Living and Learning

I am Catholic so I am not really the “devotional” kind. You know. Those little books with the daily bible verses? We Catholics like to leave the memorizing to the Protestants. I mean really. At no time did Jesus ever say the words "pop quiz."

But when I went through my divorce I broke the mold and picked up a devotional, this one was written by Kristen Armstrong. She wrote it after Lance Armstrong left her for Cheryl Crow. I love Cheryl Crow, but Lance is still a dick wad. I’m just saying.

Anyhoo, the former Mrs. Armstrong authored a devotional in her divorce aftermath and titled it, “Happily Ever After; Living with Peace and Courage through a year of Divorce.”

I loved it.

Every day I’d read my bible verse. And every day I’d read Kirsten’s application of it to her life post-divorce. I felt like I truly had a kindred spirit in this awful experience and was so grateful for her words.

When I finished the book and made it through my own first year of divorce, I loaned it to my best friend, Naomi. She’d been divorced for a while but I thought she may also find it comforting. She loved it so much she continues to announce ,“Oh, this is a Kristen Happily Ever After moment!” whenever she stumbles upon circumstance where the book’s wisdom is applicable.

Today was one of those days.

I made a mistake today. Not a huge mistake, not an illegal mistake, but a big fat whoops mistake. It was at work and involved spreadsheets. And software quotes. And formulas.

I’m smart but I’m an English major. Numbers are against my religion.

Long story short I made a whopper of an error that required me to eat my margin in order to honor an incorrect number I’d given a client. I was horrified with myself. When I told my manager, what do you think he said? Well, if I were him I would have said something like, “Nice one, Einstein.” Or started in on a well-deserved lecture about responsibility and haste.

But did he do that?

No. He did not.

Instead he told me that all people are imperfect. And that in the long run, it’s a mistake that does not matter in the grand scheme of things. And that he hired me because of my humility. And that I will find a graceful way to right the wrong with the client. And probably win more business in the long run because of it.

I couldn’t stop the tears.

Instead of a lecture, I received compassion. Instead of chastisement, I received encouragement.

I was overcome with the thought, “When have I exhibited compassion on this level?”

Probably not very often. When people make mistakes I am quick to point them out. I am critical. I am judgmental. And not very forgiving.

Words fail how humbling this moment was for me. I felt very undeserving of this compassion.

Instead of a lecture he instead chose to remind me of my good qualities, of my value as an employee, and of his strong belief in my ability to right a wrong with grace and dignity.

I was blown away.

Later that day when I shared this experience with Naomi, her response was immediate. “We are called to forgive because we have been forgiven. To love because we have been loved.”

“Bible verse?” I inquire.

“Nope,” Naomi explains, “It is Kirsten Armstrong’s take on Ephesians 4:31-32.”

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

I thought a lot about that verse and came to this conclusion:

Not only are our mistakes and lessons learned an integral part of our own life’s journey, but how we respond to the mistakes of others is probably the biggest test of all.

I guess this means Kristen's probably forgiven the dick wad.

Whoops.

I mean.

Lance Armstrong.

A Day late . . .

. . . but not a dollar short!

Sorry for the lag in my Monday's post. Little behind but I'll have something up tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!!

~Audra

Dignity? What Dignity?

I am going to take my own blog hostage for a moment for a little shamless self promotion:

I submitted a video entry for a local singing competition, Fargo Star. Please vote for me online at http://fargostar.inforum.com! I am singing Amazing Grace to myself in my home office like a weirdo. (Dignity? What dignity?)

The top ten finalists will perform April 24th at The Venue.

Thank you SO MUCH for your vote and support!

(Don't just dream it, do it!)

~Audra
Here's a preview of my audition on You Tube. . . but to vote for me you need to go to The Forum Fargo Star website. The contestants with the top rankings go on to compete, so any and all "five star" votes are greatly appreciated!

You Tube Audition Video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUGnGE1ftMg

I May Be Stranded but I'm not Stupid

I want to believe that most married men are madly in love with their wives. And many that I know are.

But it’s the ones I meet when I’m not at home that really make me question if marriage is a complete and utter façade or what. And if men are slimier than than a snail trail.

Last week I was traveling but I missed my connection and ended up struck overnight in a strange city. In a meager effort to cope with my spontaneously stranded situation I went straight to the hotel bar upon arrival and ordered a Lemon Drop martini. Extra sugar.

Gawd. This was irritating. I was supposed to be home right now. Not drinking vodka and ordering a burger. Fun as those activities are they’re not so fun surrounded by strangers when I am supposed to be home in my own comfy bed in my jam jams.

So I make due. Sip a martini. And strike up a conversation with the poor traveling schmucks at the rail.

Before the night is over I am engaging in an intriguing conversation with a successful, funny, articulate, and very married, man. (Oh fine, and cute too. He’s cute. What? Not a crime to notice someone is cute). Nothing about this is scandalous so I just enjoy the fact that the conversation keeps me distracted from my circumstances.

As we converse I begin to be more and more entertained by how he confesses to be more and more unhappily married as the night wears on.

Gimme a break.

When it’s time to call it a night he insists on walking me to my room.

Fine. He shared that he's a pilot so I figured I wasn’t going to be molested by Mr. American Airlines so I let him escort me. Besides, he wasn't that tall. I figured if he tried any funny business I'd just knee him in the nards.

And for the record, when we got to my room the only thing that guy got at my door was a free copy of USA Today in the hallway. Nope. Not even a handshake. And no, I don’t want a congratulatory cookie. I’m just saying. Why was he even there?

Yeah. One guess why he was there.

Two minutes after settling into my room my hotel phone rings. Yep. It’s miserably married man.

I answer and blurt, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? I am just calling because I didn’t get the address of your blog you were telling me about.”

I let out a two (or was it there?) martini laced cackle. And give him the address.
He eventually hangs up. But not before he insists he really is getting a divorce.

How does that saying go again? Oh yeah. “That’s what they allllll say . . .”

I curtly reply in as much staccato as I can muster, “Good. Well, now you have my contact information. Call me when you’re single.”

Good night, Mr. Pilot.

I got a plane to catch in the morning.

And it ain't yours.

Here Comes the Sun

I have a love/hate relationship with flying. And I’m on a plane right now as I type this, hurtling through the clouds on my way to California for business.

I didn’t grow up flying all over the place. My parents were farmers. If you got a ride with the local crop duster once a while that was an epic adventure. Commercial air travel was something people did on tv. If anyone in my family flew it was a huge deal that rivaled the appearance of Haley’s Comet in frequency. My mom would spend days making lists, packing, and making sure my grandparents knew where the life insurance policy was.

Obviously, with a belief system like that modeled for me, the first time I stepped onto a plane at the age of 19 I was fully convinced that I had an equal chance of ending up in a fire ball on CNN as I did of arriving at my final destination.

I’ve since left my inherited anxiety behind and joined the pack of business travelers that crisscross the skies on a regular basis; however, hurtling through the clouds isn’t something human beings were designed to do and that unnatural reality is definitely responsible for the “hate” part of my relationship with flying. Every time my plane takes off?

Jesus is my best friend.

But at the same time, flying is amazing. I love it. And not just because of the convenient condensed travel time.

Take today. The sky is a grey flannel as my plane lifts off. But in less than a minute, I’m blinking into the sunshine as I soar above the dreary and into the sun. A philosophical reminder that even on cloudy days, the sun isn’t gone.

It’s just hiding.

Of course, flying has its downside beyond the natural anxiety of its unnatural logistics. I’m a petite woman and even I find the tuna can accommodations trying. What is it about the seat design in planes that makes my butt fall asleep? Every time.

And right now? I’m listening to the woman behind make a very bad case for her Amway business to her poor seatmate. I feel like telling her I’m in sales. And that the hostage situation pitch is not the best tactic. Five bucks says when this flight is over her pyramid scheme victim bolts through the airport as if being pursued by a pack of wolves.

But even despite the restrictive seating and unwelcome pyramid scheme endorsements, flying is superb. At this moment, how can I complain that I’m being whisked from tundra to palm trees in a matter of a few hours? On top of that, I’m floating far above my email and cell phone messages. Anyone trying to contact me right now is getting my Out of Office auto email reply or hearing my pleasant voice proclaim “Please leave me a message and I’ll call you back as quick as I can!”

Ah. Freedom.

Disconnected from the earth. Physically and literally.

Ultimately, getting on a plane is like every experience in life that’s worth the effort. It makes you nervous but then rewards you greatly. Anyone who’s ever flown over the Rocky Mountains or marveled at the microscopic boats zipping over Lake Michigan has tasted the majesty of the view from a plane and been awestruck by the world’s greatness. And our own smallness.

So here’s to the everyday mundane miracle of flight and its metaphorical truth.

Every day is a new chance.

To face our fears.

Soar above life’s clouds.

And find the sun.

Life Ain't Always Beautiful

A girlfriend of mine said goodbye today.

Not only to a relationship but to a dream. Her relationship with her boyfriend of several years ended after months of unraveling.

It’s over.

They didn’t share an address but after two years together, they didn’t just entwine their hearts but their possessions too. Tonight, she went to his place to gather them up.

And take them home.

I came to her house to help her unload her hopes and dreams.

The night is cold and the deep snow surrounds her driveway like a fortress. We work silently.

The only sound is occasional sniffing.

Clothing and coats. Movies and books. Stemware and silverware. Mundane items that over the course of several months migrated from her house to his. She grabs a bag of shoes. I wrestle with a suitcase of cement.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump.

I pull the weighty cargo up the steps.

Heartbreak is heavy.

When all of it is piled safely in her house in scattered disarray we lean against the kitchen counter and say little. Her nose is red.

“Have a glass of wine. Get some sleep,” I say as I hug the fragile shoulders that sag under the weight of this newly defined reality.

“I will,” she whispers, “I will.”

I hesitantly leave to go back home to my children. I hate to, but I don’t have a choice. "Call me later, honey."

“Thank you, Audra,” she says in a small voice as I start down the stairs to the back door, looking over my shoulder one last time. I try to stay strong but it's too much. My tears betray me.

Because there is my dear, beautiful, funny, and intelligent friend.

Crying in her kitchen.

With bags and boxes of a lost future.

Piled at her feet.
*********************************************************

Life ain't always beautiful
Sometimes it's just plain hard
Life can knock you down, it can break your heart

Life ain't always beautiful
You think you're on your way
And it's just a dead end road at the end of the day

But the struggle makes you stronger
And the changes make you wise
And happiness has it's own way of takin' it sweet time

No,life aint always beautiful
Tears will fall sometimes
Life aint always beautiful
But it's a beautiful ride

What a beautiful ride
~Lyrics by Gary Allan

Love you, my friend . . . ~Audra