Unexpected Friendship

 

Ian told me that no one would ever believe that we could ever be friends. And she is right.

I was working at my desk one day when a new employee was introduced to me. It was a simple introduction. “This is Ian.” I looked up expecting to see a man. Standing before me was a tall, beautiful young woman dressed in black and sporting at least one tattoo that I could see. I was a bit taken aback because “Ian” was not what I expected.

Getting to know Ian a bit, I was pretty sure she would not understand me and would probably shun me. That is what happens when people make assumptions. So, I was careful with my approach to Ian and tried to simply be collegial.

One evening I was volunteering at an Admissions Open House and ended up next to Ian, welcoming prospective students and their families. I was a bit uncomfortable and uncertain about how to engage in casual conversation. However, a simple question of “How did you end up working here?” opened the door to getting to know each other.

As we have worked together, the awkwardness has fallen away. Something changed. The polite, respectful conversations became more personal. We shared our likes, our lives, and our religion. Ian has told me things about her life and her identity that are not part of my tenets. When we have time, we discuss those differences and come know each other better. Some conversations are on hold for a time when we will have the opportunity to delve into them.

Slowly, I realized that I like Ian. She is fun and funny. We have similar tastes in music and television. We like to read. We adore our cats. (After all, they are our babies). We have more things in common than differences. But I still did not know where I stood with Ian.

And then one day Ian said to me, “You’re the first conservative Christian who has ever been nice to me.” It was in that moment that I knew Ian had become my friend.

Peace

 

I found peace this week. A peace that I have not felt in a year. You see, my heart has been broken. Deeply. By someone I love. Someone who has been part of my life for decades.

Additionally, during this year my husband and I have gone through some difficult times due to external events. But we got through them. We communicate well and we are committed to each other in this thing called marriage.

One of those events is that my father-in-law died. Peacefully. Falling asleep in his chair. At home.

I grieved differently for him than I did my own father. Afterall, I had known him longer. My own father passed away when I was almost 32. I knew my father-in-law for 39 years. While my father was there for my childhood and got to see me grow into an adult, my father-in-law saw me grow as an adult. And helped me through some difficult times.

This week I learned that there is more to joy than just saying “thank you.” Instead, acknowledging those relationships that helped me through a tough year and saying to friends who helped me, “this has been a difficult year, and you helped me get through it. Thank you.”

My heart is still broken. And will probably remain so. But I found peace. And the cloud has been lifted.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

 

Big Goals, Small Accomplishments

 

 

I had big plans for the summer. I had taken an extended vacation in April so I would not take any weeks of vacation during the summer. However, I was determined to give myself the gift of time. I was not going to overschedule my weekends. I was going make progress on my next writing project. I was going to take a couple of long weekends to spend time with loved ones.

It is now September and classes start on Wednesday. Students are coming to campus to finalize their schedules and check on their financial aid. What happened to my summer? What happened to my goals?

I made choices. This resulted in a light schedule for June and July. One of those long weekends was spent with my childhood best friend to celebrate a milestone birthday. It was lovely and refreshing. My husband and I spent a long weekend at a local inn. We got to visit with her and extended family. Afterall, her family was my second family growing up.

July brought a long talk over coffee with a dear friend one Saturday morning. My August Saturdays got filled with family and friends.

As for my writing project? I made connections. I wrote a chapter. I rethought the structure. It was a big goal. I accomplished little. There were distractions. That does not diminish what was accomplished. It was a choice. I would not trade the fun. The laughter. The fellowship.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

 

I Wrote a Book

 

Imposter syndrome is real.

According to the Caltech Counseling Center, impostor syndrome is “a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist even in face of information that indicates that the opposite is true. It is experienced internally as chronic self-doubt, and feelings of intellectual fraudulence.”

My book is based on over 25 years of experience in higher education. For those who don’t know, I am the Director of Compliance at a community college. My focus is on regulatory compliance. I work with my colleagues across the college to make sure we are up-to-date on various federal and state regulations that apply to institutions of higher education.

In my preface I mention that I developed the idea for my book from meetings, conferences, and trainings that I had attended over the years. My experience researching federal regulations and writing departmental policies added to my knowledge. Developing institutional policies and working with cross-functional teams increased my expertise.

However, none of this prepared me for the lack of confidence and feelings of vulnerability. Yes, I have the knowledge. Yes, I have the expertise. Yes, I know how to do research. Yes, I know how to communicate. One-on-one. In a memo. During a meeting. At a conference. But to put it all in one place and share it with the world is daunting.

And so, I wrote a book. I sent it to the publisher and held my breath. I do not expect it to be a best seller, but I wanted to share my knowledge with a larger audience. I wanted to pass on my expertise to others. For me, it is not a “feeling of inadequacy” in the face of information that indicates the opposite is true. It is a feeling of vulnerability. Now everyone knows what I am thinking.

My book can be purchased on Amazon at Institutional Compliance: It's a Team Sport. 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

15 Years

 

Fifteen years ago, I finished treatment for triple negative breast cancer. When making the chemotherapy decision the odds were better to go ahead with the treatment. My oncologist told us that she hoped to prevent recurrence within the next 15 years. When I reached year 10, I “graduated” from oncology. There were tears and hugs. My oncologist told me I was her miracle patient. It’s been 15 years.

Those 15 years have seen many changes, joys, and sadness. We bought a new house. We’ll have been in it 14 years this summer. It still feels like a new home. I started a new job. I’ve been there 12 years and genuinely love what I do.

I’ve lost friends. I’ve made new friends. I’ve reconnected with past friend.

We lost three of our beloved cats. We now have two new cats. Brothers who have brought joy and laughter into our home and help to heal our broken hearts.

Parents have aged. My husband retired. We’ve aged.

It’s been 15 years.

 

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

 

50 Years, Almost

 

I have a mug that has the following inscription: “Friends. Our lives were brought together for a reason and I will always be grateful. Thank you for your love, your wisdom and your understanding. Thank you for you being a part of my life.”

This was Amy’s mug. I gave it to her one Christmas as a gift. Now it is mine.

Amy and I met when we were ten years old. Her sister and my brother met and became friends in Junior High School. They discovered they had sisters in the fifth grade who liked to write letters. So we became pen pals. And then one day we met in person. We sat on a bench at a softball game, awkwardly looked at each other, thinking “Who is this person? Will she like me?”

When we reached Junior High School we were already friends, so it was natural that we hung out with each other. The school was bigger. It had more students. There were strangers. And we had several classes together.

At the beginning of eighth grade, tragedy struck when her sister and father were killed in a car accident. We bore the grief and trauma of that incident. My brother had lost his friend. Amy had lost her sister. We became like sisters, sharing our lives through high school graduation.

After high school Amy went to Bible School. I went to a Christian Liberal Arts college. We stayed in touch. We married. We moved away from our home towns. At one point we lost touch with each other, but miraculously a letter she wrote and sent to a very old address made its way into my hands because the postal employee knew my husband and hand delivered it to him at his office.

When Amy’s children were still little, she moved back to Connecticut. Our home state. We would get together for tea and long talks when I was home visiting my mother. She and the kids even came to visit us in Massachusetts.

She stayed in the area while her kids were in school. She sang at my father’s funeral. And she took care of my mother by cleaning her house when my mother got too old to take care of such things.

At some point, Amy moved south. And while we did not have as much correspondence, we never lost touch again.

Amy eventually settled in Pennsylvania. Through email and eventually text messaging we stayed in contact. We spent hours talking on the phone. I would go to Connecticut to see her when she was visiting the area. Social media added a layer of fun; sharing pictures and funny jokes.

In 2020, Amy shared the news that she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had a treatment plan. I made arrangements to care for her during her last two weeks of treatment, knowing that she would need the most care at that time. Due to changes in her treatment plan, and a change the airline made to my plane ticket, I ended up spending a long weekend with her in November. It was a weekend filled with peace and grace. We developed a gentle routine that needed no words. It just worked. We stayed up late. We ate when we were hungry. We did some sightseeing. We shared our faith.

Over the next two years there were more texts, more phone calls. Knowing how cancer progresses, I knew her health was declining. Eventually, my husband said, “You need to go see her.” My supervisor told me to “go” even though it was a busy time of year. And I went. I spent three peaceful days with my friend again. We shared memories and music. We talked about our faith. We prayed.

Amy passed away three weeks later. I cried. She is my friend. I picked up my phone the next day to send her my daily text. I remembered she would not see it. I wanted to call her over the weekend to see how she was doing. There will no longer be those marathon talks. There is more than the emptiness of loss, there is a hole.
She is no longer here. 

The inside rim of the mug has this: “The bonds we have are everlasting.”

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

Micah 6:8

 

“And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (ESV)

In January I joined a task force at work dedicated to the support of students who are English Language Learners. They had begun the work the previous year. The focus is on support of students who are English language learners. Students who are in every class. Students who are trying to navigate the enrollment process. Students who are trying to understand our institutional policies. All through the “filter” of English being a foreign language.

In April we were notified that our group had been nominated for, and would receive, this year’s Social Justice Award. “Created in 2019 to honor the college’s deep social justice roots, the Social Justice Award recognizes individuals, groups, departments, or initiatives that promote values such as commitment to equity and diversity or the advancement of human rights and social justice.” (From notifying letter).

To say the least, I was more than surprised. I was speechless. To receive such an award was, and is, both humbling and a great honor. Having been with the group only a few short months it was difficult to see how my small contribution could lead to having my name on this award. But this group is amazing. They welcomed me with openness and excitement. My project for the spring semester was to research best practices at other community colleges. I was able to contribute something. And I look forward to continuing our work in the fall semester.

I am honored to work at a college that has open admissions. A college that offers an opportunity to anyone who wishes to pursue an education. A college that serves the Merrimack Valley of Massachusetts, with its gateway cities and large immigrant populations. In my roles as Director of Compliance and Student Grievance Officer I strive to support students along their educational journey.

I have the words “Micah 6:8” written on the whiteboard in my office. It is there to remind me of my calling. Of my purpose. On Saturday we were presented with our award at the 60th annual graduation ceremony. It was there that I was reminded once again that my God calls me to “do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly” with Him.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.