When Your Purpose is to Make Life Less Difficult for Someone Else

Today, January 5, 2021, marks the 78th anniversary of the death of George Washington Carver.

From his humble beginnings of a slave, he rose to become one of the preeminent scientists of his day, ultimately discovering more than 300 uses for the humble peanut, even producing a peanut-based replacement for rubber during World War II in addition to soap, face creams, axle grease, insecticides, glue, medicines, and charcoal. Hard to believe a peanut can do all that, but alas—here we are—talking about this incredible legacy nearly a century after these amazing discoveries.

Carver solved big problems in a world where even back then all the people were a little bit sick, a little bit angry, a little bit greedy, and of course a little bit selfish.

I think we can all agree that last year was hard.

It was politics, and race, and wildfires, and job loss.

Oh—and COVID.

But even if you didn’t get COVID yourself, you probably worried about getting COVID, knew someone who had COVID, or simply wished the world would go back to the days before anyone ever uttered the word COVID.

If you were old, you felt vulnerable.
If you were young, you felt cheated.
If you were middle aged—like me—you felt responsible.

Did you feel like the weight of the weary world rested upon your tired shoulders?

I know.
I felt like that, too.

Responsibility is a gift and a curse—depending on how you view it.

We’re responsible, but we’re also selfish. Selfishness explains so much of human behavior—from voting tendencies to population patterns. And it’s why we have opinions about everything—opinions we’re not afraid to share.

Who among us hasn’t fantasized at least once about being the one to solve all the world’s problems?

When it comes to making a real difference, I’m guilty of allowing negative self-talk talk me out of doing anything meaningful. “I’m just one person,” I tell myself. “I don’t have enough experience, education, money, influence, or contacts.”

Want me to continue? I’m really good at making excuses!

But George Washington Carver could have used all those excuses—and more. His early life was filled with adversity. Luckily, he had a little hand up from a foster family who believed in him, and then he used his prodigious brain to pay attention to what he saw and cultivate what he knew.

What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?—George Eliot

But what if the work I’m meant to do is simply to make life less difficult for those around me?

Can you imagine the amazing world we would inhabit if everyone focused less on themselves and more on the people around them?

Believe it or not, a lot of us actually did that last year.

Did you know Facebook users raised more than $80M to combat climate change? People around the world supported small businesses and social awakenings, and Americans saw record voter turnout for the 2020 Presidential election.

That’s how the world came together. Scaled down even farther, this year my church hosted numerous blood drives and gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to community partners through our Be Rich program.

What about you? What did YOU do? What did I do?

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.—George Washington Carver

Wanting neither fame nor fortune, Carver patented just three of his ideas. Accomplishment was never his goal. Indeed, he was a man of service.

And maybe that should be our goal, too.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”—Galatians 6:2

I hope you’re as excited about the new year as I am. Of course, I’m excited about every new year. But even if 2021 lets me down, I’m not going to let this year get me down. There’s too many people in the world that need lifting up!

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All's Well that Ends Well (Revised Post)

I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE FIRST PART OF THIS POST PRIOR TO SENDING IT YESTERDAY, WHICH IS WHY YOU ARE RECEIVING IT IN YOUR INBOX YET AGAIN. I APOLOGIZE! ONE OF MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS IS TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO USE SQUARE SPACE BLOGGING MORE EFFICIENTLY. THANKS FOR HANGING IN THERE, FRIENDS! I APPRECIATE MY READERS SO MUCH. AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES! MAY THIS YEAR BE FILLED WITH UNEXPECTED JOY!

My friend Ginny and I launched Forever We on September 25, 2014. We celebrated by inviting all our family and friends to a huge party, complete with a fancy dinner, live auction, and goodie bags. We were thrilled to showcase our product to the world, and more importantly, raise $30,000 that night for childhood cancer research.

Then, without any fanfare at all, we sold our last doll and called it quits for good in late 2019.

Why is it that we often don’t celebrate our endings with the same fervor we do our beginnings? It doesn’t make any sense. Endings can be awesome—think high school graduation, the closing program at summer camp, and the finish line at the end of a big race. We even call funerals—truly the last great hurrah—”celebrations of life.”

And yet, so often we end things without so much as a passing thought.

You may remember January 1, 2020. Were you as bright and hopeful as I was? We stood upon the cusp of not only a new year, but a new decade filled with possibility.

It was a glorious time.

Gavin and I have been watching the first season of Survivor, which premiered twenty years ago. Ironically, the show mirrors life. Contestants must learn how to survive in a new world surrounded by scary things. And by scary things, I don’t mean just the snakes and rats. The people were the real challenge. The goal: Achieve immunity so you can’t be voted off the island.

Back then, only the imitible Richard Hatch realized the game was never really about physical survival. It was always meant to be a social game.

He played right through to the end, ultimately celebrating with a one million dollar prize pot.

Richard Hatch knew the end was just as important as the beginning.

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

— "Closing Time" by Semisonic

Generations of curious children will someday ask the question: “What was it like to live through the Coronavirus pandemic of 2020?”

I’ve heard a lot of people say this year has exposed the cracks in our relationships and in our lives. What was already weak has finally broken.

Early on, our family decided that we would celebrate all the small wins. We knew this year was going to look a lot different than the one we planned on January 1, 2020. We had to adjust our expectations and give thanks for daily blessings. Despite our disappointments, we still maintain that 2020 has given us so much to celebrate.

We prioritized mental health over physical health. We encouraged continuing education because (NEWS FLASH!) sound work is never a guarantee. Gavin earned his doctorate, Christiana discovered she could finish college early and applied to grad school, and little Gavin made the best of his first year at Auburn University. And we are still here, trying not to begin sentences with, “When this is over…” and instead marveling in the wonder that is today.

During this last week of the year, consider what it means to end well.

A quick Google search of those first Survivor contestants yields results indicating that most of them still retain an identity from being on that show. Back then, they had no idea that they were creating a whole new genre of television, one in which “getting voted off the island” would become part of the nation’s collective vernacular. The experience defined them.

And still does.

Will 2020 define you?

There’s nothing magic about that ball dropping at midnight, anyway, and so how you choose to remember and recognize this most crazy of years will be part of the legacy you leave for the next generation.

Give yourself a hand, make a poster, cross that finish line, celebrate with a song. But most importantly, choose the best parts to carry with you into 2021.

As I write this now, I wonder if Ginny and I didn’t mark the end of Forever We because we knew the end would mean something else. It would signal the beginning of an in-between—that scary space you occupy when you’re done with one thing but don’t yet know what the future holds.

But every ending is also an invitation to embark upon a new beginning. You probably learned a lot about yourself this year. Maybe you discovered a new hobby. Maybe you realized you have trust issues. Maybe you found something to be true you didn’t know before. Don’t dismiss all the good things that happened just because there was some bad stuff too. Celebrate the end, so you can embrace a new beginning armed with all you’ve learned, seen, grieved, and experienced.

I promise none of it will go to waste.

And all’s well that ends well.

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One Choice We All Have

Seize the Day

“Make good choices,” I call after my kids.

I don’t know if they’re even listening.

And sometimes I feel like I need my own reminder!

Somebody needs to hold my face, look me straight in the eyes and say “Make good choices, Chantel.” Darn it. Grownups have to be their own spoil-sport.

That’s why COVID 19 finally caught up to me.

It was bound to happen. Sooner or later. After all, I was out there. At the gym. At my daughter’s cheer competition. At the grocery store.

So here I am, in my house, quarantined from the world for ten days per CDC guidelines.

It’s a real bummer, although I know I’m luckier than most with symptoms that are mild. I have the tell-tale malaise, of course, and unfortunately I also lost my sense of taste and smell.

Utterly and completely.
Which is very weird.
Suddenly, 40% of the way I communicate with the world is gone.

And I know what people are thinking, the people who saw me at the gym or at the competition or doing my grocery shopping. They’re thinking

“Was it worth it?”

And I don’t know.

It’s easy to say yes when you don’t know what the consequences will be. I’m ten days out now from my very first symptom, and so far I haven’t heard that anyone close to me has gotten sick because of me.

I followed the rules. I wore a mask when I was out in public. At the gym, I wiped down the equipment after I used it.

But every time I went out, I assumed a certain amount of risk.

“Make good choices” is a reminder I need to tell myself.

One of the biggest and most important questions we ever ask ourselves is”

“Is this worth doing?”

Every decision I’ve ever made has been through the lens of whether or not something is “worth it.”

That question has never held more promise than it does right now, when deciding if something is worth doing affects so many people.

I’m the only one in my house who is sick, but everybody is home. My husband can’t go to work. My kids can’t go to school. All the people who were with me in the days leading up to my diagnosis had to be notified, and of course now they’re waking up every morning asking themselves if they still feel normal.

It’s easy to take for granted all the decisions we make. We’re lucky we get to choose. Choosing is a real privilege.

Americans have more choices than almost any other people group on the planet. Entire books have been written about the choices we make. The paradox of choice is a real thing: Having too many choices can lead to decreased feelings of happiness, less life satisfaction and even decision paralysis.

But choice is also the hallmark of our freedom.
And our faith.

I don’t know if I would have made different choices had I known I was going to get Covid. I did all the right things, except remain at home until I could get a vaccine.

And now I have a lot fewer choices. That’s both good and bad. Since I have to stay home, I don’t get to choose among all the fun options available to me right now. I know I’m going to dig in, order groceries via the Kroger Clicklist and surf Amazon for last minute gifts. I’m going to wrap presents and rest.

You’ve got choices, too.

One of the most important choices we have at our disposal is the response we make to the emotions we feel.

The other night I was talking with my sister-in-law and at the end of the conversation, I felt like I had been overly negative in my observations about what was happening in my life. “You know what?” I told her. “I can’t end the night like this. There’s so many good things in my life right now. I’m not going to hang up this phone until I’ve said five good things.”

And right then and there I listed them, my five good things:

1) sunshine streaming through the window
2) a good night’s sleep (10 hours!)
3) a little dog curled up on my lap
4) the arrival of the first Christmas cards
5) and good friends who have checked on me daily

We may not have as many choices as we used to have, but we can always choose to be thankful. There’s an added benefit, too: Did you know it’s almost impossible to be thankful and anxious at the same time?

If that’s true, then now is the perfect time to choose gratitude over grumbling and faith over fear.

What are you most thankful for right now?

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Maybe We Need to Redefine Essential

Last Sunday my husband and I did a thing. We attended our very first in-person live community event in over eight months—a comedy show at our local theatre.

We saw Jessica “It’s All Good” Williams, perform her comedy special “We’re All Chocolate.”

“How many of you woke up on March 14th and realized you were non-essential?”

Oh yeah, I had to raise my hand for that one!

“Let’s give it up for all the non-essential workers out there!”

(Laughter and raucous applause. All 30 of us because—hello—physical distancing.) We did a good job trying to pretend we were actually hundreds of adoring fans.

But I started thinking….

What is essential?

“Many things are good, many are important, but only a few are essential.”

— D. Todd Christofferson

Surely Socrates or Confucious or Voltaire said something about essentialism.

THEY DID NOT.

But in 2014, Greg McKeown did write the definitive treatise on the subject. His book, Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less, went on to sell more than one million copies and even became a New York Times bestseller.

According to McKeown’s own bio, he has dedicated his life to discovering why some people and teams break through to the next level and others don’t.

The answer, apparently, is essentialism, loosely defined as doing:

The Right Thing
The Right Way
At The Right Time

He called it the disciplined pursuit of less, but better.

And I like that because essentialism is more than just access to food, healthcare, and education, which no one can deny are important, but let’s be real—the people are the real heroes.

So maybe the real question isn’t “What is essential?” but “Who is essential?”

The best asset we have for making a contribution to the world is ourselves.

Ourselves!

I think some of us have forgotten that what we do isn’t nearly as important as who we are. And nothing teaches us more about who we are than coming face-to-face with adversity, something 2020 has shown us time and time again.

If you and I were to sit down across the table from each other and I were to ask you, “What is essential?” what would you say?

---

Health
Family
Love
Laughter
Progress
Fun
Community
Friendship
Generosity

And you could probably add 100 more things to this list. Good things. Important things. True Things. But did you notice that all the things on this list would mean nothing without people?

---

Essential is subjective.

And one of the best ways to discover what’s essential in ourselves is finding time to play. That’s what I did on Sunday. Going to the theatre was a form of play.

I knew I was going to have a good time.
I knew I was going to confronted with some hard truths.
I knew I would think.
And I knew I would laugh.

During periods of play, we explore our innate creativity. Play helps us see possibilities and make connections. Through play, we create new stories about our environment. Play is an important component in helping us develop one of the most important skills for success in business and in life—ADAPTABILITY.

Has there ever been a time in history when humans needed to access the adaptability part of their brains more than now?

Some people even claim that adaptability is the number one characteristic that separates successful people from the rest of us.

Not to mention that the show on Sunday made me so happy. I needed the laughs. I really needed them.

Play is an antidote to stress. The laughing made me feel like I was playing, and all the stress from the previous week simply melted away.

You know, I’m ready for the pandemic to end, too. I want to go back to the way things were, when I didn’t have to wear a mask and could enter a theatre with hundreds of other patrons and enjoy a show without thinking about physical distancing or airborne viruses.

But I also know what is happening right now, though painful, might be the very thing that is essential to helping me become the best version of myself.

Have you ever noticed that every great story begins with a tale of adversity?

Maybe this terrible thing that is happening to all of us is essential to helping us be the heroes of our own lives.

So the question of what is essential or who is essential doesn’t really matter. If pressed, my official definition would be anything or anyone that is absolutely necessary. Is a pandemic necessary? Guess what? Hardship and suffering are never wasted. Are you necessary? Absolutely! We are all learning to adapt. Don’t let this thing that’s happening in the world bring out the worst in you. Keep going. I believe we can all figure out new ways to live wholeheartedly in the midst of what most of us would describe as a dark spot in our shared history.

We have to. It’s essential.

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The Homemaker's Dilemma

Is the Covid-19 pandemic the “biggest setback for women in decades?”

According to writer, Jessica Valenti, the answer is yes. She asserts that Covid-19 has assured that women are “forced back into the domestic sphere” and that “there’s no progress for women if we’re kept from the public sphere.” (Emphasis mine)

And this is the problem I’ve always had with feminism:

That women’s empowerment equals work outside the home, that we have continued to define our worth in terms of what it means to be a man. And what it means to be a man, evidently, is work that has nothing to do with kids, cooking, or cleaning.

As if escaping that particular domestic prison will somehow free us from years of virtual slavery. “We were made for more!” we chant. “We want equality!” we scream.

The truth is you were made for more, and equality is a worthy ambition.

Absolutely.
A hearty YES.
To all of it.

But before you throw aside “home,” let’s take a look at it from a different point of view.

G.K. Chesterton (who also has one of my favorite quotes about motherhood), said this about home:

“The place where babies are born, where men die, where the drama of mortal life is acted, is not an office or a shop or a bureau. It is something much smaller in size and much larger in scope. And while nobody would be such a fool as to pretend that it is the only place where people should work, or even the only place where women should work, it has a character of unity and universality that is not found in any of the fragmentary experiences of the division of labour.”

Home might be a humble place to be, but it is huge in the way that it shapes the human heart. In fact, home has often been described as the place we long for—more than where we’re from or where we lay our heads at night—it is the place that brings us the most joy.

The Beginning

And I think that’s why the very first thing God ever did—before he created Adam and Eve—was prepare a home for them. He made it both functional and beautiful, and it was all for them. And then maybe you noticed, too, in the New Testament, in the book of John that Jesus is described as the “Word made flesh who made his dwelling among us.” (John 1:14)

His dwelling!
In US!

And when John the Baptist’s disciples met Jesus for the first time, they said, “‘Rabbi, where are you staying?’
’Come,’ he replied, ‘and you will see.’
So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him.” (John 1:38-39)

I hope that Covid-19 doesn’t prove to be the biggest setback for women in decades.

I hope that men do step up to the plate and pitch in. It truly does take a village to raise a child, and lately we’ve found our village shrinking, so all the moms, dads, brothers and sisters, are carrying a larger load than normal. I, too, have noticed that the division of labor is not equal.

YET.

But that doesn’t mean that we’re not getting there.

While the pandemic may set women back in terms of work outside the home, I do believe that inside the home, they are being appreciated more than ever before. Women were, are, and will continue to be the quintessential essential worker.

Hands down.

Women with side hustles and women who are building businesses once their children have reached school-age are doing everything they can to do to keep it together—and more. If the pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that we’re capable of so much more than we ever thought possible.

Remember that G.K. Chesterton quote about our homes? Here’s what he said about motherhood:

“How can it be a large career to tell other people's children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own children about the universe?
How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No. A woman's function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of her task; I will never pity her for its smallness.”

The Truth

I think the pandemic has given us all a chance to reflect on where we are and what we truly want our lives to look like. In fact, I have a friend who is a Vice President at a large national corporation. Before the pandemic she was often getting up at 5:00 AM and heading out on a plane for a week of meetings at various venues. Since March, she’s been working exclusively from home and hasn’t traveled at all. You know what she told me? She said that home has always been her safe place. She has always loved walking in the door after being gone all week. “I’m home,” she’d breathe as she crossed the threshold and her family embraced her. “Now,” she says, “I’m getting more sleep. I’m not exhausted all the time. I’m reading more books, and instead of spending free time planning for the next presentation, I’m exercising and making memories with my girls. I love being home. It’s the best place in the world.”

Perhaps one day soon she’ll be back on a plane. She’s a talented executive, after all, and her income allows their family some pretty sweet perks—like a backyard pool, private school, and several vacations a year.

But my friend knows that home is lovely, too.

And yet we continue to strive and climb and claw our way out of our comfortable homes in search of something—I don’t know what—as if we’re wasting our lives if we choose to do anything other than what’s commonly referred to as “men’s work.”

You want respect? Be proud of the world you’ve created for your family. Who says you’re wasting anything?

Instead of complaining about the unfair balance, what if instead you patted yourself on the back, because you know you’re not only capable but also thriving in this new world?

Men vs. Women

Study after study has shown that women are able to juggle more than men. They don’t compartmentalize ideas and tasks, but are more like a computer in that can keep many tabs open at once. With brains that are more symmetrical than those of men, the two sides are able to “talk” to one another. Additionally, women experience emotions on a deeper level, which is helpful in how women relate and respond to the myriad new challenges being thrown at us right now.

I wholeheartedly do agree with so many things about the women’s movement. I’m for equal pay for equal work, and I’m against discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace.

But I often wonder—if values like homemaking, cooking, and caring for children were prized in society for what they really are—beautiful ways to honor our families and strengthen the ties that bind us—would more women endeavor to do it? If we gave homemaking the honor it deserves, would more women proudly declare their status as “just a mom”? Is the thing in us that makes us want more the very thing that makes us feel like we’re less?

“The fastest way to kill something special is to compare it to something else.”

— Craig Groeschel

Please, just stop it.
Stop comparing yourself to men.

C.S. Lewis said,

If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

One day, you will enter a home that will satisfy all your earthly longings.

Until that day, my friend, keep going. You are doing a good work.

And we know that’s true because Jesus even said, “My father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?” (John 14:2)

Home Sweet Home.

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Safety is not the Goal

A few years ago, we had a really big snow in Georgia, fondly referred to now as Snowpocalypse 2014. It shut down school for a whole week. During that week, I received a lot of communication from teachers and friends via email, and every one of those exchanges ended with the words, “Stay safe and warm.”

Lately, I’ve noticed the trend returning with comments on social media echoing the sentiment:

“Stay safe!” we shout to each other from a distance.

And I don’t know, there’s something about that word—SAFE—that gives me pause.

Safety used to be synonymous with comfort and peace. Safety was a security blanket I could carry around like a good luck charm.

And I guess that’s why SAFE doesn’t seem like the right word right now. We are in a very uncomfortable season. Many of us are dealing with overwhelming anxiety rather than peace. Safety not only feels out of reach, but also—and I know this will be controversial—irrelevant.

Irrelevant?
Stay with me.

Do you remember that line in Chronicles of Narnia, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, when Susan first learns about Aslan the Lion?

"Ooh" said Susan to the beaver. "I'd thought he was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."

And the beaver replies, “Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”

Susan was about to meet a King, and he was going to change her life.

In this scenario, a discussion about safety is irrelevant. The beaver is giving Susan an introduction to an empowered future.

Like Susan, we too crave safety. No one from Atlanta will ever forget Snowpocalyse 2014. The prevalent sentiment du jour was “safety above all else.”

But it was too late. Roads iced over. Traffic halted. Power faltered. Cars were stranded on the side of the road. Few carried the resources they needed—extra blankets, water bottles, protein bars, and waterproof shoes.

We just weren’t ready.

Were we ready for a global pandemic capable of taking down all of humanity?

No one was ready for Covid-19, even though scientists actually did warn world leaders decades ago that a virus similar to this one was not only possible, but also probable. They said it would change our lives.

And it has changed our lives.

In the name of safety, we wear masks and use hand sanitizer. In the name of safety, we cancel school, concerts, sporting events, and church. In the name of safety, we gather at a distance and call on our friends. via technology.

I like safety. But you know what I like more?

Empowerment.

Empowered people are not derailed when life throws them a curveball. Instead, they use whatever resources are available to ensure they are ready. Masks and hand sanitizer are resources, not crutches. Warm socks and bottled water are resources, not security blankets.

You can be empowered AND responsible.
You can be empowered AND adventurous.
You can be empowered AND still be safe.

President George Washington quoted Micah 4:4 throughout his life. In fact, historians cite more than 50 times that he included this one verse in his correspondence: “Everyone will sit under the own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid, for the Lord Almighty has spoken. All the nations may walk in the name of their gods, but we will walk in the name of the Lord our God for ever and ever.”

The good news of this passage and so many like it is that we don’t have to be afraid. (Psalms 16:1, Proverbs 28:26, Joshua 1:9, Ephesians 6:10.)

Empowerment is all about being ready. When you are empowered, you allow yourself to be defined by opportunities, not limitations. (Remember, like Susan of Narnia, we have met a King!)

None of us were prepared for Covid-19, but some of us were already prepared—in the sense that we encountered something new and instead of hiding in fear, we pivoted and made adjustments and began ordering our lives around a new reality, one in which we were ready and equipped.

In this season of uncertainty, I am not asking for safety. I am asking God to prepare my heart. (Psalms 16:7, Psalms 27:8, Psalms 28:7, Psalms 139:23)

Believe it or not, Snowpocalyse 2014 only dropped two inches of snow. Two inches! But it crippled Atlanta, not because it was so much snow, but because the snow simply arrived at the wrong time. Schools and businesses both dismissed around noon that day, quickly turning Atlanta’s interstates and surface streets into ice rink parking lots. My own husband was stranded in his car, and ended up spending the night with a family he’d never met because he simply could not get home.

Want to know what finally ended this catastrophe? It wasn’t anything the government did. And it certainly wasn’t us.

It was the sun!

Isn’t that a beautiful image?

My prayer is that in this season you’ll allow the light of Jesus to change your life, too. You may never feel safe.

But you can feel strong.
You can feel empowered.
You can feel prepared.

And then you will feel peace.

Let’s spend less time talking about our fear and more time doing something practical to mitigate it. You have one very powerful weapon available to you—your own body. True, it’s the one thing we most fear losing, but it houses both our heart and our brain. You can love others by showing respect in public. (Don’t be awkward; wear a mask, use hand sanitizer, don’t hug or shake hands.) Care for your neighbors in creative ways. We don’t know what this fall will look like, but let’s go ahead and prepare our homes for the additional time we’ll probably be spending there. Make it beautiful, a place of welcome and respite for those who are close to you.

And lastly, prepare to be disappointed.

But don’t let the disappointment derail you.

You were not only ready for this—you were made for it!

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When the Ordinary becomes Novel

I never thought buying a new pair of shoes would make me feel like the world is ending.

And yet…

Here we are.

On Saturday, I lamented that Covid-19 had officially taken all the fun out of shopping. I had hoped to get my daughter some new tennis shoes at the local outlet mall, but outside every store was a line of people (all standing six feet apart) and a sentry guarding the doors to the stores that were open. Each had its own subset of rules to follow: At this one, you had to wear the employee-distributed mask, at that one a mask wasn’t required at all, at some you had to sanitize your hands before being allowed to enter, and at every one only a certain number of shoppers were allowed inside.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
”Do you know where you’re going?”
”Can I help you find something?”

No one was invited to browse. “Just looking?” Ha! Don’t even think about it!

On a “normal” Saturday, my daughter would try on every pair of shoes in the store, then go to three more stores, declare that the shoes at the first store were probably the ones she was going to go with—probably—but first we’d need to try them on again.

And on and on it would go. Shopping for shoes with Cari Jill is never “easy.” She likes to be absolutely sure. And for her, waiting two days for shoes is not an option.

She’d much rather torture me for two hours.

So we ALWAYS do our shopping in person.

I want to be optimistic, and I promise I tried to be: “We’ll get used to this,” I assured her. “It won’t always be this way,” I promised.

But the reality is that I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Maybe the new normal means we’ll never be able to shop the way we used to. Masks and gloves and social distancing will just be a normal part of our everyday.

Maybe.

So far, 2020 has not been the year we had all hoped. Just this week, while we’re all just coming out of our Covid stupor, riots erupted in response to race issues across America.

And yet, here we are continuing to plow forward with ever-growing fervor toward… toward…toward who knows what?

Settling over the countryside, however, I have noticed this general malaise, a weariness that extends from work to family to home as people try to navigate a changing reality.

I want to pretend that everything is normal, but on the news I never hear the word normal unless it is also attached to the word NEW.

And so as I begin to accept this new normal with growing unease, I have also tried really hard to tell myself that the new normal is perfectly normal.

It seems ridiculous to think about something as mundane and ordinary as buying new shoes right now. Like I’m torn in two directions — my regular life and what’s happening in the world. I can go without new shoes, but my growing kids actually do need them—and they need to try them on first.

And with everything else that has been canceled or delayed, I just wanted this one thing to feel like something I recognize.

It’s only a pair of shoes, after all.

The ordinary and the mundane have always shaped my life, far more than any big moment.

And you know this is true.

Your high school graduation was fun, but it wasn’t the event that made you who you are. It was the tests, papers, relationships, and disappointments all along the way. Your wedding was a huge event; you planned for it for a year or more. But it was really all the time together and conversations you shared that came before and after the big day that determined the quality of the actual marriage. The birth of your children—an extraordinary miracle—but what mattered was not how they came into to you. All the sacrifices and memories you made as they settled into the routine of family life with you was what really made them a part of the family.

Quarantine.

What’s disorientating now is that the little ordinary moments no longer feel ordinary.

I was trying to figure out what was so depressing, and then I realized that was it; the ordinary has become novel.

But just because something is new doesn’t mean I can’t adapt.

That’s what healthy people do.
They ADAPT.

So from now on I’m just going to tell myself how mature and self-aware I am—adapting to all these new things like it’s no big deal. Whether things go back to the way they were or they don’t, one thing I’ve decided is that I’m not going to be one of these old people “so set in her ways” that she can’t welcome the new and unfamiliar with open arms—despite the fact that those open arms will be able to embrace exactly nobody anytime soon.

Will you join me?

---

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Keep Going

We just moved, and you haven’t heard from me in awhile. I’ve been busy unpacking boxes and hanging pictures. In between all that boring stuff, though, I’ve taken a few walks. We live right by this amazing trail system, and the other day I took my dog out for a hike. Lots of people were out and about—kids on skateboards, couples holding hands, and families on bikes.

I passed a dad and his two daughters on bikes. One of the daughters, about six years old, was walking with her bike, had just thrown it down, and was crying, “I can’t! I can’t do it! I’m not going!” And she sat down right in the middle of the path and let it wail. I came upon the family at exactly this moment. The dad sighed. He got off his bike. I kept walking, but I could hear her crying even from a long way off. And it wasn’t getting any quieter.

The thing is, I knew something that this little girl didn’t know. I knew exactly how far she had to go to get to the end of the trail. I also knew that there was no way her dad could manage his own bike, his daughter, and his daughter’s bike. No matter how long she sat there and cried, eventually she was going to have to get up and get moving. No one was going to carry her. The only way forward was to pick up the bike, get on it, and pedal.

And I began to think about all of us, grownups participating in some version of this hissy fit. Tired of wearing masks. Tired of taking meetings via Zoom. Tired of everything being either canceled or delayed because of Covid 19.

But let’s be honest. We were complaining about our lives long before we had time on our hands to really get upset about it. I can think of lots of times over the past year when I’ve wanted to press pause on my life. None of us needs a pandemic to catapult our lives into panic mode. Have you ever said, “I can’t! I can’t do it! I’m not going to go!” ?

But not going isn’t an option. The only way forward is through.

Ultimately, that must have been what happened with our friend on the pavement because by the time I got to the end of the trail, turned around and came back, the bike family was nowhere to be seen. My guess is that the dad laid down his bike and offered his daughter a hand. Perhaps he held her for a few minutes. Wiped her tears. Gave her a kiss. Offered her a drink of water. And then with renewed sustenance and vigor, she got back on the bike and kept going.

Pain is temporary.

And so, as with all journeys, there is something to be said for taking this approach: just keep going. I know I will have to pause at times. I know I won’t always be able to go as fast as I want to go. I know some hills will appear too tall to climb. Perhaps I will have to get off my bike and walk it for awhile. Or maybe I’ll have to find an alternate route. But if I keep going I can imagine that in a few months or a few years, the world won’t always feel like this. And if I keep pedaling, I can guarantee that in a few months or a few years I will certainly be stronger than I am today.

One of the most fascinating things about life is that we willingly inflict pain on ourselves in order to increase our strength, but when pain is inflicted upon us, we want to sprawl in the road and cry.

So keep going. The only way forward is THROUGH. Pain is temporary, but progress makes us stronger.

And strength is a valuable virtue.

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A Maxim for Today's World: Only the Essentials

Know thyself.

It’s one of the world’s most well known and oft-quoted maxims.

Oddly, and ironically, “know thyself” implies a certain amount of self-distancing, incomprehensible in this season of social distancing. And yet our distance from other people has also enabled us to see ourselves anew.

Who am I—REALLY?

Raise your hand if you had big plans during quarantine either to do something differently or to be something different.

Yeah, me too!

And yet, here we are, two months into this thing, and guess what? I’m the SAME person I was before quarantine!

Here’s what I’ve learned:

There’s a difference between what’s real and what’s ideal.

I’m basically a procrastinator at heart.

All those plans to get months ahead on blog content? Phhbttt! (Didn’t happen). Because I like to put things off. I’m easily distracted. I have a lot of interests. And in the absence of a hard deadline, I’ll gladly refinish an antique table or sit on the couch and read a book.

And besides, who is going to know if I stay in my pjs all day? Like you, I’m not going anywhere.

There’s a difference between what you know and what you do.

I hate homeschool.

My kids attend a hybrid school, which means they’re at school two days a week (sometimes three, If there’s labs or club meetings) and home the other days. Having them home everyday has been a challenge. I like having everybody at home, but let’s be honest—they are not getting the education they would be getting if they had those days at school with a real teacher.

There’s a difference between common sense and common practice.

I need to be with people.

In addition to all the obvious reasons why people need to be around other human beings, there’s the other less obvious ones, which you know are exacerbated if you’ve had a loved one in the hospital during this season. We need someone to keep us accountable, we need someone to ask hard questions, we need people in our lives we can trust, but we also need people who challenge us and inspire us, and I know there are myriad organizations trying to do that in an online space, but there is nothing—nothing—that can compare to wrapping your arms around a friend who has fallen in order to help them stand up.

Common sense says we should keep our distance in order to stay healthy. Common practice says, “My mental health is suffering, too!”

And that brings me to the second maxim engraved on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi:

“Nothing in Excess."

If there’s one thing I’ve learned during quarantine, it’s how to hold my stuff loosely—in an instant, everything you thought you valued could disappear.

In fact, we could probably rephrase the maxim to read:

“Only the essentials.”

“Essential” has become the most recognized word on the planet. (Thank you, healthcare workers! Thank you, food service industry! Thank you, utility companies!)

For me, defining “essential” has been easy:

• Faith

• Family

• Friendship

And not just in the big metaphorical sense—the trite answer we all give when asked about what’s most important to us.

Truly, what is essential? Can you answer that question? When I pondered the first maxim, “Know thyself,” I stepped outside of myself and discovered a hard truth.

Who I am in this season is who I am in every season.

COVID-19 doesn’t change me—at my core.

And this is what I know: The home improvement projects and the aspirational dreams are non-essential. What is essential are the relationships. There’s nothing like a good old fashioned crisis to highlight relational deficiencies. If this season has been a tough one, if you’re beating yourself up over the things that didn’t get done, or if you’re wondering how you can adapt in a world shaped by fear and social distancing, then take a minute to get to know yourself. And ask these essential questions:

1. Who is keeping me accountable?

2. Who is asking the hard questions?

3. Who can I trust?

4. Who is challenging me?

5. Who is inspiring me?

And if your answer is “I don’t know” or “I don’t have anybody in my life like that,” please don’t hesitate to reach out. At Mission Driven Woman, our mission to give voice to the experiences that shape our lives and strengthen our relationships. We are here to help you be the best version of you within the context of a community that wants to learn and grow together.

Do you have a maxim that’s helping you navigate today’s challenges? If so, I’d love to know! Please leave a comment or reply to the email in your inbox. I read every single message, and I love hearing from readers.

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Compliance Fatigue: It's a Real Thing and What to do About It

I’m tired of social distancing.

Tired of wearing gloves and masks in public.

Tired of not being able to browse stores I like, send my kids to school, attend church, and workout at my gym.

I’m tired of all of it.

And I know I’m not alone. We’re all JUST SO TIRED.

When I volunteered in hospice, one of the continuing education classes we were required to attend was on something called Compassion Fatigue.

“A condition characterized by emotional and physical exhaustion leading to a diminished ability to empathize or feel compassion for others, often described as the negative cost of caring. ”

— Compassion Fatigue

“I’m tired of doing all the things I’m supposed to do,” I complained to my husband. “It takes so much energy, and even though I’m getting more rest than ever before, I rarely feel rejuvenated.”

It’s not exactly compassion fatigue because I do still feel compassion for others, and I care about a lot of new things in ways I never have before.

“Oh no!” I wailed. “I have Compliance Fatigue!”

I thought I made up the phrase, but there’s an actual definition for it in the Urban Dictionary:

“A state of chronic fatigue induced by having to constantly maintain compliance with the ever-increasing variety of rules, regulations, and processes created by middle management bureaucrats in both public and private organizations.”

— Compliance Fatigue

I laughed out loud when I read that, even though the definition was written for an audience focused on corporate governance and business ethics.

All the rules, regulations, and processes are taking their toll on us. (And a lot of us aren’t even working right now!)

On my morning walk, I was thinking about this. The leaves have just sprouted and you can see the roots of the big trees pushing up through the ground. Which reminded me of a story I heard years ago about the giant redwoods in California. These massive trees don’t have a deep root system. Rather, their root system interlocks with the root system of other sequoias and in so doing, the trees literally hold one another up. They can withstand gale force winds, floods, earthquakes, and fire. They could not survive without each other.

The largest of these is the General Sherman, ironic I know, because that guy was known for the things he burned, not the things he planted. But he was also the one who coined the phrase “War is hell.” And everyday I hear people talking about Covid-19 like it’s World War III, with President Donald Trump even describing himself as a “war-time President.”

And so as I sit here tonight contemplating these last few weeks, I’ve realized more than ever than trying to do anything by myself is impossible. It’s impossible to keep practicing social distancing when you feel like you’re alone.

(I know. I know. The signs are everywhere: “We’re all in this together!”)

But even if everyone else is doing it, the very definition of social distancing means we’re going to feel like we’re alone.

This past Saturday, I celebrated my birthday, and three friends came over and surprised me with lunch. We sat in my backyard next to our outdoor fireplace—six feet apart—and just talked. And it was so good for my soul. We didn’t hug or crowd around each other for photos like we usually do, but we had the best time.

And then today, I drove around my neighborhood and put surprises in a few mailboxes. And the response was overwhelming. People just want to know that someone is thinking about them, that they haven’t been forgotten.

And I guess that’s how we’re going to hold people up during this time.

We can do the big tree thing and quietly spread our roots to nourish the people we love.

The General Sherman is 275 ft tall, 25 feet in diameter, and approximately 2,500 years old, and every year it adds enough wood to make another 60 foot tall tree!

But his tree, the General Sherman, is holding up the other trees in the forest. And that’s what I want to do, too. I will continue to respect the recommendations of the CDC, but in order to keep from feeling all this compliance fatigue, I’m going to have to spend time getting out of my own head.

This is the recipe: Do something kind for someone else.

• Like my friend, Kristi, who texted me a video hug.

• And my friend, Amy, who left a treat on my front porch right before Easter.

• And my friend, Kaitlyn, who sent me some sweet essential oil spray called “Peace.”

• And my friend, Ginny, who brought over fresh-cut flowers from her backyard.

• And my friend, Jennifer, who drove by in her golf cart for a surprise “hello.”

• And my friend, Rebecca, who delivered brownies hot out of the oven.

• And so many other things not written here. I hold all of them in my heart.

There’s so many little things we can do that make a big difference in helping all of us feel healthy and strong.

General Sherman didn’t have anything to say about compassion or compliance, but back in his day he did talk a lot about courage.

“A perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it.”

— Courage

Press on, my friends. Press on.

And love your neighbor.

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Experience is Never Wasted

My favorite jeans have a hole in the knee.

I always thought it looked cool until one day, I stuck my foot inside, accidentally caught my heel on the edge of the rip, and ended up tearing through the entire leg.

My pants were ruined!

And you’ve done this, too, right? There’s a loose thread on a pair of socks. You pull it just a bit so the string isn’t just hanging there, and before you know it, you’ve created one giant hole. I didn’t grow up on a prairie, so I don’t know how to darn a hole.

But I do know how to say “DARN!”

My oldest son is a senior.

And Darn! It feels like so many of his plans have been ruined.

He had a really fun year planned.

• A trip to Iceland with his grandfather.

• A graduation party featuring a taco truck and axe throwing.

• A summer working as a camp counselor at one of his favorite places in the world.

All canceled.

On the surface, these things seemed like minor snags in the big picture, but when you add them all up, my son is left with a giant void in what promised to be the summer of a lifetime.

If his summer was a sock, it’s ruined.

I always say pain is temporary, and so I know we will survive the disappointment. But I want to do more than survive. And if I want to do more than survive, then that means I’m going to figure out something new to do with the torn pair of jeans and the holey sock.

If my life was a sock, that would be easy. I could make a sock puppet or a dust mitt.

If my life was a pair of jeans, I could make a purse.

So why am I having so much trouble with THIS?
Isn’t quarantine the same thing?

I wish…(SIGH)

My fear is that I won’t be able to think of anything cool to do.

But this is my promise.

I’m not going to throw away what we’ve lost. I’m going to figure out how to use it, how to turn it into something useful and good. I don’t know what that looks like yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

This is what I do know: Experience is never wasted. God can use it all.

You Can FIGHT or You Can FLEE, but what if you just STAYED?

A few months ago, I started having weird dreams, and I know this sounds far fetched, but one morning I told my husband that though the dreams were kind of scary—not quite nightmares, but still disturbing—I felt like the message was that we were about to experience some kind of threat.

I remember saying, “I don’t think we’re going to die or anything like that, but something is coming for us.”

EEEEEKKKK!

Let me be clear I had no idea that Covid-19 was headed our way. I never could have imagined a scenario in which we would be quarantined in our homes for weeks on end. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I thought, but it wasn’t this.

My dreams aren’t THAT vivid.

Nonetheless, a threat is a threat, and humans respond to threats in predictable ways. You know these already, but I’m going to list them again here:

• Fight

• Flight

• Freeze

I have to give a shout-out to Chanel Dokun, a certified life coach, who clarified these responses for me.

She said everybody has a go-to response. And that now, especially, a lot of us are experiencing something called “emotional flooding.” Maybe you feel this way, too—overwhelmed, unable to take in and process information; stuck in a repetitive thinking loop, and losing empathy. If this is you, you are not alone.

How are you handling it? Are you fighting? Fleeing? Or freezing?

Allow me to tell you a story:

One gray morning, I was walking the paths along the back nine of the golf course near my house. My friend and I started early, just after daylight but before the real golfers made it back that far. And of course we saw wildlife—birds, squirrels, chipmunks—the usual stuff.

But on this particular morning, something unusual ran out from the woods at us. A bobcat! Or what I thought was a bobcat. I stood rooted to the spot, assessing the situation, getting my bearings, and trying to decide what to do (is this a bobcat? Is he going to attack me? ).

But my companion wasted no time. In a flash, she had circled behind me, grabbed my shoulders, and used me as a shield against the attack.

Some friend!

Don’t worry. We were totally safe. Turns out, the “bobcat” was just a loose Golden Doodle, and it only wanted to lick us to death.

But the perceived threat was real. She fought; I froze.

Freezing seems like the least helpful of all the stress responses. Am I right?

If you fight, you might be able to overtake your attacker. If you flee, maybe you’ll have a chance at getting away. But if you freeze (like me) then you’re only in luck if you’re being attacked by a black bear. In that case, I’ve heard rolling over and playing dead work really well.

Covid-19 is a very real threat.
But it’s not the one that stopped me in my tracks six weeks ago.

My email inbox is making me crazier than my fear of getting sick.

That’s the thing that’s causing the real emotional flooding.

Every single company I’ve ever interacted with on any level has suddenly jumped into action mode. I am getting all kinds of invitations to join them online. And I don’t want every minute of the day to be scheduled with zoom calls and virtual trainings. I don’t need another disclaimer outlining “our response to Covid-19.”

All along, I’ve just been trying to figure out my own response, so I started using the DELETE button a lot!

Can you relate?

I didn’t want to be online MORE.
And believe it or not, I also didn’t want to be online LESS.
I simply wanted to leverage the time ON MY OWN TERMS.

So I made a plan that worked for me.

But the plan that’s working for me isn’t the plan that’s working for everybody else. Case in point: the ice cream I ordered for my nephew’s birthday was somehow lost in cyberspace, and then even though I spent all kinds of time researching the “mystery of the missing ice cream,” I forgot to call the kid and actually wish him a happy birthday!

(Palm to face) I’m the worst.

After six weeks of shelter-in-place, I’m ready to get back to business-as-usual, too. I mean, it’s been real, but let’s be honest—there is no substitute for life with human beings. We may be flawed, but the computers are the real problem.

Did anyone else have this poster hanging in a public school classroom in the 1980s?

“To err is human; to really foul things up requires a computer.”

— Paul R. Ehrlich

Ironically, the guy that quote is attributed to most often wrote a famous book called The Population Bomb, in which he proselytizes a dark future as the result of overpopulation.

Fighting and fleeing require a ton of energy. But as my friend Laura says, “Busyness is not a business!” And right now, conserving energy seems like a smart move.

Plus that word—FREEZE— means something else. When you freeze something, you’re preserving it for the future. (Remember that wedding cake you ate on your first anniversary?)

A few years ago, I met this old guy who had lived in our community his entire life.

His motto was “I’m 95 and still alive!”

We loved listening to his stories of the “olden days,” of walking three miles to school and getting there early to light the stove before the other students arrived, of growing his own food, and even building the very house where he still lives today.

But the thing he loved talking about most was his dead wife, Jeannie.

His eyes glistened with tears at the very mention of her name. And she had been gone almost eight years! He loved to talk about how they met and how wonderful she was. In his eyes, Jeannie was a saint.

I remember thinking, “Wow! I hope I always feel that way about my spouse, too.”

Six weeks of social distancing and sheltering in place has provided our family with a lot of togetherness. Families raising teenagers don’t typically get to talk about family time like it’s a family value. But for us—being at home with one another day-in-and-day-out has been invaluable! It is an unexpected gift.

So if your response is to freeze-like me—don’t beat yourself up over it.

I have a feeling that when we are 95 and telling our own stories of the olden days, they will not include how many new clients we got or how many house projects we finished. I think we’ll be telling the story of how we spent time at home with our people, how we talked, and read, and did puzzles and cooked and ate together. How we called our friends and wrote letters and sent surprises in the mail.

That computer quote I mentioned earlier is actually a riff on an earlier quote by literary figure, Alexander Pope. He said:

“To err is human; to forgive divine.”

— Alexander Pope

And I love that because there will never be a time when I’m surrounded by people who love me more than the ones I’m with right now. We can sit around our table and have the best conversations, and we can also face off in our living room, shouting and pointing fingers. We can be the best of friends and the worst of enemies—all in the span of about two minutes!

But I think we’ll all be okay if we can resist the urge to fight or flee.

And just stay.

For the time being, everything else is just background noise. We’re going to mess up. The computer and everything else will get on our nerves. Stay and forgive. Stay and love. Stay and make peace.

I hope that when this is over you can say your people got the very best you had to give. Because the best story is always the one that begins and ends with you.

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WINSday on Wednesday--Who is in Your Parachute?

My oldest son got his private pilot’s license last year.

Today he was telling us about how he has to practice stalls in the air, and how if you don’t do it right you can send the plane into a nosedive and a tail spin.

Right after he told me that story, he asked if he could get a motorcycle.

This is a kid who loves adventure.

Whenever he travels and I ask him where’s he staying or how he plans to pay for stuff, he usually shrugs and says, “I’ll figure it out.”

If I told you he was 18, would you be surprised?

Teenage boys are:

Impulsive.
Risky.
Hard to insure.

Their frontal lobes are still developing.

My son, Gavin, never asks, “What would happen if…?”

His mantra is:

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

— Helen Keller

Right now, so many of us are asking “What’s going to happen if________?” kinds of questions.

The future is uncertain. And maybe even a little scary. Of all the things I ever imagined could disrupt my daily life, I never imagined a deadly, contagious virus being one of them.

But just because I never imagined it doesn’t mean I can’t figure out how to do life in the midst of it.

You may be feeling stressed because of a change in your current job situation. Maybe your vacation plans got canceled. Your kids aren’t in school. The way you operate is totally different than it was even a month ago.

As our circumstances change, our vision for our lives does, too.

And I’ve found that I can only make sense of these circumstances within the context of my relationships.

Did you know that one of the most powerful indicators of a thriving life are the quality of your relationships? The warmth of people’s relationships has the most significant impact on human flourishing. (Beyond Happy, 121)

Remember when I asked my son where he was going to be sleeping on that recent spring break trip? He was fully prepared to sleep in an eno in a park, in the car, or even to pay off a college kid to share a place on the floor in his dorm.

My advice to him: Don’t be an idiot.

And don’t go anywhere by yourself.

“Whenever I’m about to do something, I think, ‘Would an idiot do that?’ And if they would, I do not do that thing.”

— Dwight Schrute, The Office

You may never go up in a plane that was built in 1971 like my son, Gavin. You may never take a road trip without an itinerary or a reservation.

But you have encountered what it means to pivot. Covid-19 made sure of that. Our lives have taken a nosedive. We are smack dab in the middle of our own metaphorical tailspin. And I have to be honest—it doesn’t feel exciting or exhilarating.

It feels scary.

But that’s the very definition of adventure: an unusual and potentially hazardous experience that involves risk.

“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

— Proverbs 19:21

How are you making sense of all the uncertainty? Are your relationships helping you stay grounded? What’s your next, logical step? Who is keeping you accountable?

Like toddlers who put everything in their mouths (don’t do that, by the way), we are feeling our way through a new and unfamiliar world. Small children must learn to walk and run and jump, turn doorknobs, sort shapes, feed, wash, and dress themselves. They have definitive opinions about what they will drink and in what cup. In their quest to be independent, they are forging the very relationships that will ensure their mutual interdependence on one another for a lifetime.

For them, everyday is an adventure!

When it feels like the world is going into a tailspin, I’m glad we have each other.

I am learning how to work and do school while living in this new reality. The way I shop and spend time with friends is unfamiliar and awkward. I have to re-learn how to do some things that used to be very routine to me.

And so my advice to myself is the same as the advice I gave to my son: Don’t be an idiot, but don’t try to do everything by yourself either.

What we are experiencing right now will shape how we think and live in the future. Culture is changing every single day. Who we take with us is the most important decision we can make right now.

“A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him...will never be able throw away his life.”

— Viktor Frankl

My prayer for you is that you’ll thrive—FLOURISH—in this new space. Let’s not allow each other to go down in flames. Your people are your parachute. Social distancing can’t change that.

And don’t forget—within the epicenter of every scary adventure, the promise of opportunity and innovation lives, too.

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