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My Constant Companion

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I was talking with my family yesterday about my depression and my sister-in-law noted that she had never heard me speak so frankly and directly about it, which gave me pause. Yes. I struggle with depression. Perhaps it is something I have kept hidden or quiet over the years, fearful of the judgment and assumptions of others.  I don't know that I've had language to talk about it until recently. And I still don't fully understand it. Over the past two years, I have come to know depression as my constant companion. I didn't invite it along for the journey. I don't want it. But there it is. Always present, and always eager to take the starring role if I will kindly move back into the shadows. We wrestle. If I try to ignore it, it makes itself known with a loud roar. I must be vigilant and attentive. I must acknowledge it. Some days it is more powerful than me. Those are very dark, scary days. I have a toolbox, though, that helps me deal with it. I try different to

A Life-Changing 2016

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I'm a little late in the game for the New Years reflections, but I suppose I just found my inspiration. I've decided to look at some of the moments that changed my life in 2016. Dramatic? Perhaps. But also true. Here we go: DC with Mom: Mom and I were both eager to visit the National Museum of African American History & Culture as soon as we heard it was open.  "Well, why not plan a trip?!" So we did.  We booked our flight and hotel and were there about 3 months later. This was the first trip I had been on with my mom since my college orientation - so, a long time ago. I realized how rare it was to spend such extended time with Mom one-on-one. We had a blast, and it was a gift. Life-changing how, you ask?  This is a trip I will always remember - this special time with my mom. So that is life-changing in and of itself.  Also - the museum was a life-changing experience. Go.  It was hard to walk through the darkness of our nation's history (and present). I

Under Construction

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I went to one of my favorite spots today. It's the Starbucks in my cute little downtown - about 4 blocks from my house. There is lovely outdoor seating by a fountain we share with our sister city in France. It is my happy place. I go there to read, journal, relax. I haven't been for a few weeks, but made it a priority to go today and recharge before my busy event week at work. I sat outside on this beautiful Fall day. I soaked up the sun. I enjoyed coffee. I talked to a few strangers. I read parts of 3 books. I journaled. And I noticed caution tape. They are doing some sort of construction near the train tracks. It tainted my idyllic experience.  It made my happy place a little less happy. Later today, I went out for a run. Again, I saw caution tape. The sidewalks along a mile of my usual route  have been dug up for construction. Hmmmm... I've been thinking a lot lately about self-care. I am admittedly really bad at this, but getting better. When life is stressful

This is the Year

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Below is a piece I wrote after attending a Cubs game with Dad on July 16, 2006.  I was 25-years-old. I had been a Cubs fan my whole life. It was something I was born with - like my brown hair and Polish name. There was no choice. My grandparents were Cubs fans. My parents were Cubs fans. I was a Cubs fan.  But you might say it was on July 16, 2006 that I really understood what that meant - the heartache and long-suffering. I remember Dad looking at me, smiling, and saying "I think you are finally getting it." Sure, I remember the NLCS in 2003. That broke my heart. Curses and Bartman and oh...they were so close!  But I kept believing, and I had optimistic hope. They'll get it next year. But in 2006, well...I got it. I mean, I still had hope. Every year. Some years hurt more than others. Some had more tears than others. But my hope had changed. It was resolute. Unwavering. It was in me. It was a part of me. I don't know how else to describe it. But I wouldn't sa

I Just Felt Like Running

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That's one of my favorite quotes from Forrest Gump.  I just felt like running.   I don't remember exactly when I started running. I think it was in late high school or early college. I was not athletic.  At all. I can't remember what compelled me to start running, other than I just felt like running one day.  I listened to a podcast on my way home today on running as a spiritual practice (definitely worth a listen) , and it made me think about why I run. Ever since that first run, I have had a love/hate relationship with running. Mostly hate, but also love for reasons that are hard to put words around.  Our relationship has been on again and off again. Hot and cold.  Sometimes we can't get enough of each other, and other times we go years without speaking. But we always seem to find ourselves together again.   So, why do I keep going back to it?  Here are a few reasons I was able to come up with while running today: Running teaches me to be ok with failure.  I am

When things go wrong...

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I've had an interesting few weeks. Since Thanksgiving, I had an expensive car repair, my fridge break (necessitating buying a new one), plumbing problems...the list goes on. The icing on the cake? My Christmas tree fell over last night, breaking a few precious ornaments. I had to lean it against the wall to help it make it through these last couple days before Christmas. None of this has been fun.  It's been expensive, inconvenient and annoying.  But I find myself giving thanks anyway.  Perhaps I'm even more grateful because these things have happened. There are a lot of terrible things going on in the world right now.  People are in real crisis - fleeing war, grieving loved ones lost, fighting cancer.  These are the real problems, right? When I look at the past month in my life, yes. It was expensive, inconvenient and annoying.  But I had the money saved to fix my car and buy a new fridge.  I have a Christmas tree with gifts underneath.  How many people in the world ca

My 9/11 Birthday

My birthday is September 11. I was born long before THE September 11, but since 2001 my birthday has been marked by the events of that day. My life has been marked, as all of ours were.  I know a lot of people were touched far more deeply than I was. But there is a strange...something...that happens when your birthday is 9/11.  The day that had always been used to celebrate my life is also now a day where we remember death and great loss.  It's sobering.  I wake up in the morning to lovely texts and Facebook messages from friends near and far.  And I'm also confronted by photos of planes going into the WTC. I feel protective of my birthday. Ever since 9/11/01, I have planned birthday parties for myself every year.  I think I am trying so hard to remind myself that I can celebrate my birthday. I should celebrate my birthday.  I try to remember it is ok to feel joy and happiness on a day when others are grieving. I was driving to work on my birthday this year, and it was ove