Category: NEXT: An Empowerment Series

The height of my academic failure arrived mid-way through a semester of political science. Due to my performance, it was prudent that I drop the class. This required a personal visit to the professor known more for his rigor than his relationships with struggling students. I could feel the shame as I waited my turn outside his small windowless office. This was the first and only conversation we would have. I hoped it would be brief. I told him my name and that I needed to drop his class. I could not raise my grade up enough by the end

How many tries does it take to change a light bulb? If it’s me, about ten. When a light went out in my home office, I reasoned that the two remaining bulbs in the chandelier were enough. When it went dark in my parlor, I rationalized that the sun from the skylight was enough. When the bedroom light was spent, I used the bedside lamps. When the overhead light in my bathroom ended, I eked along with my morning make up routine adjusting my magnifying mirror to new angles. My home was built in 1898. I love the tall ceilings

I can’t believe I did it again. I began so clear. Focused.  Attentive. Determined not to repeat my past ways. In a flash my good intentions flew out the window crossing shame as it rushed in to take its place. When will I learn? How many times do I have to repeat this lesson? What’s wrong with me? It’s over quickly.  I head to the nearest bathroom to recover. I look myself in the mirror and force down the lump in my throat. For the remainder of the day I cannot remove the image. I struggle to focus on my

I was excited when I got picked for the travel team. Unlike the time in college when I was chosen to go to a bowling tournament in Iowa City to be a body with a hand that could hold a ball, this time I was welcomed warmly. Three of my friends were inspired to substitute the forecast of snow with the sound of the ocean and the sight of spring. We’ve known one another since our children were in Montessori school more than thirty years ago. I was happy at the prospect of a week to write and be with

The spring we fell in love I had just declared myself ready to date while he had long declared himself a happy bachelor. Five years later, we each chose to take another chance at enduring love. It was a second for me and a third for John. Despite being older and wiser, marriage remained a risky proposition. He was a tidy minimalist. I was more on the messy side.  He lived on an acreage and I in the heart of the city. Three of our children were still school age and our ages were separated by more than a decade.

The postcard announcing the April event arrived along with the winter weight to my belly. For a runner, five miles is a modest goal. But despite giving running a go a time or two each year, I have never completed a run longer than a 5k (3.1 miles, if you’re like me and don’t know that off the top of your head). This new goal meant going someplace I had never gone before.  I’d need a map. Where am I? To create my map, I first needed to know where I was. The last time I went for a run

I lay under my quilt the morning after a return from a long weekend at the beach. The comforting sound of the rain excuses me from rushing to the responsibilities of the day. I listen to the morning weather report with my eyes closed. “Light snow falling in the metro area” gets me on my feet and to the window.  Welcome to day one of spring. A start of a spring grounds me in the reality that nothing is permanent. Despite the mix of rain and snow on this day, I am reminded all winters end and it’s time to

“Pack clothes for beach yoga. And shall we go sailing on Saturday?” I was about to escape the gray skies that insisted upon holding tightly to the final few days of a midwestern winter. I paused at the suggestion of a St. Patrick’s Day sail.  My mind raced to a past where criticism of my incompetency on the water left me feeling a failure not just as a sailor but about everything in my life. The flash from the past left as quickly as it arrived, and I began to think about what I’d pack for blue skies and sunny

I gave up before I began, and I had good reasons. Writing that book just wasn’t going to happen. With life full from sunrise to bedtime, I could not see giving up dancing at night or sleeping my eight hours to find the time. Book writing never made it on to my lengthy list of January set goals that typically looked like this: I host a summer rooftop party by May 31st. I submit an article to The Nebraska Lawyer by September 1st. I take a hike on the John Muir trail with Jack by October 15th. My focus was