Process of Healing – 10 Things People Don’t Tell You About Divorce.

I remember the smell of the ocean, stinging Mediterranean salt, the sand beneath my feet and the rosé coursing through my body, making it feel a warmth the sun cannot provide. The voices around me drifting together from the people on the beach, some visitors, natives of Spain, and some European vagabonds speaking together in chaotic unison. These were the summers of my past, months of travel and learning more about people from their facial expressions than their languages. These were the summers of my marriage… a marriage that has now ended.

Over the course of my divorce, I’ve learned that people are not completely forthcoming with what they tell you in the failure of marriage. Once you’ve decided to walk away, you will likely hear things like;

“You will be okay.”

“You deserve happiness.”

“Your new life awaits you!”

Or my personal favorite: “Take care of yourself.”

But there are so many things that no one warns you about. Maybe it’s because they don’t really know how… after-all, painful situations are uncomfortable for everyone. But here are 8 steps of divorce people won’t tell you;

1. You will lie flat on your apartment floor, looking up at the ceiling fan and with each passing blade, feel the cold tears on your face race towards the ground.
2. Divorce is numbing. There will be days you feel absolutely nothing. Your movements will be robotic because honey, this is shock.
3. You will yell repeatedly at the electronics in your house because you have no idea how to set them up or use them. This was always his job, damnit.
4. You will wake up in the middle of the night, look through the shades of your bedroom window, and wonder why you are alone, then close them quickly because you feel unprotected.
5. You will feel rejected. Horribly rejected (cue a loss of confidence).
6. People will be intrusively interested in your drama, but mostly because they want table gossip for their drab lives. You’ll figure those ones out quickly darling, don’t take it personal.
7. You will feel all the stages of loss, but after the anger leaves and you are able to gain a realistic perspective again, prepare for the unexpected triggers (smells, food, buildings, even driving through neighborhoods. The list is endless.) then tears, and more tears. Don’t try and keep them in, just invest in cool cucumbers and a good night cream for your puffy eyes.
8. And finally, you will dream of your past life often. This will happen so vividly, that you must wake yourself up and walk around your apartment a few times, remembering where you are and why. You will call out for your dog, your cat, but they won’t come and if you are able to fall back asleep, you’ll hold your pillow a little tighter and be more grateful for your clocked zzz’s.

◊◊◊

I read once that “after the big hurt, comes blinding radiance”, which I didn’t fully understand until I went through each and every one of these 8 stages, or rather, the “big hurt”. Through this, I’ve realized that my nostalgic need to reminisce over my past lately serves a purpose. Nostalgia makes its presence known before we can truly live forward. I call this step 9.

Here’s the beauty in getting through all the steps and 1 more thing people won’t tell you;

10. It is the moment you realize you are okay alone, you can date and have loving feelings towards yourself and others and you are capable of being vulnerable. You know you can get through gut-retching defeat and you start looking at yourself in the mirror with strength, more confidence, finding beauty inward and exuding beauty outward. People will start to see your real smile, the true self, a rawer YOU. And most importantly, you will be liberated.

I may not be basking in the Mediterranean sun anymore, snuggling up to a cold glass of rosé, but I sure as hell love the smell of the trees as I walk to my nearest coffee shop and the sound of the bells from the Cathedral at 8:00am. I adore the voices of the friends who have always been there for me and I’ve stopped taking belly-jerking laughter or sips of wine for granted. I’ve gained an unspoken appreciation for people in my life, old and new, who have reached out their hands and offered their hearts. And last but not least, it’s thrilling to receive a paycheck doing what I love, having earned my independence with each and every penny. These are the summers of my present and these, are the blindly radiant pieces of healing.

The Woman & The Guru

Once upon a time, a woman moved to a cave in the mountains to study the guru. She wanted, she said, to learn everything there was to know. The guru supplied her with stacks of books and left her alone so she could study. Every morning, the guru returned to the cave to monitor the woman’s progress. In his hand, he carried a heavy wooden cane.

Each morning, he asked her the same question: “Have you learned everything there is to know yet?”

Each morning, her answer was the same. “No,” she said, “I haven’t.”

The guru would then strike her over the head with his cane.

This scenario repeated itself for months. One day the guru entered the cave, asked the same question, heard the same answer, and raised his cane to hit her in the same way, but the woman grabbed the cane from the guru, stopping his assault in midair. Relieved to end the daily battering but fearing reprisal, the woman looked up at the guru. To her surprise, the guru smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said, “you have graduated. You now know everything you need to know.”

“How’s that?” the woman replied.

“You have learned that you will never learn everything there is to know,” he said with a half smile and sincere look. “And you have learned how to stop the pain.”

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I’ve been reading a book about “co-dependency” – the concept of losing oneself in the name of others- and this old story was told towards the beginning. It seems that many women around the world struggle with feeling the need to please others, almost to the point of ripping themselves apart in order for others to be whole.

So in honor of international women’s day, I wanted to share this story for all the mothers, sisters, wives, and young ladies out there. You already have it in you to stop any pain or insecurity you feel and gain control over your life.

Just reach up and stop the cane.

Here are a few of my favorite pictures of women I’ve met around the globe over the years. All of them beautiful, unique, and inspiring.

If you would like to read more about co-dependency and how it has affected our culture and society, pick up Melody Beattie’s book “Codependent No More”.

Safely Disconnected.

I sat restless in the corner of the classroom, in the same spot I always sit, feeling anxious to get one more class under my belt before heading home. The class is Personality Theories, taught by a very well known child and family therapist whom I both respect and look forward to the lectures. Call me neurotic, even selfish, but I try to get to class at least 15 minutes earlier than the rest of the students just so I can reserve this corner spot. I’ve talked myself into thinking I’ll learn more efficiently if I keep with the same routine, in the same corner, plopped into the same chair for 2 hours. But the truth is, I enjoy the comfort of believing I am somehow less visible there. Less vulnerable. Most days the plan works flawlessly and I escape quietly, taking in the many points and notes my professor shouts without drawing too much attention. But this past week I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease due to the topics being brought up and the truth they spoke within my own life. Last Tuesday my professor starting talking about empathy, connection, and disconnection. I froze.

The safety of my corner seat faded.

I’ve always been softhearted, naïve even to some. I take things personally and overthink more than I should. I admittedly approach situations without asking too many questions and trust too easily, well, up until 2 years ago. I think it was then that I decided I needed to stop caring so much, to stop being so naïve and toughen up. The events the led me to this quieted, silenced state of mind seem unimportant compared to the perspective I’ve gained since then. I see now this pattern that I started, turning my empathetic, weak face into a hardened version of myself was clearly a cry for help. I had counted on this new version of myself to aide me in feeling confident…less emotional.

What I didn’t count on was the disconnection I would feel with almost everyone around me. Many times throughout the last 24 months I’ve thought, “What is wrong here? Being tough should be a good thing. Having more strength than weakness, should make me more likable, more trusted, more secure.”

I was “shoulding” all over myself.

◊◊◊◊

Fast forward to me slumped into my corner seat last Tuesday, listening to my professor speak confidently, as only someone with more life experience can. She asked us the last time we felt disconnected from our family, friends, loved ones and to write it down. My words spilled out onto the pages of my notebook like oil in water; dark, messy, and completely overwhelming.

She then asked us to write down the last time we felt connected to someone, what it felt like and who it was. I wrote: Last weekend. My sister. We empathized with each-other. I felt heard. I felt loved.

My eyes gazed up off my paper, biting my lip because I didn’t want to be weak. After all, I didn’t take out loans and ride on scholarships so I could show weakness in a college, I “should” be more capable. But it was without success. My damn should’s couldn’t hide what I was feeling or cover the emotions filling my muddled mind. I softly cried and the sweet girl next to me handed me a tissue. The professor expressed her sympathy for this tough topic and continued to explain that much of our disconnection from others happens because we are unable to empathize with them, and vice versa. The result is hardness, anxiety, resentment, jealousy and fear.

The moment she spoke the words, I felt them in my soul. I knew it was truth.

This toughened Haley, the one that “should” have given me strength, had let me down and only taught me to be unavailable for others, less charitable, and more distant. I’ve been admittedly unable to empathize with those who have suffered and as a result, I’ve felt less empathy in return. Danielle LaPorte puts it perfectly by exclaiming:

Because in a world that teaches us that vulnerability is weakness, crying is “girly” or unacceptable, and feeling alone is okay, I say, I’m over it! I desperately want to be connected to the world and to the people I love because I know what disconnection feels like and it’s hardly glamorous. I want people to know what I’m feeling and why because I’ve realized when we open our hearts to the possibility that those who have hurt us, may actually be hurting themselves or when we try and see the other point, we start to empathize and we connect. It goes without saying but I’ll say it anyways,

No one. NO ONE, is sheltered from the pains of being a human being.

And yet, it is only when we truly understand or at the very least, open the door that it becomes immensely easier to pull our heads out of our asses and be soft again. I’m excited to have let my guard down in a classroom full of my peers and have felt no judgment, just empathy. It seems that through the withdrawal of toughness and with the application of tenderness, I’ve been gifted with seeing more clearly. I write truly grateful for a new perspective and acknowledge that it is something that I can now reciprocate, pulling others away from the comforts of their own corners and away from the loneliness hidden within even the toughest individuals. Better yet, I’ll let one of my favorite writers simplify my point more eloquently:

Go out into the world and empathize. I promise you won’t regret it.

The One That Never Was

I wonder what my expression was when, before my time on earth began, I walked into the courtroom to be read my nearing fate. I’m not really a religious person although, I have to wonder what it would have been like to walk into a large room, stand in the center, and have the “Chief of Justice”, “God”, “Big Man” or whatever you want to call Him, read me my life story. I imagine the lights were bright as I entered and I was feeling special, like my story would be something unique. I can almost hear the murmur of the gentleman on the stand next to Our Maker, whispering about what was to come. Then He starts:

“Haley Brooke Jones”, his voice says booming. “You’d better get used to that” he half smiles, winks and flips a page.

“Don’t be frightened young soul, you will live a beautiful life on earth. I will give you a loving mother, a charismatic father, a handful of brothers, and one sister, whom will keep you in line. You will be challenged at a young age, forced to grow up fast, but it will be needed in my plan for you.”

I nod my head as if I actually understand what He meant. In heaven, comprehending a challenge is much harder than it is on earth.

“Ms. Jones, by the age of twenty-five, you will have another family, but not from your own womb. Three beauties and an adoring husband.” He flips a page.

I clap my hands because I’m so happy. I can’t help it!

Understanding pain in heaven is difficult, but joy, that comes easy.

I start to turn because I think it’s over.

I got the life I wanted, I think to myself.

 

“Wait! Young soul. I’m not finished.” His voice deepening.

I face the judges, biting my bottom lip while the lights dim around me and a small spotlight shines directly on my face.

“You my dear are special. Enough so that I am giving you a challenge I don’t give many.” He flips a page.

“At 25, you will start to remember an earlier time in your life. It will be difficult to explain each detail, so you must trust me.” He flips a page. “You will remember a child in which you carried at 19. A boy. It will be a distant memory you chose on earth to cover in shame, like many human beings do. But, because I created you and I get to decide, you will eventually have to deal with that lost child. It will be confusing, you will cry and at times, looking at your husband interact with his children will be painful.”

He stops, looking at me with empathy. “Trust me, you would have been a beautiful mother on earth, but the path I chose for you is different.”

He pauses, looks down at his pages and tucks them away.

I’m confused now. “Will I be happy?” I ask, my voice cracking.

 

“That, young soul, is the challenge.”

The lights go up and I am excused.

 ♦♦♦♦♦

 

It has been a little over 6 years since I miscarried. Indeed, 6 years of burying my emotions about it, keeping myself distracted, and simply ignoring it. But over the past few weekends that I’ve had my stepchildren, I feel a pain that doesn’t subside. Almost like the man upstairs is nudging me, saying, “It’s time to deal.”

Instead of accepting that it might be time to face the fear of never being a biological mom, and the loss of a chance I once had, I have been forcefully trying to escape it; Running away, making up reasons to hide, and justifying my anxiety as something other than the truth. I am finally answering the Judge’s call and admitting that I miss that tiny possibility. The possibility of a child looking at me with eyes that say,

“I need you.”

 

But as the Judge instructed, herein lies the challenge.

I love my husband, I love my step-kids, and without them I know my life would not be as full, funny, or sometimes, beautifully insane. They are the reason I wake up, the reason I look inward, and the hope I see in my future. I’m learning to accept that even if they will never need me the way a child needs their own mother, I know I need them.

Life can seem like a twisted place if you let it. God knows I’ve sat in my pity chair many times, looking for people to brush my hair, give me a cupcake, and kiss me on the forehead. But today I am choosing to let that tiny possibility go, to let my past go and in its place, grow.

I will always be reminded of it, but in order to accept His challenge, I must choose to be happy and move on.

I am no longer a young soul, but an old one. Life has made (blessed) me this way.

We choose to make it beautiful.

 

Saying Goodbye to Peter Pan

Before the Internet, Netflix, and all forms of easily accessible entertainment, my generation depended on our VCR. My household ran a few tapes daily, with only the space between lasting long enough for a quick rewind. The movie I remember the most was “Hook”. It was a classic among my whole family, whose ages and genders greatly varied. Still, this movie brought us all together around the television, made us laugh, cry, and left our imaginations tickled.

On Monday night, I felt the unanimous jaw drop of the entire nation with the news that actor/comedian Robin Williams had passed away. I’ve seen most of his films including favorites like Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, and Goodwill Hunting. In fact, just last week I enjoyed Dead Poets Society for the thousandths time, another reminder how special Robin was. But when I heard the news of his death and longtime battle with depression I could only think of Peter Pan.

The film Hook was truly the beginning of my love for Williams. Like many of us morning his death, I didn’t know him personally, but his films always brought thought provoking discussions to our family dinner table.

He had a way of choosing roles that added value and understanding around tough situations.

For example, as a child I related to the movie Mrs. Doubtfire and the tension divorce can bring into a home, not just for the kids but for the adults too. Another one that helped me through my childhood was The Bird Cage. In the 90’s, against popularity, Robin boldly took on a role as a gay man with children. My dad came out in 1996 just as this movie was released, allowing me to laugh, feeling less secluded from the outside world and providing me with a different perspective. A better one. 

I just wanted to take a moment today and use this platform to thank Robin Williams for his lovely contribution to our world. I imagine his last moments were the truest depiction of a great battle against depression, but maybe, wherever he sits now, he can see the outpouring of love throughout our country. I can only imagine a comedic genius like him arriving at the pearly gates and God saying,

“Two jews walk into a bar…” and the laughter rolls on.

Thank you Robin. Goodnight Peter.

Journeys.

Aboard an aircraft, after being seated, locked in, and conducting a brief introduction to the stranger next to you, one is lifted off the ground saying good-bye to the outside world. Quite literally, the earth disappears beneath you, giving you the opportunity to breathe, think, sleep, or reflect. I’ve taken this type of journey many times in the last few years. In fact, I would go as far as saying I am almost a professional. I know exactly what I need, what I like, where I should sit (never too close to the bathrooms or too far away) and what airline foods I prefer. These journeys never feel wasted, especially with my journal and favorite pen in hand. By now I’ve realized that each time the distant world shrinks, without the nuance of lingering distractions, quiet revelations are drawn out.

My latest taunts across the Atlantic were both experiences I took with hesitation. I say “hesitation” because to admit that I was scared sounds petty. The fact is, I’ve done so much traveling either alone or just with my husband, I didn’t feel adequately prepared to be in another country with my mom and my step-dad, let alone my teenage step-daughters. I felt an immense amount of pressure to make both trips flawless, as well as a deep sense of frustration that I may not get the alone time I crave. What can I say, except to admit that I am a selfish introvert. It takes more time for me to latch onto new ideas, feeling comfortable and content than the average Jane. Personally, I prefer to process things alone, with only the sound of my pen stroking private pages. These trips took me far away from my comfort zone (as new countries often do) by challenging my self-proclaimed introvert ways, and most importantly, expanding my capacity for love.

In Spain, I watched my mother get all dressed up in one of the many boutique shops. The sales woman paid special attention to her, wrapping her in extravagant clothing by famous French designers. She picked every detail to match my mothers taste, down to the earrings and necklace. I watched as the little girl in my mother immerged. I’d always seen her as “mom” but in that moment I saw the young woman inside her giggling, laughing, and spinning in the store window. I had lived with that young girl for most of my life, and yet, I was meeting her for the first time in a Spanish boutique. With that, my love for her grew.

In Paris with my step kids, we planned a day to take family pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.  I walked down the steps of our hotel room expecting to find the spry teenage girls I’d known for 5 years, but they were gone. Standing in front of me, dressed in black, there seemed to be grown women. I watched as they carried themselves to the Eiffel Tower, much like Audrey Hepburn, with class and dignity.  Many stopped to admire them and how could I blame them? These three tall, beautiful women in black were something from a storybook.  Their smiles stole the hearts of many that day, including mine. I was getting a glimpse of the women they would eventually become; my heart soared.

Also in Paris, we met up with our Frenchy friend Brieuc who dropped his entire day and schedule to spend it with our family. He played paparazzi for us as we posed in front of the world’s most famous tower and knowing only a little English, tagged along all day, trying to keep up with our fast conversations. Towards the end of the evening we sat at the top of Montmartre as Brieuc played his guitar and sang.

 

Eventually the night dimmed and it was time for him to leave. He cried, expressing his sadness that he could not stay longer. Once we arrived back at the hotel, it was late and we were exhausted but we found a note on our door with a special message for each of us. He had spent a considerable amount of time driving to our hotel just to leave this note before heading out of the city. My heart expanded with each kind word and selfless thought.

I’ve heard it said, “Aboard an aircraft, one is not so much carried somewhere, as they are carried away”. My journeys across the Atlantic carried me far, not just physically but emotionally. They’ve allowed me to see the people I thought I already knew in a different light, bringing a new and adventurous spirit to my soul, and memories I will not soon forget. As my reality resurfaces and my routine sets in, I am reminded to keep close the times above the clouds and the moments of stepping onto new soil. Travel has changed me in a continuous, yet barely perceptible way, which is why I plan to continue a life of unexpected adventures at higher elevations, without hesitation. Truly, a journey is better felt than seen.

 

25.

It was 1996; The sky was bright blue, the clouds shifting in silence above the heads of 6 bright-eyed children. I was among them, bobbing my long blonde hair in the water, pretending that my legs were somehow connected, swinging them back and forth. I remember the elated feeling of being in the cold water on that warm day, my mom’s eyes closely watching as I played with a group of my friends in our backyard pool. In that moment I was overcome with life. I could be whatever my mind could imagine, whether it was a sleeping beauty, a ninja turtle, or a beautiful mermaid; I was totally unafraid.

Then I blinked.

I’m a freshman in high school, feeling pushed into the unknown and terrified. I had gained a little weight (okay a lot), suffered from low self-esteem, and shy. The sweat from one of my armpits was unforgiving as I prepared myself to meet my older counterparts and sit with classmates twice my size. It was horribly embarrassing, so I withdrew from hugging anyone and of course, never raised my hand in class. I was nervous almost all of the time, hiding it from others by over exaggerating my darker side. I dyed my hair brown, wore mostly black, and kept to myself; I was secluded.

Then I blinked.

Now I’m just 17, although, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t remember much. I had recently moved back from a short stint in California and was just trying to regain a sense of self. I tried alcohol. I tried drugs. I had sex. I forgot a lot and made plenty of mistakes. I was lost.

Then I blinked.

Nineteen years old and living on my own in downtown Salt Lake City. Fate had struck me with some luck and I scored a great job making decent money and I was young hearted for the first time in years. Sure, I was with the wrong boyfriend and had my ups and downs, but I was finally starting to gain my independence and learning to be responsible for my own actions. I stopped blaming my parents for my mishaps and began what would be a blossoming relationship with them both. I found a group of friends who were uplifting, self-encouraging, and free. I was excited.

Then I blinked.

Skip to 2010 and I’m madly in love. I would say this was the kind of love that happens in fairytales but I would be lying because it was much more than that. It was a real love, intense, and familiar yet compromising. It held a depth I couldn’t have dreamed up and with it came a whirlwind of new experiences. I was engaged to be a new wife and step-mom. My confidence was through the roof and life seemed to fly past me with certain rage. I couldn’t contain my hearts desires or my minds rapid thoughts. Nor could I decipher the two from each other. I was free.

Then I blinked and I’m sitting at my computer, right now, condensing my youth on the eve of my 25^th birthday. Thinking back on all of the moments of my past quarter of a century. I look and sometimes my heart sinks with pain. Oh the mistakes I’ve made. Just as quickly, I think of the shining moments, the adventures, and the growth. Oh, my heart soars.

I have experienced more joy than I deserve and more heartache than I would have ever expected, although I recognize I’ve become a better woman for it all. Still, as I reminisce, there is this part of me that wishes I could have changed some things. I wish I could have told my 7 year old self in 1996 to keep her imagination alive. To stay unafraid of the world and what people thought. I wish I could have told her to stay out of hiding in high-school, to shine, and raise both hands. I would have promised her that once she was out of that building and on her own, she’d realize that everyone was just as scared as she was all of those years. After all, we are all human beings battling our own demons.

If I had the chance, I would have changed nothing about being 17. I wouldn’t have even given advice because there is no way she would have taken it. In fact, I have let that part of my life go. It’s forgiven.

At 19 I would have asked her to stay proud of what she believe’s and to keep reaching for her highest potential. Dream big and keep smiling. I also would have mentioned a few boyfriends that were no good and a scary neighbor who I nicknamed “Bucktooth Billy Joe Hansen”… yeah, stay far away from him 19, he’s up to no good.

As for 21, I would have asked her to slow down. Take in the moments without planning your next event. Cherish your friendships because the next few years will test them. I’d suggest that she watches her back in the coming years because people change and so will she. Lastly, 21 deserves a round of applause for making me realize that good exists in everything; you just have to look a little deeper.

Right now as I sit alone, those are just a few things I am promising to remember as I move forward. The rest would be to love unconditionally but don’t make the mistake of being walked on. Set solid boundaries. Be more aware of life’s process, knowing that everything is temporary. This means you better learn to love yourself and gain a sense of independence. Keep laughing, and making crazy videos. Dress up, apply lipstick and throw on your favorite pair of shoes. Nothing is ever guaranteed except your attitude and the way you carry yourself.

Honestly, I have no predictions for the next 25 years because I know better than that. The only thing I know for certain is that I won’t let it pass me by without a few quiet moments to take it in…

Blink.

Dear”S”.

I think it’s time we break up. I know, I’m sorry.

Actually, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sorry at all. I’ve been wanting to this for a while and I’ve known for a few months that it wasn’t working between us. When I met you in Miami last year, our relationship felt full of promise, love and excitement. But I must say, it’s been a bit tough around the edges.

Some people called you The Year of The Snake and in true form you were majestic but sneaky. At times your approach was more than I could bear, and at other times, it was perfectly centered for my soul. I couldn’t wrap my mind around all of the changes in color, shape, and size you took. Truly Snake, you swept me off my feet many times. I want to thank you for those experiences but respectfully ask you to let me go.

Call it a “love-hate” thing or whatever you wish as long as you don’t wish for an apology from me. I was in over my head when I made many decisions over the past 12 months. I’ll admit that much, but I do so with the knowledge that I did my very best. You’ve changed me unlike anything ever has by forcing me to face my fears. You tested boundaries I never knew existed and opened doors I thought were merely windows. I will miss those exhilarating parts of you.

In return for your kindnesses, I won’t ask for an apology from you either. This is because you’ve continually taught me that sometimes our human need for an apology is unnecessary. It becomes crippling. You’ve also taught me that I’m stronger than any “I’m sorry” anyone could offer.

I also wanted to clarify my gratitude to you for keeping my family safe throughout our time together. You’ve warmed my heart, taught me the value of the people I love most, and what it means to find a quiet moment alone to embrace the stillness. Recently you pointed out that I must face my negative emotions head on, instead of covering them up with all my positivity bullsh*t. Admittedly, you were passive-aggressive from the start, but your technique was heard loud and clear. Maybe it was exactly what I needed. From the winter coffee shop sessions, to the balconies of Barcelona, and the many new faces along the way, it was a wild ride.

Maybe if you aren’t too heartbroken by our recent demise (and I’m assuming you aren’t because you are a year and not a human), you can put in a good word to your friend “The Horse”.  I hear he’s tall, mature, strong on his feet, and unpredictable. Sounds like another crazy adventure starts soon and because of you, if I’m being completely honest, I am ready.

Yours truly,

H

The.Company.You.Keep.

The lights dim, the guitar player starts strumming, hands clap in perfect rhythm and the voice of a Spanish singer guides the movement of a single flamenco dancer who has taken the stage. The dancer is dressed in a beautiful black gown covered in bright sequin embellishments. Her feet follow the singer’s voice, gracefully tracing the movement of the room. The music builds and the singer becomes more passionate. In exactly the perfect moment, the dancer raises her poised hands and takes her dress for a spin while the rest of the group cheers her on. They use words of admiration and encouragement;

“Vale!”

“Ole!”

Everyone on the stage forms a circle so they can watch her, listening, and praising her every move. The audience sits silent. This is her moment and they let her have it.

I saw this stunning flamenco show in Spain while I was there with my husband this past week. The show itself provoked a lot of thought and inspiration for me. I could tell the dancer, guitar players, and singers weren’t just stage performers, they were more than that. They were friends, complimenting each other’s talents. I noticed this once again when the singer took the stage to pour his heart through song and they all stood quiet, adding to the reflection that the he was pulling out of his lungs. The guitar players consistently looked towards the others to add their smiles and excitement to the equation. They never took center stage, although it was apparent that their talents were the unsung hero’s throughout.

The whole performance was magic. It was perfectly in sync.

Since that evening I’ve thought a lot about how the show not only represents beauty and culture, but also carries a deeper meaning; the stage we all dance on in life, and the circle of people who surround us. I’ve contemplated my circle of friends and even provoked some heartwarming conversations with some of my dearest. The symbolism of the flamenco show has surprised me, inspiring me to ask a few new questions.

Do I perfectly sync together with my friends, clapping for them when they achieve greatness?

Do I stand silent, listening patiently and allow them to pour their soul without interfering?

Do I shout encouragements to friends who are under pressure to do their best?

Do I exude my love and smile towards them even when they are outshining me, knowing that at one point or another, I can rely on them to do the same?

The answer is no. I am not in perfect sync with my circle, nor do I expect myself to be. In fact, I believe I am far from it. I’ve had a lot of moments lately that I’ve wondered why some of my friendships blossom, while others slowly dissolve, taking  years and several attempts of repair only to disappear.

I have to remind myself that being a human being means I am selfish, jealous and competitive at times. But as I watched the beautiful woman in black perform with her circle of friends cheering her on, I realized that there are ways to improve my friendships and create optimal (notice I didn’t say “perfect”) rhythm within them. Here are three of the recent “light bulb” moments I’ve had:

First, you must know that there is enough room for everyone in your circle to succeed. Let your competitive side down and allow yourself to be happy for those who are having their moment. You will have your turn to spin in a beautiful dress or sing your heart felt song but until then, be patient and kind.

Second, quit comparing yourself. You have just as many gifts, talents, and beautiful parts of your soul than does anyone else on this planet. Use them, and be sure to cheer on those who have learned to use theirs.

Third, stop talking so much. Learn to listen to the rhythm of others and genuinely hear their voice. Let them guide you for once. Whether they are songs of sadness, frustration, or joy, learn to listen.

If we can all be encouraged to do this within our circles, it would create a very powerful message collectively. It has the potential to create a legacy that exudes acceptance, love, and gratitude in a world that is lacking in all of those departments. Creating an ending we can all stand for, bow, and be proud of when the lights come up and the show is over.

OLE!

The.Porch.

When I was a kid, my summers meant the beginning of a new adventure beneath the Henry Mountains of Southern Utah. The town was called Hanksville and it was here that I hid from the outside world. There wasn’t really anything spectacular in this town. In fact, most people would drive through it and wonder, “why would anyone live here?” Indeed, it was in the middle of the red covered desert, only had one gas station, two small burger shacks, a bed and breakfast, and a grocery store that was the size of the local trailers. Not only this, but the place was known for it’s constant change in population due to the fact that no one stayed long. Most drifters were just looking for a little work before moving on to the next city, but as unlikely as it sounds, I found a sense of self, purpose, and home here.

Hanksville is where my Grandma Joy lived, along with a few other relatives. They were country folk, didn’t ask for much, and worked their tails off among the sage brush. My aunt owned the local eatery called “Blondies” where I earned a little extra cash making shakes for the weary travelers and motorcycle gangs reeving through. I also worked along my grandma’s side selling indian jewelry and making beds at her 3 bedroom bed and breakfast.

As a teen I was able to do far more in this small town than the big city. Here I could drive a four-wheeler, help passerby’s, ride horses, and even drive the car (shh I was 12) to the grocery store to get our favorite snack; 2 ‘Big Hunks’, and a Crème Soda. It literally took about 30 minutes to walk from one end of town to the other, 15 minutes by tractor, 5 minutes by horse. I remember sitting on my grandmother’s porch every night, counting the vast amount of stars in the sky and listening to the coyotes howl in the distance.

As a teen, I felt my busy life at school and in the city had me focusing more on what I wanted to “have” or “do” to prove myself. But here amongst the stairs, I could just be whatever I wanted, a cowgirl, an Indian, or just an awesome burger chief. It didn’t matter. In Hanksville, I was my truest self. I was Haley.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this place and what it meant to me since my grandma’s passing last October. I think about how those quiet moments on her porch shaped who I am and how I view the world.  Many times I thought about how Hanksville contradicted my normal day to day life and what I was being taught to value. Back at home, it seemed we focused more on two things:

1. Increasing your material wealth (what you have)

2. Improving your skills (what you do)

But on that porch and with my Grandmother rocking beside me, there was only one lesson that was emphasized:

3. Developing your “being” (who you are)

As an adult, I have witnessed many people live for the first two. Don’t get me wrong, these are great goals to have, but I believe the most fundamental goal is to develop a good sense of WHO you are during the process. For me, it took travelling to a deserted town every summer to discover who I was over and over again. It gave me an opportunity to accept myself without distraction or expectation. All the things that bothered me back home seemed to disappear, making it easy to live fully in the present. Since then I’ve had to learn how to do this without the stillness of grandma’s porch, but rather, with the added distractions of adulthood.

I feel grateful every day that I have those memories. They encouraged me to push the pressures of adulthood aside and live in the present, leading with the curiosity of my teenage heart. I would encourage anyone reading to take yourself to your quiet place; the ocean, atop a mountain, in a tree, or on the porch. Take yourself anywhere that you can Be Silent, Be Present, Be Conscious, and most importantly, Be You….

(Last year I was able to bring my step-children and husband to Hanksville and show them my country roots, telling them stories of my adventures along the way.)