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.

 

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.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.)

Certain.About.UnCertainty

“It’s extremely immature to post things like this on the web… Don’t be like the teenage girls who ruin their relationships online.”

“I’m a reader of yours and I wasn’t pleased with this. One thing you don’t want floating around is all your problems. You look desprate..”

These are just a few of the comments I’ve received on my blog lately. Obviously, you can see that they are not very encouraging. I am sharing them with my public audience because I’d like to talk about the uncertainty I stepped into before I began my journey of writing. I’ve been writing since I was a child. Most of it can be found hidden away in my private journal, waiting for someone to stumble upon after I’ve died. Some of it, including much of my experience as a stepparent, newlywed, sister, and friend has been shared publicly on my blog and on the website www.livethroughtheheart.com (LTTH).

When I agreed to allow my writing to be shared with over 1200 subscribers, I was scared to death to share my stories. Scared to be honest. Scared to try. But every time I pushed the opportunity away, something inside me pushed back. Something encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone and start being real. At times I still feel scared and vulnerable but it has been one of the most rewarding and challenging experiences of my whole life. I’ve struggled with the knowledge that not everyone will see my journey in a positive way and sometimes makes me want to close my heart completely.

There are many occurrences in life that we face uncertainty and judgment for the decisions we make. Whether you are a mother, CEO, sister, student, or employee, we all face uncertainty in our actions. What I’ve learned from others and through my experience is that it is our uncertainty in life that sets us free. It was best written by Cort Davies on his new blog An Inspiring Existence when he said, “Without uncertainty and the unknown, life is mediocre and uneventful.  It limits anyones ability to achieve greatness.  It becomes an existence of quiet desperation.” I couldn’t agree more. We are born into an uncertain world, so it’s no surprise that we scramble for security and make ourselves miserable in the process. We weren’t meant to be secure, we are meant to take risks.

Because I jumped into this journey without the knowledge of where it might take me, I started receiving emails and comments that are encouraging, reaffirming my intentions.

“Haley, I just read your post and loved it. It was like you were a fly on my wall… Thank you.”

“Your blog post today was really touching! You are a beautiful writer and I really appreciated what you wrote today… I think what you are feeling is what most people feel and most people don’t have the courage to allow it to be as real as the written words you shared!”

To those of you who are currently uncertain about what you are doing, scared to jump into a new challenge, or just scared. Period. I encourage you to do the thing you are most afraid of. It may be a struggle because change always is, but it is worth every ounce of strength. Don’t let others deter your dreams. Keep reaching for freedom from mediocrity.  Be different and don’t be sorry.

Thank you to my loving husband, stepkids, and family for always supporting me.

Find more on Cort Davies’ blog http://www.aninspiringexistence.com

.Happiness.

He sat grinning ear to ear in a jail cell among a purse thief, a teen who “should have known better”, and an alcoholic who didn’t know where she was yet. The man smiling had innocently cut down a few trees near his property line and it landed him in this cell with the others, facing a hefty fine. A guard walked up and knocked on the bars, fixing his gaze on the cheerful man.

“Why are you smiling?! I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you!” the guard sputtered.

“You can try to make my life hell sir, but you can’t take my happiness. You can’t take my smile.” he politely responded.

Xavier is a friend of mine who lives with his beautiful wife in Spain. I was delighted when he shared this story with me because it truly fits his personality in every way. While he was telling it, he was giddy, laughing about the ridiculous amount of money those trees cost him. You’d think most people would tell a story like this and be upset, holding a grudge and frustrated with the law itself. But not Xavier, he just laughs.

Lately I’ve thought a lot about this story and the many people I know who have gone through the process of divorce. I see how easily individuals get lost in what lawyers, judges, or even friends tell them. It makes it increasingly difficult to listen to your heart when all of those opinions are surrounding you. Personally, I’ve watched my mom, dad, husband, and many others endure great suffering due to this and I’ve been inspired lately to share Xavier’s example of pure happiness.

Whenever someone tries to push you around or manipulate you, smile.

Whenever life throws you a new curve ball, laugh.

The truth is, it works. It has been proved by social scientist Amy Cuddy and her colleagues that your mind follows your body language. In one of her speeches, she explains how our minds react to the position of our bodies. Observe your body right now, are you slumped, legs crossed, head down? Or are your shoulders pushed out, hands on your hips, and head up? Are you smiling, frowning, or straight faced? Either way, it directly affects your mood and your confidence.

As I said, it has been a bit rocky lately trying to push aside the past and rebuild the future but I take relief in knowing that I have control over my own happiness. No one owns it but me. So the next time circumstances test your limits, trying lifting your head, smiling and saying, “you can try to make my life hell, but you can’t take my happiness. You can’t take my smile.”

Stepping.Up

It is a familiar scene for all of us, sitting back in an uncomfortable chair, mouth open wide, a bright light in your eyes and the powerful smell of fluoride. You squint to find relief from the seemingly relentless light, when your dental hygienist leans over your helpless expression and begins working. We’ve all been there (hopefully), and it would seem that this moment would be the least likely place to have a conversation, but it was here, mouth open, slobbering, and pink in the face when I realized I was exactly where I needed to be.

You see, I’ve always had “small talk” conversations with all of the professionals in my dentists office, but when Vikki (not her real name) started cleaning my teeth that day, it was apparent she had a message I needed to hear, one that was far from small. As she scrubbed the tarter off my pearly whites, she started telling me about the 10 years she had been married to her husband, how they were going on a trip for their anniversary this year, and how difficult marriage, and stepchildren can be. Vikki had married a man much older than her, similar to my situation, and became a stepmother to 3 sons. I nodded my head and made facial expressions I hoped she would understand as she explained how badly she wanted to be accepted in the first years of their marriage. She wanted to be needed by her stepson’s and she talked of how badly she felt when they said or did things that portrayed the opposite. Vikki recounted reunions, weekends, and trips where she felt depleted, out of control, and left out of her “new family”. She also mentioned how damaging it was when the boys crossed boundaries and she felt she had no parental power or influence. After a bit of venting on her part, she paused, smiled, and started talking about how her step-kids have grown and are living with their own families now. She talked valiantly of her struggle through the teenage years, and reassuringly about the rewards that came shortly after. She no longer begs for acceptance, or tries to control the situation; instead, she backed off until they became adults, until they could fully understand her. “All it took was a lot of patience, during a difficult period of time”, she explained.

I gazed up into her eyes, blinked, and felt the tickle of a single tear roll down my face.

It was almost as if she had been a fly on the wall of my house, listening to my prayers, my cries for help, and my confusion.

Vikki immediately looked shocked by my reaction and removed the tools from my mouth so I could speak. I wiped my eyes and said, “thank you… I needed to hear that.”

I’ve been a step-parent for 2 years now, and a major part of my step-kids’ lives for almost 4. Finding boundaries, letting go of “trying to be accepted”, and balancing two homes with an ex-wife has been the hardest challenge of my life. I grew up reading books and watching movies with the term “evil step-mom” embedded into my head, so I constantly live in fear and anxiety about whether I am doing a good job or how I can improve. Sometimes it feels overwhelming, and I question whether any of my sacrifices are worth it or if I am adding any value to their lives. As a stepparent, you must walk into a family without any guarantee’s or life long loyalties. Instead, you must fight for your place and hope for the best.  Simply put, it is difficult.

Vikki and I shared our similar stories and hugged a little more. She gave me encouragement by acknowledging my internal struggle and reassured me that marriage is worth it, children are worth it, and someday, I will celebrate my 10-year anniversary with a powerful story to tell.

Today I sit at my computer after a week of having my step-kids and my heart is filled with gratitude for the ups and downs that we’ve learned from. I am grateful for the experiences life is handing me, and the tests I am given. Now I can say to anyone who needs to hear it, you are not alone. Step parenting is hard, but you are not alone. Hell, parenting is hard, but you are not alone. I am grateful to Vikki for sharing her story, being honest, and showing me that sometimes all that matters is that we are all in this crazy journey together. We are not alone.