Category: Life

It’s so interesting returning to a life on the West Coast to become one of the last people in the world to celebrate New Year’s Eve. On social media I can jump on and watch everyone else celebrating at midnight, while I’m still getting ready, cracking open my first beer, and waiting for my turn.

Every year Mr. H and I have a tradition of doing a play-by-play of the year together, going through each memorable month to explore all that happened. It’s always fascinating to see what we can remember, what stands out in our minds—an unforgettable sunset on the Oregon coast, the ups and downs of our jobs, that time we learned something about ourselves that changed us forever.

I’ve never been a huge New Year’s Eve fan, often dismissing going out to avoid amateur night. This year was an exception, as we were able to share it with a group of wonderful friends, who were all in the same boat as us—without plans, but wanting to get out of the house to do something chill and grown-up.

A couple of our friends own Muse Wine Bar, a magnificent spot around the corner from where we live. After many hours of yummy conversation and wine, we stumbled and laughed all the way home, proud of ourselves for braving the night.

It was worth it to bring in the new year with a great group of people. It helped us erase those earlier NYE attempts, the disappointing ones with questionable company and cheap champagne at midnight.

You can listen to the countdown and glasses clinking like crazy by pressing play…

 

As the year comes to an end, I never doubt its significance. Looking back at the year with Mr. H is one part of that, and looking forward with a positive intention is another.

Most of you know that I am not into resolutions, but I create a sankalpa instead. While resolutions can carry a negative vibe (lose weight, don’t drink, etc.), a sankalpa is more about purpose.

The past two years I have shared my sankalpa on the blog. In a way it’s a public profession, and it has helped me remember to stick with it throughout the year. Unlike resolutions that can be quickly forgotten, a sankalpa tends to stay with you because it’s deeper—it’s intentional.

2014 was “To Love More” and 2015 was “To Simply Enjoy.”

Quite literally I faced my sankalpa in the reflection of a window this summer. It was painted on a wall inside an empty art gallery by my office. There is a lovely irony to it, with the man walking with his smartphone in the background while I snap a selfie.

So, my intention in 2016 is to “Live Consciously.” This may be one of my most challenging sankalpas to date, but I believe it is a crucial one for me, and well…most of us.

Living consciously is difficult in our society. Multi-tasking and distractions are the norm, just being is not.

I struggle with it as much as anyone. Hell, I’m a Content Manager at a marketing agency and a blogger/author when I’m not at work. If anyone’s digitally bound and gagged, it’s this girl.

I am very aware of the perilous nature of living life behind a screen. This is why I have stepped back quite a bit with my author platform this past year.

• I took the entire summer off from blogging, because I needed the time to write my first draft and enjoy the sunshine.
• I stopped worrying about keeping up with too many blogs and only focusing on a small group of writers I cherish.
• I don’t spend as much time on my social media channels anymore, so I can shut down the digital madness in the evenings and relax.
• I chose not to get down on myself for not working on my novel a weekend here or there, as it isn’t necessary to try to win a race against myself.

Have I sacrificed the “growth” of my blog, social media channels, and book sales by making this decision? Depends on how you look at it. From a numbers standpoint, yes my growth has slowed. But numbers have never been important to me, relationships have. This past year I continued to deepen relationships with others and myself, and that’s all the growth I really need.

I’m devouring a fantastic book right now, which I highly recommend to anyone, whether you are into Yoga or not. It’s called A Life Worth Breathing by Max Strom.

In the opening of the first chapter, he hit it right on the nail:

We live in a unique time in history, both promising and ominous. As technologies continue to develop at an unbelievably increasing speed, it seems mankind is not maturing nearly fast enough to adapt. And so we find ourselves in a global crisis. Billions of people now covet the industrial world’s wealth and are replicating its system of modern consumerism as rapidly as possible. But what they are ignoring, perilously so, is the fact that as materially well off as the West is, we are also chronically living what Henry David Thoreau coined “a life of quiet desperation.”

Though Strom starts with a jarring intro, interestingly what follows is his point that there has been an upsurge in people embarking on self-examination over the past decade—exploring Yoga, meditation, and reflection. He says that Yoga may be one of the great rays of hope for our future…and, I totally agree with him.

I got a jumpstart on my 2016 intention by reconnecting with Yoga and meditation, incorporating educational and spiritual books into my predominately fiction repertoire, falling in love with all of it again.

But it’s a new kind of love, with a deeper understanding focused on being present, returning to the student mindset. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve practiced a pose or rolled out my mat over the past 10 years, I’m pretending that each time is the first time.

If Yoga isn’t your thing, living consciously can translate into so many other parts of your life. I can relate this to writing very easily.

Yes, it’s important for me to continue pursuing my creative dreams. However as any author knows, writing a book means shutting yourself off from the real world, and unfortunately, that means disconnecting from people around you.

So, I try to time my writing when Mr. H is busy with something else, because I don’t want to sacrifice the little time we have together. That also means, saying to hell with it some weekends to get out of the house and live. For me, that’s all part of living consciously…absorbing everything fully, with intention.

On New Year’s Eve, I woke up and decided I wanted to throw out a request on social to gather up sankalpas to include in this blog post. Why? To start 2016 on a positive note as a community.

A rather small community responded, and perhaps others did not want their intentions listed on a blog, because it was too personal of an ask.

So, thank you to the five ladies who responded to me on Facebook and Twitter for being open to sharing their sankalpas. I love that two of the five had the same name…

Bring more play opportunities to kidlets!  – Karen

Prioritize work, play, creativity, love, and laughter equally.  – Letizia

Express creativity!  – Courtnay

Learn to love myself.  – Laura

Not only will I open myself to more opportunities, I intend to CREATE them!  – Karin

Thank you all for continuing to share delicious slices of life with me. I wish you all an insanely beautiful 2016!

P.S. If you’d like to leave your sankalpa in the comment section, you are absolutely welcome to go for it.

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Remember when fake fruit was a thing? People would situate a bowl or tray of plastic fruit on their table and call it chic.

I found out about fake fruit the hard way, at my grandmother’s house when I was just a pup.

You see, green grapes—the real ones—have always been my favorite. I love that moment when my teeth puncture the skin and I discover the vulnerable flesh hidden inside. I will inhale a bowl of cold grapes under the bright summer sun and feel like I’m invincible.

So, my grandmother had this silver tray of green grapes on her coffee table in the formal dining room she and my aunt never used. I couldn’t resist the temptation, and I tried eating one.

Luckily, I didn’t break any teeth. But I was confused, and slightly enraged, that the grape was inedible.

Why do that to someone? Why promise a snack made of plastic?

Manners? Tradition? Hell, if I know. I’ve never been into manners or traditions.

Grandmother Skrabanek was from the Czech Republic. She came to Texas, like so many other Czech immigrants, and stayed. Severity mixed with southern hospitality, and my grandmother did all the things a woman should do at the time. Get married, have kids, and make her home real nice.

Having lived in Texas for a 7-year stint as an adult, I can tell you that people take their homes very seriously. A lot of people—and this is going to shock the shit out of some of you—have housekeepers. I’m not talking about rich people only. I’m talking about all ages, and all levels of income.

Housing is cheaper in Texas, so one can afford such luxuries. It’s all about keeping the home perfectly presentable, in case someone stops by and you need to feed them fake grapes.

Anyway, my grandfather died and my grandmother went to work and became a bona fide Avon lady. She did well, because she was naturally business-minded—ambitious, relentless, and quick on her feet.

Grandmother Skrabanek had work ethic like you’ve never seen. The woman was always busy, certainly never idle, and she spent very little of her life enjoying simple pleasures.

She was a hardcore Methodist (hence, the crooked picture of prayer hands below) and she used to make me dress up for different religious outings whenever I spent my summers there. I was never excited about a new dress, because I knew it meant an afternoon of showing off in front of her Eastern Star friends.

She was rigid and temperamental, well before she was old and senile when it would have been more acceptable. And, some of the inappropriate racist jokes? I won’t even go there.

As you can imagine, my grandmother and I never meshed. I was born in Texas, but I was raised in Southern California from the age of two. I questioned authority, religion, and intolerance—and I hung out with children of all different colors and sizes without thinking it was a big deal.

I spent every summer and Christmas in Dallas with my grandmother and my aunt. In the summer I practically lived in the pool and became a phenomenal swimmer. I used to pretend I was a mermaid, not a captive in that old house where my grandmother made her remarks when she wasn’t watching soap operas.

And the holidays, well…they were always a disaster. Some family feud would erupt. I’m not talking about just picking at each other, I’m talking about screaming, cussing, and the moment where my dad would shoo me into the rental car so we could run away.

I hated the holidays growing up. I did.

The holidays meant that I had to spend quality time with my grandmother and aunt, who honestly, seemed to want to kill each other. Everything was okay when I got picked up from the airport and ate my first delicious dinner with them. Because of the Czech roots mixed with Southern cooking, their food was out of sight.

Inevitably by the second night, there was an argument. Usually it was between my grandmother and my aunt, then I would get pulled in. Then my dad would come into town, and fall into the drama as well. If he had a girlfriend or wife in tow, I felt sorry for them.

Everyone has dysfunctional families. I totally get that. And I’m not here to say that mine is worse than yours, or that I had to work a little harder to not hate the holidays all my life.

This year was one of the first years I felt genuinely happy about the holidays. I’ve been telling stupid Christmas jokes at work and I made gifts and shipped them to my family. Not sure why this year is different, but I’ll take it.

I’ve been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately. I wrote a blog about the vintage suitcase I found recently in a Portland store with her name on it. Maybe that had something to do with it.

My grandmother passed away in 2011, and I wasn’t there when she died. She was a stubborn woman, unwilling to let go at the commendable age of 92—however, her body had a different opinion.

My grandmother and my dad had their birthdays on Sunday. Mine is today. Three generations all in one week.

I have strange memories about my grandmother and I’ve had to work hard through a lot of things over the years. If you’ve read my book, Everything’s Not Bigger, you will notice Jaye’s grandmother is a lot like mine. Because hey, writing is my therapy.

I never understood my grandmother, and I know she never understood me. Except once. When I was very young, maybe four, and she bought me this oversized brown bunny.

I loved her then. I loved her so much. I remember how infatuated I was with that brown bunny, how I hugged it tightly while my family cooed and giggled in the background.

That was the time I realized my grandmother loved me in her own way. Even after countless garage sales and closet purges over the years, I still have it.

It was hard for my grandmother. Loving never came easy to her, and I’ll never know why. I don’t want to know anymore. I’ve stopped trying to figure everything out in life.

In my early twenties, my therapist said something brilliant to me that really changed my perspective: “Your family’s your family, and you are a part of them. You can’t change them, just like they can’t change you.”

The holidays are here, so it’s a good reminder for all of us. Just love each other while you can.

Our idea of shopping doesn’t involve clothing. We spend our money on food.

In this house, we love food. You might say that food is our religion.

The cats feel the same way. Hence the furry huntress up there, curious ears twisted back, framed by the crisper drawers.

We switched to organic food five years ago. Whenever I get into a conversation with someone about my beautiful groceries, they complain about how expensive the good stuff is. Yet they’re wearing the latest trends, drinking their expensive coffee drinks…need I say more?

Food is medicine. It’s the most important thing we put into our bodies. Truly good food will pay for itself, while a shit diet will cost you.

I never understood what food was, how it was made, and where it came from. I lived in the burbs, without a farm in sight.

I grew up with my dad in sunny Southern California—middle class, I suppose. Dad did the best he could with me, in between the full-time job and need for sleep. Sometimes he cooked one of his go-to meals: tuna casserole, spaghetti, chicken and rice, and the occasional luxury…pork chops.

Back then frozen dinners were a thing, so I had a lot of those too. I still remember the Salisbury steak one with the mashed potatoes and gravy—it makes me shudder. Then there was the fast food (eww, I know). I lived for McDonald’s chicken McNuggets with barbecue sauce, and never cared about the toy in my happy meal.

I was always happy to be eating, even though none of it was actual food.

Mr. H on the other hand, grew up in Waterford, Wisconsin. Farmland. He understood what food was, how it was made, and where it came from. He had a big family, and not a lot to go around—so food was a precious commodity.

That never left him.

When we first met each other, we saw eye to eye on so many things, even though we came from completely different places. One of those things was food.

We spent our paychecks on restaurants, but realizing we didn’t make enough to eat out all the time, Mr. H learned to cook. Over the years, he crafted his skills to become one of the best chefs I know. And I’m lucky, because I get him all to myself.

Those of you who follow me on social are forced to see drool-worthy pictures like this occasionally…

Besides making all of you jealous, what I wanted to share is how I often feel when I look at my fridge.

Whenever life confuses me, when I’ve convinced myself that I want more than I need, I look at my fridge right when I get home from the grocery store. It soothes me. I know that I have more than enough, just by looking at my full fridge.

Mr. H and I get funny when our fridge is empty, toward the end of the week when we’re zapped from working our tails off. We try to make do, grabbing things here and there, but something’s off. If we aren’t surrounded by food, the thing we love so much, we just don’t feel like ourselves.

I’ve been crazy busy at work and with writing—helping grow the marketing agency I work for, while holding down this blog and slaving away on the second draft of my novel.

Somewhere in there, I’m doing my best to live. I started trail running again a little over a month ago, I’ve been amping up my Yoga and meditation practice, and bringing dance back into my routine. And then there are movies and books, good conversations with good people at our neighborhood bars, petting my cats’ bellies and playing laser mouse—and hugging Mr. H tightly whenever I can…because I don’t get to see him enough.

So when I was looking at the fridge the other day, I realized just how damn lucky I was—to have this life and to be fed.

I won’t preach to you all, because it’s not my style. But with the holidays upon us, it’s a good time to realize how immaculate the simple things can be.

For me, that’s seeing a full fridge. For you, that might be something very different.

I know that others in the world don’t have it this good, which is why I try to stop and appreciate. And you bet your asses I’ll be rockin’ the lunch lady look again next month when I volunteer at the Oregon Food Bank with my coworkers.

Because though I have a sweet fridge full of food, there are many who wish they had one.

I was going to wait until later in the week to post the 2nd anniversary video of The Life Enthusiast Chronicles. Due to the uncertainty enveloping so many hearts after the recent attacks in Paris, I couldn’t wait.

If there is ever a time for us to come together, that’s now. One way we can rise above this tragedy is through positivity. And though it cannot undo what has been done, positivity has a way of healing us even when we feel lost.

I began The Life Enthusiast Chronicles on a whim two years ago. I wanted to start a monthly series where people were challenged by a theme that would bring out their truest human nature and exude inspiration.

Life enthusiasm was that theme. Specifically, to answer one question: What makes you enthusiastic about life?

I’ve been told by almost every Life Enthusiast—who are all brilliant writers—that this is one of the hardest things they’ve ever written.

Interesting, isn’t it? That a seemingly simple question can challenge us on such a deep, personal level.

But, it makes sense. How often do we stop to ask that question? If you asked yourself right now, what would you say?

The first year of the Life Enthusiast series opened my eyes to so many possibilities, reminding me (and many of you out there) how much beauty resides in all of us. The second year I noticed something else as another group of people from completely different backgrounds and places came together to answer the same question.

We are not different. No matter our age, our race, our profession, or our language, we share the same human qualities and we share the same sky.

We are alive. Together.

For the one-year anniversary celebration of The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, I used my own voice to speak the wonderful words of each Life Enthusiast. (If you missed that video, it’s right here.)

This year for the anniversary video, the Life Enthusiasts were kind enough to lend me their voices to accompany their words. Though it took some persuasion, everyone (but one) was able to come together to create 3 1/2 minutes of sheer positivity.

In addition to the wonderful people who participated in the first season of The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, here is a loving thank you to all of the beautiful writers who helped make this inspirational series come alive this year.

Zen

Mike

Eden

Jilanne

Eli

Abby

Stan

Julie

Dannie

Kath

Joey
(though dearly missed in the video)