Curious, Courageous, and Confident

The past five months have been a chaotic mix of reflection, transition, and change. During an interview debrief with one of my supervisors, he reminded me to be patient. Discussing the future and my goal to serve as an elementary administrator, he asked what it was that filled my cup. I said my family and knowing at the end of the day my time was well spent.

In February, I ran a half marathon in the snow at Seeley Lake with my friend Holly. Run may be a relative term; however, we accomplished our goal, and we made it to the finish line. The icy road conditions forced us to slow down. Slowing down allowed me to look around and enjoy the scenery. It was one of the best gifts I could’ve been given as I enter my 40s. Too often, I am caught in the desire to please others, to rush ahead, to get the job done regardless of the stakes or the views I miss along the way.

In March, we celebrated Emma’s sixth birthday. Watching her celebrate with her friends and cousins reminded me of the pure excitement of birthdays. She is at a stage of curiosity. She is learning how to place letters into words, words into sentences, and working out kindergarten math problems. With each puzzle, I can see her making sense of new concepts. She loves singing and listening to music of all kinds. She is strong willed, fiercely independent and every day is a new adventure. She loved kindergarten and can hardly wait for school to start in August.

On a sunny Saturday morning in April, I walked across the RMC graduation stage. For the past nine months, every Tuesday I have gathered with a cohort of fifteen teachers to complete our Master of Educational Leadership. Each cohort member left an impression on me personally and professionally. The commencement speaker charged us to go into our next adventure refusing to be victims, to always be kind, and make the best of each moment. To me, and many from our cohort, it felt like a cautionary tale of daily life in education.

Graduation morning I sat in a coffee shop working on my homework and feeling sorry for myself. I was frustrated that I had to work on a day that should be a celebration. When a colleague walked in, I vented to her about my morning. Later, in response to my generic “how are you?” she quietly replied that her husband had passed earlier that week. It stopped me in my selfish rant. It made me feel foolish. It is hard to remember perspective when all I focus on is my own. Josh would have turned twelve this March. The way I approach change and challenges reflect my search for balance and grace in grief. Yet, as I tell my story, I need to remember to slow down and listen to others who are on this path.

In May, Courtney and I both ran the Joshua Tyree Half Marathon. It was just shy of 8 months post his accident. Courtney’s ability to push himself physically and mentally is absolutely amazing. We have helped organize the race for a number of years and the Ramsey Keller Memorial kindly named the half marathon in honor of Josh. Together, Courtney and I made the choice to have this be the last year for Josh’s race. It was not a lighthearted decision as we (and our community) have poured our hearts into the race each year. However, we know decisions made together are stronger and the Ramsey Keller Memorial will continue to support families for years to come.

The week following the race, I interviewed and received placement to serve as an elementary principal. During my last week at Skyview, I was struggling. I was trying to do too many things and not feeling like I was doing any of them well. My friend Jordan let me vent for a minute and then just simply said “change is hard.” His naming of my emotions was what I needed in the moment to pause and be patient. I hadn’t even realized I was struggling with transitioning from a school I had taught in for fifteen years and a career I had grown comfortable in. I was holding tight to believing everything would be ok if I just pretended like it was. I am working on being more confident accepting change and recognizing that as Joellen Killion notes in chapter two of the text “Each change allowed me to become more than what I was.”

In June, we celebrated so many major moments from the year with a special family trip to Seattle for a few nights and then a little over a week in Hawaii.

We planned one fancy meal out for our anniversary (Emma rocked a princess dress and held her own with two sushi rolls and tuna tacos at Morimoto Maui) our only true plan was to rest, recover, and celebrate all we had accomplished in the year:

• Entering our 40s
• Emma completing her first year of school
• Court’s recovery from his accident
• Court’s fifteen year mark as FWP Game Warden
• Master of Educational Leadership
• New job as an elementary principal
• Sixteen years of marriage
• Father’s Day
• Debt free (including the house) as we made our last payment together on the beach and Emma did a debt free scream #daveramsey

Watching Court and Emma play in the waves refilled my cup. I thought about how much my mom loved water and would have had the biggest smile watching Emma swim and snorkel in the ocean. I wrote Josh’s name in the sand. As the water washed it away it brought me peace instead of sadness.

Too often I get caught up in being busy. If my schedule is full, so too must be my heart. Yet, I am starting to accept that it is the slow or quiet moments that are often more meaningful. At Skyview’s graduation one of our student speakers shared the need for “flexible stability” in our lives. He is headed to fly fighter jets next year, but his message holds true for us all now. My search for grace in grief parallels change. I need to be more flexible in my stability. Each day, I learn to keep going by reminding myself to listen and be patient. As I move into this next stage, I hope to continue to be curious, courageous, and confident so when all is said and done, I have made each day, even the hard ones, count.