blog. In the old days, I would think of blog post ideas throughout the day and look forward to a few evenings each week where I’d let the words flow off my hands and heart onto the screen. Recently, it hasn’t been so easy. I have a lot of theories as to why this has been the case, but the one that makes the most sense is TWITTER. For the last year or so I’ve been “tweeting” for work; and in the last six months that task has become a large part of my job. Not only do I tweet for my own company, but I tweet for our clients, and I’ve been giving 1-4 hour trainings on how to use social media tools like Twitter for business.

The problem with Twitter is it engages my mind differently than writing. It makes me think in short, 140 character posts. It allows me to be lazy and “re-tweet” an article instead of analyzing it on this blog. Twitter keeps me hopping around all day, scanning, moving, never settling to just rest in a thought or a feeling. For as much as Ilove Twitter for marketing purposes, I’m also worried it’s sucking my creativity down the drain.

So, for those of you who have asked, “Where have you gone?” (i.e. Michele, Hachoo, and a few others) just know that I’m still here. I obviously need to work through my creative slump, and I will, but in the meantime please enjoy these 140 (ish) character updates on our life recently:

Went to Lake McClure w/high school group. The last hot summer weekend. Sweet girls, glassy water, pro wakeboard lessons. #bestvolunteergigever

(Actual tweet): I loved hearing my friend’s voice this morning at 5:53am when she said, “We have a baby boy and he’s soooo cute.” I cried. (Read more about Jenny and Chris’ new baby, Asher, on Maggie’s blog. She put into words how my heart felt.)

No, we aren’t sisters by blood, but couldn’t we convince someone otherwise? #breakfastatsambos

L-R: Doctor, Lawyer, DC Marketing Guru/Dad. Who’d have guessed so much could happen in five years? It’s been an uphill battle many days. Homecoming weekend reminded us that while we’ve perhaps grown up a little bit, our friendships haven’t changed. (Yeah, yeah…that one was longer than 140 characters. Sigh.) For a really sweet and thoughtful post on Homecoming, check out Corinne’s blog. Corinne, I wish I could have said what you said. It’s lovely.

I’m one of those people that likes playing the game, “Last week at this time, I was… (fill in the blank: eating dinner with friends, lounging in Hawaii, celebrating my birthday…) OR “Last year at this time we were… (in Boston with Sarah, anticipating our anniversary, planting our garden.) Sometimes (this is going to sound so Type A), I actually get out my old calendar to reminisce on what was happening weeks, or months, or years before. Weird?

So, five years ago…

It was July 2004. I was living by myself in a tiny cottage in Montecito, caring for three awfully behaved dogs that smelled, working two jobs-attempting to prove myself as an intern at BigSpeak where I’d eventually get hired full time, and terribly missing everyone in my life except Jonathan, the only friend I had in Santa Barbara.

I was miserable. Just like every other new graduate.

I’d really set myself up for it– taking a leisurely three week road trip to Colorado for friends weddings, followed by a really tough two weeks in Alaska, which remains one of the best vacations of my life. Then, on to reality. 40+ hour work weeks. No money. No health insurance. No family. Few friends. Falling asleep to crickets instead of giggles.

Somehow, in some way or another, I struggled through it. Not out of it, but through it. Now, I’m in a much better place. Not an easier place, but a place where I’m comfortable with the fact that life outside of college is always, always going to be harder than I had it back then.

Here are the many things I’ve been blessed to learn, that (I believe) make me a better person. From the silly to the serious, I hope they help some poor 22 year old soul out there:

1. Start eating breakfast. The candy dish at work will not keep you satisfied until you maybe get a lunch break.

2. I said maybe get a lunch break because sometimes, when you’re trying to prove yourself, you don’t get lunch breaks. It will pay off quicker than you think. But then you’re so busy that you still don’t take a lunch break. It’s okay. The day goes by faster that way.

3. Not everything is black and white. You might have an idea of the way things are supposed to be. Get over it.

4. People change, a lot of times for the better. Or, you’ll find out that you were just mis-judging them all along.

5. As Dave Matthews says, it’s really not where you are but who you’re with that matters.

6. Expect good friends after college, but don’t expect they’ll fall in your lap. Which brings me to point 7…

7. Friends (old, and new) are a lot of work. Make time for them, pursue them, offer them grace, ask them for grace, be authentic, serve, and be open to people who may not be like you.

8. If you want health insurance, don’t work for a small business. If you want to get experience, move up fast, and get a raise- work for a small business. They’ll eventually throw in the health insurance too. Or, (secret!) if you’re healthy you can purchase you’re own plan online. Mine was $50 a month.

9. Don’t wait around to try what you’d always imagined you’d do. The sooner you try, and fail, at jobs the sooner you’ll figure out what you’re really meant to do.

10. Live in a place you never imagined you’d be. Try the high rise condo. Live in the city once. Or, if you’ve grown up that way, live in the country. This is the time to do it!

Last week, I had lunch with my friend Michelle. She works at Westmont and gets to watch new grads go out into the world each year, full of hope, only to get totally crushed by the reality of life. It happens to all of us. If Michelle someday shares her wisdom with the world through a blog (hint Michelle), you can bet her wisdom will be more tested than mine. But really, couldn’t we all use a little advice along the way? I hope mine helps someone, or, at least reminds many of us how far we’ve come.

Coming soon: What I still need to learn in my twenties.

picture credit: kitchenist

Jonathan,

A lot of people gave us their brutally honest opinion that law school would kill our marriage. Today, we can happily look at one another and disagree. Law school, and the many challenges that have come with it, have only made our marriage stronger. Together, we had a lot of fun taking on a big challenge called law school. While I’m so proud of you for finishing, and so impressed with how well you did, I’m most thankful for God’s good grace and provisions through each semester you were at Davis…from the friends who loved us in generous ways, and the family who understood when we didn’t have the money to visit as much as we might have liked to. From how He provided work for me, and the blessings of a church home– to the ways he has strengthened our faith as we’ve waited for the next step.

Today is your day. Today is my day. Most importantly, today is our day. While it feels so good to see you walk across that stage, with your scholarly robe and big smile, I’m most proud of  the little choices we made over the last three years to love each other well. Those steps are what brought us to this moment–and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

So, today I raise my glass of sangria to you, and I toast to simple choices, to hard work, to generous friends, to loving family, to a job you love, and to the people who you will someday serve. I love you.

Do you ever feel stuck?  Do you ever look around and feel like everyone is growing up, or moving on, without you?

I am a hypochondriac. I’m (mostly) okay with sharing this fact with all of my closest family and friends in the blogosphere as long as you’ll hear me out. I blame my problem on a tough bout with the stomach flu as a kid, which then led to becoming deathly afraid of throwing up. One night in third grade, I kept my mom up the entire night because I thought I might throw up. I had the towel and bucket ready–which was unfortunate because Scott threw up instead– all over the carpet.