No One Looks Good in Brown: And Other Things That My Grandmother Was Wrong About

My grandmother once told me, between puffs of cigarette smoke that I would never be as beautiful as my mother. This wasn't the first comment she had made about my physical appearance. It was just one particularly harsh anecdote among many, many others, like: "No one want's to buy an ugly apple," and "No one looks good in brown."
My opinions on the subject of beauty did not begin and end with my grandmother, though, she was indeed the source of many feelings of inadequacy and confusion.
While, now, well into my twenties, I have come to understand that my grandmother was so very wrong about so many things, she was right about one. Yes, my mother was and still is very beautiful; tan skin, long brown hair, doe eyes, a killer physique, even at fifty.
My father still comments, twenty eight years into their marriage, about how he can't believe he landed such a good looking wife. All the while, my mother stands in front of her full length, double panel mirror and scoffs at the dark circles under her eyes. She pulls the skin on her belly, evening out the stretch marks that she accrued over three pregnancies, almost two decades ago.
"What a drag it is, getting old," she always says. It's not her fault.

Now, I am almost twenty five years old, and I think, in actuality, I have come to resent beauty. I play along with it just enough to appease my husband; to feel feminine and reasonably attractive. I wear blush and mascara, I shave my legs, I use a night creme on my face. But that's about it. Of course I like to look nice, but I constantly struggle to find the value in working at being beautiful. Why even bother with attempts at improving my modest, mousy looks, if even my mother, whom I have been taught is my aesthetic superior, can't even muster the self confidence to accept herself, wrinkles, and all.
There are so many elements of appearance to be judged on these days, it seems that inevitably, I am doomed to fall short of beautiful. How could I amount to anything worth working for, if after all,  I will never be as beautiful as my mother- the very woman who made me- according to the very woman who made her. Maybe that is just defeatist, but I'm working it all out.
Okay, so I know that my grandma was way wrong. It's not that I will never surpass my mother in beauty - I don't think I need to do that - that's not a goal of mine. But, I know now, that I am inherently capable of being considered beautiful, just like her, and just like every woman is. There is no one standard for "it," and because that is true, there is no way of denying me, or anyone else the qualification.
While it's something that almost all of us seek, and I am obviously not exempt, it just feels, to me, that at a certain point, the pursuit of beauty can be such an unrewarding one. There are so many other things that I'd rather spend my time working towards, and it's just personal preference, to each her own, of course.

The things that I would rather be doing:
- Training for a marathon (or at least pretending to)
- Finishing all the books that I have started, and never finished
- Planting a vegetable garden
- Building a cedar chest
- Laying in the sun
-Learning to Fish (or just sitting in a little boat, on a lake somewhere. That'd be enough)

Things that I would rather spend my money on:
- A Costa Rican vacation
- A Kayak
- An upright piano
- Good wine (not that cheap stuff that comes in a jug, although I do always enjoy that)
- A really amazing pillow

I guess what I am looking for, at this point in my life, is some sort of middle ground, and I'll want to feel like I can rest there; happy with the woman that I am and the face that I am showing to the world when I leave my house every morning; more than happy, even, grateful.
My grandmother was not the most uplifting woman, as it would turn out, and I could probably trace a lot of my insecurities to the little comments that she would shuffle in to our everyday conversations. She probably thought they were harmless, or maybe she didn't care. She was raised in a different time. Yeah, I know.
I guess, all of this to say that I am over it and I am very much looking forward to the next half of my twenties as a more adjusted, confident woman, even if that woman doesn't exactly resemble a supermodel.

Potato Chips for Jack: and other thoughts on accountability

It's truly incredible how much a life can change within the small time line of just one year. Already, my son is five months old and every season is passing by with new meaning. Where once, I was content to daydream the days away, flittering about town, pretending I was some sort of artist, now I am responsible for another human's life. It's a little heavy and I don't deny that there are days I wish there was still room to flitter. It's a feeling I do try to suppress.

It's almost December and giving birth is a distant memory. I feel a little desperate - I see Jack growing in front of me like a runaway train. He has a sense of humor, now. And when I walk out of the room, he whimpers, he feels abandoned.
Every feeling he has - disappointment, sadness, confusion, joy - they're all magnified in me. Being a parent is just immense.
I lay awake a lot more than I should. I listen for his coos over the monitor, and I think about how I'm ever going to be enough for him. How am I going to teach my son about all the important things that he needs to know when I don't even know for myself, yet?
How am I going to teach Jack to eat healthy foods, when there are currently six different types of chips in my cupboard and two different kinds of ice cream in my freezer? How am I going to tell him to do well in school when I skipped approximately 70% of my classes, senior year of high school? What am I going to teach him about God and the Bible? What am I going to teach him about love? and death? and all the little meanings of life when I don't even know for myself? 
My biggest fear used to be that I would end up like my parents. I was so afraid that I would live the majority of my life imprisoned in a passionless, 9-5 existence, pinned by a regenerating mortgage. They have never crossed an ocean.
Now that I am a mother, I look at their lives a little differently and I know that I would do everything that they did, I'd work at a 9-5 job forever so that I could give my son everything that he ever wanted. I understand, now, all that they sacrificed to pay that mortgage, so that they could always keep a roof over our heads. I used to ask my mother what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she would say: "Your mom."
"Clever," I thought. 
So, now that I a mom, my fears haven't really changed all that much, they're just more dynamic, and the stakes are higher. Mostly, I am afraid that my son will see all of my failures, and that he will ask me questions that I will not know the answers to. I am afraid that he will not be proud of me.
There is no more time for flittering and dreaming. My kid is unknowingly and preemptively holding me accountable for all the things I want for myself. I no longer have the room to put off my best behavior, my best decisions. I eat healthier, today. I fold my clothes, today. I read the bible and thank God for loving me enough to give me such immense joy, today.

Every October

It is windy today!

Fall is blowing swiftly over the mountains in Colorado, surely to be followed by an abrupt and cold winter. For now though, the leaves are drying up and flittering down from their branches with a gusto. It is October; harvest. The season conjures thoughts of apple spices and cold bed sheets and red beer.

My mother's diagnosis came three years ago, around this time. Every October since, I am reminded of her struggle with breast cancer.
October is National Breast Cancer Awareness month, and okay, maybe there is something a little cheesy about dedicating a single month out of the year for giving our attention to the subject. Nevertheless, I cannot separate thoughts of fall from thoughts of cancer.

After radiation, endless experimental treatments and strong medications, she is in remission. Life feels close to normal, again, but it is a little different, now. Now, we are empowered and compelled; looking for ways to turn this around. 

I guess it's true that about 1 in every 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer at some point in her life. That is a huge statistic! The reality is, there are millions of women out there that are going through their own battle, right now. We have been blessed with some insight into recovery and have been given the beautiful opportunity to offer it up in support of the cause. 

So we've all heard of the Susan G. Komen foundation and the National Breast Cancer Coalition; they are doing incredible things for the cause. I wanted to sing the praises of an organization that is a little less known, but doing so much good for young women who have been touched by breast cancer and who offer some fantastic opportunities for those who want to get involved in the fight. 

Young Survival Coalition or YSC is an organization that exists more specifically for younger women who are diagnosed with the disease; that is to say, women who fall prey under the age of 40. YSC holds events like yoga retreats, wine tastings and charity walks to raise money and awareness, as well as educate and support those who are working through this disease.

To learn more about YSC or to make a donation, visit: http://www.youngsurvival.org/

What are you doing this month in support of the cancer survivor in your life?
Hm....wine tasting, you say?

Called to Serve

The day before our wedding, my husband, Aaron and I, sat down for a little marriage counseling with Dr. Love.

Seriously.

Dr. Rick Love, my husband's uncle, a brilliant man of God, who was going to marry us the following day, sat before us in a loud cafe, sipping carefully at his piping hot espresso. He began to read from his pocket bible, scripture on marriage.

"Your union is pleasing to God," He said. He seemed to take satisfaction in it, too.

He presented us with a list, the five factors that he considered to be the most important pillars of a successful marriage. The list consisted of some pretty basic elements - communication, patience, respect - of course, all things we had heard before. He then proceeded to offer two rather unique bits of advice, that stood out to us. He said: Find Jesus and find a way to serve together. It hadn't occurred to me before, that serving others, alongside my husband, could bring us closer together, but when he said it, I knew it would be true.

Fast forward a bit, Aaron and I just celebrated our one year anniversary, only a few short weeks after giving birth to a son. A new house, a new job, a new baby; we've had a busy year, and yet, I am disappointed to admit that we have contributed nothing to either the fourth or the fifth pillars on Dr. Love's list.

So, in an effort to take the first step in the right direction, for myself and for my marriage, I am opening up a new, ongoing conversation. 'All the Good Things' is now a place to share stories and information about inspiring foundations, charities, non-profits, organizations and individuals.
I am hereby pledging to serve my family, friends and community for the good of my marriage, for the good of my own spirit and because, well, it is pleasing to God.
And I am hoping to hear about the things that inspire you, for whatever reason: co-ops, charity events, fundraisers, walk-a-thons. New projects or old projects.

Because, there is a lot of good going on out there...

I Wish I Knew What I Know Now: and other thoughts on the quarter life crisis

My Dad is a know it all. He is absolutely unrelenting.

"You never stop learning, Dayna," He says.

At the dinner table he'd quiz my brother and sister, and I on State capitols and vocabulary words like "scintillating" and "runic." He'd even quiz my friends when they would come over after school.

"What is the only U.S. bill without a president on it?" 

Blank stares.

It really did annoy me; always interrupting our movies and harassing my boyfriend, but now, as I am approaching the ripe old age of twenty five years, I am confronted with a very similar urge to prove my intelligence to everyone around me. I'm not sure if that is a normal urge, but I am exploring it. I am also trying my best to suppress it because, as was the case with my father, it really puts people off...just obnoxious, really.

"You never stop learning, Dayna." I thought that was silly, because as far as I knew, school was over after the 12th grade, or if one continued on to college, not long after.  I did not realize, that upon graduation and receipt of my Bachelor's Degree, I would cling to my intellectual achievements as if they were the very pillars of my worth. After I graduated from college, I felt like I was being put out to pasture; retired into society as "complete" or "finished." That was it. I would choose a job, and hopefully that job would choose me and that was the end of it.
I did not like that feeling. I think I got a little depressed about it. And thus I began the stage of life I coined: my quarter life crisis. A fast forward montage of that would look like this: social seclusion, obsessive exercise, lots of wine. I quit five jobs in one year.
Now, a few years out and reasonably on the other side of that crisis, I have come to a few conclusions about the phenomenon of "learning," that I wish someone had told me a long time ago (not that I would have listened, if they had.)

What I Humbly Discovered:

1. There is ALWAYS going to be someone who knows more than you do, about EVERYTHING: It's a big, big world, and you are not the only dynamic, self aware person inhabiting it. I wish somebody would have grabbed me when I was 19 or 20, shook me and told me that very thing.

I think everyone wants to believe that their thoughts are profound and innovative, and sometimes they are. Mostly though, across the span of history, someone, somewhere has likely felt the way that you do. I don't mean to suggest that people don't have new ideas or new emotions. Rather, it's a humility thing; you might be really good at the flute or a whiz at algebra, you might know real pain or have true love but there will always be someone out there that is better and bigger and knows more about the world than you do. It's upsetting at first, but then, it's kind of exciting. It opens you up to a new kind of community and gives you the permission to continue to evolve and learn and grow up until the day you die. 
For a few ages of my life, in my own self absorbed bit of youth, I definitely thought that my feelings were more sage and important than anyone's had ever been before. I think youth is fundamentally flawed that way. Maybe not flawed. Maybe just underdeveloped in that way.
The realization that I was not the expert on all things connected me with the rest of humanity; there were people in this world that had things to offer me. I think people who don't find their way to this conclusion have a really hard time in life, and are probably really lonely, and sometimes they lose their cool in a mall and try and set of a pipe bomb. 
So obviously, I am a writer. Obviously, I must think I have something pretty interesting to say. Yeah, I guess that's still true. I guess that's why I am on the other side of that crisis and not still in the pits of it.

Okay, so my dad told me that you never stop learning. I think this must have been what he meant.

Involuntary Architecture: Thoughts on Becoming a Mother

As many of you may know, I am just a few short weeks away from becoming a mother.
Let me first say: Pregnancy is not for the faint of heart. I have a new respect for women who have carried a baby for nine months, as it is a marathon, not a sprint, not a hop or a skip, no jaunt - it is without a doubt the hardest thing I have ever done, and I feel pretty confident that it will be the best thing I have ever done. But we're not quite there yet.

Some women have truly lovely experiences. Probably not that many of them.
Others suffer through morning sickness, migraines, massive weight gain, swelling, constipation, acne, hair loss, mood swings and more. My pregnancy has been a sort of comedy of errors; kidney stones, car accidents, preterm labor and now, a breech baby.

Suffice it to say: I am ready to welcome my son into the world. Any time now, baby, any time.

As I come up on the last few weeks of gestation, I can, without much effort, come up with a tragically long list of complaints, aches and pains, inconveniences, and other negative comments regarding my feelings towards this pregnancy, however, I feel that would be belittling this beautiful privilege. So instead of whining, which I very much want to do, I have decided to make a tally of the things I will miss about the last nine months of my life, once baby arrives; the things that I thought were special, meaningful and just for me.

I will miss:

1. The first time I felt baby kick. There was the time I was laying in bed and it felt like butterfly wings, fluttering in my stomach. I wasn't sure then, but a few weeks later, when I was driving home from work, late at night, listening to the Beatles, I was sure; like popping popcorn. I squealed.
Now he does flips and my belly morphs from side to side. He juts out appendages left and right.
I want nothing more than to meet this little boy, and soon, but I know it will be bittersweet to watch him move and sleep and hiccup and not be able to feel all of it.

2. The freedom of wardrobe. Pregnant ladies can really get away with wearing anything. During these last nine months, I have been known to put together some pretty creative outfits in order to be comfortable; a necessity at every moment.
One night, while I was sitting at my desk at work, I looked down and realized that I very much resembled one of those California Raisin characters - the ones from the commercials that sing and dance like Ray Charles. I was wearing a purple sun dress over a black t-shirt and black tights with black flats - utterly ridiculous - simply not acceptable unless you are pregnant.

3. The donuts. I will definitely miss the donuts.

4. My baby body. Of course, I very much miss my normal sized body, but there is a part of me that has really enjoyed my belly. I feel like a woman - like I deserve to be a woman, somehow.
I wore a bathing suit to the lake a few days ago, and didn't have a care in the world. Insecurity is so far from my mind. I have a respect for my body now that goes so far beyond visual appeal. It all has a function now and I feel good.

There are surely more things that I will miss about the experience, and looking back, once I have that sweet baby in my arms, I know it will all seem so perfect and worth while - the good days and the bad days.
I am so grateful for the privilege to be able to build this little child of God's. How perfect and involuntary it has all been. I know that this has been fundamental to my human experience on this earth - something profound that I was meant to have so that I could better understand the meaning of life. I am truly blessed. 

And, here is a quick list of the things I am very much looking forward to, once baby makes his arrival:

1. Kissing the crap out of that sweet baby
2. Touching my toes
3. Sleeping on my belly
4. Crunches
5. Tequila, Cakebread Sauvigon Blanc, Lemon Drop Martinis
6. SUSHI!
7. Baby gas - the kind that makes them look like they are smiling
8. Goat Cheese
9. Spinning Class
10. Baby Smell

Top Five: What Books Are on Your List?

Your favorite books say a lot about who you are and who you want to be; who you are afraid of being.
So I am interested to know: What books are on your top five list and why?

My list reads a bit like the reading requirements for a twentieth century literature class, perhaps because that is where I have done the majority of my reading in the last five years, but, nevertheless, these are the books that thrill me, inspire me, captivate me, humble me and make me want to be something better.
In no specific order:

1. The Sun Also Rises: Ernest Hemingway

"Isn't it pretty to think so"

2. Lolita: Vladimir Nabakov 

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: tip of the teeth and the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap at three on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta." 

3. White Noise: Don Delillo

"What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation." 

4. Across Painted Deserts: Donald Miller

"And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you, about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God."

5. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead: Tom Stoppard


"Audiences know what they expect and that is all they are prepared to believe in."






These all changed my mind in a big way about what I wanted out of life, and what I expected. I, of course, highly suggest reading any and all of them, if you haven't.

What makes your top five list? Why?