Kassie Fowler

Powder Room Remodel {Budget Friendly}

by

A Powder Room is arguably one of the most popular rooms in a home.  It’s convenient to the family room, so the family uses it often; most guests need to use the restroom at least once while visiting; and even those unsuspecting visitors, i.e.: Craigslist purchasers or door-to-door sales students may ask to use the powder room.  Yikes!

DIY Powder Room

You know that saying… you-can-tell-how-nice-a-restaurant-kitchen-is-by-how-the-bathroom-looks… well, I think that holds true for our homes.  A powder room can make a big impression on guests who have a moment of silence to do their business in beauty and comfort (or the opposite).  The powder room is an opportunity to show visitors they are in a well-cared for and thoughtfully designed home.

Even though I’m giving reasons why it’s important to design a powder room well, I still don’t like spending tons of money in that tiny space.  Do you feel me?  It’s painful to spend 2k on tile that my boys’ urine will spill on when I could use that money for the most beautiful and comfortable textiles and decor to make our master bedroom a retreat, or [insert 20 other home project wishes].  The previous homeowners raised their 3 boys in this house and there are signs of that everywhere :).  As a fellow boy-mom, I get it.  They are rough, and they can’t aim.  So, I had to come up with a vision for this ugly and forgotten powder room that would make a big impact for users, withstand boy abuse, and have a small footprint on our remodel budget.

Technically, this powder room remodel was completely cosmetic with no actual renovation, so I’m hoping it will inspire you for your spaces on small budgets.

Here’s the Powder Room before:

 BEFOREBefore: mirrorBefore: large wall Before: towel holders

As  you can see, the gray walls had a purplish tint (which happens in certain lighting).  Other issues included: the shelf above the toilet- too bulky, the beadboard- outdated, the flooring- gross, the mirror- too small, the lighting- cheap, the vanity- meh, and there were 2 towel holders- why?

In an ideal world with overflowing design budget, I wanted to retile the floors, shiplap the beadboard, wallpaper the walls, and buy a new vanity.  I did ZERO of that would-be $3,000+ expense.  Yet, the economical cosmetic changes still made all the difference.

Here’s the Powder Room AFTER:

Powder Room: After

After: MirrorPowder Room After: large wall Powder Room After Powder Room After

Here’s the HOW and some tips:

  1. Vibe: Decide on the overall vibe.  I wanted this powder room to feel a little wow and a lot unexpected, casual yet intriguing, and some old meets some new.
  2. Color: I wanted to do an unexpected color for a small, dark space.  Most think you can’t go dark in small, non-lit rooms, but I like to defy that theory.  Dark can be interesting and cozy.
  3. Reverse: My first thought was to paint the walls dark.  This would be the easy route as walls are much easier to paint than bead-board.  But my gut told me to put the work in and reverse it to create something unexpected.  It immediately made the room feel bigger and more interesting.  (TIP: dark colors (especially in grooves) require extra pressure and coats.  Don’t think you’ll get out of there in 1 or even 2 coats, covering over white bead-board with a dark color is not for faint of heart.)
  4. Mirror: I found a mirror on sale at Homegoods for $29.99 — the oval was the perfect shape and the rope would add some needed texture.  I was worried that it might bring an unwanted nautical vibe, but I still went for it because there would be no other hints of nautical in the space.  I love the way it plays off the color in the wood frames and basket.  The eye jumps around the room quite nicely.
  5. Light:  So, I knew i wanted clear shades for this space and found this gem on amazon for $65 (linked for an even lower price now). My trade discounts couldn’t find me a bathroom light for that price!
  6. Mixing Metals: I love the antique brass and black but worried that the nickel faucet would clash.  I didn’t want to pay for a new faucet and it wasn’t that bad.  So, I brought in a towel bar I purchased from West Elm ages ago.  (sidenote: I’ve kept this towel bar with me for NINE years, never finding the right bathroom to use it in until now.)  It adds an organic and glamorous feel, tying in the nickel faucets but pairing with the antique brass quite well.  Metals can mix.
  7. Frames: I bought these frames from a Jacksonville Beach warehouse where they made them for trade shows with One Kings Lane.  They were clearance-ing them out at 75% off  several years ago.  Pallet wood was all the rage then, but I’m still obsessed with them.  The wood adds much needed warmth and texture.
  8. Photos:  I like the juxtaposition of organic frames and hard line cityscapes.  (P.S.: My husband takes epic photos which helps our home decor game. ? We will sell them soon- let me know if you’re interested!)
  9. Faux Fiddle Leaf Fig:  I ordered this from Amazon when I was staging our previous house to sell.  I made the mistake of not checking the height correctly and was not happy when it arrived.  However, it works perfectly in this space where I needed some greenery and something to survive.

 You know what’s funny? After this powder room cosmetic remodel, I don’t even mind the vanity, beadboard, or floors.  It’s amazing what bold and unexpected moves can do.

Here’s a list of additional SOURCES:

Paint:  Greenblack by Sherwin Williams in satin
Frames: You can search Etsy using “pallet wood frames” or save some money and go with some like these
Basket: I bought my basket at Homegoods but here are some I like too

Towel Bar: Here’s one I like since West Elm no longer sells the one I used 🙂

Good luck friends!  Let me know how it goes!

 

SaveSave

SaveSave

Adventures aren’t just for super-humans.

by

Adventures don’t just happen.  They don’t interrupt our average days or force themselves into our memories.  Adventures don’t instagram-ad-target us saying, “swipe up for more!”  (that would be nice).  On the flip side, they aren’t merely for the creative photographers or single college students.  I swing back and forth between wanting adventures to be effortless for our family and thinking we should quit our jobs and move into a “tiny house”, as seen on HGTV.  But what I’m finding is that the act of adventuring is not for the lucky or the extreme— it’s for those who say yes.

Due to a move in May, I pulled our two oldest out of school three weeks early.  We had a FULL three-month-summer and while I’d like say it was the summer I’ve always dreamt of, there were plenty of moments I reread this highlighted quote:

Vacations are the act of grabbing minutes and hours and days with both hands, stealing against the inevitability of time. There will be a day when our family as we know it will not exist, and I want to know that in that moment, I wasn’t at the office or doing the dishes when I could have been walking on the dock with my dad, when I could have been drinking tea and eating ginger cookies on the porch with my mom…” –Shauna Niequist

Insert the word “adventures” for vacations and this thought becomes even more real.  Because vacations are scheduled and planned and saved for, and have long pauses between them, but adventures are always waiting.  Adventures can be carefully executed or done on a whim.  They can be at Disney World or in our backyard.  Nonetheless, these beautiful phrases from Shauna convict and inspire me.

Since it would be an extended summer, I knew it was time to visit my family in Louisiana.  Four years had passed since we last saw my grandmother (Mama) and Great Aunt (Aunt Ed) as well as my dad and stepmom (Pops & Mawmaw).  My sister had another baby girl who I hadn’t met.  And I couldn’t deal with this anymore.

So why four years? Well, I’ve got some good excuses… like the biggest one being I prefer to stay sane, and traveling with three boys under the age of seven gives me a 92% chance of failing.  Also, working very full-time jobs didn’t allow us much margin.  And this summer my husband Dougie needed to hang back to work.  So, the 17+ hour road trip from Northern Virginia to Louisiana as a solo parent felt too unsafe to consider.  What if I had a tire blow out? Been there done that as a single college girl.  But with three young boys in my backseat?  I need medical marijuana just thinking about it.  Furthermore, it’s hard enough taking care of them on my own turf much less not having the comforts of my own bed and preferred thermometer night settings and morning coffee routine.  Tired, hot, un-caffeinated moms are scary.

But I couldn’t shake it.  My soul needed some family connection on the heels of a hard year.   And there were adventures we needed this summer for all of our sakes… Ruston (my 4-year-old) hasn’t seen his Louisiana family since he was eight weeks old.  But even Caden and Logan (8 and 6) were confused about who is who.  And my roots were calling me.  Interestingly, I found that as I set my mind to work on this complex feat, strategies began to emerge.  Dougie could drive with us as far as Atlanta, where we would visit friends for a couple of days.  Then he could fly back to Virginia using some airline credits, and I could handle the rest of the eight-hour trip by myself.  One week later, he could fly to Louisiana (on his day off work) to drive us all back.  This combined-then-separated-then-combined trip could work, especially since I wanted to tow a U-Haul full of antiques my mom was ready to pass on.  I like to keep things simple- never.

So, we made it happen.

And on this trip to cajun country, we did both normal and wild things: we rode a ferry, explored a navy ship, threw a football in the backyard, played in a small splash park, ate snowballs in a thunderstorm.  MaiMai (my mom) threw Rus and Sadie (who are 6 weeks apart) a little 4-year-old birthday party at her house with my grandmother and great aunt.  Rus called them the “3 grandmas” and couldn’t understand why mommy has so many grandmas.  We ate jambalaya and cookie cake and the boys bragged about all of their accomplishments to the “3 grandmas.”

My boys screamed for their lives at Global Wildlife Center where Pops and Mawmaw (my dad and stepmom) took us to die, I mean, feed free-roaming wildlife on a safari tour.  Buffalo, bulls, llamas, alpacas, deer, giraffes, and many other things I can’t name, put their smelly breath in our faces and slobber on our laps to seize any pebble of food available.  The boys dominated catching baby alligators and loved feeding the birds at the New Orleans Aquarium.  Dougie arrived on our last night in Louisiana and we stuffed our faces in Cajun food and binged on beignets the next morning as we started our expedition home.

Halfway back to Virginia, we found a beautiful waterfall to explore on the border of Alabama and Tennessee.  We talked about sightseeing but had no specific plans so when Dougie saw signs saying “Noccalula Falls Park”, he insisted we pull over.  Much to my comfortable butt and half-read magazine’s demise, I agreed.

A couple of wrong parking lots, a little train ride, and a 45-minute rocky hike later, we finally made it to the stunning sight.  White ribbons of water falling from above, spraying a cool misty breeze behind it where we were standing, totally captivated.  The temperature had to be 15 degrees cooler behind the water fall, and we weren’t complaining about this. Sharp and slippery rocks were below our feet but we carefully carved paths to explore different angles of the view.

The boys learned how tired feet and the risks of scrapes pay off. The white water looked so pure and fresh against the dark brown rocks. It thundered down into a quiet pool that slowly crept toward the sandy beaches below. Couples were kissing and taking selfies and carrying toddlers and the powerful sounds calmed all the children like a vacuum quiets a crying newborn. Fearful of missing the train back to the parking lot as the sun was setting and park closing, we headed back.  Our road-trip legs and psyches needed that unexpected adventure.

Waterfall adventures

Thankfully, my hardcore husband agreed to find a last-minute deal at a Holiday Inn so we could clean up and get a good night’s sleep for the remainder of our trek. The next day, we enjoyed the mountain views almost all the way home and made YouTube videos while Rus asked how many more minutes about every. five. minutes.  We had more urine-filled bottles than anyone wants to know (sorry TMI, but all the praise hands for having little boys with convenient peeing apparatuses).  Yes, I was fearful someone would accidently drink the pee but it saved us many a bathroom stops.

Wow, we did it.

And now I find myself reflecting on our adventures and how hard it was to make it all happen. How a 17+ hour road trip by myself initially felt so impossible with 3 rowdy little boys.  I’m no supermom. I struggle with the daily sacrifices of motherhood and the plaguing mom guilt that accompanies.  But I’m finding once I said yes to adventure, plans came into focus. How it never felt doable, but after we did it, it was instantly worth it.  How the screw in the tire and the near death experience picking up a U-Haul trailer in a dangerous part of Baton Rouge— along with a week without my morning coffee and creamer — and awkward encounters with inexperienced grandparents and grown children who don’t live in the same city and don’t quite know how to naturally interact with each other in those roles — how children who are a little off in their behavior and eating patterns can be the worst display of your parenting abilities and make you want to cower in the shame you’ve been working so hard to overcome— somehow in the midst of all that mess in traveling with kids, you can sit back and say that “not only was it worth it—it was perfect, that was exactly what we needed.”

Friends, adventures await.

In fact, they’re calling. And our adventures may not be easy, and they’re almost guaranteed to be messy and complicated, at least part of the time. But they’re also guaranteed to be full of memories and lessons and awesomeness.  We don’t need to be superhuman, we just need to say yes.

Adventure well xo

 

 

P.S:  Shauna Niequist’s books are inspiring with these topics… highly recommend Cold Tangerines and Present Over Perfect.  

Boys and 2/3 of the "3 grandmas"

Global Wildlife Adventures

feeding birds in NOLA with Pops

waterfall

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

Why Can’t You Be More Like Her? A Lesson from Ree Drummond for all the Mothers.

by

Mothers Day is around the corner and all the praise hands for the predictable day we hear “you’re the best mom in the whole world!”  I could rave over all the ways mothers are super human, rather, I’ll share a story and some of my journey to freedom from feeling like I’m always missing the mark…

Happy Mothers Day

It’s a hot, summer day around noon, and I’ve clicked on The Food Network in hopes of inspiring my i-only-eat-cheese-for-protein 7 year old to broaden his lunch horizons. “Pioneer Woman” is on. If you’ve seen the show, you know it’s a cooking show hosted by Ree Drummond, a former city girl with a hunky rancher husband, a band of adorable kids, a huge ranch, and a special brand of home cooking and elegant celebrations.  She’s an award-winning blogger and best-selling cookbook author.  The show begins with Ree saying,

Hi, I’m Ree Drummond.  I’m a writer, blogger, photographer, mother and I’m an accidental country girl…”

I’m always in a trance during that part but then — like a bucket of ice thrown over my head—  I hear,

Why can’t you be more like HER?”

What?!  I don’t expect to hear this question fire out of my 7 year old son’s mouth.  He was just as mesmerized by Ree as me, apparently.  And it’s hardly bearable for me to hear all of her accolades while watching the beautiful images dangle before my eyes, but then to hear my 7 year old reiterate what’s in my head leaves me a bit dumbfounded.  Do I laugh or do I cry?

I push my defenses down and ask, “what is it you like about her, baby?”

He looks at me and says, “why can’t you cook like her?”

Phew! He’s just thinking with his tummy.  I realize he’s just seen a preview of the cookies and bread Ree is about to teach us to bake.  He wants to eat sugar and carbs ALL THE DAY LONG.  And he knows I won’t agree.

But wait, why did I have such a strong initial reaction to his question? What did I really hear? Was it his voice asking why can’t you be more like her? — Or was it mine?

If I’m being honest, what I hear during the show intro is, “Hi! I’m Ree Drummond… I’m awesome, smart, creative, successful, beautiful, and I can whip up something deliciously amazing while homeschooling my 4 children before you mothers can even brush your teeth for the day.  All while not breaking a sweat or raising my voice.”

So why does the show’s soundbite bother me?  What is it about her talents and successes that leave me feeling like a loser?  These questions sit with me, and I refuse to let them go.  Or do they refuse to let me go?  Not sure, but I’m committed to get answers.  If this is messing with me, then I bet there are other mothers with the same struggles.

And I’m not looking to share some inspiring quote to make us all feel better for five minutes. No, I’m looking for breakthrough.  I’m looking for healing from his shameful question that plagues so many of us… why can’t you be more like her? 

As I start digging, I first discover the important question:

What is an image and what is reality?

I begin with some research on Ree Drummond, to get more information on her as a real-life human being.  How do others see her?  Is she really perfect?  Are these images that I’m captivated by — the beautiful pictures, the perfect recipes, the images on TV displaying a spotless, bright kitchen, with happy and thankful children and a woman who takes care of her manly cowboy of a husband — are they really real?

I find an article in The New Yorker with an interesting take.  It portrays Ree as a busy, distracted mom who’s more interested in taking pictures than homeschooling.  Her cowboy husband defies the traditional role, and actually takes the brunt of caring for the children during the day so they can learn the ways of ranching and so Ree can have time to focus on her blog.  The real Ree wears yoga pants around the house and admits she’s ok with stepping over messes in her home (which is ok, because the guest house on their property is the setting for the show and where the camera crew stays.)  There’s talk of Ree being a savvy businesswoman, insanely ambitious, and like a duck, “ underneath the water, it’s paddling like mad, but above the surface, it’s placid.”  This is not the Ree I envision.  And honestly, I’m relieved by the reality check.

Before I go any further, let me lay this foundation.  I’m not in the business of demonizing celebrities, women, or anyone with ambitions for the sake of making myself look or feel better.  That’s not the true healing work that leads to a better life. That’s envy, insecurity, and beyond.  And it’s only a temporary fix.  My goal here is to identify what’s an image that results in unattainable expectations we set for ourselves.  Which brings me to an even deeper lesson…

Images of Perfection are Leading Women to Deep Places of Shame

I’m a Brene Brown fan and if you read or listen to her work, you get it.  Brown is a psychologist, made famous by her TED talk, and a world-renown researcher on the subject of shame.  In her teaching “Men, Women, & Worthiness” Brown shares an example from one of her favorite movies that is filled with beautiful dancing.  A few years ago, Brown learns that these scenes are not accomplished merely by the lone lead actress, but by FIVE different body doubles.  An expert for each part, all coming together to give a mind-blowing performance.  What Brown concludes is,

we try to be that woman that we can come in and we can do it all and do it all perfectly, and the truth is that we’re just one person.  And without the help of filmmakers and editors, we fall and we stumble and we have to work really hard to keep it all together and it doesn’t always work.  For us, shame is being held up against the ideal that somehow we can live lives and edit them as we’re living them so that what the world only sees is what’s perfect about us.”

She further explains that the definition of shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.

Whoa.  So my self talk?  My knee-jerk reaction to my son’s question of why I can’t be like her is really rooted in shame?  I would never use such a word to describe myself.  But how freeing it is to recognize that my own pattern of defensiveness and perfectionism is that I’m embarrassed about my own flaws and shortcomings.  And I’m striving not to be seen as a fraud to other mothers.  I want to appear like I’ve got it all under control to stay-at-home moms so they think I have a spotless and clutter-free home full of activity centers and chore charts.  And yet I want to appear like I’m rockin’ the work-home juggle to working mothers so they think I cook healthy dinners and then read for 1 hour with my kids before I get back on my emails.  When in reality, I need 5 experts like the lead actress (chef, cleaner, nanny, home-organizer, and assistant).

So, this struggle… it’s not really mom guilt.  Mom guilt is “oh crap, I screamed too much, I feel terrible.”  Then, it’s apologies and hugs and resolve to do it differently next time.  Because, as Brown teaches us, guilt is a productive emotion… meaning, it causes you to change something.  Shame, however, is not.  It looks like this, “I screamed at the kids.  I always scream.  I completely suck as a mom.  Will I every get my act together?”

See the difference?

We readily talk about “mom guilt” but don’t admit “mom shame” and I would venture to say that freedom comes from understanding the latter.  Freedom comes from calling shame what it is and then accepting ourselves as we are.  We can leverage the guilt as it helps us strive to be the best version of ourselves BUT ONLY when the guilt is not coupled with shame.

I also notice that when I’m not operating in mom shame, I struggle less with mom guilt.

When I’m confident in who I am, including inadequacies, I let go of keeping up the act that I can do it all.  And that I can be all things to all people.  I am SO DONE with the unrealistic standards and perfection and all the people-pleasing.  I’ve gone from feeling more shame with every image I see to being a pretty good false-image-sniffer and a lie-spotter, recognizing all the lies I’m told and the lies I tell myself.  I’ve gone from making false images my standards to bravely owning my reality.

In a culture pervasive with perfect images, we have to be brave self-acceptors and fierce celebrators of others.  

I’ve got a few more examples and topics around this mom shame topic that I hope to share in the future.  But I would love to hear more about YOUR journey in this area.  How have you fought against feeling like you’re missing the mark?

Happy Mothers Day to all.  You, or the mom in your world, deserves all the Ree Drummond cakes this Mothers Day:)

 

 

Impossible Beauty Standards: What I Learned from Fat Rolls, Unibrows, and 17th Century Selfies

by

You know art museums?  Those places you go to admire works that have persisted in immortal beauty.  Well, there are some images that have not stood the test of time — the hideous portraits of …

women.

Stay with me, I know that sounds mean.  But, c’mon.  The unibrows, the short ruffled hair, the pale skin, the fat rolls.  The stares of death.  Did they know they weren’t on fleek?  That one day we wouldn’t get their aesthetic?  FR they are so not TD.  (That’s “for real” and “to die” for those of us who aren’t hip anymore- I googled it for us).

Well, not so much.  You see, these works of art reveal women who were completely “finesse” for their day.  They were proud of their selfies as men appreciated their non sun-kissed skin, muffin tops, and fat dimpled thighs.  Besides the past 100 years, most of human history upheld beautiful bodies as the weightier, the better.  Curvy meant you had more than enough food to eat.  Pale was in, blonde was out.  If you were a part of the Han Dynasty, you better have small feet but if you were part of Victorian England, your waist better be cinched.  Ancient Greece preferred full-bodied and plump women whereas Ancient Egypt preferred slender, narrow shouldered women.  Traditional African beauty included such practices as “fattening rooms” for young soon-to-be brides (um, yes please!).

Centuries later, we now look upon these works of art with a little chuckle, or maybe disgust.  Because 2017 is full of images that are quite the contrary — sparkly bronzed skin, perfectly painted eyebrows, plump selfie puckers, rail-thin legs, essential thigh gaps, and perfectly perky curves.  Beauty standards, that in some cases, are only attainable through a knife.  I think our predecessors would be appalled with such nonsense.  And feel super lucky they weren’t born at such a time. Rightfully so.

Even though I’ve already seen flaky fads in my era, I semi-consciously hold fleeting beauty standards in high regard.  Like they are my measurement of self worth.  Are the flawless images bombarding us my standards?  Or maybe my own judgments about my looks and body?  Perhaps my outlook was influenced by my mom’s words.  Or that criticism I still remember when a high school “friend” proclaimed to everyone I “wasn’t even cute.”

And how impossible are sticky critiques and self criticism coupled with current beauty standards?

My thighs and waistline must get thinner. But my bust and butt must get fuller.  Lips luscious and forehead firm.   Expression lines are to be feared and gravity must be dominated.  Should I hold back from laughing so much?  Not squint in the sun?  I thought my eyebrows were supposed to be plucked and sharp and now they’re supposed to be messy and bushy???  And how is it that men get more sexy with age and women get more… judged?  Who can keep up with such craziness?

So, when visiting art museums, I get a little pep in my step.  First, because I think, “wow, I’ve got it going on.” Unlike flipping through InStyle or Glamour or Seventeen, which often lead me to a self-confidence funk.  But, secondly, I think about the fleeting nature of beauty standards.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  Slaying it one day, so DONE the next.  I realize I should feel free by the reality that…

CURRENT BEAUTY STANDARDS WILL NOT STAND THE TEST OF TIME.

Go ahead, enjoy some.  Pick something you like… I do that too.  But let’s not measure ourselves against them.  Let’s not allow such foolishness to be our truth.  Let’s work hard on the inside stuff that holds the test of time.  That speaks louder and longer than the outward trends.  Character, laughter, lover of people, encourager.  I want to be a woman who is authentic and secure and confident.  To be a good steward of my relationships and positions and words.

I want to be a woman who brings Heaven to earth, not a woman who compares myself to earthly standards.

Those inside things will succeed us in an eternal way.  Even in a mere 10 years, we will judge our stupidity.  Our kids will observe our pictures in fields and broken down cars and vintage suitcases and die laughing.  We’ll remember face contouring and skinny jeans and ombre’s and go “what were we thinking???”  Not to mention the centuries behind us.

So, in short, go visit an art museum.  Put down InStyle and look up some portraits of women in the Italian Renaissance.  You’ll stare face to face with the reality of our fleeting beauty pressures.  And you’ll be better off for the reminder that — they are not our standards of self-worth.

xoxo~

 

 

Beauty Fads revealed by Museums

I Have A Lot of Questions for You, 2017

by

I have a lot of questions for 2017.  But only after I ask a few of 2016.

Many feel 2016 was a merciless savage to the world.  Social media tells a story of struggle and a celebration of good riddance.  My own family’s year included some polarizing experiences, some of our highest highs and deepest lows.  We began the year by moving 700 miles in a blizzard.  It was us—  our two U-hauls, two cars, babies, all of our belongings, “Pop”—  and about 50 electrical trucks traveling North on I-95 to beat “Jonas”, the worst winter storm to hit the DC area in a decade.  It wasn’t the hello I envisioned for us Floridians, but I heard an unexpected whisper in my spirit…

My daughter, this is going to be much harder than you think, but it doesn’t mean you’re not right where I want you.”

And much of 2016 was just that –a hike up a mountainside, with glimpses of beauty all around us and sharp rocks making it a shaky trek.

You see, we took some GIGANTIC faith steps in 2016, and we’re still feeling the weight of those.  So pinterest boards and lists of stretch goals aren’t that appealing to me this new year.  And that makes me feel slightly left behind as everyone else plots out all the amazing ways they plan to dominate 2017.

Even though the calendar flipped, I’ve not yet transformed into my usual goal-setting optimist self, calling on my inner Tony Robbins to “take massive action!”  Nope, this time I’ve hit pause to make time to sit with a few things from last year, to sort through them, time which, despite my intentions, did NOT happen the week between Christmas and New Years.  (I’ve learned that a house full of rowdy boys doesn’t lend itself toward much profound introspection.)

Before I can begin to dream about 2017, I have some real questions.  For myself.  For God. For the world.

I imagine myself as Oprah, having God over for an afternoon cup of coffee in my backyard and a little chat, getting His insight on a couple things…“That year 2016- what was that all about?  Why can’t we overcome brokenness…isn’t that the point of Jesus?  That we overcome and live differently even on this side of Heaven?  How long will hateful quarrels be our country’s conversation?  Why do marriages have to end?  The innocent babies suffering in Syria… who will do something?   Why does disappointment seem never ending?” (Don’t worry, I’d make sure to air it on “Super Soul Sunday” so we could all enjoy the answers.)

As I process through these questions in hope of some insight, I’m still annoyed that I’m starting my year like this. Feeling behind and on the reactive side of asking, instead of on the proactive side of resolving doesn’t line up well for me.  I’m a go-getter, driven, work my a– off kinda girl. I’m not a wallower or a venter.  I’m a solutions-finder.  I may struggle with tardiness and perfectionism, but I’m a curious visionary on a quest to go somewhere.  I’m your typical new-years-resolution setter, so this place of confusion and inquiry is quite frustrating.

And yet it fits perfectly with my fresh outlook of letting go of silly perfectionistic standards and embracing messy.  So, maybe this is actually the PERFECT way to start the year, forcing me to continue working on these areas of authenticity and vulnerability.  Of self compassion.  Of facing my fears of inadequacy.  I’m seeing that my inclination to put the brakes on January is actually me asking these hidden, core questions…

“How can I be resilient from 2016 and still hopeful for 2017?”

I can’t authentically make any resolutions until I choose hope.  And I can’t choose hope for 2017 until I figure out how to overcome the adversities of 2016.  So this question forces me to do the hard, uncomfortable work of digging deep.  If I can face the pain of the previous year, I am one step closer to leading the resilient life I want to live.  An honest assessment will also help me shovel out any bitterness from unanswered prayers and unending questions.  Because bitterness doesn’t belong in my heart and isn’t a part of resilient, wholehearted living.

According to Brene Brown, a research professor and author of the book “The Gifts of Imperfection,” hope is an essential piece of wholehearted living.  She explains that hope is actually a conscious choice.  It’s not an emotion, it’s a way of thinking.  Hope can be learned and cultivated.  She goes on to say,

The new cultural belief that everything should be fun, fast and easy, is inconsistent with hopeful thinking.  It also sets us up for hopelessness.  If we want to cultivate hopefulness, we have to be wiling to be flexible and demonstrate perseverance.  Tolerance for disappointment, determination, and a belief in self are at the heart of hope.”

What’s encouraging through all of this is that the intentional skills of overcoming adversity and living with hope are not for the spiritually elite or those with seemingly perfect lives.  No, resilience and hope are for ALL of us.  They are most powerful when we face our pain and disappointment first… and then hope in spite of them.  Because hope does not come without adversity. It requires a persevering choice.

I’m reminded of Psalms 39:7 in my quest to find hope…

And now, Lord, what do I wait for?
My hope is in You.”

And I repeat to myself… my hope is in You.  My hope is in YOU.  When I feel the pain of disappointment and the fear of uncertainty, I pray, I cry, I ask God every question I can think of.  I listen, I write and I repeat… my hope is in You.

Sometimes, I need this pairing of solid secular research with the truths of the scriptures to remind me, “Kassie, put your big girl panties on and persevere until that hope is yours.  Fight for hope with everything you’ve got.”

So, as I dig into the discomforts of 2016, I’m realizing that my first resolution of the new year is that…

I want to embrace disappointment and actively choose hope.

After all, I can’t control every circumstance and outcome, but I can control my response and outlook.  I can control how much I put my hope in Him, despite how much harder my year has been or will be.  I’m so thankful for the whisper that is ever present, waiting on me to incline my ear.  I’m so thankful for the opportunities I have this year to persevere for resiliency and hopefulness, and, i’m expecting that 2017 might just be my best year yet.

Cheers to a year of cultivating resiliency and hopefulness, friends. And thank you, 2016, for teeing up this much-needed-lesson.

PS:  If you’d like a copy of Brene Brown’s book, you can click here.  (pretty life changing stuff)

When the new year is full of questions over resolutions