12 years, 12 lessons (Part 3 of 3)

9. Surrender to addiction.

Forget the Olympics; I could put everything I’ve ever learned in the context of food. I don’t think there is anything in the world I think about more. Even writing those words makes me sad; how much time I have wasted (and still waste) on my best friend and greatest enemy.

As someone who has been far too interested in body shape since I was a young gymnast, watching the Olympics is an absolute feast for the eyes (pun intended). I find myself marveling at the shape of the athlete’s muscles, wondering what it must be like to look like that. It’s unhealthy. It’s superficial. And yet, at 44, I still do it. And damn…those athletes are h-o-t hot. Ha! 

Seriously though, I couldn’t possibly summarize my issues with food into one lesson and I don’t want to give it more attention than that in this space. So I’ll put it this way—I don’t expect my issues with food to ever go away. I used to have hope that they would. Now, I have hope for something else. 

Since I’ve been more open about my own issues, I’ve learned that rare is the person in America who has a healthy relationship with food. A lot of us are trying and failing and trying again. All I can do is try my best every single meal of every single day and, in the many minutes in between each meal. It’s not easy and it never will be. Every now and then, that reality reduces me to tears. But I pick myself up, and I keep trying, reminding myself to be grateful that I have another day to do so. My hope now is that with constant effort, I can find peace with the sweet things that torture me, one day at a time. (And today is Day 15 of a hard no-sugar reset.)  

10. Money means choices, but definitely not happiness.

People like choices; it’s a core principle I live by as an educator and as a human. When I worked as an attorney, my salary (and bonus) were quite lovely. They helped get us a house. But I was a fish trying to climb a tree. 

My sister was also an attorney at a big law firm and we joke that one day we will write a book about our experiences there. We have a working title: I know you're at a funeral but... One of the partners she worked for sent her an email with an "urgent" assignment and it started with those words. Needless to say, she left big law, too (and is now crushing it with the federal government). 

Still, I will always be forever grateful to big law. It showed me a path to being stupidly rich. The path was right there and I know how fortunate I am to have seen it (I also know how hard I worked to be able to see it). At Ropes, I saw what I would need to do to make crazy money, and intellectually, I'm pretty certain I could have done it. But I also saw what that path would include: lack of sleep, unexpected travel, projects I didn't believe in, a money-driven mission, a work culture that was way too serious for me, a sad absence of music in the office, just to make a few. When I walked away and went back to teach, I took a pay cut well over $100,000. And I've never looked back. 

I admit, my safety net is sturdy and the privilege that comes with that is undeniable. But I also know this: life is way too short to do something you hate. For me, no amount of money would ever be worth it. 

11. Find your gift and share it with the world. 

As much as I felt out-of-place in big law, I feel completely in my element now. I remember being on a week of summer vacation in my Ropes days, wanting to bawl my eyes out at the miserable thought of having to go back to my office on Monday. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it, even on the Tuesday before. 

Now, I work just as many hours if not more. I "work" every weekend and a bit on vacation, but it doesn't even feel like I'm working. I make less, and it's by no means glamorous. But I feel like a fish who finally found the ocean. And the ocean is clean, and fresh, and full of potential. 

I'm pretty sure that I wanted to be a teacher the first day I learned about this thing called school. And I'm pretty sure I wrote my first book the day after I learned how to put a crayon to paper. I have had outside-the-box ideas since I was a kid, and I know now that I only feel truly alive on the days that I learn or create something new. I didn't know any of this twelve years ago, but I'm glad I know it now. 

And so now, I get to choose my work people, and then as a team, we get to teach kids how to find their gifts and share them with the world. Have you ever seen the look in a kid's eye when they start to believe in themselves? I know it sounds cliché, but if you think I'm making it up, then you just have never seen it. 

I have been blessed in the last few months to hired my first full-time employee, someone I consider a good friend even though we only reconnected months ago. Josh gave me a book about Steve Jobs. Jobs once said: 

Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.

You really will. 

12. Find your people, build a life with them, and value time like the most precious resource on Earth. 

Being a parent and an owner of an education company, I often think about what the most important lessons are that we could teach the younger generations. And it's funny because maybe the most important thing is something we almost never talk about, at least, not explicitly. I think that the vast majority of a person's happiness or misery is based on their decision of a life partner. I'm not saying it's necessarily a spouse, although for many people it is. It could be a parent or a partner or a friend with whom you choose to spend the majority of our days and nights. Whatever way, it's a huge decision.  

It's crazy to me that so many of us choose a life partner so young, before we have any clue about the real world, before our brains are even fully formed. I met Brian when I was 18 years old; we got engaged when I was 24. We knew nothing about nothing. I just had a miraculous stroke of good luck, paired with a decent instinct of who was a nice person and who wasn't. 

Last night while we were watching the Olympics, I found myself Googling Tara Davis-Woodhall and her husband, Hunter Woodhall. Their love in the stands was palpable and their story, real and beautiful. Years ago, I would have stopped Lesson #12 there. Happily ever after. 

But twelve more years of living has taught me that none of us have any clue what happens behind closed doors. We have no idea how a husband treats his wife, how anyone treats anyone, for that matter, when no one else is looking. I happened to build a life with someone who treats me with respect and kindness and compassion when no one is looking. I am one of the lucky ones. And yet, even in the best of cases, living life with other people can be challenging. I have so much respect for people who declare, This isn't working for me. It takes such insight and courage to make such a declaration. 

Of course, I'm never directly going to teach my kids or (obviously) my students about how to find their people. But I can teach them to respect themselves, to value their voice and their worth. I can help teach them how to better understand who they are, what they want in life, and how to behave like their dreams are worthy of others' respect and support. I can try to best learn and then teach how to have difficult conversations, how to assert ourselves with grace and confidence, how to make hard decisions in key moments of life. None of us have these answers. But I hope to help ask the right questions and be there to help them find their answers. That's why time is the most precious resource on Earth. 

12 years, 12 lessons (Part 2 of 3)

5. In the words of (maybe) Walt Whitman via Ted Lasso, “stay curious and not judgmental.”

Since I spent months preparing a 10-minute talk on this point, I won’t belabor it here. But if I’m making a list of important lessons the last 12 years have taught me, this has to be one of them because I really believe that staying curious is a key to peace and happiness.

The Olympics offered several obvious examples of this lesson. Look no further than women’s boxing to see how making wrong assumptions can hurt innocent people and make you look like an ignorant jerk. I really hope I am minimally ignorant each day and on my best days, I hope I’m not ignorant at all.

6. Keep learning, always.

I try to be minimally ignorant by learning new things every day. Sometime in the last 12 years, I noticed a pattern emerge: there are people who keep learning and people who stop learning. (This has nothing to do with school, by the way.) The formal group grows intellectually and emotionally. They seem to have a far better chance at happiness. The latter group gets arrogant and stubborn. They seem to end up pretty unhappy.

How does this relate to sports? Oh, it relates in several ways I can think of, all of which are pretty controversial. During these Olympics, I’ve heard insults hurled about everything from the opening ceremonies to issues of the future of sport when it comes to gender issues. Sure, some of these issues are complicated. They involve values that may circle back to religion and I know religion can get, hum, should I say, prickly. But anger and violence often starts with people who refuse to open their minds to new perspectives, people who seem incredibly fearful of change. It seems like people with more open minds are far less angry and far less afraid, so even if I’m being selfish, it seems like keeping an open mind is the way to go.

7. I’m unapologetically putting my values before my people.

In the last few years, I’ve thought a lot about what loyalty means. Partly, I’ve done this because I live in Canton, and well, Canton’s kind of going through a thing right now. But no matter the reason, I have learned that there are lots of people who are really loyal to those they love. No matter what their loved ones do, they will stand behind them, at least, publicly, so I assume it’s privately, too.

I’ve figured out recently that I’m not like this. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t stand up for people I love, or even stand by them if they did something wrong; I hope I would do both. But I hope I’d support them while staying loyal to my values—things like truth, integrity, and empathy. Like if I love you more than anything and you lie, I’m standing on the side of truth. I won’t give up on you—far from it—but I’m not lying with you. We can work together to sort out the issues, but I’m not sacrificing my values. If I do, I’d be creating chaos in the world. And I don’t want more chaos for the people I love.

8. Sleep is really important. 

That's it. I really didn't know that 12 years ago. And now, I do, so I need to go to bed. 

12 years, 12 lessons (Part 1 of 3)

I found my tumor during the 2012 Summer Olympics. I felt the small lump in my left breast while Brian and I were watching Team USA and while Teddy and Annabel were asleep upstairs, four and one years old, respectively. August 8, 2012. You have cancer. 

Today, almost exactly 12 years later, the caffeine and the peace of a cute coffee shop are fueling me to reflect. What have I learned in the 12 years since? I don't really know, but I'd like to figure it out so I'm going to write because it's the way I think best. And it feels only fitting that I do so in the context of the Olympics. (Don't worry -- I will not use "win-lose" or "victory-defeat" type metaphors to cancer; those make me angry.)

So here's what I've learned in the last 12 years. I'll do four today, four tomorrow, and four on August 8th. 

1. If you have people cheering you on, you have everything. 

One of my favorite parts of watching the Olympics is watching the families and friends in the stands; I can't get enough of them. I'm sure the relationships aren't perfect -- what relationships are? -- but when it comes down to those defining moments, these people have shown up. They've flown from all around the world to cheer for their athletes -- to acknowledge their loved one's dreams -- dreams that they now share. If you have people cheering you on in life as you reach for your dreams, then you have everything. Ev-ery-thing.

2. It's good to know when and how to tell people to F- off.

Since the first one was sweet, the next one is salty. I love that Simone Biles called out Mikayla Skinner for her obnoxious, jealous comments about the 2024 women gymnasts. It turns out that I don't believe in the old adage, If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. No thanks. For me, it's far better to be strong and honest, especially because "being nice" is subjective. Maybe Simone's comeback to Skinner wasn't "nice" to Skinner but I'm sure it felt awesome to her most-certainly-not-lazy teammates. I am inspired by people who aren't afraid to stand up to jerks. I prefer strong and honest to nice. The latter is fake. The former are real. Thank you, Simone, for showing us that we can call people out on their bull$hit and show class at the very same time. 

3. We can never forget the gigantic world context of our lives.

Obviously, a social media back-and-forth between gymnasts is nothing relative to the world scene. I won't even pretend to understand the complexity (and indeed, the tragedy) of the politics behind so many Olympic moments. Israel and Palestine, Russia and Ukraine, North and South Korea, China-Taiwan, Sudan and South Korea, and I'm sure others I don't even know about. I've read some of the stories: athletes killed before they even made it to Paris, refugees fleeing their countries to train, families ripped apart by war. A few stories I didn't even have the stomach to finish reading. 

Part of the magic of the Olympics is that through them, we celebrate a world coming together despite all of this darkness. But wow -- the privilege some of us have in being able to do that. I try, every day, to remember the bigger picture of my life. I am so small, so insignificant, really. There will always be an infinitely larger universe in which my being is microscopic. That reality no longer terrifies me, but in a way, it empowers me. The question is, how can I help? I will keep trying to answer that. 

4. I could go all the way to Paris and lose and that's okay.

I used to think Olympic gymnasts were nuts. These people dedicate their whole lives to a moment that may never come to be. They tattoo themselves with Olympic rings and they pursue a dream that may never happen. They may get disqualified for flipping a swim turn just a bit too early. They may get sick from the dirty water and have to withdraw. Or they may just have a bad day. Then what? They go back home with the memory of complete failure? See, nuts!

The thing is, I don't think this way anymore. Three Olympic Games later, I am far less afraid of stating my dreams and failing at them. Actually, let me revise that...I'm still terrified of failure, but I'll dream and do anyways. I don't think this evolved mentality came from having cancer, but cancer played (and plays) a role, for sure. Then again, we should all have an urgency about our dreams, shouldn't we? 

I will

Dear Mom, 

No one reads this blog anymore, which I consider a true gift because it means that cancer is no longer at the center of my being. While I may "publish" this blog, I consider this a private communication. The only people who read it will be those who still think of me (or people who once followed and wonder, "Is that girl still alive?" Ha!) Well, I am still alive. Still very, very alive. So I wanted to write you to you here because this blog was where writing really started for me.

Three years ago around this time, you gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. You told me that you believed in my idea for a book enough that you'd support my dream to take a year off of teaching and write it. I will never ever have the words to express my gratitude for that but I'm going to give it a little try right now. 

One of the reasons I love being a teacher so much is that I honestly believe a teacher has the power to help their students build their dreams. On a day to day basis, the work doesn't look like it involves dream-building at all (like not even in the slightest) but I still know it's true. A teacher can help a student believe in themself, help them think (even if it's deep in their subconscious) I can do that. I can learn that. I can be that. I can. Then the really great teachers can help students learn and execute the how. 

When students believe they can, it's because they have found one of life's most precious gifts: hope. Hope makes us believe that we can take the infinite pieces of being human that the universe hands us -- in whatever shape, color, and size and in whichever degree of pain, pleasure, and practicality -- and build our one life. If we get lucky, we have time to do it. 

Today I figured out something: the beauty of I can is surpassed by just one other belief. It's not I did (didn't Gatsby teach us anything?), but rather I will. 

Mom, you and Dad have always been my greatest teachers. You both have always made me believe I can. There is nothing more in the world I hope to give my kids than that belief.

Today I realized what's next, and it's on me. It's the I will. 

I wrote that draft -- that embarrassingly-bad-piece-of-total-crap 430-page draft. And it's sat there for over a year. I've been too afraid to look at it again. Too scared of how much work it's going to take to make it real. To make final decisions about what a character does and says. To add, delete, punctuate. I'm terrified to put my name on it and show it to the world and somehow try to believe that it's worth someone's time to read it. Don't get me wrong -- I have not overcome those fears, not even close. And I'm not really inspired nor excited about the prospect of finishing this thing. It's just that it's time. 

Maybe that's part of the process of writing a novel or achieving any dream -- just deciding, it's time. And then getting lucky enough to have the time. 

On Monday you'll come with me for my chest scan. That's always scary, no matter how routine it may be. Thank you for being there from the first scan almost twelve years ago to this one. Thank you for convincing me I can. And thank you even more for making it possible for me to actually do it -- showing me the how. Being part of it, in all it's lazy, imperfect, very-unfun reality. 

And now, it's time for me to check this damn dream off the dream list and get it done. So, mark my words. I will. By the summer of 2025 I will send this damn draft out to 10 agents. Even if it's so bad that they don't even read past page one. 

I will. 

Thank you for that. 

Love you always, 

Me

One Reason Writing Fiction Is So Damn Hard

Because every single moment you do it, you face your own thoughts. And somehow, you have to make sense of those thoughts.

I continue to wake up every morning to write and I continue to think it is one of the most challenging things I have ever done. Maybe that's how you know you're supposed to do something--it feels like torture and yet, every single day, something calls you back to do it.