Humility

I’m 40,000 feet in the air right now, on a cross-country flight to see one of my best friends marry her love. I couldn’t be happier. I’m on detroit’s favorite low-budget airline because it was the only nonstop flight that had times I could live with, and that means no wi-fi. So…I’m left with just my thoughts and candy crush to entertain me (those candies are NOT going to crush themselves). I’ve had a thought for a long time now – and that’s where all my blog posts start. Something that stews in my brain for a few weeks until I’ve had enough and have to get it out. 
This blog was started for me, and only me. I’ve been lucky that a few loving people read it, and I’m going to ask for feedback on this one – if anyone is still reading at this point…


I’m struggling with the idea of gratitude vs. bragging. My dad has always demanded humility of my sister and I. We could be proud of our accomplishments, and we knew he was proud of us…but he was clear that we didn’t need to brag to the world. He despised it. I get why, completely. There’s nothing more off-putting than someone who is constantly telling you how amazing their life is (which is most people’s Facebook — an extremely edited version of their lives, mine too). People brag about how amazing their kids, marriage, house, car, job, shoes, lives are. Its obnoxious. Especially when you are working really hard and struggling. I know. I’ve been both the bragger and the struggler. We all have, I suspect. 


So here’s the question: my focus is gratitude – which requires I focus my energy on looking for the things I’m grateful for. This mindset has truly transformed my life. I could make a laundry list of things I’m thankful for and reasons why – but it feels like bragging. 


The man – he’s the most compassionate person I have ever met. He treats me very well, and is an amazing dad to Those Johnson Girls. He’s incapable of saying the word “no” to them (which drives me insane)…and also to me (which is totally different and a strength rather than a flaw…double standards be damned). He works very hard and can literally fix anything I break (which is a real challenge). He takes his time to make decisions (but usually makes the right one the first time), whereas I just make decisions quickly – for better or worse. The man will literally give you the shirt off his back, weld your car back together and offer whatever he has, even if he’s just met you. 


Those Johnson Girls – what can I say here. I have always wanted to be a mom. I think I can check that box now. I have four completely different personalities that make me a better person (and make me laugh) on the daily. They aren’t perfect, they are real. They make mistakes, they certainly make messes, they make lots of noise, and I love the crazy mess. 


The Job: I love teaching. It’s my true passion and I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’ve entertained the idea several times — but I can’t bring myself to seriously consider it. I love what I do, I love the people I work with, I love my district. 


The house: three years ago we moved from a small house with one bathroom to a slightly larger home with 2.5 bathrooms in a neighborhood that is perfect for little girls! I’m still thankful for every single square inch of space. I vividly remember the claustrophobic nightmare, the suffocating feeling that our walls were closing in – and the plastic toys appeared to be breeding at night. I’m thankful we can have two girls using a bathroom at once! I love our neighborhood “pack” of kids that roam from one yard to the next (they’re all attached) playing and being kids. I love giving out popsicles all day long to my little friends too!


The side gig: I know many of you don’t want to read this part – and I’ve purposely not included it in my blog thus far… but I can’t any longer. Before you roll your eyes (I did that too), just hear me out. I’m on an airplane right now going to a friend’s wedding across the country. This is something that I would never have been able to consider before this side gig. Without hesitation, when I got the invite – I booked the tickets for the man and I. Which brings me to my next “thing” I’m thankful for. 


My family & friends: My mom asks when she can watch my girls – for real. She comes every Tuesday during the school year. Most of the time when I need someone to watch them, I feel like I’m inconveniencing them (they require a great deal of energy and patience). But not yet, she says “I can’t wait. I love being with them”. For real. Is there a working mom alive that wouldn’t cry to hear that? My mother in law comes and watches my girls on Thursdays – and usually ends up doing all of our laundry (working moms cry again, right?), dishes, and cleans whatever she can get her hands on. She takes great care of Those Johnson Girls and almost always brings treats to eat and dinner. For real. My sister lives close to me and drove me to the airport this morning. “Bye bye bye” came on the radio and without any words exchanged, we started our performance with the dancing at 5:45am. I have friends and a sister who I could call anytime day or night and they’d be there for me in a flash.


What else could anyone ask for? My gratitude is unavoidable with this much amazing stuff around….but rereading that — it does sound like bragging!!!!! So, what’s better?? I’m really conflicted about all this. 


I’ve chosen to love my life. Exactly as it is. Does this mean I’m not humble? 

Be in the picture. (It’s not what you think)

My mom is one of the smartest people I know.  There was a commercial on TV about having a readiness plan in the event of an emergency. So, I asked my mom what she would take from our house if she only had 5 minutes to grab things.  Without hesitating (this was clearly not the first time she had thought about it), she said “all my pictures”.  That really stuck with me.  Pictures weren’t that important to me and I really didn’t understand why they were to her.  

 I’m not sure when it happened. But it does, to most people (mainly women) at some point and it certainly did to me. I despised having my picture taken unless I was 100% perfectly groomed, with a new dress and every hair in place. 

When I was 5 years old, I imagine I was a whole lot like M (well-played, karma).  Spunky, wild, and begging to have my picture taken any chance I could. “MOM, take one of me up here in the rafters of the garage!” I never even considered what my hair or makeup or outfit looked like. Chances are pretty high that I was covered in dirt, bruises and scrapes (a lot like M) and had a huge smile, the kind where you can see the sparkle in the person’s eyes many years later.  

Perhaps puberty is to blame, or society with their images of perfection…but I’m not interested in placing blame. 

In high school I was uncomfortable in my own skin (as I imagine many are at that age). I didn’t enjoy having my picture taken most of the time, but I still obliged my mom or grandma when special occasions demanded photos. 

I had a lot of fun in college (there, I said it). A lot of fun. I joined the best sorority in the world and quickly learned how to pose for pictures so I would look marginally better in them. We took more pictures than anyone could ever need (and yes, we needed film then). It was just a thing we did. And…looking back at them, I’m so glad we have those pictures. 

So, not to go all amateur philosopher on you, (but this is my blog, so I get to do whatever I want), but I believe there are two branches of the “meaning of life” and I’m going to oversimplify them to the point where my philosophy major friends will likely unfriend me…but here goes:

The first is to be happy, and the second is to leave your mark on the world. 

When I married the man, we had a photographer and a videographer like people sometimes do. I’m certainly glad we have pictures of that day — but I’m mostly glad I have pictures of all the guests and family on that day. I will look at that album about once every few years (when searching through the boxes in the basement for something else, generally) and I never look at pictures of me in there — but all the other people of that day. 

My body doesn’t do pregnancy well. That was a big understatement…but, it doesn’t. So, I definitely didn’t want any pictures taken of me. This was true when I was pregnant with M as well — and also the years in between when my body wasn’t “normal” anymore.  Those Johnson girls and I have a saying about that now anyway:

Normal is a dryer setting

Between M and P, I realized a lot of things. I grew as a person in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I changed. My perspective was dramatically different. Because of the sign I saw (see blog post from June 2017). 

So, I started allowing people to take my picture whenever they wanted. I willingly jumped in to pictures (no matter how I looked…but a side effect was that I started taking better care of my appearance because I knew someone might take a picture of me.  I even honed my ninja photobombing techniques. My mom even commented that she was surprised I let her take my picture when I was pregnant with P. 

Here’s the thing. Funerals make you think about life. I had a streak where I was attending too many in a short period of time…which shifted my amateur philosophical ramblings into hyperdrive. They all had picture boards or slide shows with pictures and I was always drawn to them (I’m socially awkward and NEVER seem to have the right words to say in these moments, so looking at the pictures gives me something more comfortable to do). It made me start to wonder what pictures they would find of me one day….I had childhood pictures (albeit FAR less than my sister since I was the youngest), I had senior pictures, wedding pictures, and…. pictures of me that one time I had my hair done for someone’s wedding…and…. well, there wasn’t much else. Don’t get me wrong I am a mom of 4 girls. I have a million pictures of them. But, if you needed to find a picture of me as an adult, you would have been more likely to find a live unicorn making muffins in your kitchen. 

So, I decided those johnson girls needed some pictures of their mom with them. Their mom doing stuff (I am actually fortunate to do an incredible amount of stuff). My nieces will want to see a picture of their Aunt one day. They deserve them. My picture board at my funeral will have happy memories because of this shift. There are definitely some photos I cringe to look at – but through my girls’ eyes, I am beautiful and that’s all I need. 

So, I’m pleading – be in the picture. Some say that selfies make our society narcissistic… I say take a crazy selfie with everyone you meet.  Because they are fun!  Smile and let the camera see the sparkle in your eye. Be alive.