Pittsburgh Woman Faces Fears with Help from Strangers

Are you brave? I'm not exactly brave.

My college running coaches urged me to push myself beyond what felt easy. My writing mentors advised me to write what felt scary.

I usually just hung out in my comfort zone. It was easy. Guess what readers? Life isn't easy.

The author on a non-scary run.

After finally resolving a minor physical problem that had a major impact on my self-esteem and self-worth, I decided to change. In 2011, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and decided to start writing for real. In 2012, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone into triathlons and a new 10K personal record.

I've been pretty lucky - some might say blessed - so far in life. I was reminded of my many blessings in life on when my husband and I were at the Boston Marathon. He ran, I cheered. We were lucky - not only did he finish the race but we were safe and able to return home to our three beautiful children.

And I feel the need lately to pay it forward.

I'm trying to volunteer more, and I'm asking you to volunteer more, too. Why not start by helping out at MuckFest 2013? 

I'll be running/slogging through five miles of muck on Saturday, May 25 here in Pittsburgh and I'd love for you to be there to keep me honest. Because there's an opportunity for me to take 'alternate routes' on some of the obstacles. And I'm scared of some of the obstacles.

Sure, it probably wouldn't scare you. And since you're volunteering you can try out some of the obstacles.

But they scare me. And I don't like muck. And
I am worried I might take the easy way out and stick in my comfort zone. But if YOU are there, giving me that look, reminding me that lots of people don't have the choice to take the easy way, well....maybe I will dive face first into that mud, climb underground, swing on the rope, scale the wall even though heights terrify me, and I might even find I enjoy it.

Best Ways for Kids to Make Money

Dealing rocks. 

Thanks to my kindergartener, I now know the best ways for kids to make money: by tricking other kids.

My five year old is obsessed with making money. When we do the lemonade stand at the end of our driveway, he's the one who hustles to the park to remind people how thirsty they are. He came home from school a few weeks ago with some artwork and told me I could have it for 25 cents. Later when he talked to his grandparents on the phone, he told them the price was $3.00.

On Monday of this week, he took some colorful polished rocks to school and told everyone how "rare" they were and he would only sell one for $20. I didn't know about this. (Yes, I am not a helicopter parent, I'm more of a hang-glider, sort of skimming over what they're doing.) But imagine my surprise when he got off the bus on Tuesday proudly waving the $20 bill that he got in exchange for one shiny rock.

Several local entrepreneurs that I shared this story with were impressed. And yes, I'll admit some small satisfaction that my middle son seems to know the better side of the deal, unlike my older son when he was trading LEGOs.

I called the parents and left a message explaining that the money would be returned.

Did I do the right thing? Am I teaching my kid right from wrong or stifling an innate talent for making cash?

What makes you special?

It's such a dilemma. I blog about parenting, hoping to hear from other parents that our problems aren't unique. But I tell my kids all the time "you are so unique! There is no one like you!" And even though I want my kids to obey me without question, at the exact same time I want them to think for themselves and see themselves as individuals.

Weighing both sides of the argument usually ends with me prizing individuality over conformity.  So when I was invited to submit an entry to the UPMC Health Plan Individuality contest, I said "heck yeah."

Going for a unique look

I have plenty of other things on my to-do list, but I am going to put "create kick-ass family entry" on my the top of the list. Because I want the hotel prize. And the Zoo prize.

Oh alright, you can enter, too.

Are people just dumb?

Just for the fun of it.

My husband is not actually a computer but he does work with them all day. He relies heavily on logic when tackling decisions.  

He considers not only the possible outcomes of a decision, but the most likely. He’s ok with taking a risk on a less than likely outcome, but he expects you to be honest about why you chose the risk and have a well-thought-out reason for taking that risk.

His first reaction to the bombings in Boston Marathon were “why are terrorists so dumb? What do they think they will gain from these actions? Do they actually think they will achieve their desired goals of advancing their cause with these kinds of actions?”

He said this because he thinks their goals are logical, concrete goals. 

But I think this is where I offer him something that isn’t always obvious to him (love you, honey). People ain’t logical. People are emotional, irrational and impulsive. And not everyone does things for a good reason. Including our kids. 

One of his favorite questions to ask me, when he comes home and the kids are whining/crying/arguing/shouting/being disobedient/being jerks is “Why are they doing this? What happened?”

I know why he’s asking this. If we can reproduce the bug, we can fix things and prevent future system crashes. 

I used to try and provide an answer. They’re hungry. They’re tired. Mars is in ascendence heightening their aggression. Lately I’ve just started shrugging my shoulders. Who knows why they are acting like jerks? Not me. 

Help Making Friends

What is the foundation of friendship?

I've been pondering this idea lately as I watch my children make new friends and cast old ones aside, and as my own friendships with other adults wax and wane.

My children are friends with the kids who share their assigned seats on the bus, with whomever sits near their desk in the classroom or next to them at lunch. Friendship is about proximity and a bit about shared interests.

Since I don't live near any of my friends from high school or college, maintaining those friendships has been a challenge. Phone calls, texts, emails and infrequent visits are our sole means of keeping tabs with each other, supporting one another, sharing the laughs and the tears - the things that friends do with each other. I've gained some new friends through business networking and neighborhood social events.

At least, I think I have friends.  I participated in a research study last month and the questionnaire asked, "If you wanted to take a day trip tomorrow, do you have someone in your life who would go with you?" and "If you wanted to go out this evening, is there someone you could ask this afternoon to join you?"

To me, friendship begins when you find someone who shares your interests and ideas, and you have a vibe that both of you could stand being in each other's company for more than ten minutes. So you agree to test that vibe, and spend time together. You enjoy each other's company and begin to care about the other person's ideas. And then finally, a real friendship blooms when you trust each other enough to share your dreams with that friend, your really innermost important dreams, and they care enough to help you make those dreams real.

I've never gone on a "girlfriends getaway." No one's ever invited me, and I've never planned one. I don't go out with a bunch of girlfriends every month or so. I don't know, I'm not sure, that if I tried to plan one, who would rearrange the endless daily demands of their lives to go out and just spend time together. That is a big thing to ask. I'm tired at the end of the day, it's gotta be something pretty special to get me back out the door.

Have I put in the time to make any of these friendships that special? Someone on Twitter read my mind and shared this quote from Georgia O'Keefe: "To see a flower takes time, like to have a friend takes time."

Once, a friend of mine (who I don't get to see anymore) told me, "I met a lady, she seemed like the kind of person I would love to be friends with, but I had to tell her, my life is so full right now, I don't have time to make another friend. I would let you down if I tried to be your friend."

If you can't make time for someone, and they can't make time for you, are you still friends?

From Pittsburgh, to Runners, with Love

Yesterday, my husband and I did something we've never done in all our years as runners. We took our kids to a spot near mile 24 of the Dick's Sporting Goods Pittsburgh Marathon and we created our first ever cheering section. See, usually my husband and I are participants in any road race we attend. We leave the cheering to others. We appreciate them, love their signs and crazy costumes (I still laugh when I think about the dude with the unicorn helmet dancing to the Harlem Shake).

Three weeks ago I was a nervous spectator at the Boston Marathon, cheering for my husband and celebrating that a dream of mine had come true when I had to chance to meet Kathrine Switzer. And then our weekend of celebration came to an abrupt end when we learned of the bombings.

I was scared, just like everyone else. How would these bombings change my running world?

A few people said to me later, "Good thing your kids weren't with you."

They were right, I was very grateful my children weren't there. But I was also mad. Mad at the fact that something I love so much - the quiet tension at the starting line, the thrill during the race when you hit your goal splits right on, the endorphin-powered finish line parties - would be something I was scared to share with my kids. We didn't want them to be scared and we didn't want to be scared ourselves.

My husband and I also didn't want other runners - novices or veterans - to be scared.

It was mostly spectators who were hurt in Boston. And we felt, as runners, it was time to pay it forward. Instead of running, we became official spectators.

The kids didn't know what to expect but after the runners started high-fiving them they had a wonderful time. Our five year-old loved saying "Come on, start jogging, you can walk tomorrow!" and eating the Gatorade chews. Our three year-old was a hit as Batman and our eight year-old kept the vuvuzela loud and strong.

It was so much fun we already have plans for next year's cheering section.

This was cathartic for me. Once again running gave me priceless gifts. Pride in my city, pride in my children as they honored these runners nearing the end of massive challenge. Inspiration and faith in myself and in the world around us.

I hope that in some small way, by making these runners smile and laugh, we were able to say thank you for all that running has given our family.

Be Honest With Yourself

Thank you so much for sending your story to the our contest! Your story did not win this year, but I want to thank you for writing it, editing it, and sending to us. I'm serious. I know how much energy goes into a contest submission - it takes nerve and hope. 

There's an odd feeling that all writers experience at some point: the moment you submit something with excitement, looking forward to the results, but at the same time telling yourself to forget all about it, to be unattached to outcome. It's so hard to hold both realities in your mind at once! Meanwhile, you keep writing. 

I find it a lot easier to admit I could be a bad parent than I could be a bad writer.  Both of these things are very important to me. I don't talk about them as things I do, they are a parent of my identity. I don't parent. I am a parent. I don't write. I am a writer. But am I any good at either one?

Yes, there's some false modesty going on here with the parenting discussion. I am a good parent. I don't hit, stave, abuse, neglect or demean my children. I work hard to make their little lives as rich, as exciting, as fulfilling as possible. I try to make their dreams come true. But I also try to teach them lessons that will mean something, that will stay with them. I love them, and try to teach them how to love other people. I will never really be sure that I did a good job, but I am grateful for all they give me in return: glimpses of joy, moments of awe, memories of sorrow and of course laughter of every variety.

Is it too much to ask of this universe to be able to have the same experience with my writing? Am I being greedy in hoping that I can also give my stories life? That I can nurture them, help them grow, smooth out their rough edges and recognize the unique strengths of each one, set them free into the wider world to bring laughter, to inspire, to make something of themselves?