So here we are, finally at the end of a year that's been called more names than Prince. 

​Hey, leave His Royal Purpleness out of this... Oh, wait that was me.

Do you know the song, "Let There Be Peace on Earth" by Jill Jackson Miller? She felt God's peace and unconditional love while struggling with feeling suicidal, which inspired the song. I'll admit, there have been times in my life when that song could elicit some serious eye-rolling. But this is THE message. 

If "We're all in this together" is to become more of an actual fact (remember those?) and less of a gag-inducing slogan, we need to start with #1. We have to shift our perspective from "So-and-so really needs to hear that message" or "What the heck were they thinking?" to focus on what we can actually control: our own actions and attitudes. 
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We can pray for each other without the judgetastic "Imma pray for you" bit, which actually means "I'm killing' it, but you could use some work."

Hot mess. 
Dumpster fire.
*Bleep* Show
Failure to launch.
Epic Fail.

These terms just don't have the good ole' je ne sais quoi appeal they once had. The good-natured self-deprecation or playful razzing of our political foe or frenemy has died a death of Rasputin proportions this year.
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Stupid 2020. It's like the gift that keeps on giving.

Like lice at your kid's school. Shudder.

I have felt like Luke, Leia, and Han Solo in the trash compactor scene of Star Wars more times than I can count this year. Walls closing in, up to my neck in garbage, watching the life I knew get squeezed into oblivion from all directions.
This is excellent fodder for writing, lousing for living...

My inner monologue is not unlike the well-researched albeit constant doomsday ramblings of C-3PO. I whine. I worry. I overthink. I overanalyze. I am chock full of difficult problems and no easy solutions.

When my mind shuts up long enough for my faith to kick in, it is like R2D2, quietly and calmly working in the background. While I agonized God has kept our family safe, financially stable, and mentally healthy for over 7 months. This is my God. Powerful. Reliable. Ever present. Still, I worry.

I said I had faith, I didn't say it made me smarter. Curse you, neurons!

I hope all of this has made me more compassionate and trusting. I hope that I'm learning to worry less and pray more. I hope I can remember that worrying is like spinning your tires in the mud, it looks like you're doing something, but you aren't getting anywhere. (Maybe I should rewatch My Cousin Vinny)
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Hey, I'm a work in progress, people.

Not a person of faith? No problem. This isn't a sneaky conversation message, although my faith walk has been one of immeasurable blessing. This is simply my story of how this year has shaped up. I'd love to hear about yours. What have you learned? How are you stronger? What have you learned to live without or appreciate more?
Whatever your story and I would love to hear it, I can only speak to my own experience. 

Here's what I learned: my inner monologue is the freakin' worst. 

The W-O-R-S-T. 

Think of the most insufferable boss, friend, relative, or relationship you've ever had all rolled into one and they are constantly talking...
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In. Your. Head.

Where does your strength to survive the trash compactors of life come from? I hope somewhere in your life you are uplifted, loved, encouraged, and valued. I hope it starts with you. I hope you offer it to others.  
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In this season of life, my strength has come from leaning on my faith more than my mind (the struggle is real), connecting with a community of faith, reinvigorating old friendships, writing, spending more time with my immediate family, and appreciating our homestead with new eyes.
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Wherever your faith, strength, and resilience comes from, I hope it is a source of quiet, reliable comfort. We could all use a little less C-3PO and more R2D2 in our lives.

Frankly, I could just use a droid to clean the bathrooms. (Send help, seriously.)
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Until then, may the force be with you. You know, as long as it's not from 2020, because that force has some seriously funky Juju. Just sayin'.

~G.G.

Oh good, another COVID conversation, right? Say it with me, HARD PASS. 
Let's not go there.

I want to talk about something uplifting for a change. Let's all take a step out of this Mad Max/Lord of the Flies hellscape for a few and talk about something that doesn't necessitate blood pressure meds or Prince Valium. 

Okay, so I grew up in the midwest, and let me tell you "Midwest Nice" is a real thing. Where I'm from we're so nice we're practically Canadian. In my case it's true. I'm French Canadian on my mother's side. Anyway, we're the I'll-apologize-if-you-hit-me-with-your-car kind of nice. Bordering on creepy, codependent nice. You get the picture. Of course, then I moved to Manhattan and my dark and twisty side found the home it never knew. But I digress...

So, here I am, a midwesterner—turned New Yorker—turned Floridian where I have been hoping to sweat my way to a thigh gap for 20 years. (No such luck.) 

I have a healthy—albeit weird—personality. I wish everyone could get along, while simultaneously wishing people could take a  joke without getting their undies in a bunch, and I confess to muttering under my breath when people don't move fast enough. Tall order? Sure. Sorry, I'm a patchwork quilt of personalities and inconsistencies,  but aren't we all?

Lately, I find myself wishing that people would evolve emotionally enough to appreciate—instead of being offended, threatened, or angered—by our differences. I love that people are naturally a Pantone chart of colors, cultures, and personalities. I can't help but wonder, what if we spent as much time trying to appreciate our myriad of similarities as we do drawing proverbial lines in the sand over our differences? 

One of my new favorite moves lately is Wine Country. It was directed by Amy Poehler and features women who either starred in or wrote for Saturday Night Live. You know, back when it was funny. (Now you know how old I am. We all think our generation is the funniest.) The movie is rated R mostly due to language. Hey, if you can get together with your old college buds and resist getting a little potty mouthy, you're a better person than I am. 
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Gold star for you.

It's full of a lot of truths about friendship, relationships, aging, and life in general. At one point Tina Fey's character makes a side comment that rings true.
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She says:

While many things have happened this year that are downright awful, the irritating "Midwest Nice" in me wants—NEEDS—to see the silver lining.

Relationships have ended. This is sad, but maybe something that wasn't working, yet would have been prolonged, was pushed into action. I've seen relationships end and others strengthen.

I have ZERO interest in getting political in this email, but I will say that more people seem to care about the value of their vote now more than ever, and maybe that too is a good thing.

I will also NOT be getting religious in this email, but I feel people of faith have been put to the test. You can decide for yourself, but I think the "talkers" and the "doers" become abundantly clear, especially in times of crisis.

It's so hard to be kind and respectful, especially when the world is in crisis, but we must. Small kindnesses can have big results. Imagine calling a friend and just listening. No giving advice or waiting for our turn to share. Just listening. For an hour. What a gift!

How about pausing, looking an essential worker in the eyes and saying "Thank you" before moving on. Or tipping a little bigger for a delivery that lets you stay home? The possibilities are endless and my "Midwest Nice" has been looking for opportunities to do little things that add up.
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"Be the change you want to see in the world." may sound corny, but it's true. My inspiration for listening and helping—something I try to do in my work each day—came from my childhood hero, Mr. (Fred) Rogers. It's easy to look at the world and feel helpless, but you aren't. You can help. You can bloom right where you're planted. My husband always says, "The mission field is right outside your front door.", and I think he's right. Maybe it's not about fixing the world, but making just one person believe in their value, just for today. Such an incredibile gift, and you have it right inside you.

Thanks for reading and taking the time to consider these little ideas of mine. Like you, I've tried to keep busy and find my new normal. Nothing is fodder for the creative process like difficulty, and I—like so many of you—have had my share of late. 

I've been pouring my heart into my next book, which ended up having a pretty "on-theme" topic. I'll be releasing my sequel poetry collection, Pain is My Spirit Animal, this fall. The concept explores how we as humans experience pain in four areas: mind, body, heart, and soul. Writing and editing with this year as a backdrop made the task both challenging and cathartic. 

If you'd like to join my beta reading team or my book launch team, drop me a line and let's do this!

Stay tuned as this bad boy should be hitting the shelves this October! Details to follow. ​

In the meantime, I hope you'll be encouraged to hang on, to share your time with another person, and make someone else feel supported, loved, or appreciated. It's an invaluable gift and even better, it's free.

Be well.

​Until next time,
G.G.

The evidence...
​(Holy crap are YouTube screen captures unflattering)