Loving Touch

“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”  Charles Dickens

A few weeks ago, an older gentleman came into church before mass began and sat in an area typically reserved for the choir.  There was no choir that day so no one paid him much attention.  When the music began he rose to his feet and started to conduct an invisible orchestra – invisible, at least, to us.  With great passion, and movement, he was lost in the music for the entire song.  

After, an usher quickly escorted him to the nearest front pew.  Without the music, he was agitated and unsettled; he was becoming a distraction and a concern.  A grandmother with young ones relocated.  Hushed whispers and side glances took over half of the sanctuary.  Tension was growing.

A man my age, a father of two teenagers, someone I say hello to and smile each week, slid into the pew beside him.  Not saying a word, he simply put his hand on the man’s shoulder.  He kept it there and the man became less agitated.  He settled in.  The man’s wife soon joined him on the other side.  Every time whatever energy was in his mind started to pick up again, a simple touch of the hand was enough to calm his mind, his heart and perhaps his spirit.   

I had tears in my eyes for most of the mass – it was among the most beautiful, kind and generous things I have seen one human being do for another.  

Grand gestures and intense support for those in need are no doubt needed in this world.  And this is the time of year when our neighbors who struggle with homelessness, illness, abuse and challenges beyond our comprehension, are closest to our hearts (and wallets).

Equally needed, however, is the sharing our humanity through a simple touch, smile or word.  It is enough.  Looking at the world through a lens of love and compassion.  It is enough.  Committing to serving everyone we meet with an open heart.  It is enough.

Give big this holiday season.  Whatever calls you – go all in.

And then…..

Smile all the time.  To everyone.  No matter what.

Show patience and tolerance.  To everyone.  No matter what.

Be humble.  To everyone.  No matter what.

Be generous.  To everyone.  No matter what.

xo,

Trish

 

Love Always Trumps Fear

Gobble Gobble!

In the past month I have strongly considered leaving the world of Facebook, at least for awhile.  It has been an unsettling few weeks for all of us and in that discomfort and fear, Facebook (at least in my newsfeed) has become an op-ed forum for all things delicate and controversial.  The adorable Halloween pictures of chubby Cinderellas and fierce Captain Americas faded away.  No celebratory big moment eschewed the open forum that is social media.  Far too often I read a post and thought “really?” or worse.  I scrolled (trolled?) through comments (I can hear my friend saying “Don’t read the comments!!!!”) that only seemed to raise my ire higher and higher.  I had to work VERY hard to keep my trembling fingertips away from the keyboard. I did succumb with one small addition to the fray…..

As time passed, my salty responses (mostly in my head) slowly dissipated.  And Facebook changed, too. The status updates became less divisive and more inclusive.  As Thanksgiving creeped into the newsfeed there was far more love and far less fear.  More inclusion and less exclusion.  It was as if the simple idea that we had one day set aside to honor the good in our lives worked the magic.  The magic that comes when we let go of fear and replace it instead with love.

Everyone is walking around with a shit ton of fear.

When will another terrorist attack happen?  Are we safe? Is this the beginning of a global crisis about to escalate?

Will my child be safe driving on her own?  Will my friend’s cancer return?  How do I pay my bills this month?

Can I lose 10 pounds over the holidays? Do my shoes clash with my sweater?  What will happen if Donald Trump actually becomes President? (hee hee)

Big and small, fear is everywhere.  I know.  I get it.  The f-ing brain tumor, right?  There is my biggie (among others).

But we ALWAYS have choices.

We can choose to let the fear rule our thoughts, our words, our actions. We can walk around this world, real and virtual, and choose to put the fear in front of all else. We can let it fester in our heads and thoughts and hearts.  It can rule us…..and often times it does.

OR

We can choose a different response.  Fear is always going to be with us – it is life.  The choice comes with what we do with it – how long we let it linger and how much energy we direct towards it.  What if we ackowledge our fear, consider it, and then make a choice to go a different, opposite, direction.  Maybe it is humor.  Maybe it is silence (collective gasp).  Maybe it is an intentional moment of gratitude.  I know from experience that fear needs our permission, our choice, to exist.

Facebook is such a grand social experiment and opportunity to see into “us” in ways I never would be able to otherwise.  As a writer, that sort of lens is invaluable.  As a person, it is a top-notch chance to do a bit of self reflection.  It presents opportunities to practice choices, big and small.  Now that is something to be thankful for!

xo,

Trish

PS – I am also DEEPLY thankful for all of my friends (virtual and otherwise) who do not believe and think the same way I do.  I hope you continue to put your voice out there in positive and productive ways, and I hope you find a space to hear others doing the same.  Without fear.

 

 

That Time You Go Car Shopping…..and Realize the Fun is Gone

My Grandpa Scurfield was the embodiment of a curmudgeon (after about the age 70.)  It happens.  Old age gives you rights a younger person simply doesn’t have.

The right to…

always be suspicious

always be sure they are out to get you

always be opinionated

always be right

always be ready for a fight

How I wish I had him back now, at 44 myself.  I would have appreciated his personality so much more.  I would do less cringing and eye-rolling and way more laughing and prodding.  I have no doubt his love of gadgets would have him cursing his own iPhone, convinced somehow it was taking advantage of him, and therefore the instrument leading to the the fall of humanity.  Damn kids and their devices… I would have gladly brought him along to any situation that required a bit of push and pull.  I can only imagine the havoc he could have wreaked at an Apple store….

My husband was terrified of him – upon meeting him for the first time he launched into his personal manifesto about banks, bankers and the pure evil they all embodied.  The banks, apparently, purposefully staff their branches to create long lines … and this somehow lets them then take advantage and purport evil over all of their customers.

Eric is a banker.

Here is what I love the most about Grandpa Scurfield.  He never shied away from making his ideas heard.  He was proud of his family.  He worked.  Hard.  Really Hard.  Like 3 jobs to put his sons through college hard.  He had passions and interests that ran deep and wide.

And I realized that I have a lot of him in me and my Grandpa really shows up when I go car shopping….

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I hate conflict.

I hate negotiations.

I hate haggling.

Usually.

But apparently if you put me at a desk, in a car dealership, across from a car salesman the gloves come off.

The greatest conspiracy theory in me – deeply ingrained from Grandpa Scurfield – is that every car salesman’s job is to rip me off.  And my job, by GOD, is to stop them.  Come hell or high water I WILL negotiate until both of our eyes bleed.  And I will drink their freshly ground Starbucks coffee and have a snack because it is FREE and I am bringing down the dealership one pack of peanut butter crackers at a time.

I am really good at it – Eric even said so!  There was a part of me that wanted him to see that I can do this…that no matter what happens I at LEAST can negotiate a great car deal!

But….

Today people use technology to research the “current market value” of cars…

Today car dealers are forced to be incredibly competitive with their pricing or they lose business…

Today people know the exact car they want before the walk into the dealership and simply give the VIN and stock number to their assigned salesperson…

Today car salesman must be patient above all else in dealing with consumers of a certain age … like me.

It took us 6 and a half hours to negotiate a car deal.

Most consumers “today” only take about 2….start to finish.

Did I start with a low ball offer?  Check.  Did I work them over?  Yes.  Did I pull out my best “Why don’t you go back to your sales manager and talk and come back with your best and final offer?”?  Yes, yes I did.

Did it work?  A little bit.

Did I realize times have changed?  I did.

Damn kids and their technology.

FGioma is 5 years old

Today is the five year anniversary of Eric’s first seizure that eventually led to his brain tumor diagnosis.

got glioma?  he does.

will it ever go away?  it won’t.

fglioma?  every day.

I wish there was a better word than anniversary to describe the passage of time surrounding events that we must acknowledge and recognize, but not celebrate.  Time marches forward. It is so important to mark those events that change our souls, even the ones that break our hearts, because it reminds us that we can survive.  We have survived.  We will survive.

Today has been looming more like a deadline to me.  Whether ultimately accurate or not, I can’t forget the first night in the ICU room, hearing the words “4-7 years”. We have heard a lot of other numbers….we have also seen time frames play out far too quickly.  There is simply no way to know what the future holds, and that is the single most difficult part of this journey.  There is nothing known, from time frames, to treatment, to symptoms….nothing.

Hindsight is an amazing tool into the unseen workings of the soul that are invisible to us in a given moment.  While everything we (mostly I) have shared has been 100% true, most of it has been a bit too shiny and polished to really do anyone any good but myself.  In many ways it has been selfish writing.  Writing to reassure MYSELF that there is a purpose in this journey and that I am approaching this in the right way.

The untold story, and the future story, is to dig into the why and the how I am happier in this moment than any other times in my adult life.  Much of this has come from yoga, can’t lie.  From yoga I have learned to quiet my crazy-ass mind, let go of all forms of peer pressure, mean girls and keeping up with the Jones’, and try to understand that I am absolutely in control of how I live my life – learning to choose to be happy versus waiting for it to happen….  I practice every day living in the moment – not the past and not the future.  Being present is the greatest gift the tumor has given me, and my yoga practice, teachers and community have put the light on this blessing.

I suppose I am a scientist at heart because I am constantly trying to understand the “why”…..Why does yoga work? Why am I ok?  Why do some people thrive and others barely survive?  What have I done right and what have I done wrong?

It may be as simple as one word.  Love.  Choosing Love.  Showing Love.  Practicing Love.  Being Love.

I’ve seen it work.  I have sat with the lost in our society – the broken, the poor, the homeless, the sick.  Many do not remember the impact of an monetary gift I have given them. A website of resources or a gift of technology is important, but not life changing.  It is not life changing because it is nothing without a human connection.

Over and over people respond to and appreciate one thing.  Love.  This is without exception.

The loving gift of time.  The loving gift of concern.  The loving gift of friendship. The loving gift of honesty.  The loving gift of authenticity.  The loving gift of our shared humanity.

People respond to Love.

And here is the other truth.  No one can give Love to another without fully first Loving herself, her life, her truth…..completely.  It doesn’t work otherwise.  And maybe that is why the world is so sad.  We have forgotten how to Love the most important person in our lives – our self.

“The great compassionate souls always take their overflow of sorrow and turn it into love.” – Elizabeth Gilbert

Below is a piece I wrote awhile ago about our journey…. it was, ironically, published this morning on kindness blog…..in case you want to keep reading….

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I HAVE A CLEAR CUT DIVIDING LINE IN MY LIFE.

39 YEARS ON ONE SIDE – 5 YEARS ON THE OTHER.

My husband’s {inoperable and incurable} brain tumor has been the greatest blessing I have ever received. Let me say it again – his brain tumor is my BLESSING. I know this with 100% certainty – I have never been so full of joy and happiness. Right here and right now. Oh, let me clear one thing up from the start. I am not in denial nor am I deluded. If you can let that suspicion go, the story means more.

We were sailing right along until…we weren’t.

Two amazing kids, happy and healthy, a ridiculously lovable yellow lab, a house on the best street in my favorite neighborhood, a career I loved, loads of friends and family – all that was missing was the proverbial white picket fence.

Life was easy shmeasy.

I DIDN’T REALLY REALIZE WHAT I HAD. FEW DO.

There are always annoyances and challenges to consume our minds and to divert our attention. It’s the rub for us all, isn’t it? It takes a jolt to see what’s right in front of us. I surely got mine.

I will never forget my pivotal moment – the one that woke me from my despair and truly brought more light into my life that I could ever have imagined. Sitting on our sofa together soon after the biopsy of the tumor, Eric and I had tears streaming down our faces (I am sure I had snot running down my chin, too- I am an ugly crier that surpasses all other ugly criers. Trust me. It would make you want to look away)

We both were thinking the same thing….

Struggling to choke out the words…

We are so blessed.

We were beautifully overcome by gratitude for what we had. We had love and support and spiritual nourishment and physical nourishment and kindness and concern… We had it all, and we were finally able to see it.

Never again, not one moment, has it been about what we don’t have or what has been taken away or what may happen in the future.

THE JOY I HAVE HAS TAKEN FIVE YEARS TO CULTIVATE. I PRACTICE. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

My joy, my life will never be perfect – it never has been. The difference now is that I don’t work towards an unattainable {and undesirable} goal. I thank God, the universe, the f-d up piece of DNA in my husband’s brain…. for giving me life.

We handle the f-ing brain tumor (FGlioma has become our mantra, our power) as the most trivial and meaningless aspect of our life. It doesn’t have power over us – in fact we have sapped it of all of its power by laughing at it, ridiculing it, using it for change and good and happiness, sharing with others our lessons through this journey….. it is weak and we are strong.

I need my children to know that life is beautiful

in the face of adversity and, no matter what, we get up.

It has been five years since I heard the words

“There is a mass in your husband’s brain…we need to get him to the Neuro ICU”.

These have been the five most difficult and yet rewarding years of my life. I have failed many times. MANY times. I’ve failed in how I handle my emotions, my husband, my children, my relationships with friends and family….. I have spent time being busy – so very busy – just to stop thinking. I have spent hours wasted on Netflix, escaping my reality. I have ignored even the simplest of tasks like returning a text or phone call. I left my job of 12 years and felt the overwhelming terror of filling the hours of the day by myself. I’ve cried. I’ve raged. I’ve been irrational and snarky and pissed.

BUT ABOVE ALL ELSE I HAVE COME TO A PLACE WHERE I AM HAPPY JUST TO BE RIGHT HERE IN THIS VERY MOMENT.

I am so thankful for my family and friends who love and understand unconditionally; for everyone following this journey and offering thoughts, prayers, and intentions; for a sense of humor that is the ONLY thing that makes life remotely tolerable; for my sacred yoga practice and community – my teachers and role models who have given me gifts that are truly magical; for my blessed and privileged life that allows me to follow my heart and passion.

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Author Bio: Trish Rohr is a writer :: avid reader :: nonprofit founder :: yogi

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Also see Rohr Rockstars.

Pope Frances – He Had Me at Little Black Fiat

I have been on a Pope binge.  I am absolutely mesmerized by this holy, joyful man.  I must admit that I have spent more time immersing myself in #PopeinUS than I would have predicted.  As a #masseverydamnweek Catholic, the Pope comes up from time to time….

I vividly remember when Pope John Paul II (or JP2 as my beloved Father Frank would say) died.  At the time my kids were 5 and 3 1/2  and we were in the throws of transitioning from the Family Mass (i.e. Mass Chaos) in the school cafeteria to the service in the church. There were several full-color, HUGE pictures of JP2 placed around the outside entries to the church as well as inside.  My beautiful 3 1/2-year old boy would yell, literally, every time he saw that picture of the old man in a bright red cape, “He’s Dead!”  Over and over and over again. Boy oh boy did he embrace the Pope’s passing. 

We eventually moved on to the crucifix and Jesus … prompting a slightly more embarrassing proclamation at random moments during the actual Mass….chubby fingers pointed straight ahead, connecting the dots – that guy too, the one on the cross, was also…dead.  Awesome.

I fell into a bit of a Pope vacuum after that, certainly hearing the rumblings and goings-on as any good Catholic would, but not really seeing the magic unfolding.  Until Tuesday.

He had me at Little Black Fiat.

The joy and excitement from my go-to channel for binge watching any “Breaking News”, CNN, has been unprecedented.  Wednesday morning Chris Cuomo was giddy, at one point yelling off camera “Papa Francesco! Papa Francesco!”to the passing motorcade.  Wolf has been less arrogant (and clearly less knowledgeable as he was pointed out to NOT be Catholic several times so far by his colleagues – hilarious) and Don Lemon has been, well, almost tolerable.  It is refreshing.  We are witnessing history AND it is completely devoid of negativity.  None.

His smile is contagious.  His warmth awe-inspiring. His white cape refreshingly simple and carefully replaced each time the breeze folds it over….

It was then that I noticed…him.  The handler.  Of the Pope.  The Pope’s handler.

 The Pope’s Gary Walsh

A few steps to the side, head slightly bowed, full devotion to all things Selina… err …Pope.  The Papal Cape folds over, he is there, smoothing it down.  The Pope is thirsty, he knows it and has a glass ready and waiting.  A small whisper here, a dismissive hand gesture there…. As Gary once said to Selina Meyer, “I’m your calendar, I’m your Google, I’m your Wilson the volleyball” (confused?  well, that is because you are out of the loop and not watching an incredibly funny show on HBO – VEEP.  check it out and catch up)

I had to know –  who IS this guy and what, exactly, is his job?

Monsignor Guido Marini is his name.  Being the Master of Papal Ceremonies and Liturgical Celebrations is his game.  And it is NOT his first Papal Rodeo – Marini held onto his job even through the Benedict – Frances transition.  I suspect Pope Benedict provided more opportunity to express the flashier side of papal tradition.  It is rumored that when Frances was first introduced as Pope he was presented with the traditional fur-trimmed, red cape.  He then turned to his Gary and said, “Thank you.  You may wear it if you like. The carnival is over.”

True or not, I know one thing.  Monsignor Guido takes his job seriously just look at his face.  He is a no-nonsense Gary.  He rarely smiles.  He did falter in NYC when Bishop Dolan bestowed the regal title of a “true New Yorker” on the Pope during the Prayer Service.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  Maybe there was an inside joke there between the him and the Pope….

There has to be more to this mysterious man with the eagle eye and smooth gestures of command.   I can’t help but wonder – is he Pope Francis’ “bag-man” just like Gary Walsh?  While I actually haven’t seen the bag per se, whose to say it isn’t under the cassock of this devoted and serious man?  Hand sanitizer, Chapstick, crackers….what does the Pope need?  Perhaps a spare zucchetto? Extra incense? A Metro pass?

The Pope’s Gary is the careful orchestrator of the pomp and circumstance and the keeper of all tradition.  I wonder what the other Monsignors say behind his back?  Is he seen as the consummate Papal suck up in the halls of the Vatican?  He is a Monsignor, that’s true, but now what?  Where do you go after being the Papal Cruise Director?

There is one thing I think I do know – Papa Francesco is a stand alone kind of guy.  Sure, he has a Gary.  But he doesn’t need no stinking Gary.  Just like he doesn’t need the red shoes, the red cape, the big apartment….how refreshing is that?

So Bravo Pope Francis! Your time here thus far has been worth every minute.  You have blessed this country with a firm message of tolerance, love, humanity, humility and respect for all.  I’ll be tuned in for the second half of your journey – and this time I won’t be so distracted by your Gary.

“In a word, if we want security, let us give security; if we want life, let us give life; if we want opportunities, let us provide opportunities.” – Pope Frances – Speech to Congress – September 2015

war stories and a field of dreams

My daughter is doing a literary criticism of a novel for her 10th grade World History class, All Quiet on the Western Front.  I have been so long removed from the beauty of reading and interpreting  literature I had almost forgot how compelling it is to pick apart a story to get to the core, the heart, the soul of what the writer wanted you to know.  It is taxing work, it is a skill to be built, and it is something that requires a level of thinking and connection and interpretation and self exploration that I am not sure we (I) do enough.  It is too easy to hear the story, read about the characters, take in the action and be done.  But there is more to the story – there is always more to the story.

This particular novel explores war and its impact on the psyche of men.  Deep.  It has also be labeled an anti-war novel, a depiction so graphic and disturbing it should do nothing but to inspire us to end all war.  It’s so damn interesting isn’t it? War.  Violence.  Human failings.  I fall into the CNN time suck trap every time…the suspense, the intrigue, the unknown…. I want to peek into the darkness, darkness I pray never comes close to my family, my life, my peace.  I watch in fascination, disbelief, horror.  These are men (and sometimes women) orchestrating drama on a world-wide stage.  The story is certainly one to be told – for the victims – but I know we do not pay enough attention to what these stories should be telling us.  I don’t pay enough attention because it is easy to watch the drama unfold and then change the channel.  And it is the changing of the channel that keeps us from the message…..

I am coming up on the 5 year anniversary of the biggest plot twist in my life.  It is also the 10 year anniversary of an event that I did not, for reasons I am still figuring out, twist my plot enough.  I changed the channel.  Probably because I could, like most things in life.  It is the events that have no other channels, those are the ones that give us opportunities to go deeper, look more closely, find the meaning to the story.

My plot twist happened in the bleachers at a little league baseball field…my greatest moments since have happened watching those same boys play for the next 4 summers.  What little league has given my family, the opportunities to find the good stories and life lessons in so many ways, was worth digging deeper.  When we faced making some serious decisions about treatment, we chose to see what our story was teaching us, and it led us right back to those little league fields for a summer never to be forgotten.  A summer of life-long friendships, of love and support, of winning and losing (mostly winning because we knew how to lose as winners), pride and accomplishment, sportsmanship…. It was as if we were all there to find the greater story – the one that happens on a baseball field when 9 boys play a game that is capable of creating suspense and excitement on the scale of (and exceeding in so many ways) of any sensational story on CNN.   This game, this league, this channel….it can only be played on the peace of a baseball field.  It is the anti-war, the anti-plot twist….. 9 young boys making peace more interesting.  THAT is the channel I want to watch.

Today at 3 pm the US Little League Champions (not only from my home state of PA, but also from little ‘ole York County!!) will take on the International Champions from Japan.  You don’t have to love baseball or Little League to appreciate this story…the insurmountable odds that brought these boys to this stadium in beautiful rural PA, the teamwork that MUST exist to be a ball team of this level, the lessons and love that come from playing a game the right way, for the right reasons.  Tune in.  Look for the story.  Give this pure and peaceful story the attention we give to the war stories in our life.  I can guarantee what you uncover is better.

Elvis, Kasie and one hell of a Death Week.

Moving to Memphis, TN at 23 years old was an eye-opening experience in many ways.  Sure, this “Yankee girl” had spent some time in the south – Charlotte, Charleston, Savannah…. but those places are the “east coast” south.  A fair amount of outside influences have soften the edges, rubbed clean the old and replaced with some shiny new parts.  Still genteel, still outlandishly hospitable with unbelievable food, yet somehow softer.  More open.  Breezy.  Very different from THE South.  THE South feels closed off.  Amid all of the wonderful southern traditions there is a layer of old pride.  It is stubborn, stifling, mysterious.  Always a bit mysterious…..

We arrived in Memphis during The Firm era.  The parallel of our arrival – a young banker joining the ranks of the long-standing financial institution – was never lost on us.  It wasn’t long after arriving, and already being called a damn Yankee by a very serious older {gentle}man, that the ultimate pop culture, mind-blowing event began to unfold right before our eyes.

Subtle at first, it was more of a hidden secret that slowly unfolded into the greatest people watching spectacle I could have ever imagined.  I had already seen a lot – Beale Street, Tunica Mississippi casinos, hole in the wall barbecue joints …I had even seen Graceland.  On a “regular” weekend.

The celebration of the death of Elvis takes over Memphis for an unbelievable amount of time.  10 days.  TEN DAYS.  The most loyal fans humanity has to offer come into the city happy as a puppy with two tails.  They are ready to pay homage to The King of Rock and Roll in ways you can only imagine. Sure, Elvis impersonators and blue suede shoes are the imagines that come to mind, but trust me when I say that seeing an entire family – babies through the granddaddy – pour out of van dressed in various forms of Elvis takes it all to a new level.

Elvis sets the standard in celebrations of the dead.

Never in a million years would I expect to have my own death week…my own surreal remembrance of someone who I call The Awesome Girl for so many reasons.  Every August, always aligned with the start of the school year, I find myself going back to 2005, tracking 7 days on the calendar that forever changed my life in ways I am still understanding.  I am religious about it.  My Death Week is marked Day 1, Day 2…and there is nothing in the word that keeps me from remembering, as best as I can anyway.   Truly, for the trauma of the events that unfolded, I remember far more than I ever thought I would.  And thank GOD I do because it is my way of honoring a woman who I loved and admired deeply.  Some say I torture myself emotionally, reliving details, walking around on the verge of tears….but how else do you handle the loss of a BFF?  At 32.  With a 2 year old.  And pregnant with Baby Elizabeth.  Who had a husband and a career and friends and family….. It is not torture – It is an honor.

It has now been 10 years.  Nine times I have walked this memory path with Kasie’s family and friends.  What I have realized is that the memories of that week are sacred to me.  What the week brought to Phil, Kasie’s parents and family…..it is truly incomprehensible.

I know now that losing Kasie holds more for me than just a tragedy and a yearly death week.  Much like Kasie there is beauty and love and magic….there is loyalty, humor, and just a bit of insanity in these memories.

This story, Kasie’s story, has been sitting on my keyboard just waiting to be shared, for years.  When I allowed myself to take the risk and share my family’s journey on a blog, it was only from drawing strength from Kasie.  She was a risk taker, a believer in herself, a cheerleader for her loved ones and friends….she would have said to me “Do this girl!  It will be AWESOME!!”  And I am starting to believe she may just be right.  But perhaps it isn;t my story alone….perhaps it is OUR story that should be shared.

Tonight we are going to celebrate the memory of a remarkable woman – someone who lived life with enthusiasm, believed in the pure gold value of family and friends, loved her son the tater tot to the moon and back…..someone who deserves more than anyone (even Elvis, King of Rock and Roll) her own Death Week.  Maybe we will come in sundresses found at Marshall’s for a song (ok, maybe not Bobby…wait…that would be hysterical!!)…..we will most certainly all come with love and daisies in our heart.

It’s time to talk about Kasie and the lessons she gives freely to all of us every single day.  She deserves nothing less.

Love you girl!

Back to School :: RR Style

Certain times of the year are absolutely worth the price of admission on Facebook.  These yearly milestones make scrolling through all of the vacation pictures of painted toes poised in front of a blue ocean, crazy political rants, exercise recountings and food selfies well, (more) tolerable.   Shiny faces and shiny shoes, new backpacks filled with clean paper, inky markers and bright pink erasers.  Usually pictures snapped on the front porch or driveway, bright smiles ready to tackle a new year.  One of the few times I would say more is more in terms of sharing.  Ok, and new babies.  New babies need to be shared. A Lot.

Nostalgia creeps in for me… I spent 15 years waiting in my shiny clean classroom to greet the kiddoes in those pictures.  I can promise you that even quasi-grumpy 8th graders feel the excitement for a fresh start.

And that’s what it is, right… a fresh start?  A chance to be a new you.  An 8th grader – 7th grader left far behind.  Maybe there will be new friendships or better grades, or a chance to sit at a different table in the cafeteria.  Have you ever put your hand up to an old school TV screen and felt the tingly zingy field of electrical …something.  (is it static electricity?  yikes!  I feel like I should know that…)  That feeling, almost intangible but still there, crackly and alive…that’s the first day feeling at school (in case you have forgotten or haven’t had the privilege to be an adult looking in).  It is fleeting….8 hours max.  The next time the clocks read 8 am the feeling is different – more normal.  It’s special because it doesn’t last….but it does leave an imprint of hope for the next time….the next fresh start.

Last week I spent the evening at the St. Jude Affiliate Clinic at Novant Hemby Children’s Hospital (lordy – what a cumbersome name) meeting with families of pediatric sickle cell patients and helping everyone get excited about going back to school.  I don’t have the words to describe the size of the hearts of the people who work in this special place….I am so humbled that they have allowed me and RR to stand with them in service to these very special families and kids.  Every sickle cell patient was invited to come and fill a new backpack with brand new school supplies.  I deeply appreciated my peeps who donated school supplies – for many of these families what they received last week will be the only items going to school with the kids on Monday when CMS begins.

It is not only about the tangible pencils and erasers….it is the hope that comes with a fresh start.  It is letting the kiddoes and parents know that there are people cheering them on.  Parents were given sheets that explained sickle cell and its special needs to be given to the new teachers, and we talked a lot about making the school year a success from day 1.  Guess what was also there?  That tingly zingy feeling of going back to school….  I saw big smiles, talked about favorite subjects (science of course), and lots big plans for the year…. I can say it was probably among the best hours of my summer.

September is both Pediatric Cancer Awareness as well as Sickle Cell Awareness Month – we couldn’t be more excited to celebrate all of our ROCKSTARS!!!

While still under construction, we would love you to visit http://www.rohrrockstars.org and keep up with the amazing kiddoes we support and share in our commitment to nurturing the minds of all children who face an extended illness so they can walk confidently and optimistically through their journey as life long learners.

Let me not die while I am still alive (Hebrew paryer)

I’m never quite sure when the days will come when my body and soul simply needs to cry….I am pretty sure I don’t sit down and write when they do.  Today I am going to type through the tears…

Nothing is wrong, yet really everything is wrong and somehow, unbelievably, all is right.  I am raw and vulnerable and affected by so much going on in the world and my life and it became time to take a day and simply cry over it all.  It doesn’t happen often, it usually takes days if not weeks to build, and I have learned to be kind to myself and let it wash over me when it needs to.  It is one small way I have learned to truly take care of myself over the past four and a half years.  Before I would have tried to stop the tears, berated myself for lingering too long in a sad space, pushed and pushed to hide the emotions, tears and puffy eyes.  No more.  Life IS this hard.  Not just for me but for everyone.  I have learned to sit in this place of being overwhelmed and sad and confused.  Just sit.  Let it come.  Breathe.  Because I also know it will go in time.

How can I even begin to put into words my world and all the overwhelming pieces….I’m not sure I can.  Ironically, the part of me that is most likely to be the source of tears isn’t.  And a lot of it isn’t even bad and is in fact great…and great, when contrasted with hardships, can often be an emotional and overwhelming place.

I continue to be truly humbled, and puzzled, by the gifts the Universe delivers to my door each and every day.  I just chuckled because right now my front porch is literally full of wonderful school supplies that thoughtful, kind-hearted teachers gathered and passed along as the school year wrapped up.  Actual gifts entrusted to me to be passed on to the children they are reaching out to.  On my porch…

I finished a 5 month yoga teacher training that has been nothing short of life altering.  And I thought I was doing pretty good in the enlightened and living department…..oh how far I have to go.  And what a beautiful path to walk with beautiful souls all around me.  That gift, the one I took a chance on 5 years ago to lose a little bit of grief around the middle, has turned out to be my holy space.  Talk about no words…..yoga, my yoga space, my yoga soul mates, my yoga teachers….saviors in the greatest sense of the word.

I have been working as hard as I ever have in my life to realize my dreams of changing lives through education.  Doors have been opened, opportunities presented, proposals made.  I have more possibilities in many ways I never dreamed possible.  I have also seen doors closed.  I continue to marvel at how often my passion and desire and committment to big changes can be viewed as “too much”.  Maybe it is way the world trudges along even when change is so desperatly needed.  That fear of being too big.  I can think of three times in my life that another’s words or an experience could have slowed me down for good.  Once presenting a graduate paper to a group of professors (my professor signed me up in the wrong category – clearly not my peers!) and I was torn apart both during and after the session.  I could have stopped right there and believed that I went too far.  That my ideas were wrong.  Sure, there was embarrassment and some tears…and then a whole lot of laughter.  The second experience as working at my first “real job” and having my supervisor, at every turn, take time to let me know how little potential she believed I had.  The best comment was when she told me I simply was not a “big picture thinker” and never would be.  Ouch.  20+ years later I still stew over that and would go toe to toe with her any day on big picture thinking….  My last experience came just a few weeks ago in a meeting sharing my passion to change how we look at education, and specifically how we can address some very serious problems through work in healthcare organizations.  I was on fire that day – articulate, passionate, dedicated.  I was not intimidated by the accomplished man across the table in the big office on the top floor.  I approached this meeting as his peer (which I very much am, despite whatever notion he brought to the table that day).  Actually I am pretty sure he did not feel the same about me.  I suspect, in retrospect, he was expecting a PWW (priviledged white woman) who managed to get a meeting through connections and was going to politely ask for a bit of support for her little project at the local hospital.  We were not on the same page.  After my passion and excitement wrapped up, his response was to tell me. “You have a lot of audacity walking into my office like this today.”  Could. Not. Breathe.  In fact I was stunned for days…..I could have been silenced.  I could have toned things down. I could have tried to tame my audacious nature and passion for children.  Instead I chose to go, hard, in the other direction.  So some tears today come from a lot of hard work towards a goal I am committed to achieving.  Audacious?  Maybe.  Going to happen?  Hell yes.

I have had a huge heavy grieving heart as well.  Life is so hard and I ache for those I know who are having to dig deep for strength to rise each and every day.  Some have lost mothers, others fathers.  Cancer has taken far too many too soon and is making families battle in ways and in spaces I know they could never have imagined being in.  In the past I would have tried not to take on these emotional packages, thinking they didn’t belong to me.  They actually DO belong to each and every one of us.  We should feel for others.  We should cry when people are raw and open and hurting.  Just as we rejoice in others success (let’s do more of that too, ok?) we should feel the pain of other’s journeys.  Wrap that energy around them – even if you don’t know them.  Offer your prayer, your intention, your energy, your presence, your tears….offer that to the world.  See what happens when that compassion is allowed to grow in your heart.  So what if you lose a few minutes to the tears?  Those tears may be creating space for something new in you….like flowing water that shapes the Earth, let’s look at our tears as ways to shape our own hearts.

My own tears are gone now.  I feel lighter.  I sat with my joys and my heartaches today.  I grew.

If you have not read Sheryl Sandburg’s latest post on FB I URGE you to read it.  It was one of the many things that made me step back today. give myself space and time and ready myself and heart for the journey of tomorrow.

cece the rockstar and the cost of making an imprint on someone’s life … we can (and must) afford it

$12.36

by my estimation that is what it took for me to begin my imprint-making last week.  outrageous for a single scoop of ice cream and a chocolate sundae?  maybe.  the outcome, the imprint, is worth so very much more.  (what’s an imprint….read here)

a few weeks ago i was re-introduced to a family i have known for years.  just like the rest of us except for two things – sweet kiddoe cece had cancer 2 years ago and now her dad is in his own fight against the very same disease.  right. totally unfair.  crazy strong family.

a second grade cancer diagnosis  of juvenile granulosa cell tumor- stage 1.  clicking back through the family’s journey beginning in march 2013, i remember admiring their strength and dignity…the support and love they have is immense.  it turns out that dear sweet cece, 2 years after surgery to remove her tumor, has a little bit on her mind.  she is healthy, thriving, smart, funny….. but she needs something else.

it’s a lot to carry on a little ones shoulders (and add in the anxiety and worry about her dad…geesh).  i know from our family experience that, no matter how great the outlook and how normal life can be, all four of us are silently praying all the time. that is more than childhood is meant to be. i do believe, with 100% of my heart and soul, that these journeys, although tragic and hard and unfair, can be opportunities for all of us to become better.  i never intended to create a nonprofit.  it was not the path i was on.  but when that cancer diagnosis hit, and i looked at my two babies, more than anything i knew i needed them to know that we can guarantee more good will come of this than any bad.  cancer will never ever win because we are better and stronger in our souls. my mission in life shifted to ensure that my rockstars, my new friend cece, and all of the children who face any type of extended illness, have a chance to live (a child’s life) and love (themselves) and win (by becoming the best they can be).

cece’s favorite part of the pediatric floor at sloan kettering- a quilt with inspiring messages of hope

cece is in remission – clear scans (whoop whoop).  i met her at school for our ice cream date and immediately hugged her tight as if we were old buddies.  we both knew this was true on some level i think.  cece goes to the best school i can ever imagine, and it just happens to be the school my children attend and the one where i spent 12 years as a faculty member.  maybe i am biased.  let me tell you that at the heart of this school is the common mission that everything is done with the purpose of what is best for each and every individual child.  every child is known.  THAT is what i call an outstanding education.  THAT is what every child in this country deserves.  THAT is what we should be demanding from every school.  THAT is what i am hell bent and determined to make happen through Rohr Rockstars.  (y’all if you knew what i know about how our schools “deal with” children facing extended illness, you would be getting fired up as well!!!)

so cece has a lot going on in that beautiful head of hers and she wants to be heard on a few items.  she is not different.  that is number one.  she is not different.  maybe that she loves chocolate would be number two :).  oh and that she will be a famous actress some day.  after those two very important items she wants to share that cancer has not changed her.  she is cece.  that’s it.  not cece who had cancer.  not cece who went to ny for treatment.  not cece who was diagnosed in second grade.  she is, quite simply, cece.  bright.  (she HATES that people think that somehow cancer made her not smart anymore….ugh.  heartbreak.)  loving.  creative.  energetic. a book lover (fantasy is her preferred genre).  she is…cece.

i didn’t have to do anything other than eat ice cream, listen, understand, laugh …. that was enough.  a special person just for her, just cece.  the beginning of an imprint – on both of us. we parted ways with another hug, a plan to stay in touch, and a big braces filled toothy grin with a few chocolate sprinkles as a reminder of our time together.

want to learn more about rohr rockstars and our mission to nurture the minds of children facing extended illness?  visit us here at http://www.rohrrockstars.org

i’m horrified….are you? :: PWW wants to know when we will actually DO something

yesterday a very sweet friend of mine suggested an organization i may want to look at being a part of here in our city.  it’s a new organization with a lofty mission and one that certainly aligns with the work i am doing (and will do more of).  just in case anyone is a part of this group, let me first say – bravo for taking the first step.  nothing happens without a first step.  but i hope, more than anything, there is a second step.  because the second step is the dirty, ugly, messy HARD step.

opportunity.  what does it look it?  who gets it?  is it fairly distributed?

my thoughts…it looks like confidence in one’s self and abilities built on a strong education.

everyone gets it (but not equally and not with that confidence component).

it is not fairly distributed.  no, absolutely positively not.

here is my horror – a study out of UC Berkeley and Harvard recently showed that in the US, the likelihood of escaping poverty, dubbed upward mobility, is varied.  There appear to be pockets of “opportunity” scattered here and there.  But offsetting these, in my opinion, are the areas where the upward mobility rates – the chance a child has to escape poverty –  are LOWER than any developed country for which data are currently available.   guess who is at the bottom of the list when studying the 50 largest urban areas…..

1 San Jose, CA 12.9%  ….. 50 Charlotte, NC 4.4%

look at that again.  there it is…..beautiful charlotte.  proud charlotte.  pristine, genteel, hospitable charlotte.  OUR charlotte?

from this study there were five correlative factors that impacted social mobility opportunities – segregation (still?  ummmmm YES), income inequality (look around friends – this is obvious), local school quality (ah-hem), social capital, (haves and have nots….yep) and family structure (yes, this can be mitigated in my opinion)

wow.  ouch, right?  so basically if you are born poor in charlotte you are far more likely to remain in poverty ….

does that make you as sick as it does me???

i have read 100s of research-based and scholarly articles that connect various factors with different measures of success….i can confidently say that over and over again the results point to education as a key for a child’s future.  holy cow don’t we know this by now???  don’t we all believe this???  haven’t we all been told this by our parents and our grandparents??  we pick which neighborhood to live in based on school districts for goodness sakes or spend lots of money to ensure our children get it!

and you know why, right?  because we are PWW.  we aren’t escaping poverty.  it isn’t us.  we are there.  and we should be the ones doing something about it.

here is the dirty, ugly, messy HARD step…..  it takes action to bring about imprints (huh?  imprint?  you mean impact?  nope…. catch yourself up here)

i know and i have seen it is all about the power of connection.  human to human.  mouth to ear.  trusted partners.  hand in hand.  this is not some yoga-soaked ideal commemorated in a trendy font with a sunrise as the background.  this is real work. and real work will bring real imprints.

so what do we do?  find a point of connection.  make a connection.  build a connection.  maintain a connection.

and in those four seemingly simple steps are a lot of ways to go wrong….  but in those four simple steps is the power to do something to change what we know to be true.

i’m doing it.  i’ll keep telling you about how i am doing it.  i’ll share the stories that show the work.  and then YOU need to find your path.

let’s go.

impact? what about an imprint….

i’m not great at keeping secrets – especially big juicy exciting secrets like this one.  knowing the impact of today – the impact on the charlotte community, the patients at novant and families from other parts of the southeast – it was almost more than i could hold on to.

as i sat in the audience, i looked around and saw passionate, dedicated people coming together to bring the very best in healthcare to the youngest patients being served.  under the bright white tent with a picture perfect carolina blue sky, there were world-renowned pediatric oncologists, hospital administrators, and loving nurses, child life specialists and social workers .  we all shared a common mission, no matter what our role – we all aim to improve the lives and the futures of children facing cancer and other illnesses.

no one spoke about impact or numbers or funding.

the message was HOPE.  plain and simple.  HOPE.  hope for the future in pediatric healthcare; hope for families caring for a sick child; hope for the future for all of those affected by cancer and other illnesses.  the announcement of the partnership between st jude children’s research hospital and novant health is a perfect joining of two remarkable institutions, now aligned to bring the very best in pediatric cancer research and medicine to charlotte.

it is an honor when your own hard work and passion brings you to a place where you can witness the success of others.  especially when your own wheels seem to be mired down in nonprofit mud and straining to gain traction.

i always thought making an impact was exactly the type of thing i wanted to do.  i told myself that if i am going to do this, it is going to be big.  i set my sights on making an impact that is game changing  and earth shattering.  i wanted my impact to be something that changes the game, shifts the course, disrupts the norm.  i am not the type of person to dream small – both a blessing and a curse I have learned.  but you know what?  i have changed my mind.  i don’t want to make an impact.

i don’t want to define my impact, measure my impact, chart my impact, report my impact, refine my impact, quantify (or qualify) my impact.  i don’t want to defend my impact, project my impact, scale my impact or replicate my impact.

i don’t want to make an impact.

i am going to make an imprint instead.

an imprint is made by connection.  an imprint lasts.  an imprint is visible.  an imprint takes time.

an imprint is something bestowed from one to another. an imprint is fixed firmly in the mind.

an imprint is the work of the heart and soul to nurture the heart and soul of another.

to change the way we educate children – especially the children i serve who face the struggles of a chronic illness – will take making an imprint.

so the next time i am asked what impact RR will have on the world of education, my response will be that impacts may be neatly measurable  but imprints change lives.

An Open Letter to Jim Cantore During Your Charlotte Visit

Jim!
I am just so thrilled to hear that you will be visiting the Queen City to experience the southern snow storm with us! The city welcomes you with open arms, and I wanted to be sure to introduce myself and take a moment to personally welcome you to Charlotte.

For well over a decade I taught middle school students science at Charlotte Country Day. I am 100% confidant that if you asked any one of the 1000s of kiddoes I taught who I admired most on TV they would all say Jim Cantore! Your enthusiasm, my friend, is unparalleled and was always something I wanted my students to experience as much as they could. Today would have been one of those magical teaching days when I would have thrown the lesson plan out the window, tuned into The Weather Channel, and spent the entire day watching, predicting, and most of all getting over-the-moon excited about the weather. It is the love of learning – the sheer amazement and joy of our world – that I always wanted them to leave with.

So, I would love to offer my street to you and your crew as a place to broadcast. We are lovely friendly folks with experience hosting this sort of thing. Homeland filmed on our street and I must say we are quite a fun bunch. Y’all are more than welcome – we would love to have you.

I would also like to mention that we share the trait of unbridled enthusiasm …. I am guessing any one of my peeps would echo that loud and clear. And by no means do I mean this with disrespect, but I do think I could give you a run for your money in the weather excitement department.

I have since left my teaching job at CCDS to start my own nonprofit with a mission of nurturing the minds of children facing extended illness. At the heart of my work, and the work of my organization, is the commitment to provide opportunities for these children to explore and find their own passion – the thing that lights their fire and gets them so jazzed up (you know, like thundersnow)

Anyway, the door is open! Charlotte and I welcome you and look forward to visiting more soon

Xo
Trish

Retraction :: Original 2015 Intentions SUCKED so I made some new ones….

I don’t even know where to begin today….

I think the best place to start is to retract, on some level, my previous new year’s post  (go ahead – read it here if you haven’t already – Living 2015 )  It was soft.  It sounded….squishy.  My voice is in there, somewhere, but it was way, WAY too nice.  Here is the thing – all of my intentions are great for me.  They are.  But where is the challenge, the inspiration, the kick in the ass that I really want to give?  Not in that post.  Not for myself and not for you.  So I am giving myself a re-do.

Here is what I really want to say:

IT IS TIME TO WAKE THE EFF UP AND FIGHT LIKE HELL FOR YOURSELF AND OTHERS!

Let me see if I can pull this together for you…

Stuart Scott was a familiar voice to me since ESPN is basically on permanent play around here, and I never gave him much thought until last year at the ESPY awards.  It was a powerful speech made even more so because it hit so close to home.   And so so SO sadly I didn’t think about him much again until the news of his death a few days ago.  Shame on me.  You know why?  Because what he said in that speech is IT.  Those words, so very powerful in the moment, faded.  We moved on with our lives…. and so did he until he couldn’t any longer.

We are incredibly lucky to live in a world FULL of second chances.

Now his words are everywhere – Pinterest and Facebook and Instagram – powerful words spoken by a powerful man 6 months ago.  We resurrected his spirit – AWESOME!  Let’s not let that spirit fade again.

This is my favorite image from the many I have seen.  First it gives the WHOLE quote, which is important, and it also shows what is in his heart, even MORE important.

Do you see what is written on his arms?  Look closely.  2 things.

1. Kicking Cancer’s Ass
2. Making  a Difference

Kicking Cancer’s Ass.  Yes, sir, you sure did.  Every damn day that it did not control your mind or your thoughts or your heart.

Making a Difference.  Amen brother!  Every damn day you turned your focus on others it was unable to control your mind or your thoughts or your heart.

Playing teacher now….

Read his quote.  The whole quote.  Now what if we changed the word cancer to whatever you have in your heart that is the sludge, the regret, the guilt, the boredom, the FEAR?  Make this quote yours.  Not an easy thing to do, I know.  It’s hard to look in that dark place.  It hurts.  You might cry or feel overwhelmed.  Boy, I hope you do because it is the only way to see that truth.  I am going to crack open that dark place of mine for you….

When I die, it will not mean that I lost any part of my life to the anxiety of being a caregiver to a husband with cancer.  I beat my anxiety by the way I lived, why I lived and how I lived.  So I am going to live.  Live!  I am going to fight like hell.  When I get tired, I will lay down and rest and I will let someone else fight for me.

Can you do it?  Can you now write it down? (oooh, that makes it even harder)  Can you write it down and save it somewhere?  (harder still)  Can you say it out loud to someone else? (ouch!  stop!)

I look around and see SO much more that I want to do.  Right now I can fight, and I can fight like hell.

I cannot even begin to list all the reasons why I can do this, want to do this and I should do it…..but they are the same reasons as you I suspect…. privilege, education, intelligence, privilege, talent, confidence, privilege……

My challenge for us this year is to never again forget the words of this man, and other men and women, that speak directly to our souls.  Words are the most powerful tool we have to change, to grow, to inspire, to heal, to nurture.  And when those words are backed by sincerity and energy and action – holy shit we might just be able to change the world.

Now THAT is a New Year’s post!

(By the way I MUST say thank you to one of my inner circle peeps – Anne S. – for basically calling me out last night.  She told me she was waiting to see what I had to say about 2015 (good LORD the pressure).  I told her my heart wasn’t really in that post at all.  Her response “Yeah, I know.  I could tell.”  Ka POW!)

Living 2015.

I’ve never been one for resolutions in a new year.  Even four years removed from the classroom, my rhythm still resonates with the beginning and ending of the school year – that’s when I feel fresh and new and full of opportunity.  Personally I think it is hard to get too jazzed up about much when the holiday hangover sets in, the house needs un-decorated and the skies are mostly gray.  We are all tired – December has taken its toll.  For me it is always worth the price, definitely.  But to set forth and embark on a massive life overhaul….no thanks.  I really just want the kids to go back to school 🙂

I am going to play the resolution game a little bit this year.  Not because it is necessarily a fresh start, but really because I need something to write about (joking) (kinda).  I have decided that I am going to look at 2015 as if it is the start of a new school year – new calendar, new notebooks, new pens.  My intentions for this year come straight from the lessons I learned in middle school classrooms.

I loved that space so much…the energy, the angst, the learning, the failing, the push and pull of adolescence.  It was my space and my world to create for the kids.  I set the tone every single day.  If the lesson was boring (and I admit that maybe ionic and covalent bonding doesn’t speak to everyone’s heart…) and I chose to believe it is boring…well then heaven help me, it would be boring.  The kids would sense that energy (even Ms. Rohr thinks this is bogus) and honestly it would be a nightmare of a day.  I learned very, very quickly that everything I taught was THE BEST.  Seriously.  Ionic and covalent bonding is best thing I could possibly teach you today and the best thing you could possibly learn today.  And I backed it up.  Atoms became boyfriends and girlfriends and their dating lives played out on the white board as they shared, took and refused each others advances (electrons).  The electricity unit started with the electric slide and then shocking the heck out of each other with the van de Graff machine.  Sometimes it was a political cartoon to get them jazzed up, other times it was simply playing, loudly, “She Blinded Me With Science” as they walked in the room.   I set the tone.  And my tone was contagious.

Creativity combined with organized thought.  It was my mantra for learning.  It is not, and never will be, a one size fits all world.  Everyone thinks in a unique way influenced by their experiences in life.  Use it or lose it.  Figure out how something in school connects to you and use that connection to help you learn.  No one else may understand why or how, but as long as YOU do, you are good to go.  So we practiced this idea of being creative as a catalyst for understanding every day.  I think there was once a buzz word – metacognition – that I even made a group of kids write in sharpie on their science binder as a reminder to think about their thinking.

Once a day I had the honor and the pleasure to sit with 10 kids for 15-20 minutes without an academic lesson plan.  What an indulgence AND no doubt the most influential and important part of my day (and likely theirs).  We came together to support each other, to grow, to think, to share and to laugh.  Oh and dance and eat.  We did a lot of that, too.  A little family in the middle of a roller coaster day.  No pressure of homework or tests.  We just were there, in that space, together.  I felt the tremendous responsibility that came with those minutes.  I knew when the kiddoes needed a dance party or they were in a place to talk openly about a world issue.  They were met with a brain teaser some days or just an inspirational quote on the board other days.  We challenged other advisories to kickball games or became crazy carolers in the hallways during the days leading up to holiday break.  And when something happened that needed more attention, we had built the trust to turn to one another.  This is where “Rohr Rockstars” originated by the way…..our little family with a cute little name.

So from all of that rambling and thinking, can you see the intentions I am working from, at least right now?

• I set the tone.
• I will share myself with others.
• I will be creative with organized thought.
• I will build and cultivate spaces to be true and authentic.

What about those five pounds I’d like to lose?  Or organizing the playroom?  Or taking Rohr Rockstars to the next level?  Of course all of those things are things that I would like to do, but none of them define who I am as a person, right?  I don’t want to define my year with “goals” that are ancillary to who I am and how I want to continue to grow.  I am not a better me by losing 5 pounds – I’m just 5 pounds smaller.  Not to say that goals are bad, they aren’t.  I have them – a lot of them.  But I don’t measure the value of myself and my life by checking them off my goal sheet (yep, I’ve got that too).  I become a better me by honoring my intention to be a better me and allowing my intentions to be my guide.

Intentions allow me to live.  I know how precious life is – I know it can change on a dime.  I intend to live this year.  I intend to share this year.  Here’s to living in 2015.  Hope you join me!

xo

Privileged White Woman’s Obligatory Thanksgiving (and all I am grateful for…..) Post

I’ve done it before so I’ll try not to get all judgey judgey …. Oh who am I kidding – I love to judge.

I am about done with the Gratitude posts on social media.  It is the cynical side of me rearing her head again, but really?  My guess is that if you have FB and Instagram and Twitter accounts….AND internet access….. we know you have a roof over your head, warm clothes in your closet and food on your table.  Not status worthy – step up your game, peeps.  We are the 5% ers, the 1%ers…..surely we can look deeper.  Challenge yourself.  I’ll go first.

This year I am Thankful for……

Every single challenge and difficulty I have in my life.  (yes, including the f-ing brain tumor).  Without them I would be stagnant.  And boring.  And I cannot think of two worse things to be.  I have to adjust and adapt,  change and flow.  I have to problem solve and to strategize.  I have to feel (deeply), embrace those feelings and keep on moving.  I have to find resilience.  I have to acknowledge my strengths and my weaknesses.  I have to be smart.

Friends who bring their worries to me.  It is humbling to be a confidant for another person.  It means I am doing some things ok and some people see me as trustworthy.  It means I have emotional gifts to share.  It means I can think BEYOND myself for awhile.  Others’ worries fill my mind and heart and soul so I can pray and reflect…..and so I can refuse to be selfish.

CNN.  Just joking.  I hate CNN.  Especially Don Lemon. But I am grateful to be able to see uncomfortable images on television that challenge my complacency.  I am especially grateful to be able to process events that divide people so I can see more clearly where my own heart lives.  I am thankful for diversity of beliefs, ideology and experience.

Children.  My children.  Your children.  Children I serve in Rohr Rockstars.  They give me a landing place for my prayers and intentions.  They remind me to be engaged.

Cellulite and Zits (working on wrinkles….those are newer).  Yep.  You heard me.  Why?  Because they are a part of me.  I have lived on this Earth for 43 years and I am have earned them.  Why should I be embarrassed?  I’m not.  If you are embarrassed for me then boy oh boy…. you need a private blog post all for you.  Seriously, every flaw in my body is an opportunity to practice self-love and self-compassion.  I cut myself a break so I can cut OTHERS a break.  Get it?

OK, I’m done.  Hitting that yoga mat for Butterball Bootcamp so the gratitude can ooze out of me…oh wait, that’s sweat……

Privileged White Woman Crosses Over…..Sees a Vision, Hears Voices

Here is a really fun fact – if you look up the definition for community service on dictionary.com, this little gem is the first meaning….

noun, a punitive sentence that requires a convicted person to perform unpaid work for the community in lieu of imprisonment.

Nice.  Punitive, unpaid and imprisonment.  Well sign me up!  Time for a new word, don’t you think?!

Mary has opened my eyes and absolutely changed my heart.  I will never view my world, our world, the same again.  Thank God for Mary.  There is nothing punitive, or unpaid, about my time with her.  And everyday I do hope to avoid imprisonment….that’s just a personal goal of mine.

{If you don’t know Mary yet, check out the previous PWW posts to become acquainted}

Mary is not my only conduit to the unseen (and unheard) side of my city.  There are others who are part of the growing problem of generational poverty that moves along the outskirts of all of our niceties.  This is not the middle class.  This not the lower middle class.  This is the generationally poor.  We had never met before, and now I am humbled to be able to walk along side them.

There is Daisy and her grandmother Eugenie.  Daisy is 5 with neuroblastoma.  If you know anything about childhood cancers, that statement alone should break your heart.  Daisy is a wild child – full of herself, full of life, full of IT.  I absolutely adore her, and she wears me out.  She has refused the gifts I have given her – the books specifically – “I don’t want she no books Miss Trish”.  She also hates the letter F….. guess I overplayed that one!  She wants attention.  She wants love.  She wants human connection and touch.  She wants to use her imagination.  She wants to play.  So we do.  We talk about baby dolls.  We play restaurant.  We made a water habitat for her two worms (brown string she pulled from a baby doll’s head).  We floated them and named them.  We took them in and out of the jar.  Eventually they had to be separated because the boy worm was kissing up on the girl worm, and she was getting a baby in her belly……I told you she was a firecracker!  Daisy has no letter recognition, sound recognition, number recognition.  She cannot write her name or sing the alphabet song.  She is going to be in Kindergarten in two weeks…

Eugenie has legal custody of Daisy and her brother Thomas.  Their mother lost her rights to raise her children.  I didn’t ask why.  Eugenie does not have a job.  She does not have a car.  She has very little money every month (think in the hundreds of dollars).  She travels with Daisy to every single doctor appointment on the bus, plastic shopping bag in hand with her important papers and letters.  She has found a way to provide a stable, clean home.  She feeds her two grandchildren, and she loves them very much.  She worries about them and wants them to achieve in school.  Eugenie herself is uneducated by any standard.  She does her best and she deserves my, and your, respect.  She is voiceless and invisible.

work that someone does instead of going to prison…

I am not serving these people.  That is insulting.  I am their partner.  I am the one who has the connections and the education and the resources and the money.  I can network on their behalf.  I am walking along with them.  I am staying for the long haul.  I am not dropping a few books in their lap, never to return.  I am engaging them.  I am talking to them.  I am listening to them.  We are holding hands.

I am obsessively thinking about a vision for renewed philanthropy….a model (a challenge really) to the PWW community.  We can put a dent in generational poverty – haven’t I already?  isn’t it really THAT simple?   WE can touch lives, hear voices and walk hand in hand to address the poor state of public education in many communities, high dropout rates, teen pregnancy, crime, poor health, obesity, homelessness.

Do philanthropic endeavors need financial resources?  Yes.  Keep writing checks.  And if that is all you can do right now, then do that with gusto.  And if you can do more……..if you are truly a PWW then I challenge you to start thinking.  With whom could you hold hands?

Only the beginning, my friends.  Let’s join hands.

American Psychological Association (APA):

community service. (n.d.). Dictionary.com Unabridged. Retrieved October 13, 2014, from Dictionary.com website:http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/community service

Chicago Manual Style (CMS):

community service. Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/community service (accessed: October 13, 2014).

Modern Language Association (MLA):

“community service.” Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. 13 Oct. 2014. <Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/community service>.

Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE):

Dictionary.com, “community service,” in Dictionary.com Unabridged. Source location: Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/community service. Available: http://dictionary.reference.com. Accessed: October 13, 2014.

Privileged White Woman Crosses Over…. Gets Slapped

Slapped upside the head.  I can’t think of a better phrase for how it felt this week as I ventured further into my new role of Privileged White Woman Who Reaches Out to Others….

My friend I wrote about last week is in the hospital.  Pain associated with her sickle-cell disease got the better of her, and so she has spent the past 3 days trying to get that under control.  Mary (she needs a name because I need you to feel her story) came to the clinic for pain by herself.  Mary was admitted to the hospital by herself.  Mary spent the first 2 days in the hospital by herself.  No one brought her PJs or clothes or books.  She is only 17.  Her visitors have been the nurses, the doctors, the child care specialists.  I was able to spend some time with her this week and so did my amazing cohort (let’s call her Wonder Woman).  We brought her soup.  We brought her school work.  We are working on those PJs and maybe a warm coat.  It wasn’t enough.  You could hear it in her voice.

Let’s step back and drop all judgement.  Don’t judge her mom – Mary doesn’t.  She wishes her mom were there.  Her heart hurts that she can’t be….and yet she understands.  Mary understands because she sees how difficult it is for her mom.  Mary mentioned again about getting help for her mom – help to find a place of her own.  Mary’s mom is overwhelmed.  It is that simple.

Now, fellow Privileged White Women (and by women I mean men, too.  I’m lumping you in because we always get lumped into your pronouns so this is just a little but of feminist payback.  xoxo) let me point out to you that this sense of being overwhelmed is NOT, I repeat NOT, our overwhelmed.  It is not because we are frantically running the kids everywhere they need to be while trying to get a good dinner on the table, and take the dog to the vet, and schedule the tutor for the week, and wash the uniforms for all 50 sports, AND get the Halloween decorations down from an attic that is so stuffed with crap you can’t find anything because last year October was a bad month because of the hubby’s tumor and you just threw that shit up there willy nilly…..

OK, you get the picture.  At least maybe you are starting to get the picture.  I know I am seeing glimpses, slices, pieces…  If I saw everything all at once I might actually grab a box of some sort, head on down to Trade and Tryon with a bullhorn and start yelling my frustrations.  Of course then my fear of being insane and not knowing it may become realized and that’s not going to do anyone any good.  Baby steps.

Mary cannot count.  Did I mention that?

Ever since I met her, Mary has been telling me that she does not know how to make change (as in when you are given $20 for a bill that is $12.18….)  Being the PWW I assumed (ass_u_me) that she needed a strategy to get from $12.18 to $20.00, right?  The way we fellow PWWs do it – start at $12.18 and add-on coins/bills until you get there.  So what did I do?  I delivered a very realistic set of play money (because she is 17 and it is insulting to use the baby money – I went for the good stuff).  Along with it I had practice worksheets for her –  leveled (in order) so she could start easy and work through harder and harder problems.  I even included an answer key in case someone else was helping her or she was working alone.  All printed out, sorted, stapled together in a nice new folder…..because that is what WE DO – PWW find the solutions to a problem.

Wrong.

Mary can’t count by fives.  Or tens.  Or twenties.  Fingers are needed to count by ones.

Shit.

Slapped upside the head.

Mary is convinced that learning to make change is the key to her better future.  If she can make change, she can get a job,  If she gets a job, she has money.  Money to give to her mom, money for her.  It is about the money because it is about survival.  Survival with just a little bit extra for some lipstick ….is that too much to ask?

I’ve crossed over for good and my whole life has changed.  I’m not giving up my PWW status and all of my beautiful issues that come along with it – no way.  I am just acknowledging who I really am and the life I really am leading.  I am thankful, sure.  But who cares about that.  What matters is using the PWW power (yes, it is about power and influence and education) to change a life or two.  Or a system or two.  Or a community or two.

There is soooooooo much more to come.

Want to cross over just a little yourself?  Pass these stories along to your friends.  Maybe through the telling of stories we can create something bigger.  A PWW movement even …. (hey, a girl can dream!)

Crossing Over {fair warning – I’ve been thinking again….}

My city has a problem.  A big one.  It isn’t an easy problem to see from where I live.  To know it means leaving the idyllic tree-lined streets for another place.  It means acknowledging invisible barriers and roadblocks that exist just beyond the well trodden, and very safe, path.  It lies hidden in places that our SUVs rarely go; it is in the shadows of our neighborhoods.  I have had occasion to see glimpses of this other place.  I briefly crossed over from time to time if a community service opportunity presented itself.  I have handed out food, folded donated clothing and even washed eggs in a freezer.  I crossed over, right?

I do love my city very much – my children are being given a truly idyllic experience as they grow up.  I love that we live in the south where things like manners and kindness and SEC football matter.  I love the landscape, the people, the traditions, the food….. but like most places, big city or small town, there is another side to the places we call home.  This is not new or a revolutionary insight but hang with me on this one.

What is novel is when an opportunity presents itself to someone like me to cross over to the side of the city that deserves to be seen and to stay a while (or sit for a spell).  This side far too often whizzes by as we drive down the road….images blurred just enough to be able to justify its lack of existence. I have been an outsider in parts of my own city but I am coming for a visit now.

There is some quote (I am sure it is one of my 516 inspirational images I have pinned to my “Quotes” board on Pinterest – gag!) about change lying just outside what is comfortable.  To move in the direction of uncertainty and fear and towards the unknown is when advances can be made.  I have lived this ten fold starting and running a nonprofit that serves a population I have very little experience with – families with the crisis of a child battling an extended illness.  It’s a tough group with a lot going on.  But I found my comfort in the beginning in two things – I am an excellent educator with many years of experience and all of my early families were just like me.

Believing in the power of education is something I have known since I was a little girl.  And I know exactly why it was important, and I know exactly why I have always had confidence in my ability to learn and to grow. I am not sharing my secret now – I’ll make you read another blog post on that one – but it is the cornerstone in my opinion of successfully educating our children.  Education gives rise to hope.  It is the harbinger of inspiration, connection and confidence.  Every child deserves this gift.  Every child.  Voila – Rohr Rockstars.

Serving families just like me is easy.  OK, not eeeeeasy but easy.  They get it.  Education = Opportunity.  It truly is that simple.  Everything begins and ends with education.  I challenge you to think of something important, some issue, some problem that could not be solved with education.  Tough to come up with, right?  That is why you and I are alike.

I want to introduce you to a new person in my life.  She is 17 years old and has sickle-cell disease.  There are serious challenges to living with  this chronic illness including fatigue and chronic pain, among other things.  Children with SCD can be hospitalized for pain crisis and tend to miss quite a bit of school.  Imagine how difficult it would be to learn with fatigue and generalized pain just beneath the surface…..my friend knows what this is like.  Throughout her life she has dealt with doctor visits, hospital stays, blood tests, painful days…and she has missed school.  Quite a bit actually.  The thing about this disease is that she was never out for a long enough period of time to receive any additional support from the public school.  She never “qualified”.  Oh my.

It is also very important to know that she lives with only her mother and her father is not present in her life.  She has three younger siblings with different biological fathers.  She does not have permanent, stable housing.  She does have a loving mother who is overwhelmed.  She is fed and clothed.  She is also mostly on her own.  My friend takes care of herself.  She rides the bus to her doctor appointments alone.  She only has three HS credits, cannot count money and was asked to leave her assigned public high school because she is simply too far behind.

She is also bright and wants to achieve a better life.  She wants a job.  She wants to help her mom.  She knows, she articulates to me, that education is how she will get there.  She tells me via text how much she wants her high school diploma, how frustrated she is with the school system and how the system failed her because her circumstance was difficult.  Her words, not mine.  A child who wants an education has been failed by our schools.  I know she is not alone.  I’ve crossed over.

Right now she and I are working on a plan together to get her to her goal of a high school diploma.  She has an amazing social worker from her doctor’s office who is also on the team.  Her team.  She is now part of my community, and I am part of hers.  I am not giving her a one size fits all approach.  I am not insisting she use technology.  Or a traditional school setting.  I am not giving her a generic solution, a one way path.  I am giving her a chance to find her way, her options, her best place in this world.  Isn’t that what education is all about?

I want to share her story with you as we journey along together, as well as others that I meet.  Maybe something will resonate with you.  This is not about me  – it is all about giving a glimpse into what it is like to leave everything behind – all assumptions, all well-meaning intentions, all preconceived ideas – and to step into a place where you work alongside others on their path in life.  You don’t need to save the world (if I had a nickel for every time I hear that jab…why is it a jab by the way?  another blog post…)

I think I will start a new blog series…(sounds professional if nothing else!)  I’ll call it “Privileged White Woman Reaches Out to Others and It Isn’t Even Scary”.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Universe – I’m Digging In

Dear Universe,

I am listening.

I am watching and observing and absorbing.  I am feeling as much as I can and allowing those feelings to guide me.

I am letting go of my belief in “luck” and “coincidences”.

I believe in my power to influence the world around me.

I see that what I can give is important and needed.

I am ditching the crap like anxiety and competition.

I am living.

Thank you.

xo

Trish

P.S. –  I know that you did not give me a husband with a brain tumor.  It isn’t a punishment.  It isn’t a “test” of faith or something I got because “I can handle it”.  It just ….is.  I get it.  I get that it simply doesn’t matter.  Not in this moment – not when I live in the present.

I will tell you what it IS….It is a call to action.  It is an eye opener.  It is a chance and an opportunity.  It is a new life.

So thanks for that, too.

Oh and thanks for allowing me to begin to believe again in the power of stories.  Not the made-up stories I create in my head about the people around me or the AWESOME Real Housewives of NYC (those can be seriously funny and I love those, too) but the real stories I seem to be bombarded with every day.  Those are where the good stuff lives, right?  (Told you I was listening!)

So reading Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie this summer with my on-line book club actually was for me?!  Did NOT see that one coming at all – thanks, though.

Stories have the power to change everything.  Stories are dangerous.  Stories are necessary.  I need to share stories.  Boy you are one sneaky mother…..

Ok, now I am overwhelmed.  And you are likely snickering.

Stories.

I’m digging in.

P. P. S.

Thanks for the push.  You will get your stories.

He’s Losing His Hair and I am Losing My Sh&t!

I have 3 totally irrational fears. I used to talk to my kids at school about these as a way to open up discussion for what we are really afraid of in life. I have NO doubt that someone could analyze these issues and provide me insight. Not interested. Sorry. No comment on deep seeded problems needed – I have plenty of rational fears without worrying about these. I learned from years of working with adolescents and teens that they love to see vulnerability. They want to connect in ways that are real and know on some level they are not alone. Oh, right, so do adults…..  We all have crazy in the closet – all of us. I’ll show you my crazy if you show me yours……

I am terrified of tidal waves. Not the aftermath or the impact so much but rather the sense of doom…..Looking out at the ocean and seeing an enormous swell build and build. I never quite get to the crashing part, just the anticipation of it.

And bears. Not in the tidal waves or on the beach but just lurking around…. Looking up on a run and seeing a bear nearby. Or knowing that I am in my house and they are OUT THERE….. Damn bears. Sneaky little mothers…

Madness. I’m afraid of going mad and not knowing it. I joke that I am afraid I am the person walking down the street or in the grocery store having full on imaginary conversations out loud. And I don’t know it!  It’s possible, right? I catch myself talking out loud sometimes. What if that is just the tip of the iceberg? My head is a noisy place most of the time. Maybe some of that noise leaks out…. While going mad, can you even know what is happening? Is the madness so all consuming, so concrete and real, that you don’t even know…can’t even be told what is happening? Is writing about madness the first indicator of madness!?

I am pretty sure I have not gone mad yet…but I do lose my shit from time to time.

Let’s tackle this past week – radiation decides that it is about time to let the world know, in an in-your-face, can’t-deny-it way, that Eric is being treated for a brain tumor. This is a first. Never before have my EYES shown me what me head knows is true – my husband has a brain tumor. And my heart…well my heart was broken.

That small little bald spot grew like kudzu. Fast and furious until it was a big ‘ole patch on the side of his head. It had to go. Patchy bald spots are substantially worse than a fully shaved head we both agreed. And so it went.

I could not care less about hair. It means nothing to me (ask Lauri Ann,my hair stylist…my favorite request for her is that she not cut my hair too short because I need to pull it up nearly everyday in what I call my cancer ponytail). But I do care about giving this brain tumor an audience. Attention. A stage. That is what made me lose my shit. I had to see it staring back at me. I have to see people look at Eric and know they wondered….choice or necessity? I see the shock in a person’s eyes. It is quick for some – just a fleeting flicker of being caught off guard. Others avert their eyes completely (really? c’mon.) I don’t blame anyone – I am still caught off guard sometimes.

So my heart was broken. I was sad. I felt like I was losing my shit and getting close to mumbling out loud in Whole Foods….and then I healed.

I acknowledged my hurt. I welcomed it in and let it stay for a bit. No denial. No push to suck it up and be strong. No pressure to stop thinking about it. I let it be. I accepted it. I cried easily and a lot.

And then I loved on it….

Yep. I loved on that hurt and heartbreak. I took away its power by showing it, and myself, love. When it was time I wiped my tears, woke up the next morning and chose love. It came in the form of creating a really funny picture collage of Eric’s bald head, alongside Pitbull and Dr. Evil, and posting it as a way to show our friends and family our new “look”. Humor and laughter and love. Take that tumor!

I focused HARD on the children God has given me to love. Always, always AK and C and their friends and our family….but I am speaking of other children, children in desperate need of my time, talent and treasures. My Rockstars. I turned every bit of my heartache and worry and concern into love for them.

• Ashlyn who needed physical strength this week so we asked our community for prayers and inspiration. We surrounded her with “You go girl” and “Kick that cancer booty”. She is now out of the hospital and getting stronger every minute at home.  She has a key necklace from Rohr Rockstars with the word “love” engraved as a reminder that she holds the key to unlock any door she wants because she is surrounded by love.
• Monique who desperately needs an adult in her life that believes in her and will help her get her HS diploma.  I promised her I will be there to get those credits, meet with her school, teach her to count money….I gave her my phone number and we text now.  She tells me how much she wants an education.  Her key has notches – the ups and downs of life – but it still works.  It can still open the doors – it is never too late.
• Dyasia, the little whippersnapper, who snuggled and cuddled on my lap because having someone read to her is a rare treat.  I read to her this week, played pretend with some string and water and a cup and had worms as pets.  I’ll hold on to her Rockstar key until she is ready….

It is OK to lose your shit.  It happens.  The real work, the real “stuff” is in the recovering.  How are you transitioning from one mindset to another?  What are you doing with that negativity?

Far be it from me to assume I know anything except my experience BUT….I think true happiness comes from the space that is created in your heart and soul when you reach out to others in need.  It is taking your own shit and finding focus elsewhere.  It is being kind to your own heart and allowing it to hurt and then choosing to move beyond.  It is not in denial – I still feel the same way about Eric’s bald head – but I do know that my time of allowing those feelings to take up my time are gone.  They now come and go, acknowledged, but set free.

Want to CRUSH a brain tumor? Refuse. And Move.

My husband is having daily radiation and chemo.  I choked on those words the first couple of weeks.  I sat on pins and needles waiting.  Waiting for him to feel sick.  Waiting on him to be tired.  Waiting on him to…change.  Just waiting.  And then, as with every part of this journey, I found my new (again) footing.  I found it in the stories he brought home from his radiation visits.  I found it in the friendships he was making with everyone at Levine.  I found it in the jokes he was cracking, the love he was giving and the life he was leading.  As I always do, I found all my strength in Eric.  I found my strength in our love for one another, for our children, for our life and most definitely I found strength in our laughter.

Three recent moments have fortified me and allowed me to shift from waiting to living – all occurred during yoga (yeah, no surprise there.  seriously y’all, yoga is the bomb.)  One was a sense of being of surrounded by STRENGTH.  The word filled my head and my heart and gave me incredible peace.  I am strong.  Eric is strong.  Y’all are strong for us.  I came home to tell Eric and as it turns out he experienced a very similar moment (different message) at the same time.  Never doubt the power of the Holy Spirit to give exactly what you need when your heart is open to receiving.

The second moment came when I was checking my phone during yoga.  Don’t judge.  I have a husband with a brain tumor, and I grant myself permission to check my phone any damn time I want – even during yoga! 🙂  He told me he REFUSED to be tired from the radiation (even if his hair was beginning to fall out).  I focused on that word the rest of class – it became my intention for 90 minutes of movement.  An excellent word and one I find myself reflecting on often.  What can we refuse?  We can refuse negativity.  We can refuse to give up.  We can refuse to back down.  We can refuse to stay silent.  We can refuse to run away.  We can refuse defeat.  It is an empowering word – a word of choice and strength.  We refuse.  And when we refuse the negative, the ugly, that which does not serve us in a positive way….then what?  We MOVE.  We move toward the positive.  We move toward action.  We move toward joy.  We move into peace.

The last moment is actually one I experience every single time I go to my yoga studio.  It is quite amazing really.  Here I am with a group of once strangers who now feel like family.  I have become very close to some, others I know by their first names.  Still others I know their face and we smile.  We have a rhythm.  We have a shared purpose and connection.  It is simply the safest place I have ever felt.  The magic to me is alive within that space.  I laugh every day.  Every day there is something funny, something joyful and pure.  Laughter.  It lightens my soul and brings me happiness.  Once I began to see it, I started to crave it.  Along with all the other wonderful yoga benefits, I have a place that I can laugh every day.

I’m not waiting anymore for the bad stuff to happen.  I have found my STRENGTH to REFUSE and to MOVE toward LAUGHTER.  That is how you crush a brain tumor!

Can I crack my egg on your head?

It has been longer than I have liked since writing my last post, and I must say I have really missed it.  And yet on the other hand, I felt like I didn’t have much to say.  That is funny in itself if you know me….I ALWAYS have something to say.  Maybe I didn’t think I had anything worth enough to put down into writing….who knows?  I clearly needed some sort of break.  The f-ing brain tumor has been rearing its ugly head more than I care to see in the past month, so I will chalk most of it up to that.  But I have been listening and observing…..here’s my take away.

Do you remember that stupid elementary school game where you came up behind someone and put your closed fist on their head.  Then you would smack the outside of that hand, open your fist and trickle your fingers down over their hair, pretending you had just cracked an egg open on them?  Everyone would giggle and critique and you would try it again.  Was that just a York, PA thing?

My egg has been cracked.  Again.

This past week I had a Board Meeting for Rohr Rockstars, something that hasn’t occurred in a year, and I was telling this story.  As I was looking around at a table of gracious, caring and above all, patient, friends and colleagues, I was trying to explain this rollercoaster of a ride I have had since embarking on the mission to create a nonprofit.  I have spoken many times on the sheer exhaustion and frustration I have been consumed by in this journey.  The legal and financial concerns alone are enough to send me over the edge, and they have.  Many times.  In fact I have said (often) that this is it.  I am done.  I made a small impact, I covered my ass legally and with the IRS.  I am done. And yet I knew in my heart I wasn’t done…just on hiatus.  Just thinking.  Sometimes I “thought” for a month.  This time I “thought” for longer.  Sure, RR was still chugging along but my sticker wasn’t on the back of the car.  My heart wasn’t open to it, not completely.  My egg was boiled (ok, a stretch…  done with the egg analogy)

A month or so ago I was at yoga (as usual) with my Rockstar water bottle.  Someone asked me about it, and I opened my heart.  Instead of a cursory response, I gave a heart-felt response.  And my life changed.  Again.

Suddenly, I had people everywhere approaching me about Rohr Rockstars.  Key strategic relationships were literally being laid at my feet.  Positive energy and excitement was buzzing all around me, and I didn’t do a THING but open my heart to it.  Fundraisers on the books, a new clear vision of best practices and approach and suddenly we had the makings of a Rohr Rockstars [Re-Launch].

This is not the first time this has happened to me.  I can count at least 5 times over the past 3.5 years that I have cracked open my heart, just a bit, and immediately the light, love and support has come flooding in.  I must say this time, the crack is far too wide to ever be sealed shut again.  Rohr Rockstars is ON.

Is it God’s Grace?  Karma?  The energy of the universe?  Fate?  Coincidence?

I don’t know WHAT it is or WHY it happens, but it does.  When we crack open our hearts to love and service and kindness and caring, the world responses.  When we close our hearts, the world closes, too.  I have seen it, and I have lived it.

I am challenging each of you – especially those of you who can see how blessed and LUCKY you are – to crack it wide open.  Find your way of serving.  Open up to it.  Step back and see what happens.  Spend ONE week, one lousy week, doing NOTHING but caring and loving and dreaming and filling your world, your heart and your mind with love.  You will lose NOTHING, and I am willing to bet you will be in awe of what you gain.

Crack that egg, baby!!!!

 

 

Defy Gravity :: Find Joy

What a great phrase…. Defy Gravity.

This month a trio of amazing women (and dedicated yogis) decided to put together a May-long challenge called #defygravityyogi (check out the hashtag on Instagram). A yoga pose of the day, a challenge to post yourself on Instagram in the pose, and a promise of prizes…. but there is so much more in this. Steps toward joy, hidden, in a yoga challenge.

At first glance, and maybe the only glance for many, this is about the physical pose. As with a lot of things in life, the surface stuff is easy; digging to find truer meant is the tricky part. Embracing the good, the bad and the ugly is the practice part. Accepting all three equally is the joy.

Day 6 and the transformations are kicking in….. The first day the poses came to Instagram mostly as is on the “cheat sheet”. Warrior III. Check that one off. Fairly simple and straightforward, holding a coffee cup for some playfulness.

Wow. This was a powerful moment. When I saw the the picture my mind switched into perfection mode (i.e. criticism). Does my butt always stick out like that? My back is arched too much. Wow my thighs look….thick.

My home base at Y2 is a spot smack dab in front of the mirrors, the one with the superman duct tape. (That’s a long story… Just go with it). I am used to seeing myself in poses while doing yoga. I am not, however, used to seeing poses frozen in time….. and now I had to post it publicly and tag some pretty amazing people. Shit. Would they notice all the tiny flaws? Or find ones I wasn’t even aware I had?

Some friends included captions under their pictures – strings of words that hinted at what they thought was wrong with the picture and reasons why. “Sorry about that bent leg!” “Just a beginner!” “Not great with this one!”

Day 2 and 3 continued mostly on the same path…. Frog sit-ups and warrior II. A bit more playfulness. Still trepidation, especially because frog sit- ups are a bit…awkward.

The shift was starting and my eyes and heart were being opened up (once again) beyond the physical. I wasn’t alone in this…obviously. It took giggling with Liz (above) and Wanda (behind the lens) for something to crack open within me. There is more here.

It was Day 4 – Humble Warrior Day- when the light starting seeping through the cracks. No one was criticizing me for my form. No one commented on bent legs or arched back or big butt. It was quite the opposite, actually. Friends in class were sharing in the fun of the challenge, celebrating our practices, cheering on each other, appreciating the wonders of our bodies and what we can do…. We were loving each other and I think (hope) loving ourselves a bit more, too. I noticed an absence of excuses below pictures. Really? Four days is all it took? That is magical.

Day 4 had a totally wrong pose (awesome!), a humble warrior, and a pose variation that I am really proud I can do. My pictures transformed from opportunities to put myself down to beautiful expressions of joy. I saw flaws, sure, but I wasn’t embarrassed by them. I know my shoulders are tight (my right one from the darling dog above who dislocated my shoulder) and that’s ok. I know I have a bootie but man it looks good in the arm balance. I started to see strength, not weakness. I found joy, not anxiety. The light is now shining brightly.

Finding life’s joy is a process. It is a journey. Don’t be fooled by the easy way to happiness…there are no 5 simple steps. Joy is hard. Joy is scary. Joy comes from a place within ourselves that is confident in where we are right now and fearless about the path that takes us to tomorrow.

Can we all find joy? Sure.
Is it an easy journey? No way.
Are there pieces to the joy puzzle that are common among us all? Absolutely.

The first step – Screw Perfection :: Choose Practice

Screw Perfection……Or Not

Writing on this blog has been one of the most powerful endeavors I have ever taken on. And I have taken on some doozies, trust me. I am not sure I really understood, in the beginning, how many people might possibly read what I write….that has been an amazing bonus. I certainly didn’t realize that my words might mean something. YIKES!!

Oh and then I really didn’t realize people might want to engage with me about it. That is the part I LOVE the most. The responses. Is this narcissistic of me? I think it is a little bit. It has to be. I’m not writing on my laptop and saving it to my personal folder – I am doing quite the opposite in fact. I am using an iPad mini and an app and uploading my words for anyone to see. Oh, and I am advertising it. I am marketing my writing on FB and Twitter….. What?? Just saying it feels conceited on some level.

I’ve been thinking a lot about why am I sharing my life this way…. What is my goal? What is my hope and desire? What am I DOING?

I’ve never shied away from opinions or ideas….I love to think big. It is where I live – in my head. I can entertain myself for hours up there….the details, however, are not my strength. I’m good with that. I hate the details. Funny enough, in my very first career job, I was told (criticized) by my “boss” that I was languishing in the details and was not a big picture thinker. Boy did that piss me off, even at age 23. Are you kidding me? Oh, right, I have been working at an environmental consulting firm on a multi [multi] million dollar government contract for about 3 months, and I haven’t mastered all of the nuisances in cleaning up that toxic shit our Navy has dumped all over the country. Guilty. Geesh. Clearly at 43 I am still pissed.

When I was awarded an exceptional faculty teaching award many years ago, I was again struck by the words that someone else used to describe me. Of course the intro was full of lovely accolades, and I don’t remember a single one of them. But I do remember this well respected teacher telling the entire audience that I was never afraid to share my opinion with my peers. I was always the one to speak up or speak out…and apparently I did it a lot. People chuckled. Heads were nodding. I saw smirks!!!!!!! Wait a minute – hold on….who am I?

Two defining moments in my life that have shed light on the power of perception.

I want to be opinionated. I love to share thoughts and ideas. I am a teacher in all aspects of the word, even if I no longer manage one classroom. I think this blog in many ways has become my classroom of sorts. I miss the engagement I had everyday, all day long.

I have veered a bit away from my original intent when starting this piece and that was to respond, in some way, to a challenge to one of my posts. It actually was a comment about the post that has been shared and read the most – “Screw Perfection :: Choose Practice”. The positive support is awesome….it was a message that hit home apparently. I liked it, too. I didn’t LOVE it, though. It was only the start of flushing out some bigger ideas…the impact perfection has on individuals, culture, children etc. It was a scratch the surface type of piece.

The best feedback I received was when a friend told me he didn’t agree with what I wrote. Gasp! Are you kidding me? Really??? FINALLY!!!! This is what I have been looking for….I made someone think, and he didn’t think exactly like me. Bingo.

Why was I a good teacher? Because I encouraged kids to challenge what I said. I wanted them to argue (intelligently and with civility) about everything. Literally everything. I gave them permission to think. I insisted that they do it, actually. I didn’t care if they challenged me – it was not a personal affront. They were only 14 after all… And if they were right, I told them. If I was wrong, I told them. We learned to listen to each other, respected each other, and at the end of a dialogue we laughed and high-fived and looked forward to seeing each other again tomorrow.

So, Steve, thank you for not agreeing that perfection shouldn’t be a goal. Thank you for making me stop and THINK about my words and ideas. Your opinion only makes me explore my own more. And trust me, I am. You will see a post about it soon I am sure.

Why am I doing this blog? What is my goal? I want people to THINK. I want action. I want change. I want to see passion and belief and conviction. I want the easy road to actually be less traveled. I want to create a community where ideas and thoughts are more important than the designer dress or the perfect decorator. I want an adult classroom that inspires others through the stories and thoughts of others. There are amazing people out there – amazing stories out there – amazing thoughts and opinions. I want to find a way for us to engage and create community. I want to show REALNESS and see more of it in return.

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