Life After Labor Day

by Joanie Butman

A season of new beginnings would be incomplete without a few resolutions. Like I said last week, September is New Year’s in our household, which comes with a certain amount of good intentions – the most famous being the promise to adopt a healthier lifestyle.

Life After Labor Day has long been an expression of my husband’s to describe the beginning of yet another fitness regime. I even had cozies made up for him one year. The concept is that he can be decadent all summer, but once Labor Day rolls around, he becomes a model of self-restraint. He always tells us that we won’t recognize him by Thanksgiving. We have a closet full of infomercial exercise equipment guaranteed to bring about that Life After Labor Day six-pack. Unfortunately, we do recognize him every Thanksgiving, and are still waiting for Bob’s Life After Labor Day physique to emerge.

I am jumping on the bandwagon this year determined to achieve my own version of Life After Labor Day. Though my physique can use the same discipline, my main concern is to restore balance to my life in every aspect:  physically, emotionally and spiritually. I struggle every summer in maintaining balance, in juggling demands from family, friends and my own desire for peaceful solitude. Even though I am painfully aware of the dangers of losing balance and how susceptible I am to it, that’s exactly what eventually occurs every summer. In trying to please everyone (including myself), I disappoint everyone (especially myself) in thought, in actions,and in words.

I firmly believe balance is one of the most difficult yet the most important life skills to master. Balance in everything – diet, spirituality, academics, family, career and recreation – is the key to maintaining a happy, healthy life. During the summer, my scale gets weighed down in more ways than one. While my weight scale is going up, my life scale starts sliding downward towards overload in a variety of forms: kids, a seemingly endless supply of relatives (all of whom I adore), guests, parties, parties, and more parties. When the balance is off-kilter, things start to deteriorate rapidly. Picture being on a seesaw and the other person getting off, causing you to land unceremoniously with a crash. This phenomenon usually occurs around mid-August when summer starts to wind down – when the parties don’t seem much fun anymore, and the sun has pickled my skin and seemingly fried my brain. I feel as wilted as the flowers in my garden.

This year has been particularly difficult because I didn’t have long stretches of lazy days by the ocean. They came in brief snatches rather than being able to settle into the rhythm of life on the beach. It feels as if I spent much of the summer in the car trying to accommodate opposing family schedules and obligations. My ocean view was replaced with reading bumper stickers, license plates and truck signage. I know every truck logo along the Northeast corridor. I feel like my butt has permanently molded to the shape of the driver’s seat of my car. Hence, my enthusiasm in joining Bob in his pursuit of new, improved versions of ourselves.

Bob’s Ab Flex might help with tightening up some long neglected muscles, but infomercial gadgets won’t provide the solution to my much needed Life After Labor Day conditioning. God will – not only after Labor Day, but any day I ask. How do I know this? Because He’s been doing it for years. I just need to be still enough to let His peace saturate my soul. It is there I will find my balance once again by letting my ballast do what He does best.

The Dixie Chicks’ song, Easy Silence, comes close to describing the Life After Labor Day workout routine I choose.

And I come to find a refuge in

the easy silence that you make for me

It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me

And the peaceful quiet you create for me

And the way you keep the world at bay for me,

the way you keep the world at bay for me.

I choose to train each day in Easy Silence – it’s gentle on the muscles as well as the soul!

Goodbye/Hello

by Joanie Butman

"Goodbye is always Hello to something else." So true, so true.

Late August/early September is a season of goodbyes and new beginnings – much more so than New Year’s in my mind. I suppose when my life is no longer dictated by a school calendar, I may feel differently; but for now, the new year lies before me like a blank page waiting for the next chapter to be written. I approach it eager to discover what God has planned for me. 

As I wrote last week, we dropped our daughter off at college Wednesday. Definitely a milestone goodbye, yet it couldn’t have gone smoother. There was certainly an element of sadness knowing she was leaving the nest, but we were all so excited for this new beginning it tempered the reality that she was branching out from our little nuclear family. She will definitely be in and out of our home for the rest of her life, but she will never again be the little girl who grew up there. Hannah will be different the next time we see her for sure.

This week I will say goodbye to a friend who is moving away to begin a new phase in her life. I am sad to see her leave, but grateful for the time and memories we shared. It is also time to say goodbye to our summer home by the ocean, my constant companion that offers so much peace and comfort during the summer. Our extended family members will scatter to their respective homes to resume their own lives. The shutters will go up on the house as we bid farewell to another summer, full of appreciation for the opportunity to share so many memorable moments with those we love. One of the sweetest was another milestone goodbye of sorts. It was to usher in my niece’s official adulthood – her 21st birthday. She, my daughter and I stayed up until midnight (actually well beyond) to say her last goodbye to childhood and to welcome the first day of her adult life. We laid on the deck cuddled under blankets, watching a meteor shower, just enjoying the company and the night sky. The party was the next night, but I don't know that there were any wise choices going on that night to write about!

The saddest goodbye though was to a young mother of two little girls (ages 2 and 4). Her name was Valerie. Oddly, I never knew Valerie in health. I never even met her in person, yet I felt connected to her in a way I can’t describe; and her death impacted me in a way I never expected. I suppose when you are discussing matters of life and death, conversations reach depths few rarely achieve in the course of daily life. Shared suffering forms fast friendships.

It was her disease that was our common bond. She was a member of the cancer club – not a membership anyone chooses voluntarily. Even so, how you choose to face it is certainly life-defining. She got in touch with me about a year ago through a mutual friend. It is a perfect example of the power of sharing our stories because as I have often heard, “Your mess becomes your message.” When facing a challenge, regardless of what it is, your instinct is to seek out someone with experience for counsel on many levels. For example, if you are in need of a surgeon, you would definitely not choose someone who says, “Well, I’ve never performed that surgery, but I’ve always wanted to try one.” No, you want the person who has done hundreds of those surgeries, a specialist in their field.

When facing cancer, there is wisdom and comfort to be derived from someone who has travelled that road. It doesn’t make them a specialist, but they can definitely relate to many of the issues someone in the same situation struggles with. Not only that, speaking to a stranger offers the freedom to discuss things your loved ones would find too difficult; namely, your death. As I said to the mutual friend who introduced us, “It was a privilege and an honor to know Valerie. I believe we were just walking her home.”

Ruth’s response, “Thank you for being on this journey with me. I trust we will all meet together in eternity,” was an excellent reminder that it is not goodbye I should be saying to Valerie but rather, “Until we finally meet, Godspeed my friend.” I look forward to that day when the answers to life’s mysteries will be made clear to us at last.

There is no doubt that as you approach death whether it by disease or age, you can’t help but reflect back on how you chose to live your life – on the choices you made and where they led. As a parting gift for my daughter, I collected college advice from her aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, and various other important people in her life. It was a fascinating exercise, and I was surprised how heartfelt and thoughtful the submissions were. A favorite song of mine by Point of Grace, How You Live, isn’t college-specific, but it is valuable advice regardless of your age. In the wake of Valerie’s death, it is a timely message for all of us. See if you agree.

College Bound!

by Joanie Butman

We are driving my daughter to college this week and have been knee-deep in preparations for weeks. Our “dining hall” has been transformed into a staging area, but whatever we’ve done seems minor compared to the extraordinary lengths some parents go to in this process. As far as I’m concerned, it borders on insanity. My generation of parents has lost its mind when it comes to their offspring. Their children have become extensions of themselves rather than budding individuals. I read about one parent who hid behind a bush to watch student orientation through binoculars and others who stalk the roommates on Facebook. Why do they now have orientation for parents? What is all the hoopla about? Kids have been going off to college for years, and somehow they all survived – as did their parents. My generation flourished because they didn’t have someone micromanaging every detail of their life. And our parents flourished because they were free to pursue their own lives. They didn’t have to seek counseling when we left. They were too busy doing all those things they didn’t have time for when we were home. Does this mean they loved us any less? Did they not think we were special? Not at all. They just had a healthier, more balanced approach to parenting. Did we stumble and make mistakes? Of course, which is how we matured to become competent, contributing members of society – at least most of us. It wasn’t any easier for them to watch us struggle, and they were always ready to step in if necessary; but that only happened in extreme instances. Otherwise, they left us to our own devices. Benign neglect proved to be an effective parenting technique. 

As parents our jobs are never done, but they change dramatically. It is the natural order of things. I use to tell my kids when they were young, “No more growing up. I love you just the way you are.” Which, of course, is just as true today as it was then – though I don’t remember using that line much during the teenage years. I’ve been teaching my kids whatever little I know for the past 18 years – probably 16 since in reality, they stopped listening a couple of years ago when they decided I didn’t actually know anything! I did my best to train skills and impart values that hopefully will help them become capable adults, but letting go is the only way for them to put whatever they’ve absorbed into practice and make it their own. Will every choice they make be a wise one? No more or less than ours were, but that’s part of growing up. How they handle the bad choices will probably teach the most valuable lessons. I like to think I am sending my daughter off ready, but you can’t teach life. It just has to be lived.

During all these preparations, I thought about David McCullough’s controversial commencement speech, You Are Not Special.  Kudos to him for being the voice of reason in a world where everyone seems to believe their child is a prodigy. Ironically, ‘prodigy’ is the title my son’s driving instructor recently bestowed upon him, which Doug was quick to adopt. I don’t know what that man was thinking because I’m the one driving with Doug, and he is definitely no prodigy; AND more confidence is the last thing a 16-yr-old boy needs behind the wheel.

I agree with many but not all of McCullough’s comments. Ugly Baby Syndrome* is certainly rampant amongst my generation of parents. Our children are definitely not special – yet. College is a journey of discovery. It is the process of learning exactly what makes you special. We all have a unique S.H.A.P.E.  (spiritual gifts, heart, abilities, personality, and experiences), a piece of the humanity puzzle that only you can fill. And it’s a lifetime curriculum and commitment as your S.H.A.P.E. is constantly evolving.

Most kids spend their middle and high school years desperately trying NOT to be different. Then they start applying to colleges where they are challenged to prove what it is that MAKES them different. Now that they are finally freed from childhood stereotypes, the future is pregnant with promise and possibility. No wonder so many of them are giddy with nerves, excitement, and trepidation. They are about to come face-to-face with the scary question, “Who am I?” and will then spend the rest of their lives figuring out the answer – inventing and reinventing themselves many times over. They are like race horses in the paddock jittery with excitement to start the race for which they’ve spent the past 18 years training – life.

As McCullough duly asserts, most parents think their children are special. And they are – to them. This summer I had the pleasure of spending some time with my parents. I fixed my Dad a drink one night, then asked if he liked it. He responded, “There isn’t anything you can do that I wouldn’t like.” And he meant it. My father has the wonderful facility of remembering only good things. He lost ten years of rebellion I wish I could forget. When I am with my parents, I do feel special. I think it is their greatest gift to me because when you have that foundation, you can go into the world confident that no matter what happens, there is someone who loves you unconditionally, who will always be in your corner, who will celebrate your successes and mourn your losses. Someone whose love is based simply on your birth, not on your abilities and accomplishments or lack thereof. There is a certain level of security in that knowledge that gives you the assurance to try new things without fear of failure. With that said, I would never expect the rest of the world to share my parents’ sentiments and neither would they. That’s the difference between my generation and the one McCullough was addressing.

You can’t pick your parents, and I realize everyone is not blessed with parents who make them feel special. Nevertheless, there is one parent we can choose: God. Unlike human parents, He will never disappoint. When your entire being is grounded on the foundation of His unconditional love, you can go into the world confident He created you to be special with a unique S.H.A.P.E. Once you understand that, you won’t need anyone telling you how special you are, you won’t need approval, accolades or trophies. Your self-worth will be based on the unfailing nature of God’s love. You will feel it in the depth of your soul. That doesn’t guarantee that others will value what makes you special, but never let that detract from your purpose or your dreams. As I wrote in my daughter’s yearbook, “Just be yourself. No one else knows how to do it!”

 David McCullough concludes his speech with this thought: “The sweetest joys of life, then, come only with the recognition that you’re not special. Because everyone is.” He was promoting selflessness, an admirable trait; but I think he is missing the key to altruism. To me the sweetest joys of life come from understanding just how special you are in God’s eyes, discovering and developing the gifts He’s given you that make you unique, then choosing to use them for the benefit of others. God has the ability to make everyone feel like His favorite, and when you are anchored and motivated by His love, selflessness becomes second nature and service to others becomes a way of life not an obligation to be fulfilled.

We are all special in His eyes simply because we are His children. Personally, I choose to embrace that truth, celebrate it and live it because at the commencement of my life, it will be my S.H.A.P.E people talk about, not my resume – not necessarily how special I was but how special I made others feel.

My daughter might prefer a new car, but this is the song I am sending her off with on Wednesday.

*Ugly Baby Syndrome: "While all babies are considered to be beautiful to their parents who are biologically predisposed to such a belief, the general populace may not find each and every baby to be quite so gorgeous as the besotted parents seem to believe."

Running for Ring Dings

by Joanie Butman

As a follow-up to my recent essay on exercise, I want to share a funny story regarding my running – and I use the term loosely these days. I have never been a serious runner. I never ran because I LIKED it. In fact, I hated every step. I ran to burn calories, period. It was a means to an end. I never pushed myself to extremes, never ran anything other than the corporate challenge races in Central Park, and that was only to round out a team and/or for the post-race party.

Until this year, I ran the beach on which we live in the summer in an effort to counteract my traditional lobster and ice cream summer diet, which I highly recommend if you are trying to gain weight. My in-laws live just a few doors away. Their living room faces the water, and they don’t miss much because they are always in their chairs by the window or on the infamous porch. I would always pass and wave at the start of my run when I was fresh and going at a good clip. Then on the tail end, I would finish up with a sprint towards home sailing by them once again unruffled by my 90 minute “run.” They didn’t see anything in between – the stops to collect rocks or talk with many of the neighbors, the long stretches of walking, the pit-stop at a lemonade stand to discuss business strategies with budding entrepreneurs.

Unintentionally, they got the impression that I was a “real” runner. I tried to explain my Running for Ring Dings philosophy, but there was no convincing them. They’ve spent the past 20+ years fretting over whether I have enough to eat whenever I am invited for a meal or just sitting on the porch. They always offer me the last piece of blueberry pie, which justifies continuing the charade in my mind. The point of the story is that their perception is their reality. In their minds, I could carry the Olympic torch. I have to confess, once I realized what was happening, don’t think I was above turning it up a notch every time I passed working my crowd of two. After all, I’m only human.

This is obviously an innocent and harmless distortion of reality, but there are times when your actual behavior is less important than people’s perception of it. Think of the old adage, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” If there is any truth in that, I think I’m half way there. Either I am the most misunderstood person in creation or it is my perception that needs adjusting. The thing is everyone views you through their own binoculars. And that perception is always colored by their own emotional baggage. Perceived slights are often more about what is going on in their lives than yours.

My actions and/or words have been “misunderstood” in a myriad of places but none more often than within my own family. What I’ve learned is that I am still held accountable despite my well-meaning intentions. Then I am faced with a choice:

       a.  Do I apologize for something I didn’t do and make amends, or

       b.  Do I stand my ground and stubbornly maintain my innocence?

Interesting dilemma. I’ve tried both strategies, and can testify to two things:

1. It is easier to move a mountain than to change someone else’s perception of you.
2. If the common denominator in your problems is you, maybe your perception is the one that is distorted.

I don’t know many areas I can claim expertise, but if experience has taught me anything, it is that option A is the wiser choice. I’ve seen friendships broken, marriages shattered, partnerships dissolved all because of a stubborn defiance to accept responsibility for our actions regardless of how misunderstood our intentions may be. A refusal to acknowledge that if our actions are being perceived in a negative light, it is our responsibility to work on how we can adjust our behavior to improve that perception.

In regard to my pretense with my in-laws, they’re 96 and aren’t likely to change their perception, but I’ve decided that I like their reality. When I run by them, which is the only portion of my course I run these days, for that brief moment, I do feel like a “real” runner. And what’s the harm in that?

All Aboard!

by Joanie Butman

This week was my six-month checkup at Sloane Kettering in NYC. I don’t dread it as some might because I find it very peaceful there and always meet interesting people in the waiting room—and believe me, there is a lot of waiting involved with cancer. Waiting for results, waiting for doctors, waiting for healing. It’s something I’ve gotten very good at - my own Olympic event of sorts. Even so, there are a lot of other things I would rather have been doing on a beautiful summer day as well as a long to-do list to get my son ready to leave for a two-week trip the next day.

I boarded the train impatient to get this over with so I could get on with life in more ways than one. The conductor arrived to take my ticket and I was surprised to recognize him as a soccer parent I’ve always enjoyed chatting with on the sidelines. I was about to discover why. We exchanged small talk for a while; then he turned to the little boy sitting across the aisle and began chatting with him. He clicked out a smiley face on our ticket stubs and then, to my surprise, he proceeded to put on a show. His hat flew off his head and landed on the seat next to me. He explained to the youngster that the only thing to do when his hat acts up like that is to coax it back on with music. He pulled out a harmonica and began playing. When that didn’t work, three juggling balls appeared out of thin air as he ably tossed them around and into the wayward hat. The little boy was mesmerized, and I was grinning ear-to-ear having forgotten where I was going or how much I needed to do before tomorrow. I felt like a muggle on the Hogwarts Express witnessing a bit a magic.

By this point, the hat was eager to return to its perch on top of his head. The conductor clicked his heels and bid farewell to the boy then looked my way, tipped his hat to me and said, “That was for you too.” I left the train hearing his cheerful voice on the intercom wishing us all to “Have a great day!” This was certainly an excellent start. It was almost as if he knew I needed a giggle – which was his gift to me. I kept that smiley face ticket with me the rest of the day using it as a bookmark, and every time I looked at it I couldn’t help but grin. That smiley face was a Godwink – a heavenly reminder that He’s got my back always.

As I said, I’ve enjoyed Mr. D’s company on the sidelines, but this was different. He was in his element. I admired the charm and enthusiasm with which he approached his job and the obvious joy he derived from it which bubbled over onto everyone in his vicinity. Joy is effervescent. It is the champaign of life, but it is our choice to pop our internal cork and share it with those around us. My sideline acquaintance didn’t know where I was going or what was on my mind. It didn’t matter. Can’t we all use a shot of joy poured into our day regardless of what is going on in our lives?

The reason I share the story is to illustrate the importance of choosing to do what you love and/or choosing to love what you do.

Being around someone joyful is contagious. You can’t help but smile. Mr. D. could be an excellent conductor without the performance, but he did something that far exceeded his job description - something of even greater value. He left that young boy and me a little lighter for having met him. What a blessing.

As far as my checkup goes, it was yet another “wait and watch” diagnosis. It reminded me of the lyrics from Brandon Heath’s Wait and See.

There is hope for me yet

Because God won't forget

All the plans he's made for me

I have to wait and see

He's not finished with me yet

And I firmly believe that.

Click on Image below to listen to Wait and See.