My cup is overflowing

Posted on February 24, 2014 by lindsturner

Some days, I feel like I’m doing life on my own. That happens when you’re a single adult. Luckily, those days are rare for me.

Most days, I feel like I have a lot of people in my corner. Supporting me, cheering for me, carrying me through.

Yesterday was the epitome of that. Yesterday is the day I’ll draw from when I’m having a “I feel like I’m doing life on my own” day. Yesterday family and friends from all areas of my life came together, after weeks of lying and sneaking around, to celebrate my upcoming 30th birthday.

Birthday "tweets"

Birthday “tweets”

After yesterday, I feel like I’ll be able to choose butterflies a million times. Because to choose butterflies, you need to know people have your back. And I know people have my back.

And because this is my little corner of the internet, I want to say thank you.

To my high school friends, I’m so honoured that we got to grow up together, I can’t imagine who I’d be today without you. I’m proud of the friendship we’ve maintained, it’s so special and unique. And I’m so grateful the nine of us formed this force 15 years ago (yep…15 years, I counted).

To my TMH peeps, you’ve taught me what community meant in a really powerful way. We’ve celebrated amazing things, and walked through some mucky waters together. Thank you for showing me what God’s love looks like in such practical ways.

Twitter bird cake created by my crazy talented friend Natalie

Twitter bird cake created by my crazy talented friend Natalie

To my family, both immediate and extended, I think we have something special. I love that regular family dinners involve aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins-in-law, and cousins-once-removed. Thank you for making family important.

To my LCL girls, I’m so grateful that, somehow, we all ended up on the same team at such a critical point. I know I’ll never work on a team like that again. I realized that when we were working together and it’s even more true in hindsight.

To my Oki sisters, I know you couldn’t be there in person, but I know you were there in spirit. Thank you for welcoming me with open arms four years ago and showing me the magic of camp.

To Lyndsay and Jen, you two are a fantastic team. I love that you’ve become such great friends. You have both influenced me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.

To Ali, you are amazing. I still can’t believe you flew in for this party. I can’t express how humbling that is. It was so special to me that you were there.

To Katie, on a family tree, we may be cousins, but I’ve always thought of you more of a big sister, especially over the last few years. You are a rock to so many people. You listen like no one I know, you offer the most sage advice and you’re not afraid to tell it like it is, even when it’s not what I want to hear. In so SO many ways, I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. I can truly, absolutely say that.

To my mom, I really have no words to tell you what an amazing mom you are. You are who I aspire to be, both as a woman and one day as a mom. You personify other-centeredness in a crazy powerful way, and I hope you know how loved and cherished you are.

I know this post doesn’t follow any blog-etiquette rules, and is bordering on inappropriate gushing, but I wasn’t able to fall asleep last night without writing it all out.

My cup is overflowing.

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Hitting Publish

Posted on February 20, 2014 by lindsturner

I never really thought I had any right to blog. I love to write. My minor is in writing. I write a lot as part of my work.

But a blog? I haven’t done anything super spectacular in my life. I haven’t overcome anything life altering. I’m not really an expert on any particular topic. So why would anyone care what I have to write about?

While I’m still not sure of that answer, things sometimes have a funny way of coming together.

I signed up for a certificate at the University of Toronto that required us to create and maintain a blog. All of a sudden, I had an “excuse” to blog.

Meanwhile, I’m dangerously close to my 30th birthday, and evaluating where I am and where I’m going. What have I done with my life so far? What’s holding me back? Fear. Vulnerability. The possibility of failure. The love of all things comfortable.

What if, in my 30’s, I embraced vulnerability? What if I made choices where I might not succeed in the end? What if I got a little uncomfortable? What might happen?

And that’s how we got to where we are right now. An excuse to blog and a pre-midlife crisis. My mission to choose butterflies and hold myself accountable through writing about it. Which means I’ve actually gotta do this thing.

I wrote the first entry and then rewrote it a million times. It wasn’t perfect. And what if someone thought I was a loser because I don’t like roller coasters? What if someone misunderstood what I was trying to say? What if someone thought they could say it better? What if, heaven forbid, there was a typo?

But I had to shut those voices out. Because those “what ifs” are reality. They happen. Even the typos. And you can’t let reality stop you from living.

Photo credit: Cognety's, Creative Commons

Photo credit: Cognety’s, Creative Commons

I had to hit publish. I had to trust that the reward for being vulnerable, for sharing my journey, my heart, would outweigh the “what ifs” that are going to happen.

And you know what? So far, they do. I’ve been overwhelmed by support. I’ve even had a few people tell me I inspired them to choose butterflies. That’s seriously cool.

There will be people who judge me or disagree. And that’s gonna feel pretty crappy. And a few times, that fear almost made me stop, change my mind, and write about something safe. But that’s not choosing butterflies.

“Fear would have told the Wright brothers not to fly. Fear would have told Rosa Parks to change seats. Fear would have told Steve Jobs that people hate touchscreens.” – Jon Acuff, Start

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Showing up and being seen

Posted on February 15, 2014 by lindsturner

I had planned to write a (hopefully) insightful post today, one that’s been swimming around in my head all week.

Then I sat down to finish Daring Greatly, a book I’ve been slowly working through as I start this Choosing Butterflies journey. And I read this:

Daring greatly is not about winning or losing. It’s about courage. In a world where scarcity and shame dominate and feeling afraid has become second nature, vulnerability is subversive. Uncomfortable. It’s even a little dangerous at times. And, without question, putting ourselves out there means there’s a far greater risk of feeling hurt. But as I look back on my own life and what Daring Greatly has meant to me, I can honestly say that nothing is as uncomfortable, dangerous, and hurtful as believing that I’m standing on the outside of my life looking in and wondering what it would be like if I had the courage to show up and let myself be seen.”
– Brene Brown

Holy crap, guys. Brene read my mind and my heart!

I’ve reread this about 14 times this morning. I want to have the courage to show up and let myself be seen. I don’t want to wonder what that feels like. I want to know – I want to live that.

When I told a friend I was going to read Daring Greatly, she said, “be prepared to have your life changed.”

I’m not sure the details quite yet, but I think that might be what’s happening here.

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100 of the bravest people I know

Posted on February 12, 2014 by lindsturner

I still remember when 14 year-old Carly* looked up at the high ropes course and said, “I’m not scared, I just don’t want to.”

I’m no expert, but I think “I just don’t want to” is 14 year-old code for “I’m scared.”

Carly was born with hypoplastic right heart syndrome, her heart is missing its right ventricle. She has endured numerous open-heart surgeries, and spent a big chunk of her life in a hospital.

By no choice of her own, she’s one of the bravest people I know.

Camp Oki

Camp Oki

Actually, she’s one of about 100 of the bravest people I know. I’ve met these people, these kids, at Camp Oki – Canada’s first and only camp for kids with congenital heart disease (CHD) – a camp I have volunteered with for the past four years.

Kids come to Oki with a variety of heart conditions. Some have a pacemaker, some have an internal defibrillator, others have had heart transplants. Sometimes the kids are a bit smaller, most of them have scars on their chests, but all of them are just kids wanting to do kid things. Camp Oki lets them do that.

But back to Carly and the high ropes.

Through some coaxing from instructors and encouragement from her friends (seriously, not all teen girls are mean girls. Some are crazy supportive and encouraging), Carly reluctantly put on the harness.

Then she walked across the first bridge. Everyone cheered.

Then she crossed the log beam with shaky legs. “GO CARLY!” echoed through the trees.

Taking it one element at a time, Carly conquered two of four levels on one of Canada’s tallest high ropes courses. When back on the ground, she was greeted with hugs by 11 other teen girls. Girls who had made it to the top of the course, some of them blindfolded, were so proud of Carly’s achievement. And made sure she knew that.

In a quiet moment as we walked to lunch, Carly smiled and told me, “I never thought I’d do that. I’m proud of myself.” This is the magic of summer camp.

Like Carly, all kids at Camp Oki choose butterflies. But the butterflies are different for each of them. And each time someone chooses butterflies, we celebrate.

We celebrated when Amanda swam in deep water for the first time. We celebrated when Nick sang on stage in front of the whole dining hall. We celebrated when Laura, for the first time ever, shared how scared she was when she went in for her first open heart surgery.

Without a hint of exaggeration, Camp Oki changed my life. These kids taught me what it looked like to be brave. They taught me that with the power of encouragement and genuine friendship, you can always choose butterflies.

This week is CHD Awareness Week. I invite you to learn more about CHD and Camp Oki.

*All names have been changed to protect the privacy of campers

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Costa Rica, Nomads and Growth Zones

Posted on February 8, 2014 by lindsturner

Ali is my “nomad friend”. I lovingly refer to her as that, because up until about a year ago, she had no fixed address. She moved around taking on really cool short-term jobs, making connections and friends everywhere she went. Because it’s hard not to love Ali.

Ali is the complete opposite of me. I’m timid, she’s adventurous. I play it safe, she does backflips off of swings. I buy sandals from Payless, she makes them out of cardboard and duct tape. No really, she does. And they look awesome.

Five years ago, Ali said to me “let’s go to Costa Rica and stay in hostels”. I laughed at her. Did she know who she was talking to?

“Get out of your comfort zone,” she said to me.

Why in the world would I do that? I like my comfort zone. It’s comfy. I know what to do in it, I know how things work.

Then Ali explained comfort zone in a way I hadn’t heard before.

She explained that the comfort zone is like the bullseye. Wrapped around the comfort zone is the growth zone. Each time you step into your growth zone, your comfort zone gets a little bigger. Beyond the growth zone is the panic zone. Spending time in your growth zone helps you identify what falls over into panic zone. The growth zone is the sweet spot between comfort and panic.

I’d never heard of the growth zone before. I thought the outside of my comfort zone was my panic zone. I didn’t really think that there’d be somewhere in between.

Costa Rica

Arenal Volcano, Costa Rica

That convinced me. A month later, we were on a plane to Costa Rica. And in Costa Rica, I definitely grew.

In one week, I ziplined through the rainforest, rode horses, hiked through a mountain while monkeys played in trees, slept in a room with 6 strangers, shared a bathroom with 6 strangers, watched a volcano “erupt”, drank beer with people from Washington, Brazil and the Yukon, spent a day in La Fortuna by myself while Ali went white water rafting (that was well into my panic zone!), and almost got bitten by a wild turkey.

Since then, Ali and I have gone on a few adventures. Each time when I insist on making the safe choice, she reminds me to get into my growth zone.

Whether that’s ziplining in Costa Rica, mountain biking in Jasper, or taking ridiculous pictures in Thunder Bay. I’m grateful for a friend that pushes me to choose butterflies.

Posted in Travel | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

How hating a rollercoaster changed everything

Posted on February 5, 2014 by lindsturner

Every summer from the time I was 8, my parents would pack my brother and I up in the car and trek 10 hours south to my aunt and uncle’s house in Belle Mead, New Jersey. We’d spend the week swimming in their pool, playing cool video games not allowed at home, and watching Nickelodeon.

But one day each year, we’d go to Six Flags Great Adventure. Six Flags was always the highlight of the trip. Junk food, carnival games, and obviously, the rides.

Rides I enjoyed watching my dad and brother go on with my feet securely planted on solid ground. Sure, I’d go on the little spinny rides or the gentle log ride. But rollercoasters that go upside down? Not. A. Chance.

Then one year, I was probably 15, I decided enough was enough. This was the year I was going to ride Scream Machine – a classic rollercoaster with four loops, two spirals and one giant drop.

Butterflies attacked my stomach as we meandered through the queue lines. When we got to the front and our train pulled up, I realized I had two choices: get on it or bail.

It wasn’t too late to change my mind. I made it further than I ever had before! That’s progress.

But I didn’t bail. I sat in the cart, pulled the shoulder harness down, squeezed the handles as hard as I could and closed my eyes. I didn’t let go or open my eyes for the next minute and thirty-seven seconds.

I hated every single second of that terror-ride. I couldn’t (and still can’t) understand how people considered that fun. In fact, even watching the video above made me queasy all over again.

But I wasn’t disappointed when I walked off the ride. I was elated, even euphoric. I did it! I went on a rollercoaster! I didn’t bail! I opted for the scarier choice and it felt amazing.

That was the first time I remember choosing butterflies. Remember seeing two choices in front of me, and choosing the one that gave me butterflies. And to be honest, I haven’t chosen butterflies too many times since then.

Until now.

I’m on a journey to choose butterflies. To make the choice that’s a little scarier, a little harder, a little less comfortable. Or a lot. Care to join me?

Posted in Childhood | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments