I don’t know if it’s the start of a new school year or just more of the growth and healing process taking place but the concept of lost and found runs heavy through my storyline these days. There is a line in one of my favorite new country songs by Tyler Rich, Leave Her Wild,
“…she ain’t all found, but she ain’t all that lost.”
Speaking to me loud and clear…I have a mild obsession with songwriters because the truth in their lyrics makes my life make sense. Music is a constant in every day and has been since I had my first clock radio in 4th grade that did it’s job helping me fall asleep at night. Zac Brown blaring in my kitchen on many occasions has been my assurance that life is going to be ok if I just kept working to uncover the layers and music plays a significant role in the book I’m working on connecting life stories and what is found on the journey when we feel lost.
The reality about writing and healing is that it brings up memories that I probably would never have thought of again if I wasn’t combing my brain for signs and patterns of how I arrived in the present, how I can design my best life from here, and how I can teach the next generation to embrace self reflection to help heal generational pain.
I texted my mom from a workshop I was attending in Nashville last week,
“I can’t imagine why you would remember this, but do you remember me having a Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox?”
I remember it, it was the first one that wasn’t one of those tin ones that made all that terrible noise in the lunch room. I was in second grade and my sister had one too. Well, mine disappeared, and to my recollection it was taken from me by a redheaded girl that I didn’t know how to stand up to. Even though I towered over everyone, I was young for my class and so shy that this girl had had my number since first grade. My mom remembered the lunchbox, but didn’t remember anything happening to it. Lord knows I didn’t tell her my story about where it went. She did remember me losing lots of things at school and always encouraged me to “check lost and found” which made perfect sense, but I didn’t do it. I remember giving the long line of sweatshirts and lunchboxes a sideways glance as my class would file into the cafeteria everyday, but I never would have stepped out of line to claim something, or worse go back there on my own later to claim a lost item. When I look back on it, I remember feeling that if I found what I was looking for, it felt like I did something wrong by losing it in the first place, so rather than risk admitting that, I ignored, instead of solved my problem, compensated, and went on. Life made me so nervous, so it was easy to lose track of things. It’s strange how far back we can trace our tendencies if we think about it.
I have been ignoring my perfectionist ways for years, letting them bubble under the surface, hiding them under a facade of calm, and stirring the pot of unworthiness that boils away the energy to accomplish what I want to do in life.
I always felt safer hedging my bets on someone else, pushing them forward, and helping them quietly from behind the scenes accomplish their goals. Blending in is safe, and no matter how strong the feeling was inside me that I should step out, I never found the courage to find that place until my world looked like something I didn’t want my kids to have to experience. Without a lot of honesty, patterns have a way of repeating themselves generation after generation, and at that point I knew it was on me to travel the road from lost to found and The Optimists Journal is my place to chronicle that journey.
Lost holds on to insecurities, fears, a false sense of control, perfection, expectation, and my own ego. I know what I feel like in my body when I enter a room and I am working from this place. Lost looks for results, validation, and for someone else to give me the blessing to move forward with my plan or tell me I’m right. Found moves freely in the world and the inevitable judgment from others doesn’t fall heavy on my shoulders. I don’t always know what to do in every situation, but when I don’t, I know how to breathe and stay present until I figure it out. Gone is the worry that has been just under the surface my entire life. I see the confidence that I have trained into my grown and almost grown children and know that so much of that is coming from my own vulnerability and ability to turn lost into found. Through my process, I have learned, and grown and turned myself into a writer, speaker, and coach…things I had been doing for years without stepping into the light. Found is loving myself for who I am today, confident in my choices, authentic in my words, and autonomous in my decisions, and all of this adds up to a whole lot of calm…and that is a feeling I have been searching for my entire life.