Ginger Sorvari

Yesterday, as I walked to a friend’s house, I found myself facing what seemed like a momentous decision: Do I walk along the sidewalks, or cut through the park and walk in the grass?

The route through the park certainly wasn’t much of a shortcut, so it didn’t really save me time. And, there would be the hot sun shining down on me. Maybe mosquitoes. Not to mention that my low heels would probably annoy me, as they’d sink into the soft ground.

Nonetheless, in a heartbeat it was clear that the only thing I could do, should do, was to take off my shoes and walk barefoot through the park. I immediately slipped out of my shoes and into the grass.

As I walked, somehow the birds sang louder, the grass seemed greener, and the breeze blew a bit more freely. For those few moments, I took a break from the whirlwind of my life.

And, I broke some sort of unwritten rule. Yes, I was taking a rebellious stand against the tyranny of the sidewalk. Exhilarating, in a miniscule sort of way.

After my walk, my exhilaration stayed with me throughout the day. Everything I did seemed just a bit more true, more real.

Now… how should this post end? Is the point that I should take time out when I can? That I’m learning to act in the moment? That these beautiful spring moments may rush by before I notice them?

I have no idea.

I just really liked walking barefoot in the park.

And for today, that’s enough.

I should blog more often.

I know this, I really do.

This fact looms in my mind every time I think about something I’d like to share with the world.

And then I look around and see how much STUFF is out there. Online spaces are full of people writing their personal diatribes, reviews, opinions, Top 5 lists, stories, random posts, videos, and advice. Good stuff, but it’s noisy out there.

Almost invariably, this stops me in my tracks. I stop writing and feel an overwhelming sense to listen more, learn more, and know more. The next hour or two is then spent reading others’ stuff, clarifying my own thoughts, and figuring out how what I’ve learned applies in my life.

It’s at this point that I’m happy to know I’m not adding to all the stuff in the world. Like the abundance we have in physical stuff, we are bombarded by digital stuff. Perhaps A&E should develop a new series about digital hoarders – those of us with more RSS feeds and Facebook friend updates than we can ever hope to read.

(For those who ask me  – quite regularly in fact – why I don’t follow more people on Twitter, this is the reason: I actually want to read all of their updates. To know these people. To spend time listening to what they have to say.)

This probably limits my “personal brand.” I certainly can’t be called an active blogger and I don’t have thousands of loyal fans commenting on my every post.

At the same time, I’m not alone. Plenty of us share ourselves in online spaces. We learn more every day. We are inspired by others’ incredible insights. And we use those insights to form our perspectives, get work done, and manage our lives. We can participate in different ways, which is good.

Still, I have this nagging feeling that I should blog more. Perhaps at some point I will.

In the meantime, know that I’m listening. Building. Acting. Doing.

And, when I feel inclined, I’ll add more stuff in the world – when I have something to share that adds value. Not more noise.

My four-year-old has a stuffed animal that he carries wherever he goes. Cha-Cha The Monkey is not only for bedtime – he is carried back and forth to preschool daily, dutifully watches us eat every meal, and has seen more than his share of kids’ sporting events.

Not unusual behavior for a preschooler, right?  It would seem pretty standard. Except that his five older siblings really never did this. (Yes, there are six kids in all. More on that another time. Stay with me.)

That’s right: none of the other kids ever carried a toy companion, had an imaginary friend, or created any sort of pseudo-best-friend.

But, those kids had each other. The older five kids’ ages span only seven years, so they always had playmates. As pre-schoolers, they played games together, built forts, performed plays, and were generally inseparable.

When faced with the rare moment that these kids found themselves alone, they panicked. After mere  moments on their own, we heard them say, “there’s NOTHING to do, can I have a play date?”

It was actually troublesome. In fact, during their elementary school years, I worked hard to encourage them to build playing-alone skills: teaching them how to play solitaire, buying single-player games, and arranging times for each child to spend entertaining him/ herself.

Now, there’s this littlest brother, who is seven years younger than his closest sibling. He doesn’t have the constant companionship of peers. He learned early how to entertain himself.

And, just as early in life, he created a best friend, in Cha-Cha The Monkey, to accompany him.

All this has me thinking about what social creatures we all are. This isn’t a revolutionary concept; there are many scientific studies that reinforce this theme.

But, to see our social nature play out in such real ways, every day, confirms for me that I must continue to focus on the right things.

Our lives, our world, and our experiences are meant to be shared. God has created a place where we depend on one another. Where we yearn to share our lives. Where we expect to give and receive. And where, if we foster our relationships, lives will be forever better.

So, I thank you for being part of my life. Your presence here, in my social circle, is appreciated. Your companionship is treasured. Thank you.

I’m embarrassed that I haven’t blogged here in so long – it’s been over two months! Not that I haven’t had ideas to write about; there are seven different half-written drafts on my admin page, on topics ranging from health care reform to the Gunflint Trail. But, none of these posts are complete, and along the way each has become pretty stale (at least in my own mind). So alas, the blog sits dormant.

On the bright side, during this time, grad school has started and my business, Sagefisher, continues to grow. More on those later.

For now, I also wanted to share something that I rarely talk about, and even more rarely write about: My life with lupus.

In case you’re not familiar, lupus is an autoimmune disease – one where the immune system gets, shall we say, a bit confused. Instead of doing its job by fighting off diseases, the immune system in someone with lupus starts attacking various parts of the body, as if they were a disease. For me, my immune system seems to have an obsession with my kidneys, which apparently look rather sinister to my immune system.

This struggle, with my own body, is one I’ve lived with for the last twenty years.

In recent months I’ve started to talk a lot more about my disease, my journey, and what I can do to help others who live with lupus. In fact, I’m now on the board of the Lupus Foundation of Minnesota, and for the first time in twenty years, I’ve written my story for their most recent newsletter.

What does all this mean to me? First, I feel like I’m being more open, more transparent about who I am. That’s a great feeling, especially since a big part of my business is to tout the benefits of transparency. Also, I’m thrilled to be taking steps to help other people (especially women, who are impacted by lupus nine times more often than men).

Most importantly, though, I feel like this is major progress toward a personal goal of mine: to integrate all the parts of my world into one cohesive life. Long ago, I kept my world compartmentalized – my work was quite distinct from my family, which I kept separated from my social life and my personal relationship with God. Then about ten years ago, I started thinking about all the interconnectedness of these parts, and actively trying to lead (what I call) One Life.

But, there was one exception. My lupus always seemed too risky. Too personal to share, outside of a very close circle of friends and family. And so, my One Life goal never really felt real to me.

Now, I feel like I’ve taken my first big, risky step toward One Life.

Now it’s real.