Lasts

The Face of Lonely

Yoga

There was a new person next to me in yoga class today. Young, about 25, flat stomach, and curves where they should be. Her seemingly perfect, young body makes me very aware of my own.

As I bend into forward fold, I am aware of my ankles. They are my mother’s ankles when she was forty. I don’t remember asking her for them. I prefer she’d kept them.

I become keenly aware as I step back into downward dog that I am not as flexible as I was when I was 30. Did my hamstrings get shorter?

Child’s pose is awkward. COVID weight gain has put my stomach in my way. I have to open my legs wider to let the extra me fall between them.

In high lunge, I stare up at my arms. They are soft. I remember that my arms continue waving after my hand stops. A bonus wave that I wish didn’t exist.

In forward standing A, I get a good look between my legs. My thighs are good buddies now when I walk. They press and rub together. They don’t seem to understand social distancing.

I realize my t-shirt keeps riding up on me when I bend over. I make a mental note to order some long-tail shirts from Duluth Trading Company. I must guard against plumber’s butt.

Forward low lunge requires an extra blanket under my knees so it doesn’t hurt. My hips resist the stretch.

Fierce pose makes my quads burn. They are far from ready for the long days cycling at RAGBRAI coming this July. I am reminded that I need to start training.

Balance poses make me feel strong and competent again. Tree, Eagle, Warrior 3. I flow in and out of them with confidence. Steady. Strong. Focused.

I am sure no one notices my inner turmoil. Everyone in the class is focused on their own, but in my mind, everyone sees my rolls and imperfections. My limitations and gracelessness. All the extra me I wish wasn’t. I feel like I don’t belong here.

But, I do belong here.

This is temporary.

All of it is temporary.

The tight hamstrings, the bonus wave, my mom’s ankles. They will all change. The extra me will melt away as I bike this summer. My hamstrings will elongate and feel less tight. My hips will open to lunges. The fire in my quads will calm. This is where I am now, but not who I am. The day will come when I may not be able to do yoga at all. When I may not be able to bike long distances or even walk short ones.

So I smile at the resistance in my hips, the extra me that rubs when I walk, and the strength in my tree pose. These too are temporary. I will embrace them for the time they are with me.

8-8:30

It’s unseasonably hot for this early in June. Already in the low 90s and it’s just the first week of June. Summer came early this year in Minnesota.

By 9am it is 78 degrees and sunny. The humidity isn’t high and the breeze makes it bearable. I made a vow last night to ride today. I prepped my water bottles and riding clothes last night to make it easier to get going. My attempt to lower the activation energy for this endeavor. I eat breakfast, journal, put on my clothes, and hit the trail. My goal is to start between 8 and 8:30a. This way, I can be home before it starts getting too hot. I mount my bike at 8:24a.

The heat is a serious demotivator for me. I grew up in Missouri along 2 rivers, so I am used to the heat and humidity, but it’s harder for me to tolerate this summer. I don’t know if it’s turning 40 or being the most overweight I have ever been…or both. I long for the Minnesota Junes where the daily high didn’t often top 85 Fahrenheit. Temperatures in the upper 60s to 80 is my sweet spot.

View from behind the handlebars.

I decide I will ride for about an hour and see how far that gets me. Starting is the hardest part. I feel strong in the saddle. Despite not riding on my trainer regularly this winter, my legs quickly hit a good cadence. The air on my skin feels luxurious as I roll through neighborhood streets to the paved trails. Under the interstate, through Todd Park, and around Eastside Lake. I glide through town, passing many walkers and cyclists along the way. They have the same idea – exercise before the heat of the day.

I was hesitant to ride in the morning. I usually get up and work in the morning and then play later in the day. I am a “work first, play later” kind of person. Riding in the morning feels like the opposite of that, but I quickly realize that my body is awake enough to ride and my mind enjoys the quiet before the work of the day. It’s just me, my bike, and the pavement. My mind wonders as I cruise. As my heart rate rises, it feels like my arteries and veins are being flushed, the stagnant areas refreshed. I feel renewed for the day…and very sweaty.

I arrive home 55 minutes and 11.5 miles later. Not bad for the first day. I stretch, hydrate, and cool myself in front of a fan before showering off the sweat and sunscreen. A successful start to the day.

My bike will rest against a shelf in the kitchen until tomorrow morning when we ride again at 8-8:30a.

Northern Migration, Part 3

I drove north to Austin, MN on the second day of 2011. By the time I drove through the middle of Iowa, the ground was totally white. I wouldn’t see green grass or experience temperatures above 20 degrees for nearly 2 months. I stopped twice to sob uncontrollably and otherwise cried tears of joy, sadness, and utter fear off and on during my 8-hour drive north. Most of my possessions were loaded on a U-Pack truck that would arrive about a week later. My little Mazda 3 Sport was loaded to the ceiling with what I would need until then: clothes, a few cooking items, my TV and laptop, sleeping bag, inflatable mattress, breakables, a stadium chair, and every one of my plants. I am still amazed that none of them tipped over on the trip north considering how precariously they were lodged in my car.

My new home in Austin, MN.

I unloaded my car, set up the few items I had, and then collapsed on the floor in tears in the living room. The events of the past few weeks had caught up with me. I called my close friend Susan and sobbed to her. She would get me through the next months of adjustment to my new life. We would spend 1-2 hours on the phone nearly every night. Our conversations helped keep me grounded and cut the loneliness of this new world. I met new people all day, every day, but I had no friends yet in my new town. It would be a few months before I started to make friends and a year before I felt anchored in this place. She got me through those first and hardest months.

The next morning, I headed to a local coffee shop to use their internet and then to a local clothing store to purchase a pair of snow boots – the first pair I had owned since I was about 11. These weren’t moon boots but rather a warm and sturdy pair of Keens that came halfway up my calf. They kept my feet much warmer and drier than the sneakers I brought with me.

Over the next week, I was consumed with getting oriented to my new position. I completed lots of paperwork, met a ton of new people, and prepared for the spring semester, which started one week after I arrived in Austin.

My campus office.

Learning to cross-country ski at the nature center.

I threw myself into the work and started to settle into life in Austin. I discovered the nearby nature center and tried cross country skiing for the first time. I bought a heavy, marshmallow winter coat from Eddie Bauer. I learned how to drive on snowy roads. I grieved the loss of the life I had built in Springfield and explored my new Minnesota home. I started seeing a counselor to help navigate all the changes life brought my way. My life opened up to me in a way I had never experienced as time went on. I realized I could be as big as I wanted in my new home and was able to reinvent myself in many ways. Sometimes we have to move to a new place to find ourselves. While it seemed like I was losing so much when I moved to Austin, I was gaining more than I could have ever imagined.

The Brickhouse

On Thursdays, I had a break between classes that allowed me to take lunch at a little café called The Brick House. This delightful establishment had delicious food and a relaxing atmosphere. It reminded me of my favorite restaurant in Springfield, MO – Tea Bar and Bites. The Brick House quickly became a respite for me. I would take a book, find a corner table, and read and enjoy a wonderful lunch. Often, a retired couple would have lunch there at the same time I did. Sometimes, I could hear their conversations with the owner of the café when the other customers cleared out. I realized we had similar politics and one day chimed in on their conversation. This happened several times before they invited me to have lunch with them. This eventually turned into a weekly meal and a wonderful friendship that survives to this day. Thanks to eavesdropping and politics, I made my first friends in my new home.

That first year in Minnesota was challenging and amazing. I went “Up North” and walked across the Mississippi River at Itasca State Park, attended the Great Minnesota Get Together (aka the Minnesota State Fair), walked across a frozen lake for the first time, bought a bike and started cycling, found my way in my new career as an educator, made some new friends and stayed connected with old friends, and did a lot of work on me. Above all, I made a new life for myself. At the end of 2011, I was amazed at how much life had changed in just one year because I said “yes” to a job offer in the parking lot of a Hobby Lobby.

It’s the best “yes” I uttered in my life.

 

This is part 3 of a 3-part blog.

If you missed part 1, click here.  If you missed part 2, click here.

Northern Migration, Part 2

When I woke up the morning of December 22, 2010, the world came closing in on me. I was leaving Springfield, my home for the past 11 years, all my friends and family, and moving 500 miles north to a place where I didn’t know anyone or anything…alone. I thought I had to be insane to do this. How was I to find an apartment in 10 days? Most of my furniture I could handle on my own, but the bigger stuff…how was I going to move it from the truck into my new place? How was I going to move that far away? U-Haul? Hire a moving company? How was I going to afford this move? All the details of the move overwhelmed and suffocated me.

Waves of glorious excitement and crippling fear crashed over me for the next 12 days. I couldn’t envision what my life would look like past January 2, the day I would drive north and begin my new life in Austin as college faculty. While I was being given the opportunity I had hoped for, my future appeared as a black void in my head.

I celebrated Christmas with my family. I was barely able to talk about my new career move and upcoming relocation. Thinking about the move to Austin made me cry. While I knew the career move was the right thing to do, I was terrified by all the other changes that came with it. I was given the chance to wash my life clean in the Minnesota snow, reinvent myself, and pursue the career of my dreams, but I was frozen in fear.

I wasn’t really moving to Austin alone, even if it felt like I was. I was surrounded by people who loved and supported me the whole way. I had time over the holiday break to catch up with two old friends, Scott and Lara, back home who let me unload some of my concerns and get my head together. My family was excited about my new job and offered support in any way they could. My friends, Susan and Jessica, came to my house a couple of days after Christmas to help me pack boxes and decide what would go with me in the car and what would be loaded into the U-Pack truck to arrive in Austin about a week after I did. Co-workers celebrated my move and bid me farewell at my favorite bar, The Mudd Lounge. More friends came over and helped me load the truck on December 31. My friend, Heather, connected me with a church group in Austin that could help me unload my stuff from the truck when it arrived. Tammy listened to me as I cried and swept the empty living room of the 2-bedroom bungalow that had been my safe haven for the past year. I even managed to find an apartment in Austin and arranged to sign the lease when I rolled into town.

In The Alchemistit says, “…when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.”  All the pieces that fell together in those 12 days are evidence that this statement is true.

The journal I was using when I moved to Austin, MN.

On January 2, I woke to a young year and a fresh start. I wrote in my journal that morning:

“Goodbye, Missouri.

For 30 years I have called you home. Now I leave for a new home and a new life. Thank you for the walks, time on the river, and beautiful places I’ve lived.

Dear Minnesota,

Please be kind to me and let me get some good winter gear before you baptize me in snow.”

 

 

I headed north that morning with my car full of plants, clothes, and a few other items to get me by until the rest of my stuff arrived. I was a mix of sadness and excitement as I headed up Highway 13 and eventually I-35. I pulled over twice in Iowa to cry. Everything looked so new, so fresh. Life was new and unknown…and full of potential.

 

This is part 2 of a 3-part blog.

If you missed Part 1, click here to read it.  If you are ready to read part 3, click here.

Northern Migration, Part 1

In the last month of 2009, I was newly divorced, highly dissatisfied in my job as an environmental scientist, and trying to figure out my next steps in life. Fortunately, I had landed in a wonderful little 2-bed, 1-bath bungalow on the north side of Springfield, Missouri. There, I worked to heal from the end of my marriage, determine my next career move, and generally reinvent my life. The next year would bring more change than I could ever have imagined.

I began applying for different employment in the spring of 2010; however, they were all environmental jobs and I didn’t want to work in that industry anymore. My passion didn’t lie there and I didn’t want to move and take a job that I didn’t enjoy. I was tired of having a job. I wanted a career. I wanted something I was excited to get up and do in the morning, not something that provided me a paycheck with a side of dread.

Working in a cubeville.

That fall, I tutored a couple of high school students in chemistry. One evening, as I tutored one of these students in the library in downtown Springfield, I had an epiphany. The student asked me to explain the octet rule to him. I launched headlong into an advanced explanation of bonding theory without realizing what I was doing. My student was totally confused. When I realized my error, I apologized and simplified my explanation to “atoms like to have 8 electrons to be happy.” At that moment, I felt a fire ignite in me that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach. I had to teach. I felt it was what I was put on this earth to do.

This wasn’t my first experience teaching. I tutored English in high school, worked for 2 years as a tutor in college, and taught chemistry classes as a graduate student both at Southwest Missouri State University (now Missouri State University) and Ozarks Technical and Community College. I really enjoyed working with the students, showing them how chemistry is interesting and fun (trust me, it is), and helping them grown and learn. After graduating with my master’s, I looked into teaching; however, there were no full-time teaching positions available at the local colleges and universities where I lived. I also didn’t want to teach at the high school level. At the time, I was newly married and my then-husband was still in college. I couldn’t support us on a high school teacher’s salary. I stumbled into the environmental field to make ends meet.

Now I needed more than a job that just made ends meet.

Collecting soil samples for analysis.

I began applying nationwide for teaching positions. It took about 2 months before I got my first interview at Ithaca College. A few days later, I drove north to Austin, Minnesota to interview for a position there. I arrived for the interview a few hours early and decided to explore the town to see what it had to offer. If I took the position, I wanted to know more about the town it was located in. Austin appeared to be a nice small town. Snow was piled everywhere on this sunny December day. I had never seen so much snow and it was hard to navigate the roads. The high drifts on both sides of the roads made if feel like I was driving in a tunnel.

After the interview, I got back in my car for the 8-hour drive to Springfield. As I pulled onto I-90 headed west, I remember thinking that Austin was a nice little town but I doubted that I would see it again. I arrived in Springfield a little after midnight and was at work by 6 am.

I was wrong about one thing: I would be returning to Austin. I had a second interview about a week later with the vice president of the college. A few days later, I was in Austin, Texas visiting friends when I received another call to schedule an interview with the president of the college. I flew high that night knowing that I was so close to having what I wanted: a career in teaching. I was interviewed by the president of the college on December 20th. He told me they would be making a decision the next day and I would receive a call to let me know if I would be offered the position.

The next day was one of the longest days of my life. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My entire being was abuzz in anticipation. I felt so sure I was going to get the position but every minute ticked by more slowly than the one before, allowing for doubt to creep in. I started to feel sick from the stress and left work early in the day to get some fresh air and work off some energy. I was no good to anyone until I had an answer.

I got the call as I pulled into the parking lot of Hobby Lobby on Battlefield Road at about 10a. I answered and nearly cried when I was offered the position to teach chemistry at Riverland Community College. I accepted, thanked the caller profusely, and hung up the phone. It was December 21. I would start my new position on January 3.

I immediately drove to a close friend’s house to tell her the good news in person. We hugged, laughed, and cheered the good news. I then went home and wrote my letter of resignation for my current job. I planned to deliver it to my boss the next morning. My last day as an environmental scientist would be December 31.

That night, I celebrated with my friend alongside a bonfire with a glass of wine. In less than 2 weeks, I would be teaching chemistry full time at a community college in Austin, MN and there was a lot to do in that time. I was excited for the next step my life would take and thankful that I had taken the risk to go after my passion.

I was preparing for a northern migration. The next 12 days would be a very hectic and emotional ride, one that would drastically change my life in a way I could never have imagined.

 

This is part 1 of a 3-part blog.  To continuet to part 2, click here.

The Confessional Podcast Review

I am a podcast addict. History, current events, personal growth, science – I listen to more podcasts than is probably healthy for a person. Some of my favorite podcasts involve people sharing stories about their lives. The types of deep, open conversations that would make most people uncomfortable. That’s my jam. The podcast I highlight here creates a space for those types of conversations and intimacy.

This image is taken from Audible.com.

Nadia Bolz-Weber is a minister and founder of the House For All Sinners and Saints church in Denver, CO. She is the author of 3 books, a YouTube limited series called Have a Little Faith produced by Makers, and an outspoken advocate for the outcasts. She began The Confessional podcast in April 2020.

The Confessional is a place for people to share things they have done they are not proud of. We all have done things we aren’t proud of, so the conversations had here are for all of us. The conversations in the podcast are frank, intimate, and use adult language. I get a big kick out of hearing an ordained minister use the F-word. If you don’t like coarse language, then this podcast may not be for you. The use of adult language only makes me enjoy this podcast more because the focus is on accepting and embracing our humanness, not about being “perfect” or conforming to what some religion thinks is appropriate behavior. Bolz-Weber focuses on honoring all our parts, not just the shiny clean pieces. She wants to have read discussions about all parts of the human experience.

Bolz-Weber offers the guest a prayer at the end of each episode. She emphasizes that while the prayer may be specifically written for her guest, it could be for any one of her listeners. She offers absolution not just to her guest, but to all of us. Her confessional encompasses all of us. Her grace, compassion, and love envelopes all who listen to the conversation.

The thing I love the most about this podcast is it shares stories of real humans in an authentically compassionate way. Bolz-Weber creates a space for her guests to share their biggest secrets and shames in life in a real, compassionate space. By providing a place for her guest to share their story, Bolz-Weber creates a space for all of our stories to be told, examined, and accepted. Being human is messy. We mess up. We do things we are not proud to admit. Bolz-Weber allows us to accept the flaws of our humanness, embrace our screw-ups, learn from them, and do better in the future. She practices the kind of compassion that Jesus taught. While I am not a Christian, I still believe Jesus was a good person and taught us how to love each other. Bolz-Weber is a walking example of the behavior of Jesus. Listening to these stories reminds me that while I am not perfect, there is always the opportunity to do better in the next moment.

Until we have examined our dark secrets, shames, and mistakes and accepted that we are fallible and imperfect humans, we are unable to embrace who we are and the journey we are undertaking on this planet. Until we can reconcile our undesirable pieces, we can’t grow into the person we wish to be. Bolz-Weber opens the door for each of us to examine and accept those pieces of ourselves so that work can begin.

You can find The Confessional on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Audible, or wherever you get your podcasts.

 

Some of my favorite episodes of The Confessional

Dr. Ray Christian, Storyteller and Fulbright Specialist

Forgiveness and Reconciliation with Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg

Kasey Anderson, Singer/Songwriter

Amy Brenneman, Movie Star

Megan Phelps-Roper, Former Member of the Westboro Baptist Church

Montgomery’s

Montgomery’s Truck Stop (1587 North Glenstone Avenue) sat at the northwest corner of Division Street and Glenstone Avenue in Springfield, Missouri. A poorly maintained asphalt parking lot surrounded the light-colored brick building. Some friends and I visited this dingy hole-in-the-wall weekly for a while in college and spent hours “doing homework” and solving the problems […]