Dear Girlfriends,

I write to you this morning completely overwhelmed. Standing in the middle of my three-ring circus of family, work, and personal pursuits, I have moved from my favorite role of ringmaster (I love being in charge) to the lady riding bareback on the white pony (preparing for a huge client presentation). . .while performing a courageous act with the tigers (completing the manuscript for my book). . . in my clown suit (while babysitting Ava). Before noon today I will have performed every role in my personal crazy circus. And I love it.

Loving the fact that I'm overwhelmed probably seems counterintuitive - or just sick. But for those of us who have learned what work/life balance is, it makes perfect sense. And this is what I want Ava to see: that work/life balance doesn't mean sacrificing things as much as it means loving all the acts we're allowed to play. Work/life balance is not something you do or don't do; it's about the enthusiasm with which you greet your roles.

Shauna was six and her brother Scott was three when I worked two part-time jobs and took 16-hour semester loads in college. My schedule was as perfectly timed as the finest trapeze artists, up at 5:00 a.m. and to bed at midnight. In between school and my two jobs we carpooled, did homework and housework, cooked all meals from scratch, and often entertained ourselves with our family trampoline act (literally). Yes, I was a walking, talking lunatic. But I wouldn't trade one minute of that exhausting life stage. Why? Because I had something to be enthusiastic about. I spent more time celebrating my life at that moment than I did lamenting how hard tomorrow would be. Work/life balance? I wouldn't understand the concept or conflict until years later.

Fast forward eleven years. Balancing a long commute with two teenagers and a demanding career in a Fortune 500 company wasn't that hard either - until I lost my wonder for it all. Spending nearly three hours in the car every day, becoming less important to my children, and realizing that the top rung of the ladder was not where I wanted to be - my excitement for all things from work to family began to wane. And with waning comes complaining. Not because my circus performance was any more difficult, but because I failed to be entertained by any of my own acts. Work/life balance? It didn't take me long to understand that I needed an attitude adjustment; I realized for me, work/life balance was more about what was in my head than what was on my to-do list.

As Ava grows, she'll watch her Sugar run a company, craft Truth Nuggets, write books, travel to faraway countries, love her Pop, and play with her each Monday. I will show her that work/life balance is not as much about the number of rings in our circus as it is about the pure rush of climbing on that pony.

 
We act as though comfort and luxury are the chief requirements in life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about. - Charles Kingsley

Giddy up,
Ellen, a.k.a. Sugar

Posted by Ellen on July 8, 2008 5:03 PM  |  Category: What Does It Look Like?

Dear Girlfriends,

Every Saturday morning, Steve and I hop on our bikes for our ten-mile ride around White Rock Lake. The small city lake and her parks are a Dallas treasure. It's a fabulous place. Lots of trees, picnic areas, running and biking trails, squirrels, ducks, sailboats, and people. Lots of people.

People in cars. People on foot. People with strollers. People on bikes. People on skates. Alone. Together. Sometimes with kids. Sometimes with dogs. Sometimes with dogs and kids, and on skates. It's a fabulous place.

People in good moods and people who are fussy. Everyone is accepted. The friendly people take the as*h*les in stride and the cranky people (usually on fast bikes) somehow manage to pull every ounce of patience together in order to get around the lake without running over anyone.

I hear people speaking languages I've never heard, walking along in brightly colored sarongs and plastic flip flops. The women are laughing; I don't get the joke but I get the joy.

I smell fajitas being grilled as people celebrate the weekend with their families. They're cheering, in Spanish, as a little fellow finally takes off on his two-wheeled bike, for the first time. I remember the jubilation.

I watch twenty-something women in teensey-weensy shorts and halter tops, jogging (without sweating) as they look for tonight's date. They laugh together at something a young hunk-of-a- man just said in passing. I remember flirting.

I marvel at the seventy-something people, lean and tan, looking like they've run a thousand miles. They laugh at everything because they know something we don't. I remember that laugh from my grandmother.

I barely see the Lance Armstrong wanna-be's as they whiz by on their bikes like a bullet train. They're not all as*h*les. As they pass me on my left, I hear them laugh, as they share a story about something that happened at the office. I think of my office mates and smile.

People of all ages - newborn to nearly dead. People of all ethnicities - plain white to midnight and every shade in between. People of all orientations - gay and straight; some probably confused. People of all sizes: short, tall, thin, very thin, heavy, very heavy. It's a fabulous place.

And this is what I want Ava to see. A world where everyone is welcome to laugh, to love, and to be loved.

I want Ava to see that considerate inclusion is the opposite of isolation; considerate inclusion means meeting people on common ground where we all experience life. It's learning to belong to the human race by engaging in life alongside others - even if we're not involved in their conversation. It's learning, through the expression of respectful interest, about those whose cultures and religions are different from our own; and it's learning to put aside our prejudices if our value systems don't perfectly align. Considerate inclusion is forgetting about what makes us different and remembering those things we have in common.
 

We may have all come on different ships, but we're in the same boat now.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

 
For the most part, in Dallas, like most towns and cities across the country, we still localize and live amongst our own. But on Saturday morning at White Rock Lake, we come together. Everyone is welcome. And I can't wait to take Ava. It's a fabulous place.   

That will be us laughing - passing on your left,
Ellen, a.k.a. Sugar

Posted by Ellen on July 23, 2008 2:17 PM  |  Category: What Does It Look Like?