Reboot Your Life Read online

  “Now what?” I said as I walked into the room of glum faces. “Somebody forget to turn out the lights again?” I knocked back a large swig of coffee. Since the takeover of my division by a contract employment agency, these weekly meetings were routine. The big shots micromanaged while I did my best to sidestep their soirées. I showed up, did my work and left. I missed my old boss. I missed my autonomy. The joy had vanished from my job. What did they want now?

  “Offshored.” The words resonated in every cell of my body. The exit plan was in place. “You have a job to do,” they said. “Your performance is important in making the transition seamless.”

  “To make whose transition seamless?” I grumbled to myself as I took another swig of coffee. Their pretense insulted me. Not only were we losing our jobs, we had to train our replacements with a smile. And if we cooperated, we would get a nice bonus at the end. Tears filled the room. I could see the questions in my co-workers’ eyes. What next? Who would want to hire them? What would life be like without a comfortable corporate job? No one wanted to leave.

  Except for me. I wanted out as soon as possible.

  “Let’s create our own exit plan,” Joel whispered. “Do you want to find another job or do you want to have a life?”

  The idea of jumping into another corporate position did not give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. To use a software term, I needed a new operating system for my life.

  As Joel and I exited the boardroom amongst the tears and angst, we looked at each other and smiled. “Six months. That should be enough time for our exit plan,” he said.

  I matched his stride as we returned to our desks. “Exactly. Let’s do it. Let’s get on with the business of living. Our job here is done.”

  Once a week for the next six months, Joel and I commandeered the boardroom under the guise of a one-on-one meeting and formulated our exit plan. We didn’t just chat about our dreams, we breathed life into them. We hashed out our ideas in an open forum. We gave criticism without judgment. Our bottom line was how to incorporate what we loved and make it a viable business. We weighed our strengths and weaknesses. We gave each other assignments with deadlines. We held each other accountable for the next step in our game plan.

  Joel was both my competition and my mentor. His suggestions helped spark an idea I mentioned on our way home one day. I wanted to take my passions for horses and writing and weave them together. Joel’s encouragement was inspirational. I counted the days until it was time to leave.

  The day I walked out of that office for the last time, I formed my own production company. Those six months with Joel had trained me to set goals and complete them. Each day, I performed one task that pertained to my new business and my new life. I had no idea what I was doing and I had no budget whatsoever.

  Each completed assignment gave me the kind of satisfaction I’d never felt while working in the corporate world. My objective was to create an instructional DVD about horse training using my own livestock. To make the DVD more marketable, I wrote an instructional manual. My company was a multi-media organization, producing instructional programming and fulfilling my dream as a writer. Each day was different. Some days, I was frustrated. On those days, Joel was just an e-mail away, and his input was a comfort. His eyes could see solutions that mine could not. One year later, the DVD was complete and the book was ready.

  Five years have come and gone. Two published books, several awards, and many film festivals later, I am blessed, not just by those achievements, but also with the most important aspect of life: peace of mind. Most of all, I am happy that I made the choice to change my life using a new operating system.

  ~Sabrina Zackery

  Self-Discovery

  I was always looking outside myself for strength and confidence but it comes from within.

  ~Anonymous

  I was sitting poolside at my birthday party, dangling my feet in the water, when I suddenly felt old. All that seemed to be missing to complete my spinster persona was a houseful of cats. This was not what I had pictured for myself at thirty. In the midst of all my friends’ wedding ceremonies and baby making, I felt lost — sad, single and hopeless.

  With all my fruitless soul mate searching, an entire decade of personal opportunity had passed me by. Sitting there, scouring my memory bank, I couldn’t think of a single unique or significant moment from my twenties. Aside from the typical college graduation and start of my career, I had done nothing that I considered important.

  How did I allow myself to end up there? I didn’t have photos of exotic locales, tales of adventure, or anything that would indicate I was doing more than breathing and occupying space. That moment served as my epiphany, and I recognized that my decade-long pity party must come to a screeching halt. Right there, in the midst of my “celebration,” I made a decision to accept my life as it was and start living it from that point forward.

  I realized I should have spent far more time building my experience catalog and far less time scouring Austin, Texas for Mr. Right. Only to be sorely disappointed, I might add, when he didn’t materialize. Waiting around for what I thought would make me happy only made me miserable, and if my twenties could evaporate so quickly, I reasoned it wouldn’t be long until I was a blue-haired old lady sitting on my sofa lamenting about that whole bunch of nothing I did in my youth.

  When I finally quit searching for the man of my dreams, I took my first step toward self-discovery. I purchased a guitar and learned to play it. It wasn’t long until I’d written some songs, and before I knew it, I’d stepped further out of my comfort zone and bought that first home I’d convinced myself had to be a joint purchase.

  With these two notches in my belt, I went on to audition for Nashville Star. I traveled by railroad. I walked sixty miles for breast cancer, stood atop the Empire State Building, mastered roller coasters, witnessed a whale breaching in the bay, landed in a helicopter on a glacier, deep-sea fished, grew my own vegetables, ran a half marathon, dog mushed, delivered a speech in my community, and played sand volleyball on a league. I met my childhood hero, Dolly Parton. I zip-lined in a rain forest. I donated my hair to cancer patients.

  When I let go of what I thought I was supposed to become — a wife and mother — and embraced what I actually was — a strong single woman — I discovered my value. With every activity I attempted, my confidence soared until I had a firm grip on who I was and what I could do. Today, I’m a highly driven, creative and adventurous person, because I made a conscious decision to scare myself as much as possible.

  And, sure, I had my doubts from time to time. I wasn’t positive I could actually play volleyball, for example, but when game day finally arrived, I forced myself to attend. It was awkward since I hadn’t even seen the courts since junior high, but there I was in the midst of total strangers, playing my heart out. It turned out that I wasn’t half bad. A mouthful of sand here and there, but some solid passes and serves, too.

  It was horrifying to climb a forty-foot pole before jumping off a platform and sailing 200 feet above a canyon. But I soldiered through the nausea, and afterwards, I felt as though I could master any challenge. At last I was strong, single, and hopeful!

  Those victories of my thirties built the resilient woman of my forties. My newfound confidence came in handy when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I refused to let my diagnosis boss me around. Two years later, I’m still breathing and occupying space, but now, unlike that first forgotten decade, it’s with a purpose. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that had I continued on the former stagnant path of my twenties, I would not have possessed the confidence or determination to face that breast cancer challenge.

  Today, as a middle school English teacher, I share the lessons I’ve learned with my classes in hopes of inspiring them to be more. While it’s obviously my educational responsibility to teach them how to be better readers and writers, it’s also my personal responsibility to lead them toward their own paths of self-discovery. As recently as last week, I suggested that they invest in a small journal, not to write diary entries, but to record the special events and activities of their lives. I wish I’d started seeking growth opportunities earlier, but I remind myself that it’s better to have lost ten years than twenty or thirty.

  And by the way, while I was out living life, Mr. Right found his way to me.

  ~Val Jones

  There Are Writers in There

  We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we’re curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.

  ~Author Unknown

  I sat in my minivan and watched the rain roll down the windshield. It was a soggy April day. And I was in a church parking lot. My church parking lot. I’d walked in those doors a thousand times.

  But this day was different. This day, our church was hosting a Christian writer’s conference. And I wasn’t a writer. Well, I wanted to be. But that desire was a tiny dream, pressed into the folds of my heart, buried under the million real things that created my real life.

  “Okay, Shawnelle,” I said to myself. “You can do this.” But truth was, I wasn’t sold. Sure, I’d tried to dress like a writer. I’d bought a notebook and a pack of ink pens. I’d even twisted my long, red hair into a sophisticated knot. But I felt like I was a little girl playing dress up. I was a mama of five. An eight-year homeschool mama. A mama whose breast pump was on the seat next to me, peeking out from the top of my business-like new bag.

  I glanced at the floorboards. There was a stack of mail strewn about. On the top, face up, was a coupon from a local department store. A good one, too. Maybe I should run away and shop for the day? But no. The registration fee, the one my husband had paid, was steep. And my encouraging girlfriend had taken my boys for the day. No. Shopping was out. I had to go in.

  But there were writers in there.

  And the thought scared the high-heeled writer boots right off me.

  I sat and watched headlights stream into the parking lot. I watched doors open. Umbrellas bloom. People walk through those doors with confidence and grace.

  “Here’s your chance,” I said out loud. “It’s now or never.”

  It was true that I was scared. But it was also true that there were always words, waves and waves of words that washed through my thoughts and heart and days. Words that wrapped into and wandered through my life. Words that I had to set free.

  I grabbed my bag and book and package of black pens. Then I opened the door, stepped over a puddle, and walked toward a new chapter of my life.

  It wasn’t that I regretted the life choices I’d made up until then. Not at all. I was the bustling, proud mother of five sons. And mothering was grand. Rich. Rewarding. I loved my days, from the moment the sun rose and I burped and bathed my baby, until the evening hours when I stayed up late to chat with my teen. But there were times when I wanted to share the ins and outs of my days. Times I wanted to reach out to people outside my home, to encourage and inspire and help others.

  The one allowance I’d made for myself, writing-wise, was to pen a yearly Christmas letter. It was an attempt to record and share the small moments of life — what the kids had done, where we were as a family. The responses I received after I mailed my letters were always generous and kind. People were uplifted. Something in me felt good — fulfilled — when a friend gave me a post-Christmas-letter call or took a moment to write back. It felt like my desire to care for others had been stretched a little further.

  And the stretching felt good.

  But now this new stretch of being out of my element, in soggy boots, lost and confused in the very foyer I buttoned my kids’ coats in every Sunday? Not so good.

  “Um, excuse me,” I said to the elegant lady beside me. “I’m new. Can you tell my where to go?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “If you’ve registered, you can pick up your conference packet over there.”

  She pointed to a table that had been erected outside the nursery I knew so well. I thanked her, put one foot in front of the other, and went to get the goods.

  A few moments later, the sanctuary buzzed with excitement. It was almost time for the keynote speaker. I chatted with my pew neighbors. Most of them were writing novels or had publishing credentials. I reconsidered that coupon on the van floor. I felt self conscious, like the words “Christmas Letter” were stamped across my forehead.

  But when the keynote speaker took the podium, when this accomplished veteran author began to speak about writing and the blessing of written words, something in my spirit broke free. A streak of passion, more bold and wide than my fear, began to pulse in my chest. And later in the day, when we had the opportunity to spend fifteen minutes with one of the presenters, I knew I had to speak with Cecil.

  I sat in my own church gym, in a chair like the dozens I helped to unfold each Sunday, and felt my heartbeat hammer in my neck. I looped my scarf a little tighter.

  “What have you been writing? Did you bring anything with you?” Cecil asked.

  “Christmas letters,” I said. “I send one. Each December.”

  I pulled a copy from my bag. The snowmen on the stationery border suddenly looked silly. I handed it to Cecil and hoped he hadn’t seen my hands shake. And then he read my letter. Quickly. Quietly. When finished, he looked up at me.

  “I’ll bet your friends love this,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “The writing is a mess. But I can teach you to write. You have talent, and that’s something you either have or you don’t. You have a gift.”

  Cecil and I talked for a few more minutes. I tried to hold the tears inside. He gave me a reading list and said that he’d come back to the area to teach a workshop soon. He also put me in contact with a beautiful writer named Julie. I left the conference that evening armed with books, encouragement, goals, and hope that shone brightly on that cold, wet day.

  After that, things happened pretty fast. I read all I could about writing. I won a contest and a trip to New York to learn from the editors of an inspirational magazine. I sold a manuscript. Cecil came back and held a class in my home. I had stories published regularly. I started to blog about motherhood and marriage and family.

  And my life, my wonderful life, got even better.

  I often think about that conference, that April, now five years ago. I was so afraid to reach for my dream. I was scared to stretch into the unknown. Goodness, I was terrified to even walk through my own church doors.

  After all, there were writers in there.

  It turns out I was one of them.

  ~Shawnelle Eliasen

  Take a Chance

  A Real Stretch

  Coming out of your comfort zone is tough in the beginning, chaotic in the middle, and awesome in the end . . . because in the end, it shows you a whole new world!

  ~Manoj Arora

  “Do you have a bathing suit I can borrow?”

  Mom looked at me incredulously. “A bathing suit? Sure, why?” My mother knew a bathing suit was the last thing I’d willingly wear. I didn’t even own one, hence my request.

  “I decided to sign up for a sweat, soak, and writing retreat. We’re to spend time in a hot tub and a sauna. It’s supposed to be conducive to writing.”

  Mom looked at me in disbelief. “You’re going to spend the day in a hot tub and sauna with a group of strange women?”

  I let out a sigh. How did I explain that I was tired of being afraid of life? I am the least adventurous person I know. I plan ahead. I don’t like surprises. I also don’t like who I’ve become. “I just want to try something different,” I muttered. My life was not going as planned. I had a broken engagement and a stagnant career to show for all my years of hard work. I wanted something more. I was hoping this retreat would be the motivation I needed to pursue my dream of becoming a writer.

  “The thing that’s making me nervous,” I continued, “is that the invitation says we can bring a bathing suit if we want. That implies there could be some women not wearing bathing suits!”

  When I arrived at the retreat, I parked the car and prayed for some courage. I grabbed my purse and bag of necessities with one hand and the salad I’d made for the potluck with my other. This event was hosted by a well-known local author who holds several writing classes each year. The only rules were anonymity and that we were not to discuss anything another participant shared. It was freeing to be able to share our innermost thoughts with a group of strangers with no repercussions.

  The nine of us spent the morning on writing exercises. We were baring our souls with every word, even if only on paper. We were invited to share our words, but I wasn’t brave enough. Changing one’s life takes time.

  The next step in the day’s journey was spending time in the sauna. A selection of filmy wraps were made available for those not wanting to enter the sauna au naturel, but bathing suits were actually discouraged as they did not allow the body to properly breathe. Umm, what? I couldn’t wear my bathing suit?

  The homeowner said we could change clothes either in the one-roomed yurt where we had spent the morning writing, or in the privacy of her bathroom. Without running anyone over, I promptly made my way to the bathroom. Feeling so very exposed, even with the sarong wrapped tightly around me, I followed the others into the sauna.

  Nine women in an eight-seat sauna is a very tight fit. Soon a jar of salt scrub was passed around. We were told to all turn to the left and wash the back of the woman in front of us. It’s very hard to breathe deep, calming breaths in a sauna without passing out. So instead I just went to my happy place in my head until it was all over. I’m sure the woman sitting next to me was a wonderful person. At the moment all I knew was that she was a naked stranger who I was currently massaging, while another naked woman was touching my back in return.

  I was so out of my comfort zone.

  Not able to spend great lengths of time in the sauna, we took breaks, out on the patio either lying in the sun or sitting in the hot tub. I opted to sit in a lone chair and cling desperately to my soaked sarong. I was pleasant to anyone who spoke to me, but inside I was one deep breath away from a full-blown panic attack. I had to keep reminding myself that I was there to make a change.