After concluding the stories, I looked into Avery’s face. “Those are stories of faith, Avery. Faith is a feeling deep inside you that God is working in your life even though you cannot see him. It is an unexplainable feeling of comfort that you are not facing life’s challenges alone. And the reason I began taking you on walks is because when I walk, I feel like Miss Dottie lying on her husband’s bed or Mr. Franklin digging in his garden. When I walk, I pray about my worries and my struggles. With each step I take, I become more and more comforted that things are going to be okay. The beautiful thing about faith is that it is in here,” I said, touching her heart. “No storm, no out-of-state move, no human being can ever take it away. Someday you’ll figure out what special activity brings you this unbreakable feeling of comfort.”
“I already know, Mama,” she said to my surprise. “When I sing, I feel safe. I feel warm.” She stood up and walked around the gravestone. Now she had a story for me. “’Member when you asked me to bring my ukulele to Miss Angie’s house after the tornado took her daughter away?” I nodded. “When I was singing ‘Amazing Grace,’ Miss Angie closed her eyes. I felt like she didn’t want me to stop. I felt like my singing made her feel better. The whole room felt warm and safe.”
The most comforting things in life cannot be seen, but they are felt. Avery had known this all along. And now she had just successfully described the only thing better than having faith; it is the moment your faith intersects with someone else’s faith. Two people having faith together makes even the most challenging obstacle feel surmountable.
For the rest of the summer, Avery and I took a daily walk to the graveyard. I wasn’t surprised when she began quietly singing to herself as the rush of morning traffic went by.
“What are you singing?” I asked one day.
“It’s the song in my heart,” she said. “Can you hear it?”
Despite the steady stream of cars and trucks, I could hear it. But even more, I could feel it: warmth, safety, and guidance. Because when you walk by faith, what you need to hear is felt above the noise and chaos of life.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I will resist the urge to get “one more thing” accomplished — instead I will engage in one activity that brings me peace and renewal. Today I will not seek fulfillment in material items that add more junk, more stress, and more worries to my life — instead I will find contentment in experiences of connection and thoughts of gratitude. Today I will act on the callings of my heart and not feel guilty about it. Today I will put what matters most — faith, family, friendship — at the top of the priority list.
HANDS FREE LIFE HABIT BUILDER 3
Build a Foundation with the Best Ten Minutes
Within my day, there will be time for the Best Ten Minutes:
Ten minutes to accept the most important invitations: yes to walking along the edge of the curb, yes to one more bedtime story, yes to face-to-face conversation . . .
Ten minutes to engage in activities that will better my life or the life of someone else, like creating art, making music, or building up another human being . . .
Ten minutes to learn something new about the people who share my life, ten minutes to learn something old in the pages of my grandmother’s Bible . . .
Ten minutes to give the best kind of love — undistracted love.
Ten minutes to take the best kind of leap — the leap of faith.
Ten minutes to tuck a lifeline into a suitcase, a lunch box, or the pocket of worn blue jeans.
Ten minutes to lift a shaky voice toward heaven or wear down rubber treads walking toward clarity.
The Best Ten Minutes of each day are the building blocks of a solid foundation.
Through these life-giving investments, we are connected to what strengthens us, guides us, and fulfills us.
What is built in the Best Ten Minutes cannot be swept away in a storm, forgotten in a hotel room, divided in a divorce, or missed after a move.
Soon the Best Ten Minutes will become the most important minutes of the day.
Watch them as they grow from minutes to hours to days to years, eventually becoming a life worth living.
Ten minutes. That is where I started building a foundation based on the lasting and the permanent rather than the fleeting and the temporary. I locked my phone in a drawer, shut down my computer, pushed aside my to-do list, the guilt, and the regret to go to my child and hold her. She picked up my hand and kissed my palm. Her response motivated me to continue to make myself fully available for ten minutes each day to renew my spirit, my relationships, and my life’s purpose. Those minutes grew and so did my foundation. Believe one small step can make a difference. Begin with the Best Ten Minutes.
* Lizette Alvarez, “Girl’s Suicide Points to Rise in Apps Used by Cyberbullies,” NewYorkTimes.com (September 13, 2013) http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/14/us/suicide-of-girl-after-bullying-raises-worries-on-web-sites.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0.
PART TWO:
Living for Today
Habit 4:
TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF
You are your own worst enemy. If you can learn to stop expecting impossible perfection, in yourself and others, you may find the happiness that has always eluded you.
Lisa Kleypas
IT WAS SUPPOSED TO be a quick stop at a local hair salon to grab a styling product. But as I scanned columns and rows of creams and gels promising to make curly hair straight and straight hair curly, my attention was diverted. Seated in an oversize swivel chair was a freckle-faced young woman with distress in her eyes. On her lap were three bridal magazines splayed open — the weight of so many pages and so many choices threatening to cut off blood circulation to her legs. As one stylist busily adjusted a bridal hairpiece and another asked questions about its placement, I just couldn’t avert my eyes. Uncertainty gripped the bride’s youthful face as she contemplated her choices. I recognized that pained expression, the one that screamed, “It’s got to be perfect!”
With a slight twist of her hand, the stylist spun the chair around. All I could see now was the back of the young woman’s head. Her gorgeous waves of strawberry-blonde hair were tightly pinned; their lively spirit stifled in skilled hands. The pressure had begun, and it would not stop until perfection was achieved. I could see what was ahead: decades and decades of pressure. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. No longer was it a nameless young bride sitting in that chair; it was me. I could see so much of my twenty-six-year-old self in that rigid posture. I wanted nothing more than to take 1997 Rachel by the hand and guide her away from the disapproving mirror and hairdo vigilante. I wanted to wrap my arms around my impressionable, young self and whisper words of love and assurance. I wanted to spare myself from years of unnecessary pain and pressure by divulging something that took me nearly forty years to discover. If I could, this is what I would’ve told my younger self:
“You are going to feel a lot of pressure in your lifetime — pressure to do things at one-hundred-and-ten-percent performance level, pressure to look and act a certain way, pressure to be all things to all people. You’re going to think that the pressure is coming at you from all directions, but in most cases, it’s not. That unrelenting pressure is going to come from one place: you. So do yourself a favor, dear one. Take the pressure off. Take the pressure off now — don’t wait until you’re forty. In fact, don’t wait another day.”
When I was twenty-six, I was already contemplating what momentous achievement I would accomplish by my fortieth birthday. There were thoughts of running marathons, climbing high peaks, earning a doctorate, teaching at a prestigious university, and let’s not forget being so fit and youthful looking that people would mistake me for someone in her early thirties. But something got in the way of that plan. I began my Hands Free journey. And the closer I got to my fortieth birthday, the more I realized that the best gift to myself (and those around me) would be freedom from self-induced pressure. More than an attractive appearan
ce, more than press-worthy triumphs, more than a glowing reputation for being able to do it all, I wanted to live each day well. I wanted to live today well. And one surefire way to do it was to create my own definition of success. Capturing a sunset with my eyes . . . reaching out to someone in need of encouragement . . . coveting precious pockets of time to spend with the people I love . . . putting my complete trust in God . . . expressing gratitude for life’s simple joys like fresh air, belly laughs, and worn-out treads on running shoes . . . these were just a few of the daily “successes” I experienced that cultivated more joy than any trophy ever could. By taking the pressure off myself, I was able to celebrate ordinary achievements that were really quite extraordinary when I stopped to delight in them.
When my fortieth birthday finally rolled around, I had fulfilled none of the aspirations I’d planned when I was twenty-six. I did what I’d been longing to do for many, many years. I went down to my basement and pried my long-undisturbed wedding dress off the clothing rack where it was smashed inside a mass of winter coats. My daughters had begged me for years to try on the adult-sized princess dress that glimmered in a dusty corner. My response was always the same: “No, not today.” I knew my dress wouldn’t fit, and for nearly all my life I’d been led to believe that a successful fitting meant the zipper went all the way up. But that was yesterday.
After slipping my arms through the beaded sleeves and taking a twirl for old times’ sake, I walked upstairs to the room where Natalie and Avery sat watching television. When I entered, two small jaws dropped. Words of admiration spilled out and embraced me with the kind of unconditional love I’d deprived myself of for far too long. And when I turned to show them the back of the dress, I didn’t even bother to explain why the zipper stopped right below my shoulder blades, refusing to budge the last few inches. The reason, or should I say reasons, my wedding dress no longer zipped closed stood staring up at me. My heart had grown two sizes since I wore this dress decades before.
As my past divinely merged with my present, I couldn’t stop the tears. My daughters’ hopeful faces confirmed that Taking the Pressure Off was the ultimate gift to myself and to them. I began considering the possible ramifications of living with realistic standards, as well as more meaningful ones, in all areas of life. Questions like the ones below never failed to point me toward ordinary achievement rather than societal success:
What if our self-worth wasn’t based on the number on the scale but instead on the feeling of our body as it glides through the water?
What if our happiness wasn’t derived by our reading level but instead by the story within the pages of a book?
What if our success wasn’t based on the number of games won in a season but instead on the memories made and friendships created?
What if our beauty wasn’t determined by our resemblance to a photoshopped image but instead by our courage to have our own personal style and unique flair?
What if our wealth wasn’t based on how much we have but how much we give?
That would certainly be a Hands Free Life, wouldn’t it? By rejecting societal measures of success, we open countless opportunities to grasp what really matters in a way that feels right in our heart and soul. Although it is not possible to go back and erase the pressure we placed on ourselves in years past, all hope is not lost. The words not today can be replaced with why not today? It’s time we stop holding ourselves back from dancing, dreaming, speaking, loving, and living. Let’s not wait another day.
Take the Pressure Off, the fourth intentional habit of a Hands Free Life, is an invitation to live by heart rather than by societal standards. From this perspective, you are able to find value in life experiences and outcomes that might otherwise be deemed failures or disappointments. As the weight of long-held pressures and unrealistic expectations lift from your mind, body, and soul, those around you will also reap the benefits of your newfound freedom. Even self-induced pressures have a way of contaminating the lives of those around us as much as our own. Just as you can heal from the damage of relentless past pressure, so can your loved ones.
In this chapter, we’ll consider three ways to cultivate internal freedom. May you find that Taking the Pressure Off is a gift you can give yourself regardless of your current situation, age, or past reputation. May you find that the best rewards in life are not placed on the wall of your home but inside the lines of your heart.
To grasp what really matters, we must let go of what doesn’t. When we begin to celebrate ordinary everyday achievements in our lives, something extraordinary happens: Life becomes richer. Hearts become fuller. Inner doubts become silenced. Smiles become wider. And no matter how the dress fits, you’re still free to dance in the arms of your precious ones until your feet grow tired.
TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF SO OTHERS MAY TOO
I wasn’t sure how Natalie would react to hearing me admit my most painful truths in a bookstore filled with friends, colleagues, neighbors, and complete strangers. Although Natalie had heard snippets of my past mistakes and the lessons I’d learned from them, this particular book-signing talk contained a steady stream of the most difficult admissions I’d ever spoken out loud.
Although I was concerned about how she would react to this complete baring of my soul, there was something that troubled me even more. Would she see herself in the pre – Hands Free version of myself? And if so, would this be good or bad? You see, Natalie and I are very much alike. Natalie is a planner and has the organizational skills to run circles around even the most ambitious adults. She is very busy, rarely sitting down, because there are so many ideas to bring to life. Natalie is a mover, a doer. With quick strides, she wastes not a single minute doing what her heart leads her to do. But when things don’t go as planned . . . or when perfection is not achieved . . . or when the expectations she sets for herself (or others) are not met, Natalie is not a happy camper. Sayings like, “Everybody makes mistakes” only tick her off even more. There’s no question where Natalie acquired these personality traits. She lived with me, her perfectionistic mother, for the first six years of her life. My highly driven, type-A tendencies had rubbed off and stuck like a regrettable tattoo.
The bookstore owner interrupted me from my reverie to tell me it was time to address the audience. As people took their seats, I saw Natalie break away from a group of friends. She was looking for a place to listen. My worry intensified. Would she hide her face in embarrassment? Or worse, would she make a beeline to the children’s section and act like she didn’t know me? No — she did none of these things. Natalie found a prime spot off to the left of my small author platform, away from everyone else. As I began to speak, she rested against the bookshelf as if planning to stay awhile.
With the most tender expression on her face, Natalie stood there captivated. And there I stood, exposing my flaws and the lessons learned, wondering only what one particular person was thinking about my confessions. There was this look on Natalie’s face — the one that so many people noticed and later commented on as they came through the signing line — that gave me overwhelming peace. I couldn’t deny the overpowering love radiating from one spot off to my left from a little girl with humongous brown eyes who was hanging on my every word.
Watching her mother take her imperfections and mistakes and turn them into life-changing revelations offered a reprieve to this mini high achiever. I saw the recognition take place on Natalie’s face. The missteps of a messy, imperfect life were not something shameful or bad — they were a means to a more loving and fulfilling life.
Watching Natalie watch me was like seeing the sun come out after a long, hard rain.
Watching Natalie watch me was like seeing the tightrope walker realize the ground was much closer and much softer than he thought.
Watching Natalie watch me was like seeing a worn bandage taken off to reveal healing pink skin underneath.
In that moment, Natalie’s radiant face was a reflection of my own — peace with who I was and hope for who I was be
coming. But there was more. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with a possibility she hadn’t considered before — maybe “It’s okay to make a mistake” wasn’t just a saying. Maybe it was actually true. This could be a turning point in her life, I thought to myself. With a little more guidance and a little more openness about past regrets, I could alleviate some of the future pressure Natalie was bound to put on herself. I vowed to speak to her in private to further encourage this shift in perspective that I believed was happening in my child.
“I am sorry I used to want things perfect all the time,” I blurted out to Natalie in the glow of the night-light at Talk Time a few days later.
“Give me an example,” she asked unexpectedly.
“Do you remember how stressed out I would get about wanting things to look a certain way when we left the house? Or how I made such a big deal out of trivial mistakes and mishaps?” I asked, bracing myself for distressing recollections.
“Not really,” she shrugged. “I just remember how you used to lay out my clothes every morning, and I didn’t get to pick. But now you let me wear what I want.” She snuggled closer. “I like the way it is now.”
“I’m so sorry, Natalie,” I repeated. “I wish I would have realized sooner that relationships matter more than expectations, plans, and appearances. Pushing perfection on myself caused me to yell and become exasperated over minor things. It was hurtful to you and Avery, but it was also hurtful to me. My blood pressure was dangerously high back then. I felt angry a lot. My unrealistic expectations could never be met so I was constantly disappointed. I don’t want to know how many perfectly wonderful days I ruined and how many feelings I hurt by putting pressure on myself. I wish I’d changed sooner,” I admitted with regret.
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