I like boys. I understand them. A lot of this has to do with the fact that I come from a family with a lot of boys. They just make sense to me. Last weekend I met the most beautiful, intelligent pre-teen girl. Our initial interaction involved me telling her in Portuguese how much I liked her alternating pink and blue nail polish. She's very shy, and I noticed that she tends to sit back and take in her environment before jumping in. Fortunately, I'm good at respecting that. We eventually bonded, though, through our walking tour of touristy Orlando and a few comments about the frigid air. The 8 year old girl who traveled with us eventually complained, "You keep holding hands and hugging each other." Yep. We did. We talked in Portuguese about the rides and rated the roller coasters. We discussed the fact that her uncle is one of her favorite people and which American music she liked. We smiled and laughed and I felt such a protective instinct about her that I gave her my

I like certainty. I crave truth. I thrive on authenticity. I think that's one of the reasons I like kids so much. They have a way of carving right through the b.s. and digging in to the heart of the matter. As we sat at Dunkin Donuts this weekend, the English-speaking 8-year-old asked me, "What's your name again?" The Brazilian looked across the table from her and responded, "Every time you see her you ask her her name five times. When are you going to remember it?" She sat there quietly for a moment before answering, "I've only seen her one other time...not like that other girl who was there at your birthday." I laughed internally because she confirmed what I had suspected about his three month absence and knew would not ever actually get a straight answer about. The Brazilian shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable and shot me sideways glance with a quick, "Don't listen to her. She's crazy and doesn't know what she's t

Whenever I meet foreigners, they always tell me that I am unlike other Americans. This used to confuse me a bit because, as far as I'm concerned, I'm just me. I've grown accustomed, though, to the statement, "You're different." This weekend I found out just how much that statement applies to me. The South Americans and I stopped at a Dunkin Donuts for a brunch Saturday morning, and after coordinating all the orders, we sat down with our collection of donuts and flatbread sandwiches and coffee. Lots of coffee. Because Brazilians like--no love--coffee. It wasn't long before I heard, "Voce comi?" followed by an offer of whatever someone had to eat. I ate. Right off the food, and often right after someone else had already taken a bite. There's no such thing as breaking off a piece of food. You just jump right in. My American friends were all a bit grossed out by this. "You don't even know these people!" they would shout. That's

I'm finally home and have a million things to do tonight that I normally would have finished Friday night or during the weekend. There are no complaints here, though, because my weekend was as magical as I expected it would be. On Saturday morning we loaded up the car with the Brazilians and started our trek to Orlando. It was a slightly rocky start because I was afraid to practice my bad Portuguese and had already been warned not to use my Spanish. You know how much I love kids, though, right? The 8 year old started out by asking if I would play soccer with him again. He and I practiced our English and Portuguese for most of the ride. Colors. Animals. Numbers. That seemed to break the ice, and before long we were all doing our best to communicate through my broken Portuguese, Spanish verbs and lots of hand gestures. So much happened, and I plan to share pieces of it over the next few days. To read it all now would be overwhelming. This family is a group of beautiful people who ope

As I've had the time, I've been reading an amazing book by Brene Brown . Brown is a shame researcher in Houston, and her book, I Thought It Was Just Me, but It Isn't, has been life changing for me. In the book, she shares some of her research on shame and vulnerability, and the most profound piece of information I've uncovered is that we all feel shame, and we're all deeply afraid of it. Like I said, it's changing me. I'm very aware now of what I say to other people. I'm also very much aware of situations which stir my own feelings of shame. To do this, you answer two questions: How do I want to be perceived by others? and How do I not want to be perceived by others? I want to be perceived as authentic, empathetic, free-spirited, creative, and joyful. I don't want to be perceived as stupid or mentally unstable. Problems arise when either of those perceptions are challenged. The funny thing is that the two ways I don't want to be perceived are mos

It's 10:00. My race clothes are laying across the top of the dog crate. I've already consumed my all-natural sleep aid. The alarm is set for 4:45 in the morning. I should be sleeping, but my mind is spinning at an unnatural rate. Remember this poem ? The subject of that poem married just a few weeks ago, and I just finished looking through his wedding photos. It's a strange feeling. Not one of loss. Or Regret. Or even wistfulness. I'm thoroughly happy for both of them in a way that will seriously not make sense to most of the people I know. I suppose there will always be an odd sense of knowing in a situation like this. I know the feel of those lips. I've seen that look in his eyes. What I felt for him was real and pure and drives the feeling of satisfaction that is currently overwhelming me. I love knowing that he's in love--even if it's not with me. I even saved my favorite photo to my computer because the image stirred something in me that needs to be sti

Today didn't turn out quite like I expected. I wasn't prepared for the blasting cold that greeted me when I let the dogs out this morning. I certainly wasn't prepared for my car to refuse to start this morning. But there I was at 5:30 this morning. 30 degrees. In the dark. Behind the wheel of a car whose engine attempted, but never fully woke up. I have a back up plan. Since I live alone, I have two vehicles, and I ran inside to find the key to the other one. The interior lights didn't even turn on. As I waited for my friend to pick me up for work, I thought about how, sometimes, even with the appropriate preparations, life doesn't follow the plan. However, I'm not writing to wax poetic about those little twists and turns. I know you get that. My little silver machine decided to crank this afternoon after the mercury climbed a bit. This meant I got to spend the afternoon at the auto parts store. I have found the auto parts store to be an interesting place for a

A dear friend confessed to me last night that he had lost his muchness and found it again. I confessed the same and even admitted the ridiculous series of events that recently sapped my own muchness. That little confession seemed to do wonders. It's so easy to fall out of step with myself. In fact, I do it quite naturally. Growing up in a Christian home, I took to heart the instructions to love my neighbor more than I love myself. Oh, wait! I just checked the scripture. "Love your neighbor as yourself." I may have been doing this the wrong way. I ended 2010 with the resolution that I would no longer make decisions out of fear. I am starting 2011 with the resolution to make decisions based on what I want. I've struggled with this because I've always believed that I should consider the needs and wants of others before my own. I'd like to think this is a valiant approach, but the truth is that it only leads to martyrdom...and I don't think I was given the opp