Two days ago, when my colleagues and I were swapping plans for what we were going to do this weekend, I quite honestly felt like I had the best plans of all. This morning I got to have breakfast with my ENTIRE family. Mom, Dad, Jeff and I met in Golden and spent three hours chatting and laughing and generally just enjoying hanging out together.
This doesn’t happen as often as I would like. Jeff likes to go adventuring in the mountains and he’s almost always planning his next escapade. Dad and Mom both travel for work, and in fact they had just gotten off a red-eye flight home from Hawaii. But I’m especially glad it worked out this weekend, because it’s the blondie birthday weekend!
Jeff’s birthday was on Friday, and Mom’s birthday is today. Dad and I both have dark hair, so we tease them about being the blondies together. It’s always great fun to have two celebrations in a row (we never combined them, and Dad always made sure we had something fun for Mom even though she was focused on Jeff).
Today wasn’t anything massive or elaborate. We just met up and had breakfast. Mom and Dad had brought Jeff a new pair of flip flops and some macadamia nuts from Hawaii. I got their opinions on their gifts (and now I need to order them). But in some ways, that’s what made it so special. I am incredibly grateful that my family still takes the time to get together and just hang out.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes me happy. One thing I’ve realized is that all of the things I enjoy, whether camping or knitting or nerding out about something, are more fun when I have someone to share them with. I enjoy practicing yoga the most at my weekly Tuesday classes because I love the teacher, Maggie. I like knitting at my granny’s house while she’s quilting because we can talk about our projects together. I like sharing my favorite hiking trails with someone who will also appreciate the beauty.
This has been an interesting realization in some ways. As a general statement, I don’t always like people. Interacting requires energy and people can be loud. I don’t like loud things. But I care very deeply about my people.
I realized this in part because of a silly ice-breaker at the Knowles Spring Meeting. One of the questions was about what super power I would choose, and I chose Apparition without hesitating. (For those who are not obsessively acquainted with Harry Potter, that’s a lot like teleportation. It’s the power to disappear and reappear in a different place.) Later, one of my friends asked me why I chose that super power. I didn’t have to think very hard about my reply. If I could Apparate, I could be with my people more often and more easily than is currently possible.
I’ve written a bit before about how I value my friends, even though we’re scattered all over the place. If you need a refresher, I currently have (at least somewhat) regular communication with two friends in Europe, three on the East Coast, two in Colorado, one in Utah, and one on the West Coast. This has taught me a lot about the value of different styles of communicating, and it means I really treasure the time I have with these people.
I spent quite a lot of time growing up pushing myself to be strong and independent. Traveling to ski races meant learning how to take care of myself. And I’m really glad I did learn how to do this. But I’m also starting to realize that this does not devalue how much I care about my people.
And my family is even more powerfully close to my heart. My parents taught my brother and I how to be adventurous and nerdy and caring. We took all of our vacations from school together. Last summer we took a super secret surprise vacation together to celebrate Jeff’s graduation from college. This meant that Mom and Dad didn’t tell us where we were going; they gave us dates and a packing list and told us when to show up to the airport. This is not the first super secret surprise, nor will it be the last!
I could tell you stories for days and days about why and how I love my family and what I’ve learned from them. I could tell you about how Jeff drags me out from under piles of papers when I’m way too stressed and tosses a Frisbee with me, or how he stealthily packed all the really heavy stuff in his pack the last time we went backpacking because I had just come back from three weeks at sea level and was struggling. Two weeks ago he made me chicken enchiladas and chocolate chip cookies, both of which are Mom classics, and we sat at my dining room table for hours listening to Eric Clapton and talking about life. I felt like I was at home.
I could tell you about how Mom taught me how to make a to-do list and work my way through it when I feel overwhelmed, or about the three-hour long conversations we have about teaching. She taught me how to name wildflowers, swim, ask good questions, bake, make jam, and start a campfire with one match. It’s still a work in progress, but she gave me the beginnings of The Teacher Look that can freeze any student in their tracks.
I could tell you about how Dad is comfortable in any situation and can talk to anyone. He can go from climbing through vents following wires to gracefully handling business receptions. He taught me how to pack my backpack for officiating a ski race, and that any bike ride you came home from bloody was a good ride (although I think he might have been covering for the fact that it took him a while to learn how to get out of his clip-less pedals!). He taught me how to keep track of details, to anticipate the next thing coming, and to take away excuses in order to get projects done.
This morning our conversations ranged from ski racing rules to Jeff’s upcoming trip to China. I told a story about my third block anatomy class and Mom told one about how she and Dad made friends with a native Hawaiian who taught Mom how to weave fishing nets. Three hours later, we were still talking and laughing. On the surface, it wasn’t anything complicated. Breakfast with the family. But in its simplicity is also its total awesomeness.
So happy birthday, blondies. Thanks for getting up way earlier than you normally would have on a Sunday morning (Jeff) and for stalling the three hour drive back to Steamboat after a seven-hour red-eye flight (Mom and Dad). I’m lucky to have you all.
Your homework: Who are your people? Take five minutes (or an hour) and tell one (or six) of them how much you love them.