Cannonballs

An update, or why I've been quiet here, plus my word of the year

Some people approach the arrival of a new year like they are doing a cannonball into a pool on a hot summer’s day. I, on the other hand, prefer a slow ease in—both to pools and new years. First a toe to gauge the temperature, then a pause before I decide if I’m going to smoothly glide in, or inch down the ladder, giving myself time to adjust to the cold. I never do cannonballs first. This year especially, I feel the need to enter gently.

Early on Thanksgiving morning, my dad called with the news that my mother had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke and was being airlifted to a hospital. A day-and-a-half¹ later, I boarded a plane to be with her in California. This particular kind of stroke has a 70-80% mortality rate, so I’m deeply grateful to tell you she not only survived but has made a miraculous recovery. Even with such an amazing outcome, it’s left me feeling like the world tipped and the ground is slippery. Other Hard Things have happened while we’ve lived overseas (I wrote about one for Fathom Mag a couple years ago), but it’s the first of this magnitude. More than ever, I’ve felt like pieces of my heart were in too many places and I was failing because my body couldn’t be divided to follow.

As tough as it was, though, I keep remembering little graces. I had wanted to travel for our Thanksgiving Break like we did last year. I don’t like Thanksgiving at home when we’re overseas because it reminds me of everyone we aren’t with. But the plans we tried to make kept falling through. To my surprise, my three younger kids weren’t at all disappointed. “Actually,” they told me, “we kind of just want to be home for Thanksgiving this year anyway.” I’m so thankful that we had made no other plans because I spent most of Thanksgiving Day in tears or fighting panic. Matt arranged all my travel, and this part was simple.

On the flight over, I sat with two people who were so kind and interesting. We came from very different walks of life, but therefore we had a conversation that lasted at least half the flight (so, over five hours) and could have gone longer if we weren’t all exhausted. This is only the second time I’ve traveled alone since becoming a mother twenty-five years ago, and I was remind of what a weirdly wonderful thing it is to have a kind of dinner party with strangers over tray tables. While I don’t know their last names, I know things about them that closer friends haven’t shared. It was exactly what I needed at that moment, seven miles above the earth, powerless to help my mother or be with any of my kids. With true care in their eyes, they asked as we were landing, “Are you going to be okay?” As we parted ways in the arrivals hall, they both said, “Good luck with everything. I really hope your mom heals quickly.” I similarly wished them all the best. And then we went our separate ways.

I had a migraine on the flight over, brought on by so much crying and lack of sleep. After our prolonged dinner conversation, we were all trying to rest or watch movies, but my head felt like it had a hot knife stuck in my skull. I had taken all the medicine I could, but the pain was relentless. I stumbled down the aisle to the galley where a lone flight attendant was shoveling forkfuls of salad into her mouth before someone pressed the call button again. I felt guilty interrupting her meal, but I’d already made awkward eye contact.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Um, I was wondering if I could have some ice. I have a migraine.”

She immediately stood up and started scooping ice into a cup. Then, because I felt guilty troubling her with such an oddly specific request and also because I’m a chronic oversharer, I told her the whole story of why I was on this particular plane on this particular day. She handed me the plastic cup of ice and a handful of paper towels to use as compresses and asked how else she could help. Just before we landed, she came back with a giant bottle of water. When I thanked her, she said, “Of course!” with a smile that took up her whole face. “We’re all first responders here.”²

I just can’t stop thinking about that.

I got home from California on December 6th, and my two oldest daughters came home soon after for Christmas break. I’m trying to put my finger on why, but it felt like the best and sweetest time. We were just… together. Could it be that simple?

A few days after Christmas, we watched A Complete Unknown, a.k.a. the new Bob Dylan movie. The acting was amazing, and the music was so good—I highly recommend it. One of the scenes that has stuck with me comes at the end of the movie when Dylan is playing at the Newport Folk Festival, doing the music he has chosen, and the festival goes into an uproar. The audience starts booing and throwing things, but he keeps on playing, undeterred, not missing a single beat.

When my daughters asked later if I had a word of the year (for those not familiar with concept, a word of the year is a sort of theme for positive change you want to be working towards), confidence immediately popped into my head, like a flashing neon sign. I don’t usually have a “word” but the more I thought, the more certain I was that this was it. In November, I had an essay published in Business Insider about my decision to graduate a year early from high school, a decision that many people tried to deter. As I wrote the piece, I thought about how, the older I get, the more I tend to second-guess myself.

There are some things I’m going to try this year that terrify me. I don’t want to recklessly plow into them or arrogantly assume the world has been waiting for me to do this, but I know there is no way forward without the attempt. Similarly, I’ve found myself in a position to advocate for loved ones (for instance, my mother after her stroke) whether or not I feel qualified to do it. And there is the simple, obvious act of being the woman I want to become without expecting or waiting for anyone’s stamp of approval.

It all requires confidence.

I keep remembering the day I moved to Pensacola to join Matt as he graduated from the Navy’s Officer Candidate School. Mom drove me to the Sacramento airport, and I had a connecting flight in LAX to New Orleans where my dad was meeting me with our car. I took my first flight at ten days old, so ostensibly at least, I knew what I was doing. But I was about a week shy of turning 22, the mother of one-year-old Jayna. Together we were moving across the country to where we knew absolutely no one, to start a life I knew nothing about. The reality of what I was doing hit me as soon as I stepped off the jetway into the chaos of LAX to get to the other gate. All I wanted was to curl up and cry.

That was obviously not an option, so I did the next best thing. I scooted into the nearest restroom where, in a bathroom stall with only my wide-eyed toddler as a witness, I let a few tears spill. And then I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into the bustle of the airport, telling myself I could do this, praying that it was true. I had almost made it to my gate when a woman stopped me.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she said, placing a hand gently on my arm, “I love how confident you look right now. It’s amazing and inspiring.” She bent toward Jayna, who clutched my hand³. “You’ve got a good example here!”

I’m not kidding. This actually happened, and I almost burst out laughing because how ironic! It was the moment I thought of years later when I read Carrie Fisher’s words, “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it, and eventually the confidence will follow.”

While I’m looking forward to what I learn this year, I’ll say for now that I don’t think confidence like this is means doing metaphorical cannonballs with all their noise and splashing into the parts of life that scare me. I think, instead, that it means a head held high, a prayer in my heart, shoulders back, and feet moving forward.

I’d love to hear from you! What comes to mind for you when you hear (or read) the word ‘confidence’? Do you have a word of the year? Tell me more in the comments!

1. It is SO hard to just sit for thirty hours in a situation like this. There were a few flights sooner but not direct to San Francisco so they took just as long and I didn’t want to risk getting stranded on a layover.

2. Also just going to say this now (not sponsored and I know no one asked, but still): I love United Airlines so much.

3. Free travel tip: if your kids are old enough to walk, make them walk as much as possible in the airport on the way to or between flights.