So I sort of dropped the ball on updating you on my journey with the word story. I haven’t done a monthly update since May. Whoops. I’m going to call this one my Summer Update and consider us caught up. Mmmmkay?

Here’s the thing with this year’s word (it’s story, in case you forgot) . . . my journey with it keeps changing. I think that’s a good thing because it means I’m growing and evolving but it’s also very different than how I’ve related to my words in years past. With joy and grace and shine I could just focus on the word and how it showed up in my life and how I could get more of it but with story it’s more about me asking myself on a daily basis: what do I want my story to be? And conversely, what do I not want my story to be?

I’d say for the first half of the year I focused on lot on what my story was . . . on the things that happened to me to get me to where I am, on the life vows I made during childhood that had a lot to do with not being enough . . . not smart enough, not pretty enough, certainly not thin enough, and not worthy enough to stay with because eventually everyone I love either leaves me or dies – especially those somebodies that are men. You don’t need all the gory details and I’m not looking for sympathy but I’ll just say there was some traumatic and violent stuff that I saw on a regular basis when I was a kid and because of it my fall back position is I’m going to hurt you before you get the chance to hurt me.

I’m at the point where I’m releasing those vows (this is hard work, friends) and trying hard to see that those vows don’t serve me anymore. I am not powerless when it comes to love or behavior or money, I control so much of how those things play out in my life. I’m not at the whim of someone buying cigarettes when we actually can’t pay for oil to heat our house. I don’t have to make homemade bows for my Christmas presents because that’s what my mother did. I don’t have to believe that I’m not pretty but it’s okay because I have a good personality just because that’s what my grandmother told me when I was 8. I have the power to make all the choices about how I spend my time, my talent, and my money.  I feel like Dorothy at the end of The Wizard of Oz:  I’ve had the power all along, I just didn’t know it.

Now that my year with the word story is more than half over I’m trying to focus on what comes next for my story, what my next chapter might be. I’ve had some big ideas floating around in my head for the last few months. Ideas that have been pretty scattered but are finally starting to sort themselves into categories and identifiable goals and ways to expand my life. Ideas about teaching people how to use essential oils. Ideas about crafting products for some extra cash for my family. Ideas about consulting work to help empower women. I think that last one is my favorite and could be a terrific long term goal since I’m really starting to think about what comes next for me when I retire. Yes, it’s still probably 6 years away, give or take, but it’s not too early to start laying the ground work for that part of my story.

And that’s where I am on my journey with my One Little Word right now. A little more focused. A bit less scared. A lot more vulnerable. And most definitely excited.

 

Time for a monthly check in on my One Little Word: Story.

I did something really bold a few weeks ago. I started working with a Life Coach to help me resolve some issues from my past that are still impacting me today. It’s terrifying and exciting and also  . . .  helping. It’s helping me to see that I’m still stuck on some of the traumatic things that happened to me years ago. It’s helping me to let go of the fear that something terrible is going to happen to someone I love. It’s helping me to see that feeling joy and happiness doesn’t mean something tragic is headed my way.

One week, part of my homework was to watch the Brené Brown special Call to Courage on Netflix. I did not want to watch it. I didn’t want to hear some mumbo jumbo about being courageous, I did not want to listen to phony inspirational stories . . . I did not want to be vulnerable. But I watched it because I’m spending a lot of money on this life coaching thing and I promised myself I’d be all in.

Guess what? It was amazing. Life changing, even. Brené Brown’s delivery is funny and brilliant. Her stories are ones I can relate to and not in the least little bit phony or melodramatic. It’s real and powerful and hopeful. It made me see that real strength comes from vulnerability. That true courage is showing someone who you really are. That experiencing joy is perhaps the bravest thing of all.

It made it easier for me to own my story.

It’s truly amazing when the universe just throws everything at you all at once and it all makes sense.

That’s my story this month.

It’s the last Tuesday of the month and that means it’s time to join in with Juliann and talk about my one little word journey.

The other day I was in Target buying $113 worth of stuff I didn’t need . . . as one does . . . when I saw this journal. Normally this is something I would pass right over but this time I just couldn’t resist. It’s full of pages with prompts at the top to help you write your story. It asks questions like what role did books play in your childhood, describe your first job, describe a time when you played a mentor role in someone’s life, and so much more.

So far I’ve only filled out the timeline pages. It’s broken out in 5 year increments, ages 0-5, 6-10, 11-15 etc, and it’s been really interesting to me to see what I remember from each of those 5 years of my life. Some events really stand out like going to a different junior high school than all my friends or meeting Doreen for the first time. Some events are tragic like the death of my brother when I was 17. Lots of events are just routine, going to church, graduating from high school, getting my first job.

One of my first memories, from when I was around 2, is of my mom sleeping in the corner of my bedroom. I think it stuck out for me because it was unusual and when I asked her about it when I was in my teens she was shocked that I remembered but she confirmed that it had indeed happened; when she and my father were in the process of separating she shared my room for about a week. I think it bothered her when she realized that one of my first memories was of something sad and tragic. The funny thing is, though, it wasn’t sad and tragic to me. I can clearly remember waking up and seeing her asleep in the corner and feeling comforted and loved. I didn’t know she was there because she couldn’t bear to sleep in the same room with her husband as their marriage fell apart, I just knew she was there and I felt safe.

So. My story of this event is a happy one and hers is a sad one. I think the same came be said for so many of our stories. Sometimes we are heroes and sometimes we are villains, sometimes we succeed and sometimes we fail, sometimes we are bathed in grace and glory and sometimes we’re in the muck and mire. The bottom line is that it all depends on how you frame it. Or even, as I’m coming to realize, how you own it.

We’ve got to own our stories because, in the end, it’s our stories that truly last.

Time to check in on my One Little Word 2019 Journey.

My word, if you recall, is story, and I think that quote card that I got from Ali Edwards, the creator of the whole One Little Word thing, is pretty perfect for how I think the word story fits into my life.

I am a storyteller. I always hesitate to call myself a writer because that sounds so . . . official and important. Thinking of myself as a storyteller, though, is much sweeter. For one, I’m a librarian so I make my living because stories exist. And for another, I’m a blogger and what is a blogger if not a storyteller?

The stories I share with you are how you have gotten to know me over these last 14 years. Thinking back, I realize that there have been so many stories! Deaths and births and job changes. Wins and losses, happiness and pain, struggles and disappointments, trips and vacations and blogger meet ups and lots and lots of mundane details about my life and even knitting. And you keep coming back. YOU are a part of my story.

Sometimes I think about not blogging. I think about the time that would free up. I think about how blogging is self indulgent and how maybe the world wouldn’t be diminished if this blog no longer existed. I think about how maybe we’re all just humoring each other and patting each other on the back by reading and commenting.  But then I think about how you are my friends . . .  and think about the idea that all of us are part of a network of stories. And I think about how much I like it when you share your stories with me and I learn more about who you are. And I know that all of this storytelling makes my life better.

So. For now, and for at least a while longer, I will tell my story through blogging.

Blogging is part of my story.

 

 

 

It’s the last Tuesday of the month and that means it’s time to check in on how I am doing with my 2019 One Little Word: Story.

I have actually felt pretty connected to my word this month. I’ve used it as a litmus test for making decisions about things I want to do or not do. What I mean is, when I’m uncertain about something I check in with myself and say, do you want this to be part of your story? It’s a good way to frame a decision and it’s working well for me so far.

The other thing I’ve been doing a lot of is journaling about my word. Today I thought I’d share a cleaned up version of one of my journal entries. I think it’s a perfect one for my first month with this word since it’s the story of how I got my name. And isn’t that really the first story of my life?

In 1965 when I was born there was no way to know in advance if I would be a boy or a girl. My mom, with two sons already, prepared herself mentally for a third boy and chose Peter Jonathan, PJ for short. At the same time, though she dared not let herself hope she’d actually have a daughter, my mom chose the name Caroline for a girl.

So. Here I am. A girl. And my name is not Caroline.

You see, I was rather small at birth, weighing only 6 lbs 6 oz. I expect I seemed extra small since the baby before me, my brother Donald, weighed in at a hefty 9 lbs 11 oz. As the story goes, my mother took one look at me, a tiny red faced babe, and decided the name Caroline was just too big for such a wee thing. (As an adult I pointed out to her that surely she knew I would get bigger but apparently that just didn’t occur to her at the time.) So Caroline was scrapped and it was shortened to Carole. With an E, just like Carole Lombard, an actress my mother had always admired. My middle name became Anne, after my mother’s dear friend Anne Sweeney. She also became my godmother.

Carole Anne.

Two lovely names. Both With an E on the End. (And yes, in my head, that’s how I’ve always thought of my name. With an E on the End. In caps because it’s Important.)

Here comes the truly ironic part. My mother’s maiden name was Looke. Yep. With an E on the End. The family surname wasn’t always spelled that way but when my grandfather and great grandfather moved from Jonesport, Maine to Brockton, Massachusetts for work they decided, on the train ride south, that adding an E to the End of Look would make it look . . . fancy. So they just did it. Nothing official, they just started signing their names as Looke instead of Look. My mother always rued that E on the End, complaining that she constantly had to spell her name and add that silly E.

You see where this is going?

My mother, who spent her life up until she got married having to remind people about the E on the End of Looke then saddled her only daughter with the same exact burden. And a permanent one at that since it’s not a name that would change when I got married.

It’s all good, though. I actually love my name. And that E on the End? It definitely makes me fancy.