It’s 6:41pm on Wednesday the night before Thanksgiving, and I am in tears. My son is 15 and my step-son is almost 20 and home from college on break. The two of them just left with another friend to go pick up a friend from the airport. Then they are going to go to that kid’s house to spend the night and we will catch up again tomorrow for dinner at my mother’s. In this moment the silence in the house is so loud. Gone are the days of little boys running around my house watching holiday specials and making Christmas lists off the Black Friday commercials. Having children is one of the best and yet hardest things on the heart. I am so grateful they are so close and spending this time together, but I miss them and their craziness just the same. The holidays and the heartstrings do not always play nicely together.
My boyfriend will be over in a bit, and I am grateful for his presence. He is older than I am and has already gone through this kid transition, so he has empathy for my moments. I work off the Buddhist principle “Be Here Now” not “Be There Then,” so I take a breath and try to refocus. One of the quickest ways to adjust your energy is to move into an attitude of gratitude. In this moment everyone I know is in a good space. I am in a good space. For those things, I am grateful.
A big part of navigating the energy of the holidays and being in a space of joy comes back to embracing change. The only constant in life is that it is always changing. So much of navigating change comes from our perception and the story we tell ourselves about what is taking place. Change your words, change your story, change your energy. I think of my boys and the laughter and memories they are creating tonight with their friends, and that makes me smile. My boyfriend texts me that he is leaving his house and will be here soon, and that warms my heart. A girlfriend sends me a text with pictures of a guy she’s out on a second date with that’s going well, and it makes me happy to know she’s having a good time. The loudness of the silence of the house fades away into the hum of the heat kicking on, the rattle of the dryer running in the basement, and the gentle snoring of my three dogs. The phrase from the Christmas carol pops into my head, “Good tidings of comfort and joy.”
Joy is not always a big, in your face, overwhelming feeling of happiness. In this moment, joy is the soft, warm feeling that comes from the comfort of those little things like my snoring dogs, the sounds of my home, and the gratitude of knowing that in this moment, all is well in my world and with the people I love. If the journey to joy is done from the heart, then part of this is recognizing that it is not felt in just one way. It can be big and felt through your whole being, or that small, soft knowing that makes you smile. However it comes, embrace it, bask in it, truly and deeply feel it, knowing you are worthy of all the warmth, love, and peace it brings you.
Join us on Thursday, December 8 at 7:30pm for an online seminar about Finding Joy, not just during the holiday season, but every day of your life. Learn more & sign up here.
Learn more about our new Energy Coach, Julie Kolb, here
by Jolie Kolb
Earlier this week Tyler sent out a list of seminars the Evolve team would be doing during the month of December. As I reviewed it, December 8th we are speaking on finding joy during the holiday season. This sounded like an awesome idea; the only problem was, I was finding it difficult to find joy myself. How am I supposed to help others with something I’m not sure I can accomplish myself?
This time of year is a challenge when it comes to maintaining positive energy. My boyfriend and I had already gotten into an argument about Thanksgiving plans, the bills are due and somehow there needs to be money for holiday shopping, everyone’s stress level is higher as we try to accomplish all the things, and then there are the ever-lingering memories of holidays past and the reminder of how things have changed which tug at the heartstrings. Yet this time of year is to be about the energy of joy. If I was going to speak about it, first I had to find it for myself. So I set out on a journey to find joy.
I started in the most logical place, asking my friends. This led to some interesting discussions about how it has to be in the little things and in things that don’t have anything to do with other people. This seemed like a conundrum since the holidays are supposed to be about friends and family. So now I’m looking for things that have nothing to do with other people, in a season that is about other people. At this point I did the most logical thing I could think of and booked myself a one hour salt float. Perhaps some time alone floating in a pool of salt would give me the clarity that I needed. My energy shifted with excitement as soon as I hit the “confirm” button on my float reservation. The relaxation time would definitely bring me joy.
If you have never floated, basically the way it works is that you get into a giant bathtub filled with salt water that has enough salt in it that you automatically float. The bathtub is in an enclosed pod. The doors close and eventually all the lights go out, although you can turn on lights if you choose. I settled in and began to float, eventually the lights went out and it was pitch black. I lay there for awhile trying to relax my mind. At some point I decided I wanted to turn the lights on, but in the darkness, I could not find the switch. I began feeling my way around the tank, unable to find the door or the switch, panic began to set in. It was completely dark and I couldn’t see anything and I knew that no one could hear me. I continued to frantically feel around the walls looking for the handle to the door. Eventually I found it, realizing that I had gotten turned around so that everything that had been on my left was now on my right. I opened the door and let in some light and found the switch to turn on the lights inside the pod. Settling back down into the water I began to reflect on this experience. I was here to relax and find joy. Why did I feel it necessary to look for a way out? Why when I couldn’t find the light switch could I not just relax knowing that in 50 minutes the lights would come on anyway? Why couldn’t I surrender to the experience without having an exit strategy?
After my float, feeling much more relaxed, I sat down to contemplate this journey to joy. It seems to me that if I am going to find joy this holiday season, and help others to do the same, then it has to be a path led solely by the heart. The minute my head gets into the mix, things go awry and it seems I self-sabotage my own mission. How many times are we our own roadblock to joy? I set the intention to get out of my own way this holiday season and to focus on following my heart on this journey to joy. Easier said than done? I have no doubt. But if there is one thing I have learned on the adventure of self-exploration, there are always lessons to be learned and obstacles to overcome. I am looking forward to taking on this challenge of staying in my heart space as we welcome in the holidays and can’t wait to share what I learn along the way.
Join us on Thursday, December 8 at 7:30pm for an online seminar about Finding Joy, not just during the holiday season, but every day of your life. Learn more & sign up here.
October Sunday mornings in Vermont are crisp & quiet. Joseph & I drove through the bright orange, red & yellow leaves, both of us too in awe by their beauty to break the silence with conversation. There is something magical about Vermont in the fall that seems to evade any description. Words simply aren’t enough to capture its beauty.
Our first stop was Mount Peg. While the weather had been cold all weekend, Sunday was particularly frigid. We bundled up in our warmest hiking gear & then began the walk up through the trees to the summit.
The hike to the top from Woodstock is quick & only moderately challenging. Soon enough, the trees parted to reveal a stunning view of the town below. We sat together on a rustic wood bench, breathing heavy from the exertion of the climb & the unbelievable beauty of the view. Mountains painted in a rainbow of warm colors & dotted with small, white homes rolled across the landscape. Above us, birds soared with the wind. In the distance, we could just make out the familiar neat rows of pine trees, the hallmark trait of a Christmas tree farm.
Me & Joseph at the summit of Mount Peg
When we finally were able to tear ourselves away from the view, we hurried back down the mountain, stomachs rumbling. It was time for breakfast. We drove to The Skinny Pancake, a popular spot for good reason. We had to wait about an hour to be seated, but it was well worth it. There were an array of crepes to choose from, & each option sounded even more delicious than the last. We finally settled on a cheesy Veggie Monster Crepe for me, a Pulled Pork Crepe for Joseph, & a Hot Apple Crumble Crepe that was topped with a cold scoop of vanilla ice cream to share. On the side, we shared the most delicious waffle cut sweet potato fries I have ever tasted, which we dipped in ketchup & sweet Vermont maple syrup. To finish out the meal, we ordered a latte & americano, which were served to us in large, round mugs topped with foam art.
Stomachs more than satisfied, we headed back to the car for an afternoon of leaf peeping. The sky had been cloudy all day, but as we stopped to soak in the view, the sun made an appearance for just a moment, spilling golden light over the landscape & bathing the leaves in yellow. It seemed there was somewhere to stop every other minute. The views along Kelley Stand Road were especially beautiful. It took us far longer than it should have to make our way down the lane – we were too arrested by the view to go any faster.
After we finished our drive, we headed to Grout Pond for a hike around the water. The trail itself was a few steps away from the most beautiful views of the pond, & the clouds above unfortunately kept us hurrying forward. We did not want to get caught in another rainstorm like we had a few days ago. But we enjoyed the cool air in our lungs & the conversation that kept us moving forward.
It was nearly dark by the time we finished our hike. We stopped by an odd little town on our way to our Airbnb & bought pot pies to make for dinner. Then we drove the hour to a small campground, where we would be staying in a trailer for the evening. As I prepared dinner, Joseph started a small campfire & got out our s’mores fixings ready. We opened some wine & toasted the perfect weekend in Vermont, which was, unfortunately, nearly over now. Seated by the campfire, gazing up at the stars while roasting marshmallows, I remember experiencing that same magical feeling overtake me. There was something special about Vermont that I just couldn’t seem to grasp. But I knew it was the kind of magic you only experience once in a while, & instead of dreading when it’s going to leave you, it’s meant to be savored for every moment you exist within it.
Now looking back, I still can’t quite put my finger on what was so magical about Vermont. The leaves were unlike any I had ever seen before – the colors were vibrant & stunningly bright against the landscape, but I don’t think that is where the magic came from. There is a rich history to the place as well, & it excited me to walk across a landscape I knew so many long ago had also traversed. But still, I don’t think that was what the magic came from. The people were pleasant & seemed to love their home just as much as I loved visiting, but still, the source of the magic seems to be evading me.
It was something deeper. There seemed to be an energy around the place that beckoned people to come, sit back for a while & appreciate the view. And maybe it was just that – the way we were forced to slow down a little & just admire the beauty of this place. And perhaps the finality of the moment, the knowledge that these colors had just appeared & would soon be disappearing to be replaced with dreary cold, was what made them even more spectacular.
I wonder if that magical feeling would return if I took a step back from the busyness of life more often & just appreciated the view. If I took notice to the things that will only be here for a moment, & instead of feeling sad about that fact, I appreciated the beauty of endings, perhaps the finality of life would make it more special instead of sad.
I wonder if the magic actually lives within us all, if we are just as beautiful & magnificent as the views I was admiring in Vermont, & all it takes to bring it out in each of us is a recognition of just how special we are.
When I was a little girl, my dad used to take me to Solomons Island, MD every Sunday morning to run a mile-long loop around the island. Cold or hot weather, we would dress accordingly and go do our jog together. It ended on an uphill, and I remember my first time running the loop I raced ahead, taking long strides, to reach the top. My dad said I was a natural and predicted I would be a runner for life.
When I was ten years old, I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. It was an answer after months of searching for the reason for the unbearable pain, bouts of temporary paralysis, unending headaches, and overwhelming fatigue, but it was not the answer for which I would have ever hoped. Over a decade ago, the research we have today on Lyme Disease did not exist. I was given a short bout of antibiotics and told I would be fine. But within six months, my symptoms returned without an explanation. The doctors were nonplussed. I was frustrated. And my running shoes were left laced up in my closet.
It took two years to get an inaccurate diagnosis of Fibromyalgia, which was the only way the doctors could try to explain my unexplainable pain. I was told the pounding of running would never be an option for me. The running shoes needed to stay put away. I dropped out of all sports, had a note to excuse me from gym class, and spent most of my days huddled inside, typing away on my computer. Besides running, my one constant and love in my life has always been writing.
Me with my teammate & friend, Alex, from high school XC
In high school, I began to feel pressure about my body size and appearance. Years of inactivity had not been the best solution for my health. I pulled the running shoes out of my closet, and against the better judgment of my physicians, went out for a run. It was exhilarating the first time I was able to reach a mile. But it was for all the wrong reasons, and the running nearly killed me. The running shoes were returned to their box and shoved in the back of my closet.
Some of my friends remembered me being a good runner, and they needed more teammates on their cross country team. I hated competition – my nagging perfectionism has always been motivation enough for me to perform at my best, so I always thought of finish lines, not as ways to beat others, but as exciting places we should all cross together. But feeling the pressure of my friends, I pulled the running shoes out and laced them once more. My perfectionism carried me to varsity level status. I ran through every nagging pain, every sign that my health could be declining, every little voice in my head that said maybe I needed to rest. My perfectionism was the root of my success, and then it was my downfall. I left the team with stress fractures, new digestive disorders, and a belittled sense of self.
In college, I pulled out the shoes again, but this time I was determined they would not get the best of me. After years of struggling with my health, my only goal was to feel the joy that running used to bring me – I had no thought of distance or speed. And for the first time in a long time, running felt good. It made me feel strong. After my morning run, I felt confident I could handle whatever the day would bring.
Near the end of my college career, I had the opportunity to join a team that was running across the country to raise money for young adults with cancer. I was stronger than I had ever been, and I eagerly signed up. I trained for months. Now with this new goal in mind, I pushed a little harder. My body screamed a little louder. But old habits die hard. I flew out to California, injured and already feeling a little unwell, but unwilling to let such a good opportunity slip away. Unfortunately, the injuries only got worse, and my health followed. I felt misunderstood and unwanted by some of my teammates. I returned to Maryland with shin splints, swollen ankles, a hip riddled with bursitis and tendinitis, and the lowest self-esteem I have ever had in my life. I threw my running shoes back in my closet in tears. I vowed I would never run again.
Me with my 4K for Cancer team on the 4th of July
But as many runners know, there is something special about the sport of running that keeps calling you back time and time again. There is something about that feeling when the sound of your feet pounding on the pavement simply becomes the melody that propels you forward, when you get lost in your thoughts and the beauty of nature around you, and when you forget your legs are moving and it feels as if you are flying.
I wasn’t running any longer, but I still remembered my love for the sport. I got a job at the Charm City Run Annapolis store, where I was taught about the importance of wearing the right shoes, not just any shoes. I learned about proper runner nutrition, something that had never been taught to me in high school when I got smaller and smaller with every run. I learned about the importance of foam rolling, stretching and listening to my body – not every day had to be a running day. And it was even a coworker there that encouraged me to look into a Lyme Disease diagnosis all these years later, something that has given me a better understanding of myself and an appreciation for my body and all it is capable of, even after pushing it much too hard for so many years.
With new shoes, a new sense of self and a running community I felt supported in, I laced up my new shoes, put some Skratch gummies in my new hydration pack filled with electrolytes and water, and went out for a run. I haven’t stopped running since. I ran through the next few years of my life, which happen to have been the best years of my life. I ran my first marathon and dissolved into tears at the finish line. I ran for no reason other than it brings me joy and because I love my body, and that has carried me across more finish lines than I ever thought possible.
Me running with a few of my CCR team members
So, when I was presented with the opportunity to run the New York City Marathon, a bucket list dream that I thought would never come true, it was no question of whether or not I would do it. After years of struggling with my running journey, this is the greatest surprise I could have ever hoped for. And I am honored to be able to do it with the people who helped me become the runner I am now. And after years of being told I couldn’t run, and then running for all the wrong reasons, I am so excited to cross that finish line in New York for all the right ones.
I am not a naturally good runner, but I am a natural runner, simply because there is nothing that feels more natural to me than running. No matter how fast you are, how far you can run, or how long it’s been since your last jog, if you’re someone who has those running shoes sitting in your closet waiting for the next time you lace them up, you’re a runner, too. Take it easy on yourself, and tell that perfectionist part of your brain that so many of us have to take a break for a little while. And the next time you do lace up your shoes, make sure you are doing it for you. Listen to your body and give it a little extra love. You deserve it. Running, like life, feels best when you do it at your own pace, and you should be so proud of how far you have come.
