a flailing puppy and a steady nipple

"Do you know what a ruthless warrior you are to be living the lifestyle of following your heart?"

(Emelia Symington Fedy)

There was a day in the not-so distant past that I didn't feel like a ruthless warrior. 

I felt like a crying mess in a hot shower during a colossal meltdown over malfunctioning technology. What started out as, "Dang it, this link won't open in a new tab," escalated to, "Screw whoever's idea it was to give me an effed-up childhood and then 29 years later cause every electronic device in my house to be robbed, crash with a terrible virus, or malfunction. I want a new life."

And while I cried actual hot, angry tears, I knew it wasn't about the stupid computer, or the stupid Internet connection, or the stupid links that wouldn't open. 

I learned this lesson when I was a kid. I don't remember the situation entirely, but I know it involved a picture that a sibling drew of a cow and it made me cry. And while I was crying actual tears in a trailer travel in God's-country-Idaho over an obviously stupid picture of a stupid cow, I knew I was crying about so much more. The cow was just the catalyst. 

The failing technology and the lack of an IT department IN MY HOUSE was just the tipping point, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Take some deep breaths, breath deep, surround yourself with calm. Maybe have some chocolate? Once you've regained some of your equilibrium, the solutions will come to you. Also...maybe take a nap. Sleep helps. A lot," a friend texted me in reply to my "hands-in-thrown-in-the-air-I-QUIT!" rant.

I took a shower. I pinpointed my extreme frustration.

I felt dumped

I felt alone

I felt like I'm doing it all...alone

I felt inadequate (and not just with technology)

I felt like I wanted life to be easy FOR ONCE

My better-self started talking:

It's not true.

You haven't been dumped (well, kinda, but you're in therapy for that)

You're not alone. At the very least, you have two huge-ass dogs waiting for you outside the bathroom door as we speak. 

You're not doing it all alone. You have him, and you have her, and all those other hers, and a few more hims. 

You're not inadequate. I mean, stay away from drawing maps, and don't do math in your head. But the truth is this: you are enough. 

I've got nothin' on life being easy, but what if you loosened your grip on some of these things?  

Maybe you're hanging on too tight.  

I got out of the shower. Tuck met me in the bedroom. He jumped on the bed and brought me his cherished shoe, then laid down as close to me as he could get.

I remembered when Skye's puppies were born.

There was the Littlest One and I had to revive her when she was born. After she started breathing, I cleared her siblings out of the way, opened her mouth and shoved a nipple in. Nothing. She spit it out. I squeezed a little milk out to give her a taste. Nothing. I tried another nipple. A small one, round one, long one, narrow one...nothing. She spit them all out and her little body flailed all over the place in my hand kinda like a worm does right before you skewer it onto a hook.

I was exasperated. Her chances of surviving dwindled the longer she put off latching on, so I waited a few seconds and then we tried again. And again and again. Nipple steady, puppy flailing until finally! Suction. 

You are totally that puppy.

I don't want to damage anyone's religious ideology by metaphorically comparing God to a dog's nipple, so I won't do that, but I will say that I am often in this position - flailing, exasperated, frustrated, at my wit's end, out of solutions, and tired. And the whole time, the answer is usually steadily in front of me in the form of truth, facts, friends, nature, clarity, a nap, God.

Maybe you're hanging on too tight.

Yeah, that too.

So loosen your grip.

VoiceBox Media is a nominee!

 

When I look at the list of this year's nominees for the Epoch Awards, I see stories. I see people's names and their organizations, and I see that each one represents, a passion, a calling and a journey to bring the dream to life. Living a mission isn't for the faint of heart - it takes courage, humility, optimism, faith. I'm curious to know these people and their hearts. What birthed the calling? What events set them up for this moment? What made them hit 'play' on their dreams? How are they changing their corners of the world? How can we help them do it? 

 

I keep scrolling through the list and I see my name: Holly Wise, VoiceBox Media - nominated for an Epoch Award and a generous donation toward the organization I founded. Our mission is to tell the stories of the organizations and people that surround my name on the list. My name is sandwiched between Valerie Kumra (LoveManifest) and Linda Cozadd (The Eden Clinic). Above me is Floriant Gerwin (ACSF) and below me is Kris Asleson (Truth x Vision). We are five of hundreds, and everyone has a story.

 

It's humbling to be nominated for an Epoch Award and to be included in a remarkable group of individuals who are putting action into their mission. Being a recipient of one of the awards would mean that VoieBox Media could continue to tell the stories of the people working tirelessly to make a difference in their neghborhoods, communities, cities, states and country.

She is clothed with strength and dignity....

I sat in a chair parked by her bed.

She asked me about the dogs, what my plans were for the weekend, what I did that day.

I didn't ask about hers.
There are certain things you shouldn't say in a hospital room.
{ex. "How was your day?" Really great. That's actually why I'm here.}

She tells me when she's ready.

She recounts the events of the last three days.

Some of it I already know.

I knew there was a seizure and a brain tumor.

The details were few at first. I was speechless - my coping mechanism kicking in. I didn't cry. I can't effectively freak out until I have all the details. I was quiet, dazed. I texted a few close friends. I went to sleep. My soul was crying out to God.

I hiked the next day and my thoughts were swirling around my beautiful friend, and I was thinking: it's not fair. It's not fair that it's her. Her! I can think of many people better suited for a seizure and a brain tumor. Not her.

But then that damn whisper on the wind that I hear exactly when I need to.

This time it said:

Why not her?

You see, wherever she is, she brings Jesus. So why not a hospital room? A surgical unit? A hospital chapel?  A rehabilitation center? Her circle of influence expands daily as news of her diagnosis has spread from person to person, church to church, community to community, country to country. People who don't even know her are having their lives radicalized by her spirit.

And I thought she was a rock star before this shitstorm.

I told her that when I was told the news, the first thing on my heart was the song "From the inside out" by Hillsong.

"Let's play it," I said, and she found it on her phone. (she's the queen of worship music)

She laid back in her bed, flowers everywhere, a stuffed animal next to her, her own pillows tucked around her and a black and white zebra blanket spread over her. Her phone rested on her stomach and the music played while she closed her eyes. I folded my hands, but then reached for hers. Our voices whispered the words of the song.

There are places in time when the spirituality of a moment transcends location, facts, words....when the presence of Jesus is so palpable it could be interpreted as a fragrance, a peace, a sense of wonder, calm, stillness.

She brought him, I welcomed him, and while the music played and the room was filled with just her, me and God, we gripped each other's hands.

And we cried.

respect the time

I left the house with Tuck one morning a couple weeks ago and we went to our favorite hiking trails.

While we were in the woods for an hour, our house was being broken into and every electronic device I owned was being stolen. And my safe, which had, well, things you put in safes to keep safe, including a lot of cash, was taken. (Like, all my earnings from Skye's litter of puppies.)

I entered the house as I usually do. Confident. Sure that things would be the way I left them. Mindlessly.

I knew something was wrong before the door was completely opened and while my eyes scanned the rooms, taking note of the things gone, my mind was registering:

"This is what it feels like to be robbed."

In 90 minutes, some of my most costly earthly items were gone.

A lot of things in my life recently have happened this way.

A phone call.
The kids are gone.

A Facebook chat window.
Tye passed away.

A random posting on social media that I wasn't supposed to see.
She's pregnant.

An email.
You are a terrible employee.

A text message.
She saw Jesus at 11:15 a.m.

A phone call.
I lost my job.

Seconds, moments that change everything. Some are a sucker-punch to the gut, some are devastating, others are maddening, others bittersweet, but they all have something in common:

They're sudden, uncalled for, unexpected, harsh. 

I was hiking again a few days ago, thinking about how quickly life changes. How in one second to the next, you literally never know what will transpire. Sure, we can plan and plot and execute our best intentions, but at the end of the day, we're all on borrowed time.

Be brave, I heard whispering on the wind.

And my first thought was: oh shit.
One of the last times I heard such an encouraging phrase, one of my best friends died. 

This time, Tuck and I were accosted by a giant dog and I was minorly hurt when I hurled myself into the woods and a ditch to avoid the beast.

Be brave.

This awareness of time is propelling me.
I'm hardly still.
I'm always brainstorming, always working, alternating between hours at my computer and hours on the hiking trail. There are things to be done, stories to be told, life to be lived, adventures to be had. I'm not waiting till tomorrow or the next day.
I'm living now.
Because in a moment, or 90 of them, so many things can change. For the better, for the worse, but nothing is a guarantee.

"I wanna leave this place with a smile on my face knowing what's in my heart didn't just stay in my heart and whatever Heaven gave me, I wanna give it all back. I wanna be an open book - say I gave more than I took."
~  Pam Rose's My Life

The First Date.

AKA The moment in time where two people meet and judge each other ferociously against a mental checklist. Everyone does it. Judging, that is, because if the checklist isn’t fulfilled, there will be no second or third date, or marriage.

Marriage.

That’s ultimately what the First Date is determining. Are we compatible? Because obviously a two-hour conversation over a meal, or drinks, or coffee is enough to let me know if I’ve found the person I will tie the knot with.

Actually that last part is true. 

And while I’m determining other things (like if I’m sexually attracted to the person sitting across from me), it’s marriage that’s the most terrifying part of a first date. Some guys want to know right off the bat, “Are you looking for a long-term relationship?” If I waffle, it looks like I’m noncommittal. If I’m gung-ho, it looks like I’m ready to find the nearest ordained minister. WHAT IS THE RIGHT ANSWER that says: I am invested in my relationships for the long haul, and I’m willing to consider marriage if everything works out?

If everything works out.

Maybe that is the answer.

Every once in awhile I emerge from my happy little world and I enter the Dating Scene, which really represents the busiest hour in an investor firm on Wall Street. You know the scene: every one’s yelling over each other and in another language that seems to make sense to someone and no one, and they’re all running around, grabbing stuff, pointing, yelling, nobody looks happy, and then they collapse.

Despite the gruesome leave-no-prisoners foray, I get out there. I’m the one you never see in the afore-mentioned scene, because I’ve usually found refuge under someone’s desk, but at least I’m out there, right? Right.

I went on a first date not too long ago - a blind first date. Blind in that we’d never met in person, just chatted a bit on the Internets, the World Wide Web.

I have to force myself to do this. Trust me. And on most occasions the only reason I don’t cancel is because I’m telling myself:

“You. Don’t. Back. Out. Of. Shit. You are committed. YOU WILL KEEP YOUR WORD, YOUNG LADY.”

So then it becomes a business meeting (or at least that’s what I tell myself), an interview.
“You’re gonna go interview this guy, it’s a business meeting. You are the master of conversing with strangers. In. Talk, talk, talk. Out. Done.”

So brutal, but so true.

Also, my friends won’t let me back out.

“Just goooo! You never know what might happen. Do this for you.”

So I thought it might be fun to recount some of my most memorable first dates. Here they are, in no particular order or time sequence. If you and I have been on a first date and you’re reading this - don’t worry. No names used.

The one where I introduced myself as him:
Blind date in the purest sense, and I said in front of the restaurant, “Hello, my name is Billy.” And he said, “No, you’re Holly. I’m Billy.”

Lunch went on to be lovely.

The one where the limo picked us up:

A limo picked us up at his house and took us to get more of his friends before we went to a fancy dinner and then a concert at a country bar. The group dynamic was so fun.

I fell asleep in the limo on the way home.

The one I don’t remember:

It wasn’t until I was reading my old blog that I remembered my hairdresser giving me her son’s number, I called him, we went out with some of my friends. He got drunk, and I don’t remember any of it. How that happens - I don’t know.

The one where I ate a foot-long veggie sub:

In my defense, it’s like a salad on bread. No cheese, and only a smidgen of light mayo. This was also the one where I chose a restaurant (my favorite) and it happened to be CLOSED that day, so we ended up at a sandwich shop and their furnace had stopped working. So while I wolfed down my foot-long, we froze our asses off.

Side note: I used to be self-conscious about eating on the First Date. “He’s totally counting my carbs.” I got over that. Let’s enjoy food together.

The one where I multitasked:

In an act of dating laziness, I went through a phase where I’d facilitate phone dates. This guy talked for about 48 minutes straight and all about how he hated his job and most of his life. The redeeming factor of this date is that I was able to walk the dogs, sweep my floor, dice a couple pineapples, and encourage him (through my own journey) to get happy. When I could get a word in edgewise, that is.

The one about going postal:

I judged this poor bloke for his repetitive use of the word “fuck” within the first five minutes of introducing ourselves at the coffee shop. I’m not morally or otherwise opposed to that word in appropriate situations - stubbing a toe, missing a deadline, BREAKING NEWS, dramatic effect, but not the first date.

Also, he said:
“I carry two nightsticks. I don’t carry a gun in public because I’m afraid I might go postal.”

The one where he was inspired:

Another phone date, and he was cutely appreciative of my work, what I do, etc. It was endearing.

The one where he asked if I like men:

That was awkward. My mind was screaming: “NO, I’M HERE BECAUSE I LIKE WASTING TWO HOURS ON A SATURDAY!!” and externally I was laughing.

He’s also the one who wanted to touch my hair.

My verdict:

First Dates are stupid. They’re clunky, they’re designed for you to have an excuse to write off the other person, and they’re awkward. The men’s hands are usually trembling as they’re trying to grasp their coffee cup, and I’m hurrying to engage him in a conversation (with my Mad Journalism Skills) to put him at ease, which means we (meaning he) talks endlessly about something I don’t care about (I.e. motorcycles), so then I become bored, but I’m pretending to be interested (it’s a learned skill), and when I do start to talk about something I’m interested in, I’m observing body language and adjusting my dialogue based on the subconscious cues he’s giving me.

It’s all very complex and exhausting.

What’s my solution?

For the love of Cupid, erase the dynamic of a first date. Do something FUN, and at the very least, if it still fails, we’ll have a cool experience under our belts.

My Monday mornings

My Monday mornings look a little bit different.

First, they're mine.

My Monday mornings...

I've excused myself from the rat-race of corporate-ness, the competition of money-centered media, and I've struck out on a different path. My path.

It's been four months and I'm still just as exhilarated about my decision today as I was the night I made it.

Sometimes you just know.

You know when you're supposed to take that chance.

{talk to that boy}
{take that trip}
{invest that money}
{buy that dog}
{make that friend}
{let that go}

I fired my employer on Feb. 13.
On Feb. 14, I was on a plane to Kenya.

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean on Feb. 21ish, I wondered if I'd have the same assuredness half-a-world-away as I did on that day.

Yes, even stronger.
And today it's even stronger.

Sometimes you just know, and sometimes you just have to jump.

But maybe you're scared.

It's OK.

I'm scared shitless nearly every day.

Taking that step is petrifyingly scary.

Whoa, holy-scariness.

Before I jumped, I was so good at running through scenarios in my head and they usually defaulted to negative ones.

What if....
I don't have enough money.
I fail.
I made a mistake.
I miscalculated the timing.
I overshot my jump.
I crash and burn.
I humiliate myself.
I let my family down.

A couple years ago, my life coach suggested that if I'm going to play the What-If Game, that I change the rules.

What if...
I succeed.
I am making the perfect choice.
I am an example.
I am right on time.

My new favorite singer says it like this:

"What if I fly,
then will I feel the freedom on my skin
What if I,
close my eyes, trust the wind and just lean in?
I'll get there...if I dare...
If I fly.

So what if I'm afraid?
So what if my heart breaks?
But what if I fly?"

Be brave, my friends.
You'll know when you're supposed to jump.
But be prepared.
It'll probably be when you least expect it.

Outtakes

{Real things I've really said to my real dogs}:

"No toys in the bed!"

"You have two chances to sleep in the bedroom tonight."

(10 seconds later)

"You have lost your privilege to sleep in the bedroom tonight."

"I'm on the phone, please stop running through the house."

"I need you to get out of my personal space for about five minutes."

"I do not need you in my face while I'm peeing."

"Do you always have to step on my vagina when you jump off the bed?"

"Do not take her your toy, drop it in her face, and then get mad when she tries to play with it."

"Please stop wrestling over my body."

"DO NOT FIGHT OVER ME!"

"Let me have an uninterrupted adult conversation."

"OK, party's over. The squirrel has left the yard."

"I don't mean to dash your dreams, but you will NEVER catch that bird. They fly. You don't."

"I'll be home soon...I love you."

"The water in your bowl is just as fresh as the water in the toilet. Drink it."

"Stop roughhousing in the house."

"I don't want you to run through the kitchen and then take a flying leap onto the couch. It's just not good manners."