Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 26

There's something about visiting my husband's family home in a quiet, small town, where roosters crow and neighbors stop in the street to talk awhile, that makes me want to better myself.  I don't know what it is, but every time I visit my in-laws I find myself reading classic literature, going for long walks, and attempting, again, to knit something more impressive than a scarf.

 I remember one particular visit where I felt an undeniable desire to learn to paint with watercolors.  My artistically inclined mother-in-law humored my sudden interest in painting and set me up with paints, paper, and a brush or two.  Some of us were planning to spend the afternoon fishing at a lake in the mountains.  What better opportunity than in the beautiful mountains to be inspired and find my inner artist. 

I remember it clearly, sitting on a fold up chair, my mother-in-law sitting in a chair next to me, looking up at the breathtaking view of a mountain peak,  This was the perfect subject for my first ever watercolor painting.  I had everything I needed:  I had the paper, the paints, and a paint brush, I had a beautiful scene. I was practically guaranteed success!  I dipped my brush into the perfect shade of paint, and attempted the first stroke.  A swirl of water and paint bled all over the paper, in a not so artsy way.  Maybe I could fix this.  I tried again to capture the beauty I saw, but my "painting" was looking more and more like I had spilled something on my paper, and less and less the beautiful mountain I was attempting to capture.  My mother-in-law watched silently.  What was there to say?  I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and lacking the patience or humility to keep trying, I gave up.

Since that day, if by chance the thought entered my head to attempt watercolors again, it's been a fleeting one soon pushed out by the memory of my first experience with this unpredictable medium.  I am uncomfortable painting with watercolors, and so, in the name of comfort zone growth, I have to try again. 

I watched a short tutorial on watercolor painting for inspiration, and learned a few new tricks.  I remembered that sketching out your subject first could be helpful, and I learned to relax, have fun, be patient, and not look for perfection, but for my interpretation of what I saw. 

With this newly acquired artistic philosophy, I got to work.  Sitting there, my paint brush loaded with paint, and ready to begin, I was nervous.  Making that first brush stroke was pretty intimidating.  Once I found the courage to begin, it got easier and easier with each stroke.  I was patient, and careful, and one stroke at a time, my painting began to take shape.  This experience was nothing like my first attempt in the mountains.  I was feeling that happy, transcendent feeling that comes whenever we create something beautiful. Years ago, sitting by that lake, putting away the paints, embarrassed and defeated, I never could have imagined I would feel that way about watercolors.  I never would have, if I hadn't found the courage to try again.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 25

I remember my Freshman year of college, excitedly signing up for as many music classes as I could fit into my schedule.  I was 100% sure that music was the major for me.  I loved my voice lessons, and was having a blast singing in a show choir, and then, everything changed the day I walked into my first music theory class.

This class was my first introduction to music theory.  I don't know what I thought I was signing up for, but I wasn't prepared for what I experienced.  I knew nothing of solfeggio or transposing.  Sight reading gave me panic attacks, and the circle of fifths was a circle of confusion.  I managed to eek by, and pass a couple of semesters of music theory, saved only by my one respite in this very left-brained class, compositions.  By the end of my music theory experience, I had learned two things:  music theory did not come easily to me, and I needed to find a new major.

Music has always played a big role in my life.  I've been privileged to sing in a copious number of choirs, I've played my music in cafe's and farmer's markets, and my children's schools.  I've recorded a cd, and taught guitar lessons to many, all the while avoiding and ignoring music theory as best I could. 

The problem is, without music theory, I've reached a bit of a plateau in my music abilities.  You can only go so far in music, without a basic knowledge of theory.  It's time for me to face my fear, and tackle a little music theory again.

My return to music theory came in the form of a YouTube video, and a supportive, music theory- inclined husband sitting nearby.  I watched this very basic video with rapt attention, determined to find some new understanding.  Things were going great, for the first few minutes.  Intervals, steps, notes, I know all this stuff.  I was feeling pretty comfortable, and then the theory deepened, and that familiar sentiment of, "Whaaaaat?", that inevitably comes whenever I'm in the presence of music theory, returned.  I could have been 18 again, back in my college theory class.  I was uncomfortable.  This wasn't coming easily for me.  I wanted to quit.  Maybe I just needed to accept that theory wasn't something I could master.  Thankfully I had a resource.  I begged for help from my husband, and with a little practice and explanation, I was beginning to figure things out. 

It's funny how if you can find the courage to push through the awkward, clarity and success are usually hanging around close by.

I am well aware that my progress in music theory is minimal, at best.  But, I am proud of the little step I took in the right direction.  Some of the stigma is gone now, and I am determined to return again and again to the confusing world of theory, until I can begin to find some level of comfort there.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 24

In an attempt to enjoy my vacation last week to the fullest, I made the decision to postpone the final seven days of my Comfort Zone Challenge.  It turns out that even on vacation I managed to find ways to feel uncomfortable.

I like the idea of Zumba.  I do.  I like the idea of dancing to upbeat music as a way to get a work out, verses another boring set of lunges, or squats, or crunches.  Zumba makes exercising fun for sure but Zumba also means a whole lot of hip wiggling, which quite frankly my friends, is a little outside my comfort zone.  If I'm being honest, I'm not completely comfortable with Zumba's Latin dance moves even at home, alone.  The idea of taking a Zumba class and busting a move in public ranks high on my list of uncomfortable. 

While on vacation enjoying a Sunday dinner with my family, I worked up the nerve to ask my very fit, very dedicated, sister in law if I could tag along with her to one of her Zumba classes while I was in town.  She agreed, and I was stuck.  There was no backing out now. 

The morning of the Zumba class arrived, and I woke early feeling a healthy mix of excitement and fear.  As I stepped into the room of forty plus women all dressed in matching, stylish, work out clothes, I suddenly felt a little out of place.  Could I really find the inner confidence to shake my hips with abandon in front of strangers?

The music started and my heart got a little lighter.  The music was fun, the instructor was engaging, and without thinking too much, I began to follow her lead.  I worried not only about the signature hip wiggling of Zumba, but also about the very real possibility of looking like an idiot, several steps behind the rest of the class, trying to keep up with the steady succession of dance moves.  There were a few moments of awkward, but all in all I did ok.  The dance moves were simple, and repeated enough that I could keep up.  I was doing Zumba in public, and not dying inside of mortification.  I was dancing, and wiggling, and actually pretty comfortable doing it. 

I've decided that Zumba just might be a metaphor for life.  Life lessons learned in my one hour Zumba class:

• The more you put into it, the more you get out of it.
• If you stop trying to look cool, and just try to be comfortable with yourself, you'll have more fun.
• Don't compare yourself to anyone.  Focus in on your goal, and celebrate your little victories.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 23

                                                                                            Red Cross, quotesgram.com

I remember the words of my doctor, years ago, after I had completed some lab work, and learned of my blood type for the first time.  He told me that my blood type was very rare, and that if I ever needed to, I could make a lot of money by selling my blood.  My first thought was, "ooh, rare blood!"  I had one ridiculous minute of feeling like a super hero with extra special blood coursing through my veins.  My next thought was, "If I have such rare blood, I should donate blood as often as I can."

I've had this thought in the back of my mind for years.  Unfortunately, I've become very good at pushing it way, way, back into the dark corners of my mind, and sometimes ignoring it all together.  I've seen signs like the one above, or learned of a blood drive taking place in my community, and felt a surge of conscientiousness, knowing I should donate, and then quickly coming up with a myriad of excuses why I just couldn't:  I'm just too busy that day, I'll do it next time, it takes too long to donate, I think I might be getting sick, and on and on. 

Donating blood has become one of those things that I know I should do but just don't, like flossing every day, or eating three servings of vegetables, or taking a daily vitamin, or getting to bed early.

Yesterday, with determination to finally overcome the excuses, and do what I knew was right, I drove to the Red Cross Donation Center,, walked bravely to the door, and...it was closed.

Not to be deterred, I came back during regular business hours, this time bringing along my oldest daughter, who it turns out is much braver than I am, and willingly came along when I asked. 

Sitting in the waiting area, reading over the very comprehensive paperwork that one must read before each donation, those same uncomfortable feeling that had kept me from donating blood for so long, began to creep in.  Reading the paperwork was a little like an interrogation, asking page after page of questions to determine my eligibility.  I was suddenly overly worried about everything I read.  Oh wait, I was in Spain in the 90's, maybe I can't donate after all.   Or, maybe this cold I have would make it unwise to donate today. 

I persisted through the uncomfortable, and even the unexpected finger prick, and was soon taking it easy in a very comfortable chair, ready to donate.  The process is simple, the pain was minimal, and from the time I sat down in the chair, to the time I was enjoying the complimentary cookies and juice, was only about 15 minutes. 

Another case where facing the uncomfortable head on results in the an experience much less awful than anticipated. 

I will absolutely be heading back to the donation center soon, not just for the juice and cookies, but for the feeling of knowing that I am really helping someone, making a difference, and stretching my comfort zone.  That feeling is worth a little paperwork, a little prick, and a little uncomfortable.

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 22

I thought I'd take advantage of the culinary super power I've been feeling since successfully baking croissants, and continue on in the cooking vein.  This challenge is not so much about the food, however, as it is about the method used for cooking it.  The grill.

My family has owned some form of a grill, from the compact, rectangular, perfect for a small apartment balcony style, all the way up the line to the heavy duty smoker/grill that now sits, big and intimidating, on our back deck.  I've enjoyed years of marinated chicken, smoked ribs, and grilled corn on the cob, watching my husband learn to master the grill.  I'm a big fan of the smokey, umami flavors achieved only by cooking food on a charcoal grill, and yet, never in my life have I dared to cook on a grill myself.  The grill was always Jacob's territory, and I was happy to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labors.  I am pretty ignorant of the ways of the grill.  The miniscule amount of barbeque knowledge I do posses comes from observing my husband over the years, and an occasional barbeque cooking show on PBS.

This challenge ranks pretty high up on the uncomfortable meter for me, mostly because it involves fire, and the real possibility that I could start my house, or myself, on fire.  If this sounds like I am
being overly dramatic, I'm not.  The giant cloud of swirling smoke pouring out of my grill yesterday, as I attempted to ignite the charcoal was very dramatic.  I was pretty sure that billowing smoke wasn't a normal part of the process, so I panicked, and called my husband at work for moral support.  By the time I reached my husband, and I finished my frantic plea for help, the smoke had dissipated, at which point there was a brief moment of leaping flames, and then, nothing.  The charcoal looked exactly like it had before I sent the smoke signal message around my neighborhood that an amateur was at the grill.  I was pretty sure I was doing something wrong.  Jacob reminded me that it took a little time for the charcoal to ignite, and to keep encouraging the coals by giving them some oxygen.  I took a deep breath, hung up the phone, and began my diligent tending of the coals.  I hovered over those coals, like a worried mother over her sick child.  I was so afraid that the tiny glowing embers would die out completely, and that I'd have to start all over with the billowing smoke and leaping flames.  Finally, after much persistence, the coals were ready. 

It turned out that the worst was behind me.  Once I got the behemoth barbeque up and running, the cooking part was, by comparison, a breeze.  I chose to try grilling fish, instead of a giant rack of ribs, or a pork tenderloin, because I knew it would cook relatively quickly, and it was one step up from just throwing on some hot dogs.  I seasoned the Tilapia well, and took it out to the grill.  At this point, my cooking confidence began to rise a little, fueled perhaps by those PBS barbeque tips that were returning to my mind.  I remembered, for instance, that fish tend to stick to a grill, so it's important to oil the grill before cooking the fish.  My cooking intuition kicked in, and I thought that some lime juice and honey, combined with garlic and herbs would add moisture and flavor to the fish.  This wasn't bad.  It was kind of nice, actually.  Out in the sunshine, smelling like a campfire, meat on the grill...this was the full grill master experience.  Well, it was my only experience, but aside from the smoke and flames, it wasn't so bad!

The fish turned out great, and the one child I could convince to try my first grilling attempt, loved it, even though she's not a much of a fish fan in general.  Success!

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 21

I've had croissants looming large in my mind for the past few weeks.

My husband and oldest daughter recently took a trip to Paris, and returned home with descriptions of quaint patisseries where one can buy a buttery, flakey, croissant for about a dollar.  These croissants are not to be confused with rolled up in a can, crescent roll that we sometimes confuse for the real thing.  I'm talking instead about the pastry so perfect that it has had a long history of popularity in the country that takes cooking and baking more seriously than perhaps any other. 

Also bringing croissants to the forefront was the comment made by a good friend of mine, after reading about my adventure, (or misadventure?), baking a soufflé.  She wrote simply, "Next up, Croissants!"  Attempting to bake the quintessential French pastry is absolutely, way outside of my comfort zone.  I had to take that as a challenge!

After reading over a few croissant recipes, I discovered one that made reference to Julia Child, and her classic cooking show, The French Chef.  Of course!  Why was I messing around with amateurs when I could go to THE source for French cooking, Julia Child!  I found the episode where Julia demonstrates how to make the perfect French Croissant on Youtube.  I quickly learned that the croissant is not a breakfast you can whip out for the kids before school like muffins of waffles.  Croissants are a labor of love, a labor of love that takes all day to pull off. 

I was ready to take on the croissant.  "Mise en place", as Julia would say, "everything in it's place".  Butter, pastry flour, oil, salt, yeast, sugar, all ready to magically combine into a little bundle of flakey goodness. 

I spent a lot of time with Julia in the kitchen that day.  Starting and pausing and rewinding her enchanting video over and over.  Make the bread dough, knead, let rise.  Simple enough so far.  Then came the part that makes a croissant, a croissant.  The genius idea to roll the dough with large amounts of butter.  Then, the not so complicated, but very time consuming portion of the recipe, where you endure a four hour series of rolling, turning, rolling, turning, chilling, waiting, then even more rolling and turning and chilling the dough until finally, it's time to make the croissants.  Once the perfect croissant shape is formed, you wait some more.  The end is in sight however, because as soon as the croissants have risen, it's just a quick 10-12 minutes in the oven, (finally something quick about this recipe), and I voila', beautiful, golden brown croissants that would make Julia proud!

As time consuming and slightly intimidating as making croissants turned out to be, it was absolutely worth the effort just to see the looks on my family's faces when they took a bite.

Another step outside my comfort zone confidently taken, thanks to Julia Child.

Today's a new day, let's  make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 20

So much of what I love, and what I read, and how I speak, and how I spend my time, and who I am, has been fashioned in some small way by the many friendships I've been blessed to have throughout my life.

Making friends, getting a glimpse into someone's heart, and letting them into your own, is such a gift.  As a kid, finding a friend who values jumping on the trampoline, and orange popsicles as much as you do, brings confidence.  In high school, making friends in Art Club, or in the choir, who has common interests, brings direction and purpose.  As an adult, finding a friend who has also spent sleepless nights caring for a sick child, or struggled to make the perfect loaf of bread, brings comfort and strength. 

If I value friendship so much, and I do, why is it so easy for me to lose touch with friends who at one time were such an important part of my life? 

The answer isn't a justifiable one, but the truth is that I just get busy.  Life moves fast, and sometimes I just don't make time for the things that matter most.

As only she can, Jane Austen penned the words,

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”  

I have been loving by halves, and it's not my nature either.

Sometimes stretching your comfort zone just means finally doing the things you've known you should do for a long time. 

I started small, (a good way to start), and thought of one friend whom I've often thought of, but rarely let know.  My list of friends who fall into this category is extensive, (including many of you reading this post), and I have high hopes of reestablishing contact and friendship with all of them, but today I started with just one.

Fighting back embarrassment for being absent for so long, and suddenly showing up in their inbox, I wrote an email full of reminiscing, sincere interest in catching up, and a hope for a renewed friendship.

An email is a simple gesture, for sure.  It's going to take more than just shooting off an email to reestablish a friendship, but it's a start.  The next step, I think, is to make time regularly and faithfully for the things, and the friendships, that matter most...to stop loving by halves.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 19

Over the last 19 years, my little nomad family and I, have moved around a lot, never staying too long in one place.  Finding ourselves in a new neighborhood, a new town, and in new schools so often, has meant a lot of effort getting to know new people.  In this effort to make friends, and  to settle and serve in our new community, we have invited an uncounted number of people to our home for dinner.

A good majority of the time, these dinners haven't gone very smoothly.  I've learned to be very uncomfortable with inviting people over for dinner.

Let me paint the scene for you, of an average dinner with guests, at the Parnell home.

Never learning from past mistakes, I'm always a little overambitious.  Wanting to impress, I often plan a complicated menu, which includes hours of prep, and many opportunities for something to go wrong.  The rolls that turned out perfectly when friends weren't coming for dinner, never seem to rise.  The dessert I've made dozens of times, inexplicably turns out green instead of yellow, and tastes horrible.  The homemade hot chocolate boils over the pot, causing a frantic clean up five minutes before our guests arrive.  Often the food just isn't finished in time, causing a long stretch of awkward small talk and apologetic excuses while we wait for dinner to be ready. 

As is this isn't bad enough, the food isn't usually our only issue.  My adorable, well-behaved children, forget all social graces as soon as our friends arrive, and almost always have major melt downs over who gets to use the fancy fork, or who gets to sit next to mom, or just sit quietly in their chair and refuse to talk at all. 

With all of these less than successful dinner parties haunting my past, I've been reluctant to try again.  Unwilling to be held captive by my comfort zone any longer, last Saturday we gave it another go. 

The first step in planning for this dinner was to learn from the past, and not let history repeat itself.  That meant, keeping it simple.  No more elaborate three course meals, expensive grocery list, and frazzled host.  Instead, we opted for the most chill, most simple meal we could think of: pancakes, (homemade, whole wheat, of course.  I'm not totally uncivilized.), bacon, and watermelon. 

Our guest arrived, and while things weren't perfect, (We forgot to heat up the skillet in time, and the pancakes weren't ready yet), it wasn't awkward or stressful.  I made an apology that the food wasn't ready, but instead of being embarrassed and beating myself up for not pulling things off perfectly, we started with the fruit and bacon, and talked and got to know each other better, while we waited for the pancakes.  The pancakes turned out  great, the conversation was easy and entertaining, with much talk on whether Nutella or Maple Syrup, (or the combination of the two), was superior.

In the end, our guests left well fed and happy, and I chalked this one up as a success.  Finally.


Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 18

It all started the day my older brother brought home a guitar.  It could have been that I thought anything my brother did was cool, or it could have been how easy he made playing it look, or it might have been how beautiful I thought the guitar sounded, but whatever it was, something happened to me that day.  I fell in love instantly with everything about playing the guitar. 

After that day, there was no stopping me.  I bought a guitar, took lessons, and spent most of my free time practicing.  I was excited at my progress, and quickly turned in to a 20th century version of Mary Bennett, "always impatient for display".  I signed up for my high school's talent show, cornered my friends whenever they stopped by to visit, and wearied my family with the constant stream of music coming from my bedroom. 

The next logical step in my guitar playing seemed obvious.  I  needed to write my own music.  I started out by writing simple three chord songs, and once I started, I couldn't stop.

I took my guitar along with me to college, and happily, had many opportunities to share my music.  I began writing music more prolifically, and soon had a good collection of my original songs. I played in small on campus concerts, in pizza shops, in cafe's, wherever I could. 

After I graduated from college and got married, I continued to nurture my love of music.  I even had the opportunity to play in a band, perform widely in my community, and record a cd.  I was writing songs, playing the music I loved, and continuing to improve.

When the time came for my family to move to a new town, I also seemed to move away from my dedication to making music a major part of my life. 

I haven't written a new song in five years.

I've been intimidated by the thought of trying to write another song, convinced that those days of music and creativity were over.

This comfort zone challenge is teaching me to question those absolutes I've set for myself.  So, this morning I woke up and wrote a song.  I'm not creatively dead after all!

I surprised myself at how comfortable I felt with guitar and pen in hand again.  It was like riding a bike!  The words and music flowed easily from me, and I felt a renewed sense of creativity.  I've missed it more than I realized.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 17

I have a very unproductive habit of lying in bed at the end of the day, and going over and over in my head, all the ways that I fell short that day.  I know.  It sounds very self-defeating, and it is.  The thing is, I start out my day so full of ambition, and determination to be the world's most patient mom, to mold young minds, to expand my own, the make a mark in my community, to change the world.  Morning is always bright with the possibilities of the day, and that light quickly begins to dim as the day rolls on.

I often find myself focusing on where I fall short.  I know that this is the wrong point of view to take.  I think it's ok to fall short.  That is why we have tomorrow, right?  Maybe, if I look the right way, my days, (well, most days), have just as many moments where I do something right. 

I need to shift my focus.  Yesterday, I was determined to focus on what I'm doing right.

As is often the case, my day didn't go exactly as I planned.  I spent the majority of the morning sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation with my two teenage girls, about a timely issue in our family.  After our conversation, when I realized how much time I had spent just sitting, and how I hadn't been productive in the way I had planned for the morning, my first instinct was to feel guilty.  Then, with a firm determination to focus on what I was doing right, I shifted my focus.  I had just spent over an hour talking and laughing and connecting with my kids.  I hadn't been productive in the way that I planned, but I had been productive.

This wasn't so hard.

The afternoon proved busy and rushed, and we ended up sitting down to dinner at a very European time.  Eating dinner close to the time that I should have been getting my kids ready for bed, could easily have brought on a classic case of mom guilt, but again I shifted my focus.  I didn't have dinner ready at 5:00, but I was surrounded by my family, talking and sharing a meal, and said meal even included a whole lot of vegetables!  Focusing on my small victories, instead of on my shortcomings felt amazing.

Here's to more days spent focusing on what I do right, and expanding my comfort zone to include being comfortable with myself, my progress, and exactly where I am each day.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 16

Some of the sweetest moments I've experienced as a mom, have consisted of the simple combination of sleepy kids, a warm blanket, and the words,  "All the children sat looking at Pippi, who lay flat on the floor, drawing to her heart's content", or "So, Matilda's strong, young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world, like ships on the sea", or even, "One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish".

For years I've made a bedtime ritual with my kids a priority, and the benefits have been clear:  An emotional connection, lots of affection, creative growth from stories and books, my kids fall asleep much more quickly and sleep more soundly. I know the benefits that come when we find time and energy at the end of the day to spend a few minutes connecting with, and nurturing our kids through a simple bed time routine. Finding that time and energy, however, has been a tricky business lately.  Regrettably, I've let my kid's bedtime ritual fall way down on my list of priorities. 

I've been trading in books and stories for the sad substitute of a TV show, or sometimes just a sleepy, "head on up to bed".  I've definitely been feeling bad about my lukewarm efforts, but sadly, exhaustion seems to be the mother of excuses.  I know that a consistent, conscientious,  bedtime routine isn't easy, but the benefits make it worth the extra effort.

Last night I stretched my sleepy comfort zone, by recommitting to a better bedtime routine.

With kids snuggled in close, under the biggest, comfiest, quilt I could find, I told the most fantastical story I could think of, about a boy who learns he has special powers, and trains at a magical super hero school, disguised as an old, abandoned warehouse. 

Laying there, with my kids sleepy and happy, and totally engrossed in my story, I suddenly didn't feel so tired anymore.

Today's a new day, Let's make it purposeful!
Kara 













 

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 15

Raising six kids means doubling, (or tripling), the recipe every time.  driving an obnoxiously large car,  a long line of goodnight hugs and kisses every night, and it means that time alone with my husband is a rare and precious thing.  Ive learned to take date night very seriously.

I've noticed, over the years, a definite trend in our dating.  We've spent a lot of time together strolling through bookstores, eating at fancy French Bistros, attending concerts and frequenting museums...all very Kara-ish dates.  I had noticed this bias in our dating before, and wanting to be fair, have tried a few times to plan dates more Jacob's speed.  Here is an example of my efforts:

Several years ago, going for a more Jacob-style date, we decided on a nearby wings restaurant for dinner.  I complained the whole time about the excessive number of flat screens littering the walls, all broadcasting various noisy games of basketball, hockey or golf, (the golf games really weren't very loud, actually).  I whined to Jacob that this was a horrible environment for a date.  It was way too loud and distracting to even have a good coversation.  The thing is, I never stopped to consider that maybe hot wings and sports was a pretty ideal date for my husband.  Certainly Jacob had endured endless dates watching Pride and Prejudice, or strolling through gardens.  Instead of thinking of my husband, I ate my wings as fast as I could, not wanting to stay any longer than I absolutely had to.

I can do better!  

Last night, Jacob and I traded in our usual hummus and Hallmark, for salsa and Sci-Fi.  I did my best to make it a date where my husband could see that I was thinking of him, and of us...and not complaining or wishing we could do something I enjoyed more.

In the end, by the time all the kids were off to bed, and we finished our tasks for the day, it was late, and we were exhausted.  The date was short, but it was sweet.  There was salsa, there was Sci-Fi, there was no Jane Austen or Creme Brûlée, but there was Jacob and I together, and it was perfect.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!

Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 14

"Let's face it, a nice creamy chocolate cake does a lot, for a lot of people; it does for me."  Audrey Hepburn


Last summer I took a life-changing trip to Belgium.  My husband, my 9 month old baby, and I, spent hours and hours each day, pushing our clunky stroller down cobblestone streets, taking in views of grand palaces, the Royal Opera House, and eating our lunches of bread and cheese with church bells sounding from a centuries old cathedral nearby. 

I was enchanted by the history, the culture, and the fabulously friendly people, but if I'm being honest, my real love of Belgium rests largely on the chocolate!

                                                                                             curiousnico.wordpress.com


Returning home, I tested the strength of the zippers on my suitcase, stuffing it full of every form of chocolate I could find, including a 3 kilo tub of Nutella. 

I have always had a thing for chocolate. 

From my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies, to bargaining with my brother to trade the lesser Halloween candy for the good stuff, to a near addiction level of chocolate consumption as an adult, I have long loved chocolate.

The problem is, chocolate doesn't love me back.

I've suspected for a long time that I might be allergic.  The symptoms started small, and were easy enough to ignore.  However, when a little sneezing whenever I ate chocolate, eventually turned into headaches and migraines and dizziness, I reluctantly began to admit that I might need to give it up.

Mustering all the strength I could find, I committed to two weeks without chocolate, just a test, to see if it was really the chocolate making me feel sick.  After two weeks, the headaches were gone, and my heart broke just a little.

I am not comfortable with a life without chocolate.  But I am a lot healthier.  Dang it.

It's been 39 days without chocolate, and believe it or not, I am still happy, and life still has meaning.  I'm beginning to feel empowered, because if I can go 39 days without chocolate, anything is possible!

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 13

I have never been a morning person.  Sleeping in is serious business in my family.  Sleeping late is practically synonymous with being a Burt.  I swear, the desire to sleep late is so real and so strong, I'm convinced that sleeping late is a trait deeply rooted in my family history.

I grew up in family of night owls, and I married a farmer boy, rise with the rooster's crow, morning person.  My husband loves to wake up early and get a jump on the day.  I've always admired his motivation and energy in the morning.  It's definitely admirable to wake up with the sun, and start the day off right, but trying to be a morning person feels like I'm fighting against my very nature.

I've experienced, over the years, many, many, failed attempts to transform into a morning person. 

"I am going to wake up at 6:00 tomorrow, for sure, and go for a run, finally finish the book I can never find time to read, and make a big, healthy breakfast for the kids before school."  My ever supportive husband smiles and nods, trying to hide his doubt that comes from knowing me and my history.  All motivation and enthusiasm unfailingly leave me at the sound of my 6:00 alarm the next morning.  I become the queen of rationalization and excuses, turn off my alarm and fall back asleep. 

This week, my friends, has been different!  I have found some serious motivation from this Comfort Zone Challenge!  I made a goal to wake up early Monday through Friday, and I am excited, (and a little surprised), to be able to report that I did it!

Waking up early hasn't been easy, but I've got to say, it's been worth it! 

Here are some observations from a life-time night owl, on the benefits of rising early:

Quiet time in the morning to be still, and think clearly, brings a feeling of control over my day.  When I sleep in, I'm rushed and frazzled in my morning routine, and it's easy for me to feel overwhelmed by the day.  Having time to prepare for the day before the rest of the family is awake is empowering.

I've discovered that these early hours that I usually spend snoozing, can be a time of some serious productivity.  Finding extra time all to myself in the middle of the day is highly unlikely.  Even if I manage to find some time at the end of the day, I'm exhausted, and would much rather relax than be productive.  I've loved having time to read and study, ponder and write, and start my day off feeling calm and accomplished.

In the end, the greatest advantage to waking up early all week is that I did something hard for me.  I challenged my comfort zone, and won.

Now I think I'll go back to bed.

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 12

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." 
Eleanor Roosevelt 

When I was a junior in high school, I took a creative writing class.  After just the first few days, I knew I had found my people.  The small class was filled with others like me, that thrilled in stringing together a line of beautiful words.  I looked forward to this class every day.  I wrote my heart out, and got lost in metaphor and allegory.  When later that year, my Haiku about Fall leaves got published in my high school's literary magazine, I was ecstatic, and my love for writing grew.

I continued to write a little after high school, but soon found new dreams that competed with writing for my time and attention.  Always, somewhere in the back of my mind, lay dormant my wish of being a writer. 

One day, years later, married and raising two little girls, something awakened my long-held dream of writing.  As a new mom, I was in love with children's literature, and wanted to contribute to that genre.  I wrote a book.  I wrote two of them, actually, and after much research on the particulars, submitted my manuscripts to several publishers.  I had big dreams!  These stories had taken enormous amounts of effort and thought and time.  I wanted to be a published writer with all my heart, but for all my efforts, each manuscript was returned with an impersonal rejection form letter.  

I had done my research.  I knew the odds of a first time author getting published were slim.  They are in fact, very slim.  The bleak reality of a writers shot at publication is found in an article entitled, "The Odds of Bieng Published",  on writerstype.com:

Hypothetically, an agent might receive 15,000 querry letters in a year. Of the 15,000 novels in question, only a few dozen might be accepted and forwarded to a publisher, with only 15 or so to be accepted by a publisher for printing. Thus, in this example, an author has only a 1 in 1,000 chance of being published.  

The sobering reality of my odds eventually led me to lay aside my dreams of publishing for a while.  The beautiful thing about dreams however, is that it's not easy to crush them entirely.  They seems to be resilient, and find ways of popping back up at the right times.

In the last few years, I've started writing with more force again.  I've loved every creative moment spent writing, and still I dream of publishing.  Submitting my writing again, and all of the effort it would take, knowing full well that it is entirely likely that I won't get published, is however, way outside of my comfort zone.  

I am determined to see it through and stay the slow, steady, course of finishing my manuscript,  and submitting it to be published.

It's good to have a dream, even one where the odds of attaining it are 1 in 1,000.

In the words of one of my most loved writers:

“...Oh, Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them,” exclaimed Anne. “You mayn’t get the things themselves; but nothing can prevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them. Mrs. Lynde says, ‘Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be disappointed.’ But I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed"
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 11

Have you noticed how easy it is for kids to make friends? 

I love to watch my kids in action.  In 30 seconds flat, after arriving at the playground, they have three new best friends, and all are happily playing tag as if they had known each other their whole lives.  Meanwhile, the mom of these new friends and I are struggling with awkward small talk.   

For kids, everyone is a potential friend.  All it takes is a, "Hi, I'm Sophie.  Do you want to play?"  And just like that, a new friend! 

I could learn a thing or two from my kids.

I have, on more than one occasion, been guilty of walking as fast as I can, eyes fixed straight ahead, from my car to my front door, to avoid conversation with a neighbor who is out in their yard.  It's not because I don't like them, or because I don't want to get to know them, it's simply to avoid awkward conversation and the effort it takes to get to know someone new. 

I am well aware that this method of neighbor avoidance isn't working well for me.  I want to be a good neighbor and I am trying to make small, concerted efforts to improve.  I am slowly getting to know my neighbors, but I have definitely not progressed much past the "wave and say hello as we pass", stage. 

I have, as of late, become much more brave about challenging my comfort levels.  I'm learning quickly from this challenge that often what seem like daunting, insurmountable limits, once attempted, become much less intimidating. 

With this view in mind, I took a page from my kid's friend making book, and pushed myself.

I often run into a neighbor of mine while picking up my kids from school.  We share the same route home, and our daughters love to walk together.  I typically say a quick "hello", to my neighbor before hurrying past, intent on reaching home.  The other day, as I walked well in front of my neighbor, I decided it was time for something  better.  I turned around, walked back to meet up with my neighbor, and started up a conversation.  A REAL conversation.  Our short 10 minute walk home proved to be more effective in getting to know my neighbor, and establishing friendship, than all those months of waving hello. 

When we reached our homes, my neighbor invited us in, and over popsicles we talked and made plans for a fishing trip our families would take together in the Fall. 

Wow!  That was easy! 

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara

Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 10

Yesterday I cried at the doctor's office. 

I didn't cry because I was in pain, not really.  I didn't get poked with a needle.  I didn't have any broken bones.  I wasn't even sick.  But there I sat, overcome for just a moment, wiping away my tears.

I was visiting the doctor with my oldest daughter, Emma.  Emma just turned 18 last month.  In just a few weeks she will be going off to college.  I am not comfortable with my child moving away.  I have not been comfortable with this idea for a long time.

I looked up at Emma, sitting on the exam table, waiting for the doctor to come in, and I had this moment of realization that this was most likely the last time I would take my now adult child to see the pediatrician.  For some reason this struck me hard!  How many times had I taken my little girl to see the doctor?  How many times had I prepped her before hand for the shot I knew would be scary for her.  How many times had I comforted her and held her close to ease the pain.  How many earaches and sore throats and trips to get ice-cream afterward for being brave.  She was all grown up and moving away, and I broke down.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that the doctors office meltdown wasn't a solitary event.  I have been having these moments of realization for months. They tend to come without warning.  A few months ago, I broke down while standing in the pantry, because I heard that beautiful song by Sara Bareilles, "She Used To Be Mine".  The lyrics struck me instantly:

She is messy, but she's kind.

She is lonely most of the time

She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie

She is gone, but she used to be mine. 

 

 

"She's gone but she used to be mine." 

 

I know I'm not the first mom, to have a child grow up and move out.  I guess I've known all along that this day would come...I just didn't think it would all happen so fast.

 

This is the girl that made me a mom for the first time.  I remember her, brand new, all eyes and long, dark brown hair that stuck straight up.  I remember her two years old, and obsessed with My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, and twirly dresses.  I remember her five, all at once excited and painfully shy, going to her first day of Kindergarten.  I remember her at eight, bedtime spent reading Anne Of Green Gables, together, her love of reading and books.  I remember her at 12, middle school, playing the violin, and her Broadway themed birthday party.  I remember her at 16, living and loving the theatre, acting in her first production, discovering her talents.  I remember her at 18, confident, beautiful, strong, ready to take on the world.

 

Emma IS ready to leave home.  I know that.  I'll miss her, but I am happy for her.  I am happy.  Even if I cry uncontrollably in public sometimes.

 

I love you, Emma!  Thank you for 18 years of expanding my comfort zone, in happy, happy, ways!

 

 

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!

Mom



Comfort Zone Challenge - Day 9

I blame my high school debate class. 

I'm a pretty laid back, easy going girl, most of the time.  I am skilled at avoiding argument and confrontation, and biting my tongue to keep the peace...at least until someone brings up politics, then I just can't help myself.

I grew up in a home with very strong political beliefs.  I found myself, early in my high school years, questioning a few of the political ideals of my family.  I didn't just ask questions, or have a casual conversation about my ideas.  I argued and lectured, claimed to know best, and let myself get angry and condescending.  I am embarrassed to admit that not much has changed.  When something I feel strongly about is challenged, I'm still likely to have a very Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde experience. 

I don't need to tell you that there is plenty of political talk happening right now, and plenty of strong opinions to be heard.  I think it's great to stand up for, and speak out on what is important to you. To be active politically is a good thing...just not the way I've been doing it.

A couple of days ago, while visiting with some friends, I found myself in a situation that could definitely have brought on my political Dr. Jekyll.  The conversation turned to politics, and I was outnumbered 2 to 1 by opposing political views.  I disagreed with a lot of what was said, but in a definite moment of growth for me, I found myself actually listening and respecting my friends opinions, and then sharing mine with the same level of conviction, but without the argument.  It turns out that it is possible to have a conversation about politics, and not be feisty and argumentative!

It is definitely outside of my comfort zone, to listen to others' political views, and not shove my own down their throats. 

I have to say that it feels much better to talk politics, and not yell politics. 

Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara