As the Billerica White Sox rolled into tee-ball practice tonight, I could feel every part of my day getting better.

Eleven eager kids ready to play, and a coach who needed to get outside and run around just as much as they did.

Though, before we got going with our first drill, one of the players handed me a stark white envelope with two dog stickers on the back, and “Coach” neatly written over the seal.

“This is just for you,” he said.

Miraculously, I managed not to cry.  I opened my gift very carefully to find a handmade card, crafted out of green construction paper and magic marker.  Inside it read:

Happy Mom Day.  Let’s go White Sox.  You are the best coach.

My huge smile and big hug let him know that I loved it.

“And,” he added, “there are tattoos in there, too!”

When practice was over, I came home and decided to put one of the two tattoos on my left hand. (I’ll be saving the second one for our game on Saturday.)  Then I texted a picture to the player’s Dad, and told him to pass on the message that I couldn’t wait to show off my new shooting star to all of my friends at work tomorrow.

His Dad replied:

He says he gave them to you because you’re a great teacher.

And that’s when I cried a little bit–because I let myself believe that he’s right.

Today on my commute home, the setting sun hit some clouds to reveal just a piece of a rainbow.

I turned the corner, squinting and tilting, straining to see more.

Then, I stopped trying so hard.

Thing is, I know enough about science to know that the entire prism is always there – regardless if I can see it or not.  And honestly, what was clearly in front of me was beautiful enough.

Ambition is tricky.  The drive to do, see, and give more is good – even admirable, I think.  But, when my ambition goes unchecked, it just leaves me blindly trying.  Reaching for the sake of reaching, when perhaps I’d make better time by throwing it in park and marveling at what I’m being given right now.

I have a new colleague. Turns out she lives in Lowell.  The next time town over from Billerica, where I live.  Usually she rides the commuter rail, but due to last night’s rain, her commute home would have been well over three hours.

So, when she asked if I’d be willing to drop her at a much closer train stop (around the corner from my house), I was happy to oblige.

I’ve been commuting into Boston for the better part of nine years, and aside from the occasional shared ride with my husband or son, I’ve never actually commuted with company.

The time together opened things up, despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

I learned that three weeks earlier she was working for a television station in Uganda.  She learned that I just recently started coaching tee ball.  She told me about her church.  I told her about my yoga.  We shared stories about our mothers, fathers, and siblings.  Found out we both love Sundays and cooking, and finding time to just be…alone.

Over the years, I’ve been gifted a few precious and lasting friendships with colleagues – but never one that started as simply and lovely as this.

All it took was the willingness to share.  And a lot of rain. 🙂

According to my therapist and nearly ever self-help book I’ve read, awareness matters.  So, I’m giving myself a couple points for just being aware that:

1. I haven’t been writing
2. I have been worrying
3. I’ve lost my appetite
4. I’m craving (constant) sleep

A bigger part of me wants to start deducting points for drifting so far off my path, but I’ve been through this cycle enough now to know that ultimately, the self-shaming and punishing just puts me deeper under the covers.

So, while I did go to bed last night around 8:30, I also found myself in this in-between space around four this morning.  Somewhere between dream and wake-state.  I knew I was laying in my bed, and I knew the only other people in the room were my sleeping son and husband, but for whatever reason I started to hear chants.

Collective “Oms” followed by equally beautiful, “Ahs.”

I synced my breathing to follow their lead.  In with Om, out with Ah.  In with Om, out with Ah.  In with Om, out with Ah.

The breathing and the dreaming – which is to say the chanting – continued, until it didn’t. Until I was fully awake, and noticing that all three of us – my husband, my son, and I were breathing in sync.

Together.

And my intention for the day was set:

Just breathe, together.

In many areas of my life perfection has been a barrier to progress.

After earning an MFA in Creative Writing, I quit writing for nearly five years.  The degree was worthless, because every word I put down still didn’t feel good enough.

After fantasizing about a job in public broadcasting, I left a position at one of the country’s leading stations, because I couldn’t give myself permission to learn from mistakes.  Instead I perpetually felt defined by them.

It’s taken the near full five-years of my son’s life to believe I wasn’t fully responsible for his early birth and unfair start…and on the toughest days, I can still bury myself with the heaviest of guilt.

But, there is something to coaching that frees me.

When I am on the field with our team, I am not perfect.  I do not need to be, and somehow that provides just enough space to access the best of me.

I am present.  Aware.  Having fun and making meaningful connections.

When I’m coaching, I’m giving my time, my creativity, my experience, and my best shot…but what I’m receiving is so much more.

Surrounded by the courage to try something new and step up to the plate, I’m reminded of what progress looks and feels like – and how it will win out over perfection. Every.  Single.  Time.

I actually have many fond memories of carrying a calculator while grocery shopping with my Mom.  I liked the game of “let’s try and feed everyone for less than one-hundred dollars this week.”  I should probably mention that we were a family of six.

I was up for the challenge of finding the healthiest choices for the best prices, and it’s a challenge I’ve continued to stay up for.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if my propensity for frugality at the grocer means that I’m operating from mindset of scarcity, as opposed to abundance.

Then I made a killer turkey soup.

Fresh turkey breast was on sale this week – which made me very happy because I knew I could roast it for dinner, slice it up for lunchtime sandwiches, and take the scraps (along with whatever produce I had left in the fridge and freezer) and turn them into the most unctuous, comforting soup.

Each meal (and the soup especially) filled my family’s bellies as well as our souls.

And that my friend, is abundance.

The Founder of the non-profit I work for is a social worker by the name of Steve Gross.

Steve’s a leader in the field of  childhood psychological trauma response.  His remarkable work with kids and their care providers has given him a unique perspective on relationships and connections, and human superpowers like love, courage, compassion, fun, and gratitude.

He’s often invited to speak about his decades of service, and the work we continue to do at his Foundation.

One of the benefits of my work is sometimes I get to attend these speaking engagements, and even though I’m a part of the work that Steve talks about, I still always manage to walk away with something new.

Today I walked away with the following phrase:

Without a Tribe you can’t survive.

People need people.  We need us.  I certainly need you.

Steve’s tribe line has been echoing in my head, because ever since he said it, it’s been overwhelmingly clear how big my tribe actually is.

My Sister Tribe.  My Mother Tribe.  My Writer Tribe.  My Reader Tribe.  My Tee Ball Tribe.  My Yoga Tribe.  My Development Tribe.  My Media Tribe.  My Rindge Tribe – College Tribe – Billerica Tribe.

And of course there is the Tribe I was born into, and the Tribe I grew into, the one I married into, and the one my husband and I made together.

Regardless of the darkness of some of life’s most unfair challenges, my Tribes have continued to share their light.  And seeing their light, makes it easier to see my own.

So, c’mon, let’s let go, shine on, and tribe up.

I found myself in church today.  A beautiful baptism for my cousin’s four month-old daughter.

Toward the end of the ceremony the priest led us in prayer, and while reciting it my Grandmother and my Mother took my son’s hands and mine, and quite unexpectedly, I cried.

The four of us were not perfectly aligned in the pew.  My son was standing in front of me, my Grandmother to our left, and my Mom to our right – so the connection wasn’t as simple as holding hands down the line.  In fact, my Grandmother had to actually criss-cross her hands to reach both my son and me.

It was beautifully complex – and I think that’s what got me.

Because while simplicity is certainly something worth striving for, there is also something quite comforting in recognizing how Love wins despite the seemingly awkward, discouraging, and even potentially painful barriers.

I was sincerely looking forward to coming home tonight and making spicy chicken wings for dinner.

Wings, black beans, broccoli, and I decided for good measure – a beer.

The simple, satisfying meal was made even better by being enjoyed out on our three-season porch.  The warm setting sun, the hot food, the cold beverage, the family around the table, it really was a slice of vacation in the middle of the work week.

Just as I was about to sink my teeth in, my four-year old asked, “Mom, what’s that dipping sauce for your chicken wings?”

“Blue cheese dressing,” I said.

“Oh, how did you make it?”

I smiled – taking in a proud Mom moment that my kid assumes that if there’s something new on our plates that I (or his Dad) must have made it.

“This time buddy, the dressing came from a bottle.”

“What kind of bottle?”

“A plastic one.”

“Oh, that’s weird.”

I’ve decided to bank this moment, for a time when I rob myself of my own courage, and am left feeling can-do bankrupt.  My kid believes that I know how to make things, and I know, not so deep down I do, too.

Also, I need to remember to ask my Mom for her blue cheese dressing recipe. 🙂

20 reasons to celebrate my Grammy on her birthday (today):

1. She’s always thinking of the kids – which includes stashing Oreos in a very accessible lazy Susan.
2. She holds on to things – she’s kept many of the same toys that her grandchildren and even her children played with as kids.  Seeing third generations marvel over the same trucks and plastic golf clubs is something special.
3. She prays – not just for herself and her family, but pretty much for everyone.  There’s a very good chance that Grammy has, at some point or another, said a prayer for you.
4. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks – even if she’s pretty sure you won’t like what she has to say.  She says it because she believes she is helping.
5. She’s not afraid to be quiet – when she’s unsure of how she feels, or unsure of how it will be received, she waits.  She is quiet because she believes she is helping.
6. Her cakes – she is an expert cake decorator and for decades treated her grandchildren to her “family famous” clown cakes – an 8” round cake with three clowns hanging off the sides made entirely out of frosting.  Birthday kids always got treated to an entire clown. 🙂
7. Her sweaters, snocks, hats, mittens, blankets, and baby clothes – she’s also an expert knitter, and her creations are so beautifully and thoughtfully crafted that they are truly collectibles (and like anything worth collecting they last forever).
8. Her Easter Eggs – in addition to the cake decorating and knitting, Grammy can also paint.  More than 25 years ago she painted dozens of smooth wooden eggs to hide for Easter.  They’ve never lost their luster.
9. Her salad – she always makes three times the amount she knows we’ll need, because everyone always wants seconds, and we all want some to take home (she claims that celery salt and champagne vinegar are the secret ingredients, but really it’s just her).
10. Her hair and nails – she takes care of them – always – which has always been a reminder to me that even when times are tough there are great rewards in self-care.
11. Her photos – whether of her and her beau (our Papa) sunning at Hampton, standing proud with their children, or holding any of their many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, her treasured pictures tell a priceless family history.
12. Her acceptance – truth is, Grammy didn’t know me when I was born – her son brought my mother, my sister Lindsey, and me into her life many years later, and yet I never hesitate to call her my grandmother – and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
13. Her music – it took me a LONG time to develop a true and deep appreciation of Celtic music, but she played it for me LONG before I could really hear it…and now I listen to it often, always thinking fondly of her maiden tribe, the Conlons.
14. Her generosity – I can’t remember a time when she tolerated any of us to really experience what it’s like to go without.  Even when there’s not much, she’s demonstrated how there’s still enough to go around.
15. Her humility – when her children convinced her and their father to leave the home they raised them in and move to New Hampshire (to be closer to my parents) she resisted – but later she admitted that she was grateful for the nudge.  I think of that when I’m not always so pumped about what I “have to” do.  She reminds me that those  “have tos” could very well turn out to be true “get tos.”
16. Her stories – they’re all almost always about someone else in the family.  It’s important to her that those directly connected to her know just how many others we’re all connected to…cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, godchildren, in-laws, and longtime friends – she truly enjoys connecting all of us to each other.
17. Her house – whether the house she raised her kids in or the house her great-grandchildren now come to visit, there’s something about her place that seems to say: you are safe here.
18. Her presence – whether a graduation, dance recital, big (or not so big) game, a momentous life-event, or just a meaningful moment, I can’t remember ever asking her to share in a special event and her not finding a way to do so.
19. Her willingness to teach – she was the first adult to ever let me cook entirely on my own – it was a grilled cheese sandwich.
20. Her Moxie – okay, technically the Moxie belonged to the love her life – our Papa (he loved the stuff) – but through the years, Grammy’s developed her very own brand of Moxie, and I’m pretty grateful she shares it with us.