Assembly Required

The word assemble means to gather together in one place for a common purpose.  It can also refer to the fitting together of separate component parts.  So why the vocabulary lesson?  Last weekend we held our annual gala fundraising dinner and today at work we had our first All School Assembly in quite a long time.  Maybe you can see where I'm going with this?  Both occasions were about gathering together for  the purpose I am most linked to, heart and soul.  One in fancy dresses and penguin suits and the other in mismatched outfits and tennis shoes.  But neither with less passion than the other. 

I am truly humbled every year by the generosity of those who support the work we do, especially those I have the honor to call family and friends who sit at my table(s) at our fundraising dinner.  All of these people, from different fields, economic groups and backgrounds find it in their hearts, not just their wallets to help us do what we do best:  change lives and give hope.  It's a big job, and we could't do it without them.

And then there is that assembly we had today.  It is absolutely my favorite thing at work to watch the kids be kids.  In some schools that happens all the time.  In our school kids often struggle to let go of their fear and anxiety long enough to enjoy life.  But not at assemblies.  They jammed out to the entry and finishing songs, encouraged their peers during awards time, and made speeches about the victory of being safe enough to leave treatment and move on with life.  Just like kids do at assemblies.  These moments of normalcy amidst so many moments of pain and outcast are magical.  They always have been and they are still the reason I do what I do, even though my job has shifted from the direct care world.

It is so powerful to watch people gather together for a common purpose.  But positive outcomes here also depend on fitting together the separate component parts for these kids.  It is about igniting donors to give just a little (or a lot) more with an inspiring speech that speaks the truth of the work we do, about integrating experiences, both traumatic and not,  in our kids' minds and bodies so they can live a fuller life, and it is about letting a kid make a speech and drop the mic on the floor even when it is not planned because she is proud and we are proud of her.  The system that surrounds our kids is undoubtedly in turmoil and is mismatched to their needs.  But we are working on fitting the separate components together, bit by bit, to make it function as a whole. 

I got to experience both of these great times in the last week.  One in a fancy dress and the other in jeans.  Both brought lots of laughter and applause (and some tears too), as they should have. Because with this work and with these kids, assembly is required. 

Spaces

I have recently become aware that life is full of spaces.  The space between here and there, between you and other people, spaces inside of us, and between where you are where you are going (or want to be).  And those are just to name a few.  Life becomes a series of attempts to make or fill spaces. The rest of my discussion about these 'spaces' is basically a collection of what I have gained through my last few New Year's Resolutions.  In recent years I have set goals to be more reflective, move more, and get outside of my comfort zone.  This blog is a space I created in which to reflect.  And that space gets filled with my thoughts/words.  I made space in my life for movement. Basically that means I leave work at sane hour more often so that I can go to the gym.  That space gets filled with the sense of strength and energy I gain when I exercise.  Oh, and I created about two pant sizes of space for myself by upping my game in the gym, being more conscious of what I eat, and getting outside.  And it seems that 2015 had been a good year for exiting my comfort zone from time to time.  I took risks, created spaces for people, filled spaces with an additional job and a new business, and have filled spaces inside of me with experiences that pushed the limits of my physical and mental capabilities. I'd say I'm doing pretty well as far as this resolution thing is concerned.

Don't get me wrong, I have a long way to go.  And that is what all of these spaces are really about. They are about me.  One of the big flaws we have as humans is that we often try to fill spaces with others or things.  These are not those kinds of spaces.  Chairs and boxes are those kinds of spaces.  I was talking to a friend of mine recently and she made me think.  She said that the spaces left within us when things don't work out the way we plan are for us to fill ourselves.  And when we can finally fill them with our own words, thoughts, and actions, then we are basically unstoppable. It makes sense if you spend time thinking about it.  We all have those spaces in side of us that ask, "am I good enough?", "how can I be better?", "when will it be my turn?"  Just imagine what would happen if those spaces were filled with thoughts like, "look at the amazing things I have done", "I love the room I have to grow", or "I am taking my turn".  We need to fill our own spaces.  Then we are just left to make choices about what we make space for, not what we need to fill empty spaces.  Imagine the power in that.

All of this thinking brings me to my resolution for this coming year, which is to fill my own spaces by knowing my worth.  2016 will be the year of getting more out of life.  I am ready and I have the 'space' for it.  I haven't figured out what exactly all of this means just yet, but I think that will be part of the fun!

So, if you'll excuse me, I have some spaces to take care of...

Catching the Fall

Disclaimer:  This one's personal.

So, this past weekend I went camping.  Haven't done such a thing in well over a decade.  Not because I didn't want to, but because I have not had the opportunity.  It seems that the past couple of months have been about creating my own opportunities and so I reached out to a friend, made a plan and went camping.  Well, it almost went like that...

We had originally planned to go to Moab, UT.  I have never been and with my relatively new photography hobby firmly in place, I wanted to take magnificent photos in a place like Arches National Park.  The novice traveler/camper in me didn't really think through the 100 degree weather there this time of year.  So, we changed our plans.  To Crested Butte we would go!  This was a decision once again driven by my desire to photograph amazing things.  We were all ready to get an early (3am) start so we could get there and find a camping spot.  Unfortunately Mother Nature planned for lots of rain and cooler temperatures in Crested Butte.  After a little early morning research, we settled on going to the Buena Vista area where it would be around ten degrees warmer than Crested Butte and maybe a bit less rainy.  

With that decision finally behind us and less driving to do, we took a nap.  

Apparently that nap didn't refresh me quite as much as I had thought because about half an hour or so into our drive I realized I had left my ground pad at home.  This was a problem.  So, in typical Karen fashion, back to my place we went.  The rest of the drive was uneventful.

We reached our campsite near the Browns Creek Trailhead in early afternoon and set up camp.  Tired from all that 3am decision-making, we did some reading and took another nap. The evening was once again, uneventful.  

I didn't sleep spectacularly, but I wasn't cold which had been my main concern.  I woke up on Saturday excited to tackle the trailhead!  We had decided the night before to try the 12 mile roundtrip hike to Browns Lake.  It is an out and back trail, so we could just turn around whenever we wanted to.  I have been doing a good amount of hiking recently, but nothing longer than about 3 miles.  We headed out and my camera shutter began to snap photos.  I am likely not the absolute greatest hiking companion because I am already pretty slow and I like to stop frequently to catch that 'perfect shot'. And when you are surrounded by amazing scenery, perfect shots are plentiful.  Browns Falls is 3 miles into the hike.  I love waterfalls, but who doesn't?  At this point my camping friend made the decision that her back was bothering her and she did not have more hiking to give today.  I was feeling energized by the hiking we had done so far, and she encouraged me to continue the trail without her.  And that is what I did.

Since I am slow and take hundreds of photos along the way, it is really difficult for me to gauge how far I have hiked.  I frequently just get the feeling that I have been hiking for a long time.  Keep in mind for me the length of time and the distance I have travelled don't usually match up to what is estimated in any website guide.  So I just kept hiking.  The entire trail of this hike is a mixed bag.  I gained 2,000 feet of elevation, but spread out.  Many sections had a steep incline, but there were also places where things leveled out quite a bit.  As I reached higher elevation, I moved closer to the magnificent peaks surrounding the area.  Mt. Antero, Mt. White and the other incredible peaks are really something to behold!  Much of my motivation for hiking is about getting higher and closer to more spectacular sights.  And I kept hiking.

I hadn't seen another person for a long time.  Being on my own doesn't generally bother me. Actually, the introspective part of hiking really fascinates me.  I seem to have such little time for that in my day-to-day life, while being alone on a trail demands it of you.  Alone with my thoughts and fully aware of my body, I kept hiking.  I was pushing my physical limits, but there is something completely exhilarating about doing so.  And I kept hiking.

I know, you are probably wondering when all of this hiking finally ends at a lake, right?  Well, by now I was wondering that myself.  In fact, I was doing more than that.  I began to doubt.  Did I take the right trail?  How about those storm clouds rolling in?  How far have I gone?  Why haven't I seen a single other person? What was that sound?  I was asking all of these questions, but when it came right down to it I was just doubting myself.  And then I got nervous.  Makes sense.  I am not an experienced hiker and I had been hiking for what seemed like forever.  I was all by myself and I had no real idea what I was even doing trying to hike for six miles in both directions.  And this was the moment when I got nervous enough that I turned around.  Getting lost or struck by lightning was not on my agenda for the day.

Now, I am not sure where I stand on higher powers or divine intervention, but not a minute into my descent, a family approached me heading up the trailhead on horseback.  Hadn't seen another creature aside from bugs for hours and now there were three people and three horses.  I asked the man in the front of the line if I had been headed in the right direction for the lake.  He said yes, couldn't tell me exactly how far, but the woman in the back of the line indicated that I was closer than not.  

So I put the energy I spent doubting myself into the thought that I would be awfully pissed off to have hiked so far and turned around so close to my destination.  I turned back up the trial and kept hiking.  A young couple passed by me a short time after that (like I said earlier, I'm slow).  There was a lot of incline to the end of the hike.  But let me tell you that all of that work is so worth it because those peaks that had been a distant backdrop earlier were now front and center in my view.  And then the wildflowers kicked in!  My camera was working just as hard as my legs, which explains why it took me so long to finish this last bit of the trail.

When I finally reached the lake I almost cried.  I'm not really even that emotional of a person (or so I'd like to think), but I was overwhelmed in that moment.  The near crying turned to elation pretty quickly.  The lake was beautiful!  The peaks were standing tall on all sides.  Tree line was all around me.  The sentiment on my social media postings was "Hoo-ahh!"  Doesn't quite capture my feelings, but it'll have to do.  I roamed around by the lake for a bit, had the family who had passed by on horseback take my photo, and took more photos myself.  

And then what did I do?  I kept hiking.  Of course I kept hiking.  Now that I had travelled six miles up to the lake,  I had to travel six miles back down. That's how it works.  Down is much easier on the cardiovascular system, but much harder on the joints.  I went quickly on the flat sections, but had to be careful on the steeper parts as it had started to sprinkle and some places were a little slick.  My legs were dragging because they were tired.  I tripped more times than I would like to admit. But I kept hiking.  

I kept testing my phone for service because by now it was well past 4 in the afternoon and I was sure my friend, waiting for me back at the trailhead, thought who only knows what might have happened to me.  It was 11:15am when she left me at the falls.  I didn't get service until I was almost back to the trailhead.  That's when her text, which read "You ok?" came through.  She sent it at 3:35.  I quickly let her know that I was great, just slow. I had paid enough attention on my way up that I could spot landmarks on the way back that indicated how far I had to go.  Before I knew it I was back at the trailhead.  

I made the comment to my friend as we were leaving the campsite the day after that it is funny how time passes so differently depending on how we use it.  I spent as long hiking on Saturday as I would during a full workday.  But it felt so different.  I'm not sure how to explain that any better.  What I can tell you is that I encountered several people on my way back down the trail.  And just as on every other hike I have been on, they were all so friendly.  I feel like if you say hello to a random person on the street they often look at you like you are strange.  When you say hello to someone on a hiking trail, this amazing phenomenon happens:  they say hello back.  Sometimes they even say hello first. Crazy, right?!?  People who are out in nature are in a good mood.  It's that simple.  And so I am going to keep hiking.

Like I said earlier, the past couple of months have been about creating my own opportunities.  I seriously recommend you try this out.  You'll have to start out slow.  You will doubt yourself.  You will get nervous.  And your feet will drag enough for you to trip more often than you'd like to admit. However, I am telling you from experience, you can catch the fall.

Wildflowers

It seems that the New Year is approaching...again.  I am not sure why we make such a big deal out of this day.  The years come and go so quickly regardless of what sparkly top I wear or what sort of silly hats are conjured up.  But we do make a big deal of it.  Is it just an excuse to celebrate?  Do we need a specific day to decide to do things to make ourselves better?  This particular year has been different for me.  It has a significance in relation to the work I write about.  This year I celebrated ten years of working with these kids.  Ten years of therapy, tantrums, long days, meetings, friendships, challenges and successes.  Most times the challenges seem greater than the successes.  People make comments like, "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do that".  I understand that these statements are meant to be compliments.  However, whether or not anyone else could do this work is irrelevant. There are lots of jobs I could not do.  But I can do this.  For ten years I have been able to do this work.  And yet I still find myself asking: what is it I actually do?

My tenth year seems like as good a time as any to define the work a little.  Not the specifics.  The tasks are never what it is about.  I could never quantify the number of therapy sessions I have done, supervisions I have had with staff, meetings I have been a part of, or notes I have entered. And those things, while they are responsibilities I have, are not the work.  They are not the point. What I do, at the core of it all, is hold hope.  That can get lost in all of those meetings and notes.  But if I am doing the job right, it is always there.  Wikipedia describes hope as "an optimistic attitude of mind based on an expectation of positive outcomes related to events and circumstances in one's life or the world at large".  I often find it a little silly.  How can I be in the hope business?  I read unspeakable things about how adults treat children and I see the impact of those actions play out as children express pain through aggression and avoiding relationships because they don't feel safe.  I further see how these continual behaviors take their toll on the staff I supervise and how they have to leave much earlier than anyone would like.  So, where is hope?  It's hiding out most of the time.  But it sneaks up on me in the most wonderful ways, often when I least expect it.  

There are plenty of details from the last ten years at work that I cannot remember and might not want to.  But I can remember several flashes of hope, regardless of how long ago they happened, like it was yesterday.  They have existed all ten years.  And they build on each other.  When people ask how I can continue to do this work, these moments are the answer.  They don't happen everyday and sometimes they are so faint that you really have to pay attention to catch them.   They come from the kids.  So in the end, the kids are both how and why I do this work.  They give me hope unintentionally and I hold onto it so I can give it back with intention.  It is an amazing and symbiotic process, just like all things in nature.  Maybe that is why it seems so natural to me.  

Now, there are surely moments of hope that have vanished for me.  I can't remember them all.  But the ones I hold onto don't just provide me with the hope I need to keep working.  They also teach me how to do the work better.  How to be better.  I make meaning with them.  I have one particular moment in mind.  I think it is from sometime in my first year or so.  I worked with a sad, angry boy who rarely wanted to meet with me.  Not so uncommon, but this one stuck with me.  He was young, maybe 8 or 9 and pretending to be so tough.  I always saw right through him and I think for a long time he hated that. Maybe he always did.  But there was one time we were in my office.  I don't remember what we were talking about.  What I remember is that I had music on at the time.  A song was in the middle of playing when he came in and it ended while he was still there. When the song finished, this sad, angry little boy asked, "Can we listen to that one again?".  And I played it again. What was the song, you ask?  Wildflowers by Tom Petty.  I remember being so surprised at the time that this boy, the one who was always acting so tough, wanted to hear Wildflowers again.  And I can still hear his voice when he asked.  It was gentle, like the song.  I have no idea what happened after that.  Like I said before, these things are sparks. They come and they go.  It is my job to keep them handy for a time when they are needed.

This one is strong enough that I have both held it in my memory and called upon it many times to remind me of how hope exists even in times when it seems an unlikely presence.  Something I notice about this spark, and is true of so many of these hopeful flashes, is that it was not an end moment.
It is not like these hopeful times are the sendoff of our kids.  They are random moments in the middle.  That is, in part, because we are always in the middle in my work.  We don't really see the end result very often. These are kids.  They will continue to face obstacles, have successes, and live life long after we are done working with them.  That is why I chose this moment to represent the meaning-making of my first ten years in this work.  Though these kids are not exactly like anything else, they are kind of like wildflowers.  They are colorful, they are sometimes unexpected, there is not one that is the same as another.  And most importantly, they grow when and where they want to.  At the end of the day (or the end of ten years), they do the real work.  And I hold onto the hope that they can do it, that they will grow.  It is that simple.

I don't really need this upcoming New Year from a meaning-making perspective.  I am fortunate enough to be able to find meaning in life everyday.  The kids hold that hope for me.  We are all a bit like wildflowers and I grow each day even as the challenges seem to outnumber the successes.  In moments like this one when that sad, angry little boy asked, "Can we listen to that one again?".

If I could talk to him today I think I would simply tell him, "you belong among the wildflowers...far away from your trouble and worries.  You belong somewhere you feel free".

Then again, don't we all?

Bubbles

Let me start out by saying that adults don't blow bubbles often enough.  I know this sounds ridiculous, but I sincerely recommend that you go and get yourself some bubbles as soon as possible.
There is something magical about the whole idea behind a bubble.   Bubbles are, at the same time, simple and wondrous, fragile and resilient.  And I don't know about you, but bubbles make me happy. I find it exceptionally difficult to be in anything but a good mood when bubbles are floating through the air.

The comparison here may be predictable, but it works.  The kids at work are like bubbles.  All kids, for that matter, are simple yet wondrous.  They might not be able to remember to put clothes on before opening the bathroom door to ask a question, but watching them learn something new is so captivating. And our kids, like none other, are both fragile and resilient.  They fight with all they have each day against things that would have taken me down years ago and we can see that they are all too often a fraction of a second away from falling apart.

What an enchanting adventure it was when I got to blow bubbles with a child at work last night.  This particular kiddo has the impulse control of a grasshopper, yet he can sit and gently blow into the bubble wand in search of the biggest bubble.  And bubbles make him happy too.  Pure joy.

Bubbles are fleeting.  Like these moment of pure joy.  But the image of the bubble is not.  We have to recall the fleeting moments in our minds.  There is something magical about the whole idea behind a bubble, behind a memory.  They are, at the same time, simple and wondrous, fragile and resilient.  As for this fleeting moment, it will help me to recall that no matter what the circumstances, we can all slow down enough to find the biggest bubble.

Chasing the Bus

Have you ever been driving when all of a sudden someone comes racing down the sidewalk?  The runner is moving faster than you are at this point because the light just changed and traffic has yet to do much. As you roll forward you wonder, "What are they running from, to, for?"  And then you see it; the bus just up ahead.  And you realize the runner is chasing the bus.

I cheer them on in my head, hoping that they will get to that ride they desperately need in time.  And why am I talking about strangers and buses?  Because I think that where I work we are all just a bunch of pedestrians chasing after buses.  The song "The Wheels on the Bus" always made buses sound so cheerful, so relaxed.  The "round and round" never seemed to be going 40 miles per hour.  Well, the wheels on our buses (past trauma, busy caseworkers, misguided caregivers, red tape, data bases, paperwork, Medicaid audits...) aren't going "round and round".  They are screaming through without hesitation and with stops so brief we can never quite catch up.

Sometimes I catch one of those runners in a moment when they realize that the bus is too far ahead and they are not going to catch it.  Some of them curse the air and make angry faces.  Others shrug their shoulders and take advantage of some extra time to relax while waiting for the next bus.  I am generally the latter at work.  I am able to recognize when the bus has gotten too far ahead and I usually try to take that moment to remember what it is I am really chasing after to begin with.  Today was one of those days.  I got to work at 7:30 this morning so that I could meet my new overnight worker before she went up to meet with HR.  I prepared for all of the meetings and trainings that then took up four hours of my day.  I chatted with people as I passed by because when they asked if I got their email, all I could say is I haven't been at my desk in four hours.  And that doesn't count the paperwork I was already behind on.  I was chasing that bus something fierce.  And then I had that realization that the bus was too far out of reach today.

I stopped chasing it.  I walked myself down to the gym where the kids and staff from my two cottages were participating in the first in a series of "Fun with Faith" groups centered around how to use music and movement to express feelings.  The two music artists running the group had the kids walking in goofy ways and though things were silly, they were under control.  Then I stood back and watched this amazing group of kids and staff listen to different types of music and move freely around the room in whatever way the music told them to.  It was really something to watch.  I couldn't keep myself from moving just a little as I stood off to the side. Following this joyful exercise, they kids circled up (and they did so the first time they were asked even though they had just been actively moving about the room) and listened to the artists play live music.  One child commented on how small one of the guitars was.  Well, it was only small because it was a violin, but that didn't matter.  Some of the kids stared in amazement as they played.  Others, and many staff members, moved along with the music.  At the end, one of our youngest girls asked "Can you teach me to sing that good?"  It was damn near magical!

And just to think...I could have kept chasing after that roaring bus today.  But I didn't.  And it was then when I remembered what I am really chasing after.

Bucket Fillers

We talk from time to time about bucket fillers at work.  The bucket is you.  The fillers are what goes inside to fill you up.  The fillers are different for everyone.  What fills your bucket?  My bucket has leaks.  I think everyone's does.  Why else would we have to try so hard to fill them?  Let's face it, a lot happens in my day and being pulled to the ground by my hair in the middle of the street could put a hole in the sturdiest of buckets, right?  Right.  True story, by the way.  I like to give from my bucket; it's what I do.  But I need to replenish the water supply eventually.  Lucky for me my job is good for both poking (or sometimes punching) holes in my bucket and filling it.  A perpetual struggle you might say. Last week was rough at work.  The hair pulling incident happened on Friday.  After a hard week an incident like that could pretty much empty my bucket.  But not this particular Friday. Even with all of those holes, I had an experience waiting for me at the end of the day that I knew would fill me up.  

I always tell people that I am rarely frazzled by the kids at work.  That is true.  They are generally my bucket fillers.  But I also consider it a great privilege to supervise the direct care staff.  They can be bucket fillers too.  I have had some amazing learning experiences with the staff I have supervised over the years.  They fill my bucket with youthful energy, endless ideas about how to best care for kids, and an amazing desire to learn.  They might poke a few holes every now and again just like the kids do.  A perpetual struggle you might say.  The struggles are the best part though.  Right in the middle of the whole mess, just when I think there is not enough water to make up for all of the holes, it is the struggle that pushes the most water into my bucket.

On Friday that perfect struggle happened.  A small group of some of my most memorable former staff members and a special client on her way out the door.  They had seen her through some of the roughest times and she had trusted them with her life.  Friday was a time for not just goodbye, but good luck and closure. The actual exchange was full of childlike silliness, awkward silences and adorable moments.  It is always bittersweet for us to say goodbye when we have seen a child grow so much.  A struggle.  It is the ultimate emotional learning experience for them to sit with the conflicting feelings of happiness about moving on and sadness about the relationships they must leave behind.  A struggle.  It all happened in the hallway in front of the elevator.  And as she gave her final hugs and and we walked away, her shoulders dipped and she began to cry gently.  

I left her with these words in her memory book:  "You are like the ocean.  Sometimes fast and sometimes slow.  Lots of ups and downs, but always moving forward.  Always beautiful.  Please remember all that you have learned and keep growing!"

And with the rolling wave of all this struggle, my bucket overflowed.