Floating: My 90 minutes of bliss

Photo Credit: garrett.frandsen via Compfight cc

Several months ago, my friend Jessica started raving about float tanks. Jessica - like me raves about all her new discoveries - and she's usually right (ESPECIALLY about Christmas prep). She began describing a sensory deprivation tank filled with 10 inches of body-temperature water and 1000 pounds of salt. You float in the pure dark with no sound for an hour or so. She described as rejuvenating and relaxing.

I was immediately intrigued.

Apparently, float tanks were invented in the 1950s by neuropsychiatrist John C. Lilly. Originally, people were submerged in an effort to relax their mind but the breathing apparatuses were too clunky so they moved to the floating model. Several studies have shown floating to have a positive effect on stress levels and many other stress-related conditions.

I live with three boys under the age of 7. They had me at dark and silent. 

Unfortunately, there are no floating centers in Paducah. When Beth and I went to Philly for the Democratic National Convention, I decided to try it out while we were in a big city with float centers. Two weeks of political conventions seemed to call for sensory deprivation anyway. 

Beth decided to try it out too and one morning we headed over to Halcyon Floats. 

The prep is minimal, although they do advise you not to drink caffeine and eat about an hour before you come. That way you're not jittery or hungry halfway through the session. You shower, plug your ears, and hop in the tank. You can close the lid to the tank or not. I chose to close the lid because I wanted total darkness.

The ability to float so easily is amazing. I literally stretched out and tensed every muscle in my body and remained floating, which was a completely bizarre experience. Our session was for 90 minutes - which apparently is a little long for beginners - but I was glad because it took me a while to get comfortable in the water.

When I first laid back, I felt like my shoulders were touching my ear lobes. They give you a short pool noodle to prop up your neck. However, that felt too restrictive. Finally, I figured out if I put my arms up by my head my back and shoulders would relax. I stayed in that position the rest of the time.

I was pretty sleep-deprived so I fell asleep a couple of times but I have no idea how many times or for how long. Once I was comfortable the time passed very quickly. In fact, the only stressful thoughts I had were, "Hurry up and think through some deep stuff before your time runs out!"

Unfortunately, because I fell asleep I think my body temperature dropped and by the time the timer went off I was starting to get a bit cold. 

Otherwise, it was a completely enjoyable experience and after I had showered and gotten ready I felt like my muscles were melted butter - apparently due to all the magnesium from the epsom salt. 

I would absolutely do it again. Although not for the claustrophobic obviously, I'd also recommend it. Being alone with our thoughts can seem scary in a world where distractions are always a click away. However, I found it helpful and enlightening to challenge myself.

Peace and quiet are always what we're longing for but sometimes they come in the opposite order quiet... then peace. If I have to get in a float tank to find some, sign me up.

Enneagrams and Strengths Finder: Why I love self-exploration

Y'all. I've fallen down a personality test rabbit hole. 

I'm currently working my way through Tsh Oxenreider's Upstream Field Guide. It's an eight-week self-paced course to help you better understand yourself, unearth more of your purpose, then use your wisdom to make a plan so that your life makes more sense.

I'm REALLY enjoying it. (Side note: The course is currently included as part of this super awesome Ultimate Bundle which is half the price of the course alone.)

As part of the second session, Tsh recommends that you find your Enneagram Type and complete the Strengths Finder Assessment to help you better understand yourself, your values, and what types of actions to take moving forward.

I'm a total junkie for self-growth and self-exploration - obviously since I'm taking this course so I was ALL. IN.

The Enneagram Assessment is a model of human personality which is basically structured around nine interconnected personality types.

I've always been a tad intimidated by it. It seemed overly complex (says the person who loves Myers Briggs) but the actual test was simple and easy.  I'm basically a 1 with 2 wing. That's a fancy way of saying I'm a Perfectionist who leans heavily towards giving. 

One site described it as a Servant-Leader.

“Among the liabilities for One-wing-Twos is that they can be perfectionistic, impatient, emotionally constricted, judgmental, inflexible, and intolerant. Furthermore, they can fail to match up to their own high standards in any number of ways. ”

(Shifts uncomfortably in seat because it's a little too dead-on.)

Also, it's Hillary Clinton's type. 🙌

Apparently, Ones have a big problem with anger and feeling defective. I realized reading so much of this that anger is my go-to emotion much of the time but that - as a woman - I don't feel allowed to feel angry. I'd never really thought about that before, which is why I LOVE personality tests and the self-examination they can prompt.

I also completed the Strengths Finder assessment. (You have to buy the book to get a unique code for the assessment.) Strengths Finder is a little different than a classic personality assessment. The idea is that leaders aren't "well-rounded" but that they play to their strengths instead of fixing their weaknesses. 

What I'm realizing is that as a Type One I'm prone to the idea that I must constantly improve my weaknesses instead of just embracing my strengths.

My Strengths are Input, Intellection, Strategic, Woo, Ideation.

In a nutshell, I love to take in a lot of information. My mind is ALWAYS going. I like to find creative solutions. I can work a room like nobody's business. And I love ideas and making connections.

Because I'm always wanting to "improve" I think for far too long I've beaten myself up for not wanting to focus on one thing, for being turned off by traditional approaches, and loving new ideas and new information.

Finally, I'm beginning to realize through a lot of self-exploration - from personality tests to therapy - that at almost-35 (gulp) I am who I am. I'm not going to work my way into another personality. I'm not going to wake up one day and enjoy having a boss or climbing the ladder at a traditional 9 to 5. 

I CAN wake up every day and be a little better version of myself than I was the night before by embracing my strengths and weaknesses - by working with both instead of fighting who I am.

It might seem silly that an online test can help me understand something as intensely personal but the paradox of personality is that learning how we are like others can help put our unique attributes in perspective. It can help us learn how others deal with similar challenges and what ideas and approaches worked for them.

It's just one more tool in the toolbox of growth and awareness and who doesn't love that?

What do y'all think about personality test? Anyone want to share their Enneagram or Strengths!?!

Campaign Update: March

Photo by Rachael House Photography.

"How's the campaign going?"

It's the question I get most often. It's also the question I'm never quite sure how to answer.

Good? ... Great! ... Your guess is as good as mine. ... We'll see May 17th!

The truth - I suppose - all depends on what you're measuring. 

If you're measuring fundraising,  things are going well. I've raised about 30% of my fundraising goal. I'm not exactly where I wanted to be but, then again, I wanted to be at 100% by the first month and that was probably a little unrealistic.

Ok, a lot unrealistic.

I have two fundraisers coming up in April and not a ton of expenditures until then. So, overall, I feel like I'm doing fine. I always thought fundraising came easy to me and it does - when it's for other people. It's much harder to ask for money for yourself!

Speaking of... in case you want to get me closer to 50% of my goal, here you go:

Donate

If you're measuring voter outreach, things are also going well. I've started knocking on doors and have been met with lots of kindness in support. I also have amazing family and friends that are knocking on doors around Paducah, which is also fantastic. I've spoken at several groups and have done community outreach. I've also begun advertising in local magazines and on Facebook.

Again, I think my expectations with regards to how much I could get accomplished in the first month were a smidge high. I'm trying to recognize any progress as good and not be too hard on myself.

If you're measuring the candidate's mental state, then it just depends on the day! Some days I'm so energized by the conversations I'm having with people who care so deeply about Paducah's future. Some days I feel like everything is such an uphill battle.

Campaigning is hard because you always feel like there's more you could be doing. Or - even worse - you see an opponent out there doing it. I'm beginning to realize what a mind game this entire exercise really is. 

You're constantly weighing your actions and words against your opponents and the desires of the voters and the reality of the situation and the concerns of your own family and friends. I find myself - despite my best efforts - second guessing myself and worrying that everything I do or say will upset someone.

Then, I remember.

It probably will and that's ok.

I'm not running for City Commission to make everyone like me (although campaigning can feel like that sometimes). I'm running because I love this town and I want what's best for it and I believe I am uniquely qualified to make that happen.

And I would have needed to learn (and relearn) that lesson even if I had raised a million dollars in February and knocked on every door in town.

So, let's try this again.

How's the campaign going?

It's GOING. I'm raising money. I'm knocking on doors. And I'm learning that being a candidate is so much more than those two things. 

Ruby

For my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 things I wanted to do. One was to write a historical fiction short story. This is the story and as Ruby keeps calling to me here lately. I thought I'd share it here. 

As Ruby placed the birthday cake in front of her one-year-old daughter, she had only one thought. Please, God, not another one.

Little Gertrude’s blue eyes widened with glee. Within seconds, her face was covered in frosting and the other children were growing impatient for their slice of the precious treat. Ruby’s father had sent the ingredients for the cake to the farm that morning. His general store was one of the most successful businesses in town, while her husband’s sharecropping barely fed the five mouths living under their roof.

She had decided to bake the cake while Dellon was busy in the fields. It was easier that way. No explaining. No shame. No watching the hurt and embarrassment wash over his face. Ruby knew the children could keep the cake a secret. They had many secrets between them.

“Momma, are you ill? Do you need to rest?” Mary Elizabeth asked her with worry streaked across her young face. Of all her girls, Mary Elizabeth looked the most like Ruby as a young girl. Her deep-set brown eyes and small delicate mouth were identical to her mother’s. But unlike Ruby, there was a hardness to Mary Elizabeth’s features. Ruby couldn’t help but feel responsible for that.

“No, sweet girl. I’ll be fine. Please take your sisters and Andrew outside and take the wash off the line.”

It was April. A beautiful spring day. One of the first warm ones they had had in weeks. Dellon had awoken before dawn to take advantage of the weather and kissed her softly before leaving the house. If it was true, this baby would arrive in January – in the middle of winter.

Please, God, not another one.

There had been a time when another baby was all she wanted. After Mary Elizabeth, she had given birth to a son. Ruby had been so happy to give her husband a son, although he swore a house full of girls would have pleased him. James with his tiny head full of dark hair had been difficult from the beginning. He cried and cried and cried until his screams followed her into sleep.

Then, he was gone. One morning she had noticed he felt warm. By the afternoon, he was on fire and as limp as a rag doll. The doctor came but told Ruby and Dellon that there was nothing he could do. It was pneumonia. He faded away right in front of her.

Ruby’s mother Mary had buried five children before Ruby was ever born. Mary Hocker was a fixed, firm woman. Her mother never spoke of the other children, nor offered Ruby any words of wisdom. When Mary Elizabeth was born, she had only looked at Ruby and said, “Know that many do not come to stay.”

Gladys had come two years after she lost James and Virgil Ruth a year later. It had been hard but they were such healthy, happy girls. Mary Elizabeth toted both around like baby dolls and the sadness that had seemed ever present in the house seemed to lift. But the little boy who hadn’t come to stay still haunted Ruby and she desperately wanted another one.

For four years, they tried. She had gotten pregnant three times and three times it ended in cramping and blood. She began to believe that her three girls were all there would be. If that had been the end of it, she could have managed, but the endless cycle of anticipation, fear, and grief took a heavy toll on her mind and body. Her happiness seemed to be intimately linked to the rise and fall of her belly.

Then, a reprieve. The excitement and fear came with the first symptoms but instead of grief she got Andrew – her precious boy. Like Gladys and Virgil Ruth before him, he was a happy baby that thrived with her attention or without. He had a head full of light brown hair and hazel eyes like his father. Ruby was ecstatic when she wasn’t terrified of him falling ill. But the older he got, the more her anxiety faded and now her tiny baby was a sturdy boy.

It was with Gertrude’s arrival two years later that it began to occur to her that her problem might not be too few children but too many.

+++++

“Dellon, I believe I’m with child.”

His face filled with joy and expectation, confirming for Ruby that she was filled with anything but.

The children were asleep and by candlelight her husband was resting after a hard day planting. She had been with Dellon for twelve years. Sometimes she had trouble remembering her life before him or believing it had ever really been hers.

When she met him at seventeen, her world was full of promise and she was full of confidence. Her father was successful and well respected and because of that Ruby had opportunities other girls did not. She was well educated and allowed to pursue things that interested her. She loved music and needlepoint and could spend hours at the piano. All of this was available to her because there was a house full of servants doing chores and tasks Ruby never even knew existed.

For so long, Ruby had believed the luxury in her life was composed of fine dresses, expensive dolls, and her beautiful home. It was only now that she realized that the true luxury in her life was time. Time to rest. Time to dream. Time to breathe. Watching her own girls’ days filled with work and chores, she ached to give them what she had had.

Unfortunately, these things did not occur to her when she fell in love with a handsome dirt farmer named Dellon Childress. He was warm and playful and looked at her with an energy she had never felt before. Her own parents loved her and she was sure they loved each other but what she felt for Dellon seemed to defy everything she believed about love. He became her everything because she gave up everything to be with him.

She still loved him. But their life was hard and his presence in it increasingly small. His nightly appearances – no matter how cheerful – were not enough for her or her children. She needed him. She needed help. She needed rest.

Another baby meant less of everything. Less Dellon as he worked to feed one more mouth. Less help. Less rest. It seemed like with every baby there was less of her.

“That’s wonderful, Ruby,” he said, his eyes shining.

“Is it?” Ruby usually tried not to worry her husband but the burden of her thoughts was becoming too heavy.

Dellon leaned forward in his chair looking her in the eyes. “Are you worried this one will end like the others?”

Ruby was worried. Worried he might see in her face that losing this pregnancy was a source of respite, not anxiety.

“No.” She turned back to the sink.

“Then James?” Dellon’s forehead creased, as it always did when he was trying to communicate more than he was saying. “Charlie Hill was telling me his grandson got real sick. They gave him that penicillin and now he’s back hanging from the rafters.”

“I know.” She replied. Ruby went for the easy way out. “How are we going to feed another little one?”

Money worried her but that really wasn’t what caused her stomach to drop every time she thought of another baby.

But how could she explain that to her husband?

“We’ll find a way. We always have before.” Dellon smiled.

“I suppose so.” She heard him get up out of his chair and move towards her, but she wiped her hands and was on her way up the stairs before he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.

***

Ruby Lovelace Childress was my great-great-grandmother and this story is based loosely on her life. She was pregnant in Spring 1914, when my great-grandmother Gertrude was one-year-old. Tragically, it was an ectopic pregnancy and she died on July 11, ten days shy of her 30th birthday. My great-great-grandfather Dellon Childress remarried shortly after her death and had two more children. He lived to be eighty-one years old.

Letter to my 15-year-old self

Dear 15-year-old Sarah,

First of all, let's talk about your hair. It's glorious! You will not appreciate that hair until it starts falling out in chunks after your first baby but dang it's so thick and SHINY. You won't have it that long again so enjoy it. You should also enjoy that beautiful complexion, which you falsely believe to have acne.

You don't know acne, girl.

You will. When you get pregnant for the first time and your skin erupts and scars, you will regret all those years stressing your "bad" skin.

Now that we've got the superficial things out of the way, let's address the only other thing you really care about...boys. Boys that are starting to pay attention to you for the first time. You will meet a boy on this trip to California. Nothing serious but it will usher in a new phase - a phase where boys stop being something you dream about and start becoming something you have to actually deal with.

It won't be easy and I won't ruin any surprises because the lessons you learn along the way are worth it. There are no shortcuts along the path to self-acceptance and self-confidence when it comes to men. 

Just know things will turn out fine in the end. It won't be the romantic comedy plot you've internalized at this point.

It will be so much better.

I do wish I could tell you one thing. One thing that would save some time and effort and money.  I know it doesn't work that way. That even if I could go back and tell you to do things differently I'd end up in Marty McFly's high top sneakers upsetting the balance of fate and the universe and my hovercraft...but still if I COULD I would say this. 

You are a writer. Not a lawyer. Not a lobbyist. Not a bureaucrat. 

A writer. Don't fight it. Don't listen to the voices that say you're not good enough or it's a dream too big. Even now at 15 you know that's the only thing you love to do all the time - no matter what. When things get tough or confusing, where do you go? To your journal to write. That will not change and there's a reason for that. Because you are a writer and I wish it wouldn't take you - me - so long to see it. 

Love,

Sarah

Beryl and the books

Little known fact about me. I want to write a book. I want to write a book so badly. The problem is I. am. terrified. by the prospect. There is a voice in my head that yells so loudly when I think about writing a book. That voice tells me I have no idea how to write a book. That voice tells me I have no idea worth writing a book about. This voice tells me no one will read it.

I am trying desperately to quiet that voice. The only way to write a book is to start writing. Last year, I tried writing every day with a dear friend and one challenge we gave ourselves was writing an adventure tale. 

This is my tale. I hope by sharing it - by just putting my words OUT THERE - I'll realize that starting is the hardest part ... but not as scary as the voice makes it seem.

So, here you go. My adventure tale. 

Photo Credit: anderson.r.b via Compfight cc

Beryl had always hated her name. Her parents had been in the Peace Corps in Kenya when they heard fantastic tales of the famous aviator Beryl Markham. A famous horse trainer and the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west, Beryl Markham was one of Kenya’s most famous transplants. When a baby girl arrived years later and far from the African continent, her parents had remembered the famous adventurer and named their daughter Beryl. 

Now, the name felt like a taunt. 

Beryl’s life was full of many things – dirty diapers, sleepless nights, a never-ending to-do list – but adventure was not one of them. She had grown up surrounded by tales of world travel and cloaked in the legend of an adventurer. Yet, she had never left the state of Kansas. She had had a normal childhood, a happy marriage, and a beautiful daughter of her own, but adventure? She didn’t even have time to read about adventure much less pursue it. 

Reading felt like a luxury now. She was lucky to grab 15 minutes in a row and missed long afternoons getting lost in a new novel. Now, all she saw were books she wanted to read but would never get to – a new Oprah pick, a fascinating memoir praised on NPR, even the racy must-read all her friends were talking about at the gym. The books became one more item on her to-do list, one more thing taunting her … just like her name. 

Collapsing on the couch after a hard-fought nap time, Beryl was making a list in her head of all the household chores she needed to accomplish before the baby woke up. Empty the dishwasher. Run a load of laundry. Clean the sink. She glanced longingly at the book her husband had left on the couch. Touted as the nonfiction Moby Dick, it was the true account of danger and excitement on the high seas. Only in this version, the ship was not hunting a whale – it was hunting the whalers themselves. 

Beryl reached out for the book. Her fingers dropped lightly on the cover when it happened. 

Salt water. Ice cold winds. Adrenaline. Rain streaked her face as she looked out across a dark sea to see pinpoints of light sinking behind the waves. Someone was screaming at her.

“There they are! We’ve almost got them!”

She jerked her hand away. Her heart was racing. What had just happened? 

“I’m going crazy,” she thought. Was she hallucinating? Had she passed out? She looked over at the book. It seemed to be pulsing. She reached out and grabbed it. 

Again, she was pitching forward and rolling back. Time was moving quickly. She saw the boat ship out and the hunt for the poachers. She felt the exhilaration of the pursuit and joy of the victory. She felt everything, experienced everything, only everything passed in front of her as if on fast forward.

“Drop the book!” she said out loud.

Then, just as suddenly she was back in her living room, the book sitting open on the floor. Without thinking, Beryl ran to her bookshelf. Was this a fluke? What about fiction? She laid her index finger lightly on Pride and Prejudice. Suddenly, she was surrounded by candelabra and twirling figures and a man was watching her from across the room. Overwhelmed with excitement and frustration, she blushed and felt herself lift her finger off the book. Next, she dropped it on The Worst Hard Times – a historical account of the Dust Bowl during the 1920s. Her nose filled with dirt and her eyes watered. She began to hack and felt desperation rising up in her chest. She lifted her finger.

Beryl was approaching the Harry Potter series when something caught her attention. Her computer was sitting quietly on her desk across the room. As she turned to face it, she thought. If she could take in the information contained in a book, what would happen if she tried to take in the information on the Internet. ALL the information in the world. Would she just feel what was on the screen? Would she touch the computer and nothing happen?

Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand on the screen… 

My girls

 My time off is being extended as I fly to be with one of these women during a difficult time. I thought this was a good time to repost this ode to girlfriends I wrote on Salt + Nectar a few years. 

I used to bristle when people would deride women for being overly emotional. "Girls are so much drama!" they would say. I have friends both men and women who claim to avoid female friendship because the relationships inevitably lead to conflict.

I always thought these ideas reeked of gender stereotypes and sexist assumptions. After all, I think we've all met a moody male or two and Lord knows men have conflicts all their own. If they are more likely to end in a fist fight than tears, well who's to say one is better than the other. (See two can play at this gender stereotype game!)

Well, I'm sad to say I think these people might have been right. Girls are drama.

Recently, I engaged in a little girlfriend drama of my own. One girlfriend simply decided she didn't want to be friends anymore. Another was angry at me for some hurtful things I'd said to her and carried the anger around for months. One friendship was salvageable. One was not. Both situations left me hurt, a little angry, and more than a little gun shy when it comes to my current relationships.

After all, is it worth it? I had spent a lot of time with both these woman. I had shared stories and stresses. I had made them a part of my life and I had made myself vulnerable. In return, I felt like all I got was criticism and rejection.

And if these were my only experiences with female friendship I would say no. Thankfully, they are not. To say I have great girlfriends is sort of like saying I like Oprah - doesn't quite do it justice.  Annie, Elizabeth, Laura, Erin, Shannon... These women are my sisters. On the most basic level, I am not me without them. They make me laugh. They make me think. They make me feel better when all I want to feel is sad. My daily prayer is that I give back even half of what they give me.

Have I had drama with these women? Hells yeah. Elizabeth, Erin, and I lived together...in college. Need I say more? We've had our conflicts but the drama didn't consume us. If anything, it made our friendships stronger. And I am so, so happy that I never let a few negative experiences prevent me from opening myself up again.

We all know deep down that all relationships contain drama because they contain people. And people (not just women) are drama. There are so many relationships in our lives that are mandatory - relationships with our spouses, our children, even our coworkers. We HAVE to work through that drama. We don't have a choice. So, maybe it's tempting to cut out relationships that seem optional.

However, I'm here to say. For me, friendship - specifically friendship with other women - is not optional. The phonecalls and gchats and coffee dates with my girlfriends get me through and make me better. I simply could not live without them.

So, bring on the drama. I can handle it - as long as I've got my girls by my side.

34 Things I've Learned in 34 Years

1. It feels good to be wanted. Since I can remember, my mother has always told me she wanted “a red-headed little girl named Sarah.”
2. The unconditional love of grandparents can make an ordinary childhood feel extraordinary.
3. Books are the only child’s best friend.
4. Learning isn’t a chore. It’s a privilege.
5. College is the perfect mix of freedom and responsibility.
6. It’s all talk until you’re the one being cheated on.
7. There are friends chosen for you by life and friends you chose for life. Each is special for their own reasons.
8. Absolutely nothing is solved in the middle of the night.
9. Sleep is essential.
10. Girlfriends. Are. Mandatory.
11. Marriage is an epic odyssey so chose someone who you want by your side in battle and celebration.
12. Build skills not a career.
13. Low cost of living is the key to happiness.
14. Losing weight is about the calories you eat not the calories you burn.
15. Raising your children in your hometown is like having a parenting cheat sheet.
16. Learning to respond instead of react can make ALL the difference.
17. EVERYONE needs therapy.
18. Having a baby doesn’t have to be a physical trauma. It can be an empowering physical act.
19. When it comes to babies, sleep begets sleep.
20. Sorrow can swim.
21. How good of a day my kids are having has very little to do with how tired they are and MUCH to do with how tired I am.
22. Red lipstick is all the makeup you need.
23. THIS is the best chocolate chip cookie recipe.
24. There are very few things that either a hot bath or a hot cup of coffee can't fix.
25. The days are long, but the years are short.
26. My emotions are relevant, but they are not reality.
27. Doctors can provide information – not answers.
28. Everyone feels like an imposter from time to time.
29. The second you figure out your kid they change.
30. You have until the age of 3 to call your child’s bluff.
31. People who don’t read Harry Potter or listen to the Indigo Girls are not to be trusted.
32. Gratitude is essential to survival.
33. Forgot sunscreen. Wear a swim shirt.
34. Control isn’t the key to happiness – acceptance is …. Ok I’m still learning this one.