Author: Lisa Naeger Shea

The Boy and the Acorn

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ Leave a comment

I stepped away from my desk yesterday to grab some fresh air and a stretch. Midway through my stroll, I noticed a man crossing the parking lot, juggling a baby, a diaper bag, and a large Paw Patrol backpack with a small preschooler attached.

The little guy freed his hand from his father’s, pointed and squealed, “Daddy, acorn, acorn!”

The man glanced over his shoulder while patiently reaching again for the little hand and guiding his son safely onto the sidewalk, saying, “Sorry, buddy…” The boy and I understood this to mean it just wasn’t practical to go back and retrieve the tiny treasure.

I looked down at the patch of asphalt between us and spotted it. The perfect acorn, its cap still intact. I changed direction and walked toward the lonely tree nut, picked it up, and skipped to catch up with the young family.

“Here you go,” I said, bending down and placing it in the boy’s open hand. “It’s a good one.”

He smiled shyly. Dad smiled, too, and prompted his son to thank me, which he did, as he lifted the acorn high so Dad could see, too, just how amazing it was.

As we parted, I noticed more fallen acorns. I chose two good ones, one brown and one still a bit green, and put them in my pocket.

It was good walk. 

Pondering 2020: Home Renovations, Pandemics, and Such

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ Leave a comment

Ripped Up Kitchen

For 11 weeks and counting, the Shea house inhabitants have been eating embarrassing amounts of takeout, blowing through inexcusable piles of paper and plastic products, and clumsily bumping into boxes and out-of-place furniture as our kitchen renovation drags on like a snail toting a turtle.

What’s even more shameful than the nutritional and environmental failings is that I’ve been a big, whiny baby about every mishap that has delayed this project. No, that’s only partly true. I’ve also been combative and borderline rude.

I’ve taken on the appliance store. I’ve taken on the flooring company. I’ve taken on the furniture store and the furniture manufacturer. I’ve questioned the plumbing bill, the cabinetry bill, and the appliance installation charges.

Along the way, I’ve reminded myself I’m lucky to have such problems while others are facing real hardships because, oh, by the way, there’s a global pandemic going on! I calm down for a little while and put things in perspective. Until the next injustice — real or perceived — occurs and then I remount my high horse and prepare for battle.

The pandemic for me has been little more than a backdrop, a dramatic play starring other people while I’ve been busy with work, family, and mostly, my unfortunate new role of general contractor. As family and friends have expressed their COVID-related fears and frustrations, I’ve listened and nodded but simply couldn’t relate.

Recently, though, I had one of those dramatic self-awareness moments, like an old timey cartoon lightbulb over my head. Perhaps, I mused, I haven’t exhibited classic pandemic stress because I’ve been transferring my feelings about the state of the world onto the renovation project!

As I pondered the possibility, I could see that I had truly turned our kitchen into a microcosm for all that is wrong in our universe right now. Not just the pandemic, but the political, racial, religious, and other polarizations; the natural disasters; pretty much everything in the headlines. I hadn’t been unaffected, after all. I’d been complaining and lashing out, frustrated and fearful. I’d just been taking it out on the wrong things. And the wrong people.

While it’s been about a week since this revelation, I’ve still struggled a bit with this negative, defensive mindset. At Mass this morning, as we recited the Penitential Rite like we do every Sunday, I found myself drawn into the words:

I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do…

 I felt compelled to ask forgiveness for every disparaging thought and word I’ve directed at this renovation project and the people related to it. And so, I did. And I felt immediate peace wash over me.

Countertops come this week. The backsplash will follow next month. One thing I can count on is that there will be glitches, possibly resulting in more delays (and more money). It is highly probable, though, that the kitchen will be finished long before the pandemic and other challenges are resolved.

I hope my newfound resolve to be less whiny, less judgmental, more forgiving, and more kind can be sustained not just for the remainder of our renovation, but long after that distraction is gone and I fully engage again with the real challenges at hand.

Soft Filters Make the Big Picture Clearer

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ Leave a comment

Closeup Of Woman With Camera

There’s nothing like a break in routine to heighten the senses. It’s one of the reasons I love to travel.

Despite waking at 3:45, I was completely alert during my layover a few hours later. Like many airports, Atlanta’s doubles as an impressive art gallery. The long stroll between terminals was a sensory feast. An exhibit above an electric sidewalk featured multi-colored metal and lights that mimicked a canopy of leaves, complete with squawking bird sounds. A long curved section of wall bore dozens of multi-media pieces created by local children.

This piquing of the senses could have had something to do with how much I enjoyed my overpriced food court breakfast. The more-than-adequate bacon and eggs came with an amazing medley of red, white, and sweet potatoes, with slightly crisp skins yielding to fluffy, not-too-firm, not-too-soft insides.

As I savored the last few bites, though, I realized there might have been something else at play. My phone, for a change, was tucked away in my backpack instead of near me on the table. I decided to leave it there for the remaining hour of my layover and to continue being more “present.”

Soon after, I noticed a woman looking in a mirror and fussing with her hair. I caught myself thinking it ironic that she cared so much about her hair, despite what an unflattering style it was. It’s a bad habit of mine, making quick, harsh judgments about other humans. Lately I’ve at least been catching myself and then trying to set my mind in a more positive direction.

So I decided to look for one pleasing feature in every person I saw until I boarded the plane. I immediately tuned into bright eyes, thick hair, turned up noses, impeccable pedicures, toned calves, and a lot of contagious smiles. I would have missed them all had I been tethered to my iPhone.

I also saw bruises and birthmarks, turned out feet, metal spikes through cartilage, and teeth that never had the privilege of orthodontics. I saw people. All God’s people. And I saw them with kinder eyes. I wanted to know their stories. Where did you get that bruise? Tell me about all your piercings and why you chose that tattoo. What did you do with your hands for so many years that you now suffer so from arthritis? I bet you get tired of people saying, “Wow, you’re tall.”

I found myself wanting to comfort a crying baby while his young mother dealt with a toddler and luggage. I wanted to reach out and touch an amazing crop of orangey-brown dreadlocks with bright red Beats nestled in them, but, of course, that would be creepy since they were attached to a complete stranger.

What I noticed next was the noise. Overlapping PA announcements, bickering siblings, squealing courtesy carts, and the drone of countless conversations converged like an angry, insane symphony. But it reminded me that the in-flight fullness in my ears had finally subsided, as had the headache that began just before boarding in St. Louis. Instead of being annoyed by the clatter, I felt grateful that I was feeling better.

The flight to New Orleans was perfect. Or maybe it just seemed perfect because I’d chosen to tune into life, and to soften my point of view.

What I Miss (and Don’t Miss) About Being 19

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ 1 Comment

IMG_5836

Me (left) with Carolyn, one of my besties, maid of honor, and the person whose name I stole for my oldest daughter’s middle name. Did I mention we were crib mates in the hospital nursery but didn’t meet until we were 13?

What I miss about being 19:

  • Eyelashes. I mean, serious eyelashes.
  • The sun was my friend.
  • No need for whitening toothpaste, whitening mouthwash, whitening gum.
  • A ponytail and Greek letters across my rear was cute.
  • Discovering an occasional gray hair made me feel grown-up.
  • All-nighters didn’t cause dark circles or under-eye bags.
  • Maintained an Olympic-worthy BMI with Cap ’n’ Crunch, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, and Mountain Dew.
  • Biggest challenge: balancing homework, a 15-hour work week, and partying
  • Biggest expenses: junk food, wine coolers and coin laundry

But looking back, I wouldn’t want to go back. Younger Me was naïve, yet thought she knew it all. Older me is wiser, yet well-aware that I have much more to learn. If the price for having all these things again is going back to the person I was, I’m content to just remember them fondly. Because, having the benefit of life experience, here’s what I don’t miss about being 19:

  • Cramming for finals because I’ve blown off too many classes.
  • Scrambling to finish assignments because I’ve procrastinated.
  • Trying to be the girl I think some guy wants me to be.
  • Wondering if that guy will call.
  • Stressing over whether I’ll ever find true love, marry, have children.
  • Bouncing checks because I never reconcile.
  • Obsessing over my physical imperfections.
  • Thinking ‘good enough’ is fine and never striving for excellence.
  • Putting friends and fun over family and faith.

I feel blessed to be on the sidelines now, supporting three college-aged daughters as they navigate young adulthood. (I have to remind myself sometimes, though, that this is my time to be less of a coach and more of a cheerleader.) It’s funny. At 19, I thought 50 sounded so old. But now, 50 feels just right.

 

A Mom’s Advice to Her College Daughters

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ Leave a comment

college

I stumbled upon a 2011 post from my past blog titled “Advice for the Teen Years.” It was written in honor of our youngest becoming an official teen and our oldest celebrating her Sweet 16.

Before the end of this month, they—as well as the sister sandwiched between them–will head to their chosen universities as freshman, sophomore, and senior. So I tweaked the list—only slightly—to fit this chapter of their life stories. Here’s some motherly advice, in no particular order, and certainly not exhaustive!

  • Listen to something other than Top 40 once in a while to broaden your musical tastes.
  • Shoving everything under your bed is NOT the same as cleaning. That goes for our home, and your dorm, apartment, and future homes.
  • If you’re stressed because you saved all your homework for Sunday night, do not call me expecting sympathy. Same goes for term papers/projects left till the last minute.
  • Never fall for the phrase, “I want your honest opinion.”
  • Never date a guy you know would make a lousy husband or father, no matter how cool or good-looking you think he is. Things happen, and parenthood links two people for life.
  • Pay a little more for 2-ply. You’ll use twice as much 1-ply anyway, and it tends to be rough.
  • Your faith in God and opinions on religion will fluctuate throughout your life. Read, pray, question, and keep going to church, even when you feel it’s a waste of time. Like a garden, spirituality must be nurtured.
  • Don’t eat cake alone. It gets caught in your throat easily and it’s hard to call for help. If you must indulge, keep a glass of milk or water handy.
  • Remember that home is where your story began. We gave you roots. Now test your wings. But please come back often to tell us about the wonderful things you’ve done and seen.

If you’re parenting a teen or young adult, what advice would you add? Leave a comment!

Questions to Ask When I Want to Do It All But Can’t

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ Leave a comment

juggling-balls

As I continue purging possessions in a quest to de-clutter our home, I’ve also been taking inventory of how I spend my time. It’s a logical next step. Once our home becomes the bastion of serenity I’m envisioning, it would be nice to slow down long enough to enjoy it.

In the process I’ve created and crumpled various lists, spreadsheets, and diagrams in an effort to identify and rank my priorities. What I found is that life is messy. And while I can use calendars and lists and promises to say “no” in an effort to take control of my time, I’ve come to the conclusion that a life well-lived requires a high tolerance for detours and a willingness to accept that some seasons of that well-lived life will require, as a friend often says, “stuffing five pounds of sugar in a four-pound sack.” To extend the metaphor, right now I feel head-to-toe covered in sugar. But, heck, I love sugar!

While I’ve yet to master cutting back on how much I do, one perk of getting older is that I have gotten better at whittling away the things that drain my emotional energy. These are commitments made for the wrong reasons that leave me feeling like a maniac trying to jam a square peg into a round hole. Or that put me in social situations where I feel like a square peg surrounded by round pegs.

These poor decisions always stem from improper discernment. When I say “yes” because the request comes from someone I like and don’t want to disappoint.  When I think the cause is important and assume if I don’t do it no one else will, or they won’t do it as well. When I simply forget to take time to breath and think and pray before responding.

So instead of mapping out my Areas of Interest and Circles of Responsibility, in lieu of listing and ranking my Top Five Priorities, I developed some discernment questions.

For social opportunities:

  • Am I likely to experience physical/emotional rejuvenation or depletion?
  • Will I be among people who bring out the authentic (and best) me?

For personal development opportunities:

  • Am I likely to experience spiritual and/or intellectual growth?
  • If so, will that growth help me better serve my family, my employer, others?

For volunteer/service opportunities:

  • Is this a good fit for my time and talent, or might someone else be better suited?
  • Will what I’d be doing somehow rejuvenate not only me but also those I’ll be serving?

For all:

  • Will anyone else, especially my family, have to make sacrifices in order for me to do this? If so, have we discussed it and come to an agreement that everyone feels good about?
  • The most important question of all: Have I prayed and given God time to guide my decision?

I’d love to hear how you sort through the various opportunities that compete for your attention!

Not Having It All: My 100-Day Challenge

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ 2 Comments

 

I don’t watch Game of Thrones. I didn’t do the Bucket Challenge. I haven’t tried the Paleo Diet. I don’t care much for Adele. And I didn’t read “The Secret” or “Fifty Shades of Gray.” I began bucking trends in high school and in some ways I’m still that little rebel girl.

I did, however, recently start reading “The More of Less: Finding the Life You Want Under Everything You Own,” by Joshua Becker. As the title suggests, it advocates freedom from excess belongings. I’ve also noticed a crop of websites dedicated to this idea, and the growing popularity of TV shows like Tiny Houses, which documents hipsters downsizing into often-on-wheels micro dwellings in a quest for financial or geographical freedom. While the Minimalist Movement isn’t new, it’s certainly all the rage.

Setting aside my aversion to all things trendy, I was drawn to the title because despite accumulating a ridiculous amount of stuff in my lifetime, I prefer clean lines, simplicity and order. For the past decade I’ve all but forsaken recreational shopping and often imagined purging our home of every needless knickknack and unused item. What began as a décor preference, though, has evolved into a more spiritual aspiration. A desire to cleanse from the outside in.

Buying another book felt ironic, since it would then become another possession. I downloaded it instead. After two chapters I was ready to jump on the bandwagon.

One thing I like is that there are no rules for what constitutes minimalist living. I’m sure there’s spirited competition among purists. Some wander-lusting enthusiasts choose homelessness and carry their sparse possessions in backpacks. But Becker points out that the real idea is to find the level of freedom that feels right to you; his own family practices what he calls rational minimalism.

So this weekend, I posed a bold challenge to myself: give away, throw away or recycle 1,000 (or more) items in 100 days. When I shared this with my family, the responses were less enthusiastic than I’d expected.

  • Hubby (the eloquent packrat): “What?!? That’s fine, as long as you don’t touch any of my s***. Why don’t you start with the freezer that won’t close because it has too much crap in it?”
  • Daughter #1 (the skeptic and analyst): “You realize that’s 10 items a day, right?” (I birthed her just so someone could school me in basic math.)
  • Daughter #2 (the shopaholic): “We don’t have to be a part of this, do we?” (says the girl with a nail polish collection to rival any salon)
  • Daughter #3 (the snark-asm queen): “Go, Mom. Have fun with that.” (notice the lack of exclamation points)

I forged ahead, anyway. I planned to start July 1, but was restless to purge. So last night I tackled the freezer, as Hubby so lovingly suggested. I tossed 18 unopened, too-freezer-burned-to-eat items and then pledged to buy and waste less, especially with all three girls off to college in August.

This morning I left 24 pieces of clothing on the porch for a charity pick-up. I can already tell that finding 958 more items in 98 days won’t be difficult.

I’ll post progress reports on Facebook. If the challenge speaks to you, join me! Like the movement itself, there are no rules (or prizes). If you toss a box of old markers, you decide if it counts as one item or eight. Be sure to share how it’s going. After all, what fun is trend-following if you can’t talk about it?

P.S.  If you want more inspiration, Becker also has a great website and Facebook page, both titled Becoming Minimalist.

Why I broke Up with (Most) Magazines

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ 4 Comments

jessica-alba

My love affair with magazines began in Ms. Burghart’s first grade classroom. I looked forward to Fridays, when we took turns reading aloud from the Scholastic Weekly Reader, THE source for kid-friendly news and feature stories.

In third grade, I discovered Dynamite, a slick-covered mag featuring pop culture, games and contests. I acquired every issue, along with Encyclopedia Brown, Box Car Children and other paperbacks, from Scholastic book order forms.

magsBy sixth grade, I’d discovered Tiger Beat. After reading the articles, I carefully pried back staples to release posters of Shaun Cassidy, Scott Biao, and Andy Gibb. A month was an eternity, waiting for the next issue to arrive.

cosmos

In eighth grade, a more-worldly friend introduced me to her mom’s Cosmopolitan stash. This catapulted us way beyond pop culture and teen heartthrobs into what real women must do to look, smell and feel sexy. Sadly, Cosmo and similar magazines remained our guidebooks throughout high school.

I didn’t read much outside of textbooks during college, but once I graduated and got a place of my own, I inhaled all the checkout staples that promised to help me organize, decorate, cook, plant, bake, lose weight, and flatten my stomach. Marriage and family led to Parents Magazine and House Beautiful subscriptions, plus countless childcare and home decor catalogs.

FotorCreated

Looking back, it really did go downhill after Dynamite.

Nearly every post-puberty magazine article I read told me I wasn’t good enough, and then offered guaranteed solutions to fix me. They set impossibly high standards in my mind for what constituted a perfect mate, career, home, meal, child…and a perfect me.

I’ve since replaced these magazines with only those that help me grow spiritually or intellectually. But recently, fashion and lifestyle magazines began appearing in our mailbox. (I suspect a daughter accepted some free offer while online shopping.)

In a moment of boredom, I grabbed the February issue of Better Homes & Gardens and read “At Home with Jessica Alba.” The teaser read, “She juggles several careers, nurtures a marriage, and together with husband Cash Warren is raising two daughters. Take a peek inside this eco-entrepreneur, model, and actress’ joyfully busy and surprisingly normal life.”

“My day starts early with yoga or spinning,” Jessica Alba says. Then it’s off to back-to-back meetings at the company she founded shortly after the birth of her first child. But she tries to be home for bedtime stories and some TV time with the hubby. She loves to cook healthy meals but confesses to having healthy food delivered when she just can’t do it herself.

Photos show a beautiful and perfectly put together Alba in a floor length dress, playing with her children in a family room artfully scattered with board games and puzzles, and a wall hanging that holds about four dozen organic herb plants. Another photo shows her lounging with her dogs. Her outfit and even her pets perfectly match the room décor.

Fotorperfect

You go, girlfriend. But BH&G editors, please don’t tell us she has a surprisingly normal life. Or if she does, your writers and photographers certainly didn’t capture it.

At least now, with the wisdom that comes with age, I can walk away from such articles feeling just fine about my family, my home, my career, and my beautifully imperfect, surprisingly normal life.

 

A Fleeting Case of Having It All Together

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ 1 Comment

busymom

I’m not that person who has it all together. Most days I’m working off three to-do lists: one written today with the new things I need to accomplish, and the others that were composed yesterday and the day before but still have a few items to be crossed off. The lists reside, somewhat crumpled, in my purse. Unless I leave them in the car. Or on the kitchen counter. Or in my briefcase. Or on my desk.

Today’s list was ambitious. I took time off work to accompany our youngest to her two-day college orientation. We didn’t need to leave until 11, so I got up at 6:30 hoping to squeeze in a grocery run, take our oldest to her first physical therapy session, and maybe even crank out a blog post before getting on the road.

The morning started with the usual what-to-wear-when-I-hate-how-fat-I’ve-gotten routine, combined with other practical considerations such as comfortable shoes and lightweight clothing for the campus tour, as well as a non-binding waistband and a sweater for long hours sitting in an over-air-conditioned auditorium. I settled on a little stretch skirt that’s more comfortable than any of my now-tight shorts, a solid T-shirt to camouflage my muffin top, a sweater wrapped around my waist, and sandals with decent arch support.

I headed to the grocery store, which was blissfully under-populated at 7:30 on a Tuesday. As I paid  for my purchases, it occurred to me that at that very moment I seemed to actually be on top of things.

My hair and makeup were still fresh. My outfit kind of had that next-stop-country-club-for-lunch look. I’d  finally remembered to bring the coupons I’d bought from some little leaguers AND my reusable groceries bags. My recent attempts to eat a little healthier resulted in a conveyer belt loaded with fresh produce, organic dairy alternatives, raw nuts, and other wise choices. As I packed the politically-correct groceries into the eco-friendly bags, I couldn’t help but wonder if the cashier or the young disheveled couple next in line hated me just a tiny bit for appearing to be that woman who has it all together.

I was pondering this as I loaded the groceries into my modest-but-newish car boasting decals from our daughters’ universities. I was having deep thoughts about perception versus reality when a can of Endust– that must have escaped from a box hauled home from the office yesterday–tumbled out of the trunk, onto the parking lot, and then rolled behind my rear tire.

I awkwardly squatted and bent and even did the splits a little bit in my country club skirt, trying to retrieve the Endust without exposing private parts or getting asphalt stains on my knees. A man leaving the lot drove up and stopped to watch the show. He smiled and let out a pure, hardy laugh. Once he saw my fingers wrapped around the can, he pulled away grinning and shaking his head. I’d made his day simply by NOT really being that woman who has it all together.

While it feels good every once in a while to look and feel like I have everything under control, making a stranger laugh may end up being my greatest accomplishment today. And it wasn’t even on my list.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It Took 50 Years, but I’m Finally Learning to Live in the Moment

~ Lisa Naeger Shea ~ 1 Comment

crocus-flower-1

For as long as I can remember, I’ve looked forward.

“Don’t wish your life away,” my mom advised a younger me every time I shared that I “couldn’t wait” to be some particular far-off age. Easy for her to say, I would think to myself. She’s already experienced all the great things that I still have to wait for.

My restless longings for what was to come evolved into a general sense of urgency in all things. It manifested in a million little ways. A low-level, persistent anxiety that eventually plagued me nearly every waking and sleeping moment—a sensation I thought was just part of being human–was eventually born of my inability to focus on any task or experience at hand without being pelted with thoughts of what I wanted or needed to do next.

This is, when I think about it, a pretty amazing phenomenon to blindly live with for half a century. And when I finally did have my epiphany, it wasn’t in a church, in a therapist’s office, or after a near-death experience.

I was simply in my front yard with the dog, impatiently waiting as I do several times every day for her to do her business and be quickly lured back into the house with the promise of a treat. But as is so often the case, she had other plans. Plans that included following a scent, rolling in damp grass, and exploring a fresh hole that some nocturnal creature had burrowed as we slept.

Just as I prepared to launch into my litany of pleas for her to wrap things up, I caught a glimpse of dew drops clinging to the red leaves of our Japanese maple. Near that, an elaborate spider web bridged the tree with the brick under our office window sill. I stopped and took in other natural beauty around me.

How many times, I wondered, had I stood in this spot? Too many to count. But never, never without a to-do list playing like a loop in my head, tugging at my sleeve, telling me to hurry on to the next thing so I could check it off the list.

I made a decision not just to let the dog finish her adventure, but to be a part of it. It only took an extra five minutes or so to satisfy her curiosity and for me to enjoy the many gifts an early spring morning has to offer. Newborn birds chirping, crocuses pushing through the soil, rabbits darting for cover, friendly neighbors retrieving newspapers or starting their work day.

This may seem more like a small moment than a dramatic revelation. But it was a small moment that helped me see and name something that was a little broken in me, which is leading to more small moments that are healing that brokenness.

I’m not looking for a complete recovery from my forward thinking. In moderation, it serves me well, and it’s part of what make me uniquely me. It’s good, though, to have some clarity and to be able to make choices that bring more balance to my life. I’m learning that the cost of occasionally taking time to live in the moment is nominal. And the rewards are immeasurable.