Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

Lisa

A list and a loss: one year of my life

Between April 4, 2018 and April 4, 2019, I lost almost 33 pounds.

I’m not supposed to tell you this. At least, that’s the vibe I get when I start talking about it in person. When people start to notice that I’ve lost weight, they all want to know the same thing:

How?

I get the sense that people are trying to figure out why it worked for me or why it hasn’t worked for them, whatever the “it” is they’ve tried. Maybe they are just curious and interested. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

The truth is I wish the changes to my body were more magical and easy than they were. In the last year, I made some hard decisions about my exercise routine and my diet, and when I look back on the journey, it was all of it worth it. But none of it was easy. Not the way I want it to be.

—

I turned 40 last year.

And I was tired of what was happening to my mind, my body and my soul. I was making choices, yes, but I also felt like I was letting circumstances and other people determine how my life was going to be. Mostly, it was just a matter of me needing to take action in my own life.

Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash

That’s when I made a list of what I wanted my life to be about for the years 40 and beyond. It’s not a bucket list, because I don’t want the pressure of feeling like I have to accomplish this stuff before some undetermined end date of my life. It’s simply an after-40 list and on it are the things I don’t want to keep putting off for someday.

It’s been a year since I made the list. It’s a computer file that sits on my desktop, and I see it every time I open my computer. On the one hand, when I open it and look at all the checkmarks, I think maybe I could have accomplished more. But then I remind myself that the point is not to rush through everything on the list. It’s an in-progress document. I add things to it as I think of them. And I don’t delete the things that I’ve accomplished. I keep them there with a big checkmark next to them as a record of the positive changes and experiences I’ve had.

This last year has been mostly about my own health and wellness. For me, that is the foundation of all the other things.

My list is divided into categories: physical health; personal growth; travel; experiences; writing; and identity/heritage/family.

Physical health was a priority in the last year because I (like a lot of women I know) have spent years (maybe even an entire decade) taking care of other people and neglecting myself.  Years of therapy helped me to realize that I was worth taking care of, and that’s part of the reason I started the list. I need to see things in writing or in print to remember them. My brain is filled with too many words and ideas and thoughts to automatically remember what it is I want to do.

So, last year, around February, I started running again. My daughter has been participating in Girls on the Run and because I am her running buddy, I usually start training in the late winter/early spring so that I can complete the 5K with her. I committed to running a couple of times a week.

In years past, I tapered off after the 5K and didn’t keep running through the summer because a) it was hard to find time while the kids were home from school and b) heat and humidity is not my friend. But last year, I kept doing it. I think I took three weeks off in July because of schedules and heat but I stuck with it through the bulk of summer. I ran the 5K with my daughter, and then my husband and I ran one on Thanksgiving morning. A month ago, our family of four ran another 5K. And this year’s Girls on the Run 5K is coming up soon. 

Four 5Ks in the span of a year? I would have never thought it possible for me.

But running was just part of the story.

I was having issues with food and I suspected some problem areas but I wasn’t sure. After reading and planning, I decided to do a Whole30 in October. I won’t get into all the details here. You can read up on it yourself if you want, but I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that it was the single most transformative experience of the last year. It is a month-long food experiment that eliminates temporarily some common food groups that cause things like bloating or intestinal problems. It’s mostly meat, veggies, fruit and good fats.

Yes, it was difficult. But it was so beneficial I’m thinking about doing another one this summer. I learned about what foods my body can’t handle without negative consequences. I ate good food. I felt amazing. Like I had unlimited energy.

And I lost weight.

—

This is where it gets hard to talk about. I’m hyperaware of the body positivity (and negativity) messages out there, and I am working hard to change my way of thinking. I don’t believe my body (or yours) has to look a certain way for me (or you) to feel good or be a worthwhile person.

Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash

And I love my body more now than I ever have. I feel more like myself, and I’m amazed at what my body can do. These aren’t bad things, but I have to keep in mind that this is what’s true for me. It is not necessarily a prescription for everyone.

There are dresses in my closet I haven’t worn in years and when I put them on now I feel confident and sexy. I recently wore shorts for the first time in a year and when I held the pair that last year was tight I had a moment of dread. But when I put them on, there was room to spare in the waistline.

So I still have to wonder: do my clothes have too much power over my mood and self-worth?

I like what my body can do. I am consistently running 1-2 miles two or three times a week, and I’m getting faster. I’m not winded when I walk up and down stairs. And when I have a week that is more inactive than others, my body lets me know that’s not okay. (Hence the lower back pain I’ve been battling for a few days. Too much sitting recently.)

All of these are positives in my life, and sometimes I feel bad talking about them. It’s not my job to manage other people’s feelings. I want to be proud of the work I’ve done to get myself in a position to feel good about how I look. And I know there are dangerous lines that I could cross and that others do cross.

There must be a balance.

—

My health wasn’t all about losing weight, though.

I got my eyes checked and ordered new glasses for the first time in six years. And early in my 40th year, I made an appointment for a mammogram so I wouldn’t keep putting it off. I’m scheduling massages for myself on a regular basis. These are the kinds of self-care that I typically neglect.

And what about the other categories on my list? Here’s some of what I spent the last year doing:

In the personal growth category, I started playing guitar again last fall and have played half a dozen times or more in church on Sunday mornings. Our worship leader has helped me stretch my knowledge of music and how to play guitar with a band. (There have been tears, mine not hers, but I’m enjoying myself more now because of my new skills.)

In writing, I’ve given my own projects priority and entered contests to get feedback on my progress. I’m attending a writing retreat this summer. More things that could easily slip through the cracks if I don’t view them intentionally.

In family/identity/heritage, we got professional family photos taken in the fall, something we hadn’t done in almost 10 years. It was long overdue.

Photo by Rachel Lynn Photography

Travel and experiences are the two categories that don’t get as much immediate attention, mostly because they require larger amounts of money and effort and time. But even listing them where I can see them and refer back to them is helpful. It reminds me to make actual plans, not putting things off for someday. It gives me something to hope for.

—

I could easily be discouraged that I didn’t make more progress on my list this year, and I am disappointed by some things. Like I need a better method and plan for learning sign language so I can communicate with our niece. And Phil and I have the desire and plan to get ring tattoos so we can do something different with our wedding rings, but that hasn’t come to fruition yet. (I have another idea for a tattoo but mostly I’m a little bit scared.)

I could easily be discouraged that I didn’t make more progress on my list this year, and I am disappointed by some things. There was the race I didn’t run, for example. And I need a better method and plan for learning sign language so I can communicate with our niece. Phil and I also have the desire and plan to get ring tattoos so we can do something different with our wedding rings, but that hasn’t come to fruition yet. (I have another idea for a tattoo but mostly I’m a little bit scared.)

Overall, though, I lean toward satisfied and encouraged. 

The list items I accomplished this year were not grand in magnitude but they made a difference in my life and how I live it. Forward progress.

If there’s anything I want my after-40 life to be about it’s that it’s not too late. To change. To grow. To try something new. To pursue a dream.

I’m excited to see what the next year brings and what I can accomplish between now and then.

I hope you’ll stick around for the journey as well.

Of trees and flowers and beauty on purpose: Review of Placemaker by Christie Purifoy

I don’t know much about trees and flowers. Not in the technical sense. I know what I like–colorful blooms and bright spring buds and branches that loom large providing shade–but I struggle with remembering the names of specific kinds of trees and flowers. I have to train myself with words like forsythia and hyacinth. It has taken years for me to notice these specific types of plant life (although at this exact moment, forsythia is all I see when I drive, walk or run.)

Trust me: the words inside the book are as beautiful as the cover.

New ways of noticing and paying attention are my personal challenges right now and Christie Purifoy’s new book Placemaker: Cultivating Places of Comfort, Beauty, and Peace contributes to that in ways I never expected.

Purifoy wrote another book, Roots & Sky, about her family’s first year at Maplehurst, the Pennsylvania farmhouse they bought and moved into. I was intrigued by that book because its setting is just a short drive from where I live and I have a thing for old farmhouses. What I loved about that book cannot even compare to what I loved about her new book, though. If Roots & Sky gave me a romantic notion that buying and restoring an old farmhouse was my dream, then Placemakerreminded me that any place where I dwell can be where dreams come to life.

 I can’t say enough about the words in this book. But I’ll try.

This quote hits the mark on why I loved this book so much.

Each chapter begins with a tree or a plant-based theme, often accompanied by the author’s recollections of that tree in places where she’s lived along with some facts and history of that tree. I hope that doesn’t sound dull because it’s far from it. My favorite chapter of the book was the one about Penn’s Woods, again because my current dwelling place is Pennsylvania and I live in an old farm house that captures my imagination sometimes.

When our mudroom is clean enough to have the back door open, I become obsessed with this view for some reason. I’m a doors and windows fanatic, apparently.

What also appeals to me about Purifoy’s stories are that she and her family have moved several times, and some of the homes they’ve lived in have been temporary or rentals. She shows how that doesn’t have to be a barrier to making a place of beauty or comfort or peace.

“Many of us long to put down roots in some particular place, but we guard ourselves against heartbreak by waiting for a perfect place.” (p. 37)

This is me, 100 percent.

Another aspect of this book I loved is the honesty of it. Purifoy writes candidly about the challenges of owning an old farmhouse, the expenses of caring for it, even the doubts of whether it was a mistake to buy it. She also writes about the loneliness her family experienced in their various dwellings, something I can relate to in our own family’s history of moving from a familiar place to an unfamiliar one.

And she makes hospitality accessible, something I’m still learning.

“Simple food and drink may be the only absolutely necessary components of hospitality. I can welcome others even when there is a hole in the front porch where rain has rotted the boards. I can welcome others while scaffolding climbs the brick walls … I can even welcome others without air conditioning, trusting heaven for a breeze.” (p. 176)

—

That’s where I’m going to end the review portion of this post. The rest of what I have to say is about how I’m applying what I read to the place where I live.

—

It was Sunday, and we’d already had a full day, but April was right around the corner and the flowers in the ground were starting to show their colors. I wanted them to last longer, so I started clearing away the weeds and the dead leaves from fall that had collected at the base of the porch. I dumped black mulch that had collected water over the winter in between the flowers that were planted before our move to this property. They have yet to fail to bloom in spring.

This picture does not do justice to the work. If I had taken a “before” you would have seen dead leaves piled across the entire beds and purple weeds in between.

The result was an improvement I could not hardly believe. It looked like we cared about the flowers. About how our property looked.

I used to think that was a bad thing, too. Like it was somehow sinful to take care of land and a home that eventually would not last. I have also believed the lie that I have to own property or land in order to invest in it. Or even to care about it.

But why not make the most of something while it is yours?

These are the lessons of placemaking.

—

The farmhouse we live in was built in 1880. That’s all I know. I can’t figure out how to find older records beyond the current owner, our landlord, and the previous one. That only takes me back to the 1990s. I don’t know why it matters so much (or why it doesn’t quite matter enough for me to spend more time on searching) but I like to imagine how things were.

And the house itself is divided in two–a first floor apartment where we live and a second floor apartment–which makes me wonder what it all looked like when it was one whole house. (The boarded up stairs in our pantry give me the smallest of clues.)

When we moved into the farmhouse, we had ideas how to make it home. I remember how we doubted whether we should plant a garden. What if we leave? That was years, and several garden plantings, ago. We did not plant the flowers that border the porch or the hydrangeas that flower by the back door. We have planted our own flowers sometimes and pruned the trees and the rose bush. We had to uproot one of the roses this year because it didn’t bloom last year. We are amateur gardeners at best and we love this place that is both country and suburban.

We can’t paint the walls. Or figure out how to add another bedroom or bathroom. We are limited by someone else’s modifications to this beautiful farmhouse that now sits across the street from a shopping center and has a small-business in its backyard next to subdivided land. We have heard whispers of the orchard that used to dot the landscape between our yard and the river. Now there are apartments next door and a country club across the river.

Does any of this mean we give up trying?

—

What have I contributed to the places I’ve lived? Another aspect of the book I enjoyed was how Purifoy weaved stories of her homes with different kinds of trees. I have lived at half a dozen addresses since I moved out of my parents’ house after college, and I’ve always thought of my homes as temporary, as if we are in a constant phase of waiting. 

Here, in the farmhouse, it’s as close to a home as we’ve ever had. Our kids have grown here. It is the house they will remember.

Still, we dream of a place that is “ours.”

—

Placemaker reminded me that making a place is a community effort. And it’s okay to ask for help. And accept it.

My parents’ most recent visit illustrated this as we raked leaves and cleared flower beds and dumped bags of mulch into the flower beds. Our yard work uncovered a bird skull, which my son was fascinated by. When we were finished, I didn’t feel like we had accomplished much, but the look of our yard changed. It looked cared for. Like someone had tended it. This is what I hope for. This is what I’m still learning about keeping a house. It might not ever be spotless but it can look like someone cares. Like there is a tending taking place.

After reading this book, I’m more motivated to add personal touches to the house. To increase our hospitality not in proportion to our plenty but in proportion to our desire for community. I have dreams of bringing people together in our place, even if it means fading into the background of whatever gathering that might be. I want to be the place where people gather. Where good food is served. And conversation is as plentiful as the food.

—

I’ll end with this powerful connection between peace and place from the book:

“Placemaking is a kind of peacemaking. It is a way of making peace within families, for instances when we rearrange the bedroom furniture to better suit siblings who share a room … it is a way of making peace within communities, when we share our places through hospitality, or when communities of very different people care for a shared space such as a park or garden.” (p. 112)