My favorite book, which I've referenced before, is "Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion," by Father Greg Boyle.  

Having the chance to read to my niece and nephew is pretty important. Even if they're not so small anymore...

If you're unfamiliar, Father Boyle founded Homeboy Industries, an organization in L.A. that helps to rehabilitate gang members. They started with a bakery, but now have an entire operation that includes screen printing and catering.

In the book, Father Greg tells the story of a 17-year-old boy about to be baptized who is speaking of his growing appreciation for his mother.

“Every Sunday, the entire time I was in jail, my mother came to visit me,” he says, breaking down and weeping. “She took seven buses every Sunday, just to get to me and visit my sorry ass.”

There are many stories from this book that I love. But this is one of my favorites. 

I took the bus and the subway (in Boston, it's called the T) during my five years in the city. I'd sold my car before moving, so I either walked or took public transportation everywhere.  

While I was relieved to not drive in Boston, the exchange was standing in extreme heat and cold to wait for the bus, and arriving home with a headache from the exhaust and nausea from the constant weaving, shaking and leaning of the bus. 

It is not a comfortable experience.

I'd have been hard-pressed to take seven different buses for anything when I lived in the city. But the story begs the question:

How far are you willing to go for what's important to you?  

Many of us are searching for happiness - in our careers, in our relationships, with our creative outlets. 

But how far are we willing to go? How much effort are we willing to put into the process? How important is it to us?

If you want to drop 20 pounds in two months but only watch what you eat Monday through Thursday, you're going to have a tough time making that happen. If you want to run a marathon but only run three miles twice a week it's going to be tough going on race day. 

That's why we spend time talking about your why. Understanding why you want to run that marathon or lose those 20 pounds. Knowing your reasons, I mean really knowing yourself can help fuel the effort.

Wanting to make more money is a goal. Wanting to make enough money for your spouse to quit his or her soul sucking job and be more present and happy at home is about a life-change for your family. 

Wanting to drop 40 pounds so you can get off of blood pressure medication and get on the floor with your grandchildren and be there to see them graduate high school is specific and clear and will help you stick to your fitness routine every day; not just when you feel like it.    

While I FaceTime with my parents every Sunday morning now, that ritual took years to form after I left Pennsylvania. It seemed like such a hassle to sit down and talk on the phone or find ten minutes to call and talk on a regular basis.

I’m not proud of that, but it’s true.

Then my dad's brother had a stroke. And calling my parents changed from something that I "should" do to something that was important to me because I was reminded that life is short.   

What is important to you? 

And how far are you willing to go for what's important?

*** Each week I send out a newsletter with tips and tricks for working out. Click here to sign up. I won't spam you. I'm not like that. Besides, spam is gross. 

Last week I wrote a post about rules. 

I’ve created some rules for myself, regarding meditation, health and fitness, and writing. Three weeks in, I’m sticking to those rules at least 80% of the time. 

Win.

Don't settle. Unless it's settling your chin on a window sill to watch the ocean waves. 

Last Friday I met with my therapist for only the second time in months, and as I recounted some of my changes, she asked me what was different.

It was a great question. Because the truth is, I’ve often tried to make these kinds of changes in the past, and they haven’t stuck. Then it occurred to me.  

“I think I’m finally on the right dose of medication for depression.” 

Is this as good as it gets?

If you’ve read any of my posts on depression in the past, you know I’ve struggled for most of my life with what used to be called dysthymia, and what is now referred to as chronic low level depression. I have, thankfully, always functioned throughout my depression, and while I realize medication is not for everyone, it was a combination of medication and therapy that finally helped me function at a higher level. 

But I’ve never thrived.

In fact, when I was 29, I had someone tell me that they always thought I’d amount to more. 

It was a devastating comment, but the truth is, I was thinking it too. I still think it sometimes. 

Last spring I was wrapping up my first full year at Spurling, and while I was finally working a job that I loved, I was still struggling. I have taken medication and sought therapy on and off in the past decade. In my mind, I was doing everything that I could to manage myself.

And while I was managing myself just fine, there was a persistent feeling that I wasn’t living my life as fully as I could.   

I wasn’t thriving. 

Last March I sat in my friend’s car in downtown Portland, watching the raindrops slide down the windshield as she spoke. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said. 

The “this” she was talking about was my overall lethargy and inability to focus. Despite medication and therapy (and it’s very challenging to find the right combination of both) I was in a funk.  

“Trust me,” she said. “I’ve been there.”

“What if this is as good as it gets?” I asked.

“It’s not,” she said. “It’s not.”

As it turns out, she was right. 

I didn't have a doctor I trusted, so I hadn't talked to anyone about medication for years. She recommended a psychiatrist to manage my medication, and I finally went to see him. (And I finally, after months of searching, found a new therapist). For the past nine months, he’s been helping me to find the right combination of medication.

Each time I’ve walked into his office, I’ve asked the same question - what if this is as good as it gets?

But we both persisted in the hopes that it wasn’t. 

So in early December, we made another change to my medication, the third in the past nine months. And if I’m being totally honest with all of you, I believe that last change has as much to do with my ability to create rules for myself as any books on productivity or habits. 

I guess I say that because I don’t want to pretend that any of this is easy. I don’t want to pretend that making big changes to your life is as easy as figuring out what you need to do and doing it. 

Sometimes we paint a picture in the health and fitness industry - that you just have to try harder and get out of your own way.  

The formula is simple, but it’s not easy.

I'm not suggesting that medication is for everyone, or that it fixes everything. We're all different and we each have to figure out what we need to get us where we want to go. 

But I have learned something very important.

Don't settle.

Persist. 

And if you need help persisting don't be afraid to ask.  

Folk artist Phil Ochs wrote a song in 1966 that was later recorded by Joan Baez, and well describes the life I am lucky enough to live:

“There but for fortune, go you or go I.” 

On a good day, I can appreciate my journey. I can look in the mirror, see myself, and feel good about the steps I’ve taken, and even the steps I’ve missed along the way.

I can find joy in the ordinary. 

I can pet Rooney and think, with each scratch of his ear, how lucky I am to have a dog that so closely matches my needs. I can appreciate the first few sips of coffee when I sit down to my desk, and walk into the gym filled with gratitude that I work in a helping profession that allows me to dance, wear dinosaur costumes and help people.

But I often lose track of my good fortune. 

And this holiday season, my gratitude has taken a back seat to grief and sadness. As many of you know, earlier this month, we lost my mother n'law quite unexpectedly. 

Her biceps were bigger than mine. 

I have struggled to find joy or gratitude in many of the moments over the past month. Earlier this week, as I sat quietly during the waning hours of Christmas Eve, in the glow of the lights from the tree, I was overcome with the realization and sadness that I will never share another Christmas with a family member whom I loved so dearly. 

As Rooney slept on my lap, I wept onto his head and wiped my tears with his long basset ears (which aren’t very absorbent). I wondered and worried how I’d get through Christmas day feeling any kind of joy. 

But then Rooney snuggled in a little deeper and Sheila brought me a real tissue in favor of the dog’s ears - and the snow fell softly on the Pennsylvania mountain outside the window, Phil Ochs' words popped into my head. 

There but for fortune, go you or go I. 

Sure I am sad. And there is an empty, aching hole in my heart. But I have a snuggly dog, a life-partner who loves me, and a family who misses me when I’m not around. I have a niece who loves Wonder Woman, a nephew who thought Stretch Armstrong was the best gift ever, and co-workers and clients who cleaned the snow from my car while I was gone. (Thank you.)

I am, not to sound dramatic, a very rich woman.  

Despite my riches, joy is often hard to feel. 

Intellectually, we know we should be grateful and we should feel joy, but sometimes life and scars and struggles numb us to both pain and happiness. 

It is my wish for you, as we wrap up 2017 and prepare for the coming year, that you might feel joy - in the ordinary - in the extraordinary. That you might inhale deeply, and exhale fully, and lean completely into the joy and gratitude of your life.