​Once upon a time there was a prom and a personal determination to look phenomenal while being comfortable.  To accomplish this, I slid on a gorgeous teal dress shirt that popped against my skin and then paired it with a fitted black suit jacket. One pair of ultra-black skinny jeans, some black and white high-top Chuck Taylors, a blinged out bowtie choker, a dash of red lipstick, and a head scarf from the Mother Land later; I was in peak “steal your girl” mode and immensely comfortable. 

My father, on the other hand, was on the verge of an aneurysm. 

He tried to persuade me to wear a dress.  It was prom season and there was no shortage of gorgeous dresses I could scoop up for the night.  I wasn’t interested in getting zipped into anything and when I informed him of this, he offered to get me a nice skirt and new top. Anything other than what I had picked out he pleaded.  If it was feminine presenting, he was willing to buy it.  I declined each offer, completely comfortable in what I had chose for myself.  When my best friend arrived, he tried to persuade her to talk some sense into me.  “She can’t go out like that” he insisted.  My bestie, the amazing woman she is, brushed him off and stated that as her date I was dressed as I should be.  After my father clutched his invisible pearls, we snapped some pictures and went out into the night, my father still shaking his head in disapproval as the Lyft drove off.   

This was less than a month ago. 

I was going to start this by saying it’s been a while but apparently, it’s only been about a month since my last post. Congrats to me for slowly creeping toward my goal of posting once a week again. So, what brings me to this junction of thoughts and virtual paper today? A theory. Yup a theory. Not a scientific one. This one is about work-life balance and a stove. I was introduced to the four-burner theory during a small business support group. For those who are unaware of this theory, like I was, pull up a seat and let me give you a quick crash course on it. This theory approaches our lives as if they are small four-burner stoves.  Oh, you thought you were one of those grand stoves with six or eight burners? Me too. But apparently, in this theory, we’re not. We’re all tiny stoves that are slightly broken because in order to be “successful” you must cut off burners. So, if your existence was a meal, for this meal to be tasty you can only cook two items at a time.
 
Now each burner is an item. You have your family, your friends, your health, and your work. No hobbies. No spiritual or personal growth. Just your family, friends, health, and essentially wealth. When this theory is brought up in the work/life balance discussion success is usually meant in terms of one’s career and not overall enjoyment of one’s life. Since being introduced to this way of dissecting our lives, I’ve bounced around in my head what success means to me. I don’t see my life as a simple stove where only two burners can work efficiently at the same time. I know I can’t have ten burners going full blast at once. That’s a level of anarchy that I’ve been there and got the t-shirt for and have no desire to ever recreate. I get the general gist of this theory and the notion that we do have to occasionally put some things on the “back burner” so to speak in order to focus more on other areas. I hate the way this theory breaks elements of our life down into burners instead of realizing those are the meals we’re creating for the feast that is our life, though.  My life is more than four burners. And I don’t gauge my success in this life by how well the work/wealth burner is doing. I gauge my comfort, as well as my family’s, by how well what I’m cooking on that burner is doing. But it isn’t the meter I use to determine if I’m winning at life.
 
There’s more to a successful life, for me, than having a winning career. There are moments with my kids, laughter with friends, self-discovery, and new experiences. Because of those things I’d rather tweak this theory to be a more accurate representation of the richness of our lives. Yes, there is give and take, but it doesn’t mean a burner has to be shut off. Simmer is a perfectly legitimate setting to use in cooking whether literally or figuratively.  True to form, I crafted my own life theory and I shall call it the Feast of Life.

How does it work? First, let’s throw out that crappy four burner stove and upgrade ourselves to one of those commercial grade six burner stoves with a griddle and not one but two ovens. With this we can really do some cooking, but before we start throwing down in the kitchen, we must first know what courses we want to make and what ingredients we need to ensure a delicious meal. Every quality chef has a plan before they bust out the hardware. I’ve spent the greater part of last year breaking down the ingredients I need in my life and exploring the configurations of those elements that would yield a feast I can be proud of.
 
While the four-burner theory is a quick and easy way to dissect our lives, it doesn’t challenge us to dig deep into what we need to truly be happy in this one life we have. Sure, career success is great but is that truly what will bring you fulfillment in life? If so, awesome. If not, then what would? Now’s your time to sit and marinate on that. What areas of your life do you want to be remembered for? Break the notion that a successful life is one that can have a price tag put on it. Instead, look at what ignites that spark in you and run with it. That’s your main course. We all have one, it’s the area of our life that sustains us and breathes life into our existence. It’s the guiding hand as we're moving through this world making vital and even benign decisions.
 
For me, my main course is family. According to the four burners theory I need to put that on the front and crank that burner up to high. Easy. Except not really because nothing worth having in life is as simple as tossing a pot on high and calling it a day. To be able to call my life a success I had to take it a step further and look at what makes up the meal that is family. My kids are a given. As well as my spouse. But there’s more there. The Ex is family too, for better or worse we’re in the business of co-parenting the bringers of mayhem until we take our last breaths. Then there are the relationships with my parents, siblings, friends who became family, and various extended branches on my family tree that are important to me in one way or another. Each connection is an ingredient, family is a complicated dish in more ways than one; which means it gets three burners and part of the griddle. And half the bottle of cooking wine, but that’s a post for another day.
 
It’s up to you to determine how best to tackle your main course. What needs to simmer or be a rolling boil and when those things need to happen. The relationship with my boys is always on high, but once they are grown and living their own lives? It’ll get turned down. Life is fluid and our cooking should be as well.  
 
Alright, we’ve got our main course bubbling away, what’s next? Our soup of course. Not a soup person? Well for the sake of this metaphor pretend that you are. A soup only needs one burner set to a nice steady simmer so the flavors can blend together nicely. You stir it every so often, check the flavor, and add a bit more kick as needed.

For me, I call that dish friendship. It’s dependable and brings comfort all year long. Especially in those moments when life seems bleakest. It’s complex, but not in the same way my family relationships are. It’s a meal I can survive on, and Thor knows I have, but I need both it and my main course in order to thrive in this life. What you set in your soup pot is the element of your life that won’t implode if you look away for five or ten minutes to tend to another dish but is still vital in creating a memorable feast. 
 
We’ve got our main course and our soup dish. That still leaves us with two burners, two ovens, and the rest of the griddle. For me, the remaining burners and griddle space belong to my side dishes: health, career, and personal growth. The number of side dishes you have will be determined by how much of the griddle and how many burners you need to cook your main dish. Your side(s) are those things that compliment your main course without overshadowing it. My health, career, and personal growth are important elements because they aid in creating a well-rounded life by providing the tools I need to maintain the parts of my life that matter the most to me.  What are the elements of your life that compliment your main course without demanding to be the star of your feast?
 
At this point, we’re breaking a sweat and the kitchen smells amazing, but we still have two piping hot ovens ready. What are those for? They are the bread and dessert courses. Also known as the filler and icing on the cake. These are the things that one could do without in their life but having them brings great joy and ensures a fulfilling life feast. For me, those are hobbies and bucket list items. These are items that aren’t tied to personal growth but instead add to the overall joy in my life. Things like tattoos, running a race, or celebrating New Years in Sydney aren’t vital to my satisfaction with life, but accomplishing these things did and would add that extra something to my feast that would ensure I went out of this life stuffed and victorious by my own standards. 

Everyone’s feast is different. Everyone is fulfilled in life in their own way. For some their main course is work and their baked goods are their relationships with family and friends. Only we can decide how our feast will be constructed. It is our job as the head chefs of our lives to take the time to sit down and look at what success and life fulfillment truly means for us and then set to work cooking a feast that will be enjoyed long after we’re gone.
 
Our lives aren’t easy bake ovens or simple four-burner stoves where we can turn two off and keep on trucking. It’s time we turned the work-life balance narrative on its head and realize it’s all part of the same life. Balance is a lie. We’re all in search of fulfillment. Balance is just the hustle they sell you to keep you slaving over a small stove. Get a bigger stove and cook up the life that brings you the most joy. You’ll be glad you did.  

 It all started with a halfhearted promise.  “I’ll make things better,” he said while kneeling in the muddy field.  He loved me I told myself.  He got a ring, he promised things would be better once we were married, so surely he loved me.  Over the next eight months I inquired about wedding details, “I don’t care about that stuff” he would mumble before rushing off the phone.  On my 18th birthday, I moved in with him.  This was the beginning of the rest of my life I told myself.  A life full of fantastic adventures with my best friend, or so I believed.









Our first attempt to get married a few days later was deterred by the incorrect birth certificate on my part, because there is a big difference in a certificate of live birth and a birth certificate, apparently.  I slunk home depressed in my pretty floral spring dress.  He looked relieved and eager to get out of the khakis I had requested he wear because “It’s our wedding day we should look nice”.  “It's a waste of time”, the words lingered in the knots of my hair I had spent an hour fighting with.  He thought it looked a mess.  But, I knew he loved me, so I simply needed to try harder next time.  

When the proper certificate arrived in the mail a couple of weeks later I was thrilled, he was annoyed.  “When do you want to go get married”, the words danced from my heart and oozed through my lips.  “I don’t know”, he replied.  I shook off his indifference.  Another couple of weeks passed before we had a discussion about expectations. I had no desire to shack up for an undisclosed period of time and needed to know if he really wanted the same thing I did.  Blame my Catholic conservative Christian upbringing.  Blame personal standards.  But after a month, you’re either buying the cow or getting your milk elsewhere because I refuse to play house.  After some grumbling, he lamented that he did want to get married and we agreed on a Friday afternoon.  He didn’t want to wear anything nice or take pictures.  I granted his wish with the hope that we’d have a nice wedding one day.  I spent that Friday on edge. My heart and stomach jumped, jived, and wailed with each tick of the clock.  I had to remind myself to breath as the hours turned into minutes and those minutes into the moments that would define the rest of my life.  

The judge who married us was buried in a sea of child support filings and petty crimes when we walked in.  The defeat of his day shone on his face as I slid the marriage certificate onto his desk.  Immediately, he became animated and leaped from his seat with the joy that only the creation of marriage and new life can illicit in humanity.  He retrieved his crisp black robes from the nearby closet and announced our impending nuptials to the collection of depressed bodies that were waiting their turn to plead their various cases.  Then the judge reached for his phone and attempted to contact a buddy of his who worked at the local paper.  He had no luck.  My groom squirmed in his seat at the thought of having someone from the newspaper present at our nuptials.  Even a small wedding announcement had been out of the question.  After hanging up the phone the judge asked if he could read a bible passage during our ceremony.  Still being some version of Christian I had no problem with this but, I turned to my groom to ensure it was ok.  He nodded in that dismissive way only someone who is indifferent can and the judge smiled as he opened his bible.  Clearing his throat he asked us to rise, I jumped from my seat attempting to catch my heart as it leaped with excitement and turned to my groom.  He was still seated.   



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​My mind always slows this moment down.  I’m sure it was less than a minute, but in my mind, it becomes an eternity.  An eternity of chances to run.  An eternity to dance through the reel of what actually became a 12-year marriage plagued with abuse, infidelity, and loneliness.  An eternity to live again. 

An eternity to see every player clearly.  The judge with his confused and apprehensive glare.  The groom’s parents exchange of knowing looks for they kept his secrets better than he did.  The groom’s disdain as he willed himself from the seat and my wide-eyed naiveté.  As the reel plays in my mind, I always freeze this moment and stare at the child giving away her youth to someone who didn’t want to stand next to her.  I look through the eyes of a woman at the life of a girl who simply wanted to know she was loved, and I know she never was.  The woman knows that which the girl can not.   She knows of the lonely nights ahead of the girl, whose tears will stain every pillow she would ever own.  She knows the pain of her husband’s hands pressing against her pregnant belly.  She knows the way his words will hang heavy in her heart for a lifetime.  She knows the way laughter sounds when she’s in pain.  The woman can never save the girl.  
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No matter how many times I play this reel over in my mind, no matter how many times I reach for that young girl, no matter how many empty bottles I attempt to watch it through; I can never save the girl.  She always stands there eagerly awaiting her groom.  She always takes his hand.  She always says her vows with sincerity and passion as her brown eyes bore into his hollow blue eyes seeking confirmation that his heart beats as fiercely for her and her’s does for him.  She always signs her name.  She always stays after he pushes in her stomach and gleefully declares that hopefully he killed their unborn child.  She always runs interference and handles everything as to not upset him.  She always fixes the holes and stops asking about the stories that don’t mesh up.  She always makes sure the children believe they're loved by their father.  She always makes excuses for his noninvolvement, for her tears, for the sadness that hides behind her brown eyes.  She always stays.  Until she becomes the woman who doesn’t. The woman with the movie reel in her mind and scars upon her heart.  

​Since it's a new year, for shits and giggles, I'm going to take some time to share 10 simple truths about myself.  So buckle up, readers!     

1. I love the word fuck.  I use it every fucking chance I get.  It’s a beautiful word.  It’s linguistic magic.  
​Even my Facebook statuses reflect this love: 







           








Yes… fucking and people were my top two words in 2015…

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2.  Fucking people annoy me.  The results of this annoyance are either well-crafted blog posts or rants on my personal Facebook page *hence those being my most used words*.  If you are hip to that whole Myers-Briggs thing, then it makes sense based on my personality.  I’m inclined to think it has more to do with the level of stupidity in the world than my actual personality but, hey it’s kind of fun to know which Doctor Who character you are.  

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3. Of all the fucking people that annoy me, I annoy myself the most.  

4. My inner circle is full of people whose mere existence brings me so much joy that I don’t even care they’re humans. 

5. A debate over Prop 8 is what finally knocked me off my fence of doubt and into the field of godlessness.  Even though I’ve been an out and proud heathen for 7 years I still listen to K-Love on occasion.  NEEDTOBREATHE’s song Brother was one of my favorite songs from 2015.  Seriously, Google it! It’s fucking fantastic! Better yet, enjoy: 

6.  I was offered a scholarship to Mars Hill College to study Youth Leadership (youth ministry).  I had lofty ideas about what young people should learn about love and acceptance.   I still have those ideas, minus the Christianity. 
 
7. Losing my religion was one of the most painful experiences of my life.  Losing the top spot to a 2009 pregnancy lose and the ending of my marriage last year.   

8. I never planned to homeschool my kids.  We’ve been at it, officially, for eight years.  
 
9. When it comes to parenting I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. 

10.  I’m fairly certain my children are aware of this fact. ​​

What are some of your truths?  Do you have the adulting parenting thing figured out or faking it until you make it?  Are you still dancing in tube socks to Bruce Springsteen?  Tell me more, tell me more, right down there in the comments. 

When it came to religion, I could easily examine the inconsistencies and toss the breaks in logic into the wastebasket where they belonged.  Eventually, leaving nothing but godlessness and unabashed skepticism.  With love, oh love, it hasn’t been that easy.  If there was a disconnect between words and actions, then I clearly wasn’t seeing it correctly.  A belief supported by my spouse.  I simply needed to look at everything differently.  To be patient.  To hold on.  Give him time and trust.  Always more time and trust.  I could do this.  To give superficial change, that quickly faded, more weight than years of peer-reviewed data.  Maya Angelou said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them; the first time.”  We rarely do, though.  Why do we do this?  Why do we allow our hearts to cloud our logic?  How can we observe years of behavior, and at the mere notion of change, throw all our chips in and declare this time around it will be better?

This isn’t a post with answers. Because, frankly, I don't have any damn answers.  So, if you’re waiting for that you’re going to be shit out of luck.  I’m still tracing the rim of a Styrofoam cup attempting to make sense of this one life we’re given and fighting with the cognitive dissonance emotional attachments create.     


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