A tattered life held together with duct tape and Gorilla Glue

My driver's side mirror secured to my Subaru with duct tape and Gorilla Glue.

For the past five months, my driver's side mirror has been secured to my Subaru with duct tape and Gorilla Glue. Clinging to what remained of its structure, that broken mirror was a metaphor for the sorry state of my life: laid off, forced to sell my house before it went to the bank, downsizing in a hurry and trying to figure out how to function in this new "normal."

On Christmas Eve I knocked the mirror loose when I had a too-close encounter with a support post in my storage unit's parking garage. I was retrieving the most basic Christmas trimmings--the Christmas stockings of my two young adult children and a small collection of Nativity sets, including those made by the kids when they were wee ones.

Just a week earlier, with the help of many friends and family, I had moved from my three-story house to a Lilliputian one-bedroom apartment. I was settled in enough that I was cooking Christmas dinner for my children and we were opening gifts together on Christmas afternoon. Despite all the turmoil, I was determined to create some new Christmas memories with my kids.

With Christmas boxes in hand, I climbed into my car and waved at the storage facility attendant who was waiting for me to leave so he could close up shop and go home to celebrate with his own family. He already had shut one of the gates and was getting ready to close the last gate. I put my car in reverse and WHAM!

My poor mirror was broken but it wasn't shattered. In fact, on a cursory glance it didn't look damaged at all. But it could no longer function in the way it always had. It could no longer move to give me a clear view of what was coming up behind me. Again, a sad metaphor for my life.

I think I said the "eff" word--which is not usually part of my vocabulary. Then I drove to my new apartment and prepared for Christmas with my children.

Getting the mirror repaired wasn't an immediate option. My car insurance deductible is $500. I was unemployed and didn't want to claim the boo-boo on my insurance anyway.

I took my car to an auto body shop and explained my circumstances. The kind man didn't have the heart to tell me how much it would cost to repair it, but he did say that my best option was to wait until I was employed again and then to find a used mirror at a junk yard. He instructed me to gently take the mirror off, put drops of Gorilla Glue on the touchpoints and then secure it with duct tape. So I did.

Two months later, I got a job, but still didn't have the funds for a junk yard mirror. So the duct tape remained. Thankfully, an acquaintance asked me to write a freelance article for a trade publication. I had checked with my trusted mechanic, and the cost to buy a junk yard mirror and install it was roughly the amount I was being paid for the article.

Yesterday, Hoesley Eco Auto replaced the broken mirror with a lovely junk yard mirror that looks exactly like the old one. With the touch of a button from the driver's door, I can move the mirror and get a clear view of what's coming up behind me.

Since my Christmas Eve boo-boo, my life has improved considerably. I have a great job where I am using my writing skills, and I am valued and respected. I recently moved from the tiny one-bedroom apartment to a World War II-era duplex with charm, space and natural light. It feels like home.  Through mindful eating and paddling a dragon boat three times a week, I have lost almost 40 pounds.

 I am keeping the duct tape and Gorilla Glue because who knows when my life might need a minor repair? But for now, the view ahead and behind is promising.

My first dragon boat race: two days away!

My first dragon boat race is Saturday--only two days away. I'm tingling with anticipation at the opportunity to test the skills I've been honing all these months.

In January, when I emailed the Portland Dragonsports organization I said something like: I am a writer, and for several years have wanted to paddle on a dragon boat team. I think I'd like to write about it in my blog, Paddling Her Own Canoe.

How thankful I am that coach Jeanie Zinn of the Mighty Women team was the recipient of my email! She responded simply, "Why don't you come try it out and see if you like it?"

I did like it. In fact, I loved it. I'm in my element around water. I've paddled kayaks, canoes, rafts, innertubes, but never a dragon boat. I'd never even seen a dragon boat race.

Paddling a dragon boat makes me smile. One night during practice, Jeanie laughed and called out, "Susan, you're smiling too much! You must not be paddling hard enough."

"I can't help it. I'm having so much fun!" I called back up toward the front of the boat.

Dragon boating has enriched my life in so many ways. I now have this whole team of 20 other women who like to paddle and have adventures. I haven't been on a sports team since high school, when I really sucked at both track and basketball. I like hanging with women who aren't afraid of pushing themselves physically. Being a Mighty Woman has opened doors to new friendships with some amazing women. I plan to tell many of their stories in this blog in the coming months.

Dragon boating has changed my physique. Through mindful eating and paddling a dragon boat two to three times a week since January, I have lost 36 pounds--and many inches. I still have some weight to lose, but I am so close to my goal that I know I will reach it. I am determined.

I am more confident than ever. My biceps are something to behold. I can wear sleeveless shirts--and none of that embarrassing lower arm wiggle occurs. I am in the best shape I've been in for decades, probably since I was a 21-year-old college student who regularly ran, played tennis and handball.

Dragon boating has improved my balance, my breathing, my focus. My life!

Our first race is Saturday. I can't wait!

Lena Sessions: Reaching for High Adventures on the Pacific Crest Trail

Let me introduce you to Lena Sessions, an adventurous young woman who definitely is paddling her own canoe. Lena, 24, radiates enthusiasm and embraces challenges. She has traveled to more than 20 countries in Europe, South America and Asia.

Lena has just embarked on the biggest challenge of her life. On April 26, she and her friend Adriana began their journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, which stretches 2,663 miles from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. They expect to spend five months hiking the trail.

She is capturing her thoughts in her blog, Honey Bear Hikes. She also is raising money for SheJumps.org.

In her blog, Lena writes: "Every mile I hike is one dollar donated to SheJumps, a non-profit organization that provides community and support for more women (like me) to experience the outdoors. Please consider a donation and help me reach my goal of hiking 2,663 miles and raising $2,663 for SheJumps."

I had the opportunity to meet Lena at my church, Camas Friends, when she was visiting her dad, Henry Sessions, shortly after she returned from her backpacking trip in Nepal. I peppered her with questions about Nepal, and she shared some of her adventures with me. Before Nepal, she had spent the summer working in Alaska, shuttling tourists around and backpacking when she could.

Lena was only seven when her dad took her on her first backpacking adventure. "I had my own little backpack," she said. "We hiked one mile in and camped."

She has been camping and communing with nature ever since.

"Being out in the woods answered so many questions for me," Lena said. "I love the trail culture, meeting interesting people and seeing beautiful scenery along the way." 

She first began considering backpacking the arduous Pacific Crest Trail after her college graduation when she and some friends backpacked along the Colorado Trail.

Here is Lena's advice to girls or young women who are considering trying something new or scary: "If you have an idea in your mind--something you're really excited about--whatever idea you have is probably something that will bring you a lot of joy. Just starting it is the scariest part. Hiking is just putting one foot in front of the other."

But planning a 2,600-mile backpacking trip was a new challenge for her. Deciding how much clothing and gear to carry on the trip took much consideration and research. She blogged about her decisions here.

"The more weight you carry in your backpack, the more pressure on your joints, so you want to make your load as light as possible," Lena said by phone just a few days before embarking on her journey.

When Lena researched the PCT she found that from every two to seven days, they will be near a town with a post office or a little store to purchase supplies. So she mailed herself a new pair of hiking shoes every 400 miles along the trail.

"When you start backpacking, there's a sense of simplicity. You discover you really don't need much to be happy. Backpacking is a good reminder of that," she said.

She added, "In my life I have been blessed with many inspiring friends and mentors who have made it possible for me to undertake the Pacific Crest Trail. As a way to express my gratitude for these wonderful people, I am raising funds to benefit SheJumps, a nonprofit organization that provides young women with opportunities to test themselves in the outdoors. Finishing this trail with the knowledge that my efforts have provided support for other women to reach their potential will make this experience worth it for me."

If you'd like to donate to SheJumps on Lena's behalf, click here.

Finding Direction with a Life Coach

Almost three weeks ago, I moved to what I have come to call the Duplex of my Dreams. Although many boxes still wait to be unpacked, I have tidied my new home so that it's welcoming,

Gratitude washes over me as I sit cross-legged on my sofa and look about my new living room. Built in the 1940s, my duplex has ample natural light via corner windows, gleaming hardwood floors, picture molding and a charming wall of built-in bookcases. It's the perfect backdrop for my ecclectic collection of antiques and finds from estate sales and thrift shops. It's cozy and comfortable.

My new life feels comfortable too.

Having settled into my new job in the newsroom of our daily newspaper, I'm learning to be a faster, better writer due to the constant deadlines and excellent editors. I am better understanding what makes a good story. Today I pitched a feature story idea to my editor, and he not only said yes, but also asked me to write it for the Sunday paper. Hooray!

This opportunity wouldn't have happened if I hadn't found the courage to ask if I could write the story. Summoning that courage is a direct result of my recent life coaching sessions with Amy Earle from the other Vancouver, the one in Canada.

Over our ten weekly sessions via Skype, Amy helped me to find direction, to set goals and to make a plan to achieve them. She kept me on track and helped me to forge a path through some dense underbrush that was obscuring my vision.

I'd never considered a life coach, but last fall, when I had been laid off and needed to find another job, sell my house and find a new place to live, I needed direction. Through a listserve I subscribe to, I discovered an amazing deal on 10 life coaching sessions that were being offered to a small number of people. I quickly emailed my story to the life coaching coordinators, and I was selected to get this super-duper deal.

In January shortly after settling into my dinky one-bedroom apartment, I started my life coaching sessions. I had my last life coach session here in my new home exactly a week ago.

Because of Amy's guidance, I have a clearer idea of who I am and where I am heading. She helped me create a map to ensure that I keep moving forward, taking one small step at a time toward my next great adventure.

Seeking Sweet Sanctuary

Crash!

I  was awakened at 4 a.m. by the Dumpster lid being thrown open. Again.

Sometimes this occurs several times a night when people who are down on their luck rummage through my apartment building's enormous recycling and garbage bins searching for bottles and cans to redeem for cash. Perhaps they're even looking for food. That's sobering. Even heartbreaking.

But the bins are located immediately below my living room window, so mostly it's a nuisance.

When the crash woke me the first night in my apartment, my first thought was that someone had broken down my apartment door. Now that I've endured these nightly interruptions for three months, I just roll over and try to go back to sleep.

If I can't go back to sleep, I grab my laptop and write.

This morning I couldn't find sleep again. If I weren't so exhausted, I would be giddy. Today I am moving from this noisy apartment to my new home, which I refer to as the Duplex of my Dreams. Never did I believe a 1,000-square-foot duplex could be sanctuary to me.

Five months ago, I was a homeowner with a good job that paid a living wage. When I was laid off, I had to sell my house immediately before it became a short sale. A week before Christmas, I moved into this diminuitive one-bedroom apartment.

At the time, it was a sanctuary. I needed to move quickly, and of all the apartments I looked at, this one was clearly the best in my price range.

But I hadn't lived in an apartment for more than two decades, and the transition from quiet nights in a house to interrupted slumber in this apartment has taken its toll. Even with ideal sleep conditions, I am an insomniac. Most people likely could sleep through the noises that have robbed my sleep and frayed my edges. But I am a light sleeper.

After three months of o'dark thirty Dumpster action outside my front door and my oblivious, noisy neighbor whose television blares all night through our common bedroom walls, the sleeplessness has worn me out.

Now that I am working again, sleep is essential. So even though I will lose my hefty deposit, I am moving today to a quiet duplex in my old residential neighborhood sans Dumpster and noisy neighbors. The tenant on the other side of my duplex is an older single woman who owns a cat.

This apartment has its charms. Built in 1928, it has hardwood floors, French doors and a cozy gas fireplace. It's in the heart of a trendy commercial district with coffee shops, ethnic restaurants, antique stores and a tattoo parlor just across the alley from my living room windows.

If I were 25, this would be the ideal place to live. It has a great vibe and so much to do. The tattoo parlor is so close that I could get a tattoo practically by just sticking my arm out my window. Alas, I am not 25, and I don't want a tattoo. I just want to sleep soundly.

My new home also has charm. Built in the 1940s, it has hardwood floors, built-ins, windows for glorious natural light, a humongous kitchen, oodles of storage space and even a private, tiny backyard with a patio and garden space. My new sanctuary.

For the past three months, my cat, Anakin Skywalker, has been forced to be an indoor kitty. Now he can find his own santctuary by escaping the confines of the house to lie in the sun.

My new place is also within easy walking distance of this trendy neighborhood so I can have the best of both worlds: divine sleep, essential garden therapy and still being walking distance to my favorite coffee shop.

Last Saturday night, knowing it was the last weekend in my apartment, I took a farewell stroll through my trendy neighborhood to Ice Cream Renaissance, where I ordered my favorite: one scoop of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair ice cream on a sugar cone. It was the first ice cream I'd had in three months.

As I walked back to my apartment, I savored the flavor of the ice cream and my neighborhood. Because it was St. Patrick's Day, bagpipers wearing kilts were performing at Pop Culture. People had spilled onto the sidewalk to chat. I spied the owner of the Moroccan restaurant across the street listening to the bagpipes too.

Midway through my ice cream, I realized how amazing it has been to be a part of this neighborhood when I needed the sanctuary it offered. And how blessed I am to be able to move forward into my new sanctuary offering peaceful slumber and a garden to boot.

I took another lick of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair and walked home, dreaming of planting tomatoes, sunflowers and lavender.

Involuntary Simplicity: Living with Less

If you had four weeks to pare down your possessions by more than a third, what would you keep and what would you let go? What are your essential possessions? What can you do without? What should you have released years ago?

Three months ago, I had to unburden myself of a third of what I owned when I was laid off from my job and was forced to immediately sell my house before it became a short sale.

My friend Wess Daniels, a released Quaker minister, referred to my circumstances as "involuntary simplicity." This is the polar opposite of the intentional simplicity practiced by devout Quakers. He was spot on in describing my circumstances.

Thankfully, I sold my house and was able to pay off the mortgage. A week before Christmas, I moved from a four-bedroom, 2,400-square-foot house to a one-bedroom, 650-square-foot apartment. It has one closet.

We had lived in the house for a decade. The basement, garage and three enormous attics were crammed with "stuff and junk," to borrow a term from Lydia, my Swedish grandma.

The task of downsizing was daunting. It also was enormously freeing. What didn't fit in the new apartment would be packed into a storage unit.

Did I really want to pay to store boxes of my son's favorite toys? Over the course of birthdays and Christmases he had amassed a collection of very large toys with piles of accessories: a pirate ship, a castle, a cowboy Western town, a Robin Hood set and enough Star Wars action figures to populate a toy store.

If my son were still a little boy, I would have kept all of his toys. But he is nineteen, and said he didn't need to keep any of his old toys. I kept one of the large playsets and most of the Star Wars action figures. My mom helped me box up the rest and I drove it to the homeless shelter. It was mid-December, and some kids at the shelter would be delighted on Christmas morning.

These kinds of decisions had to be made hundreds of times. Why was I keeping my cross-stitching patterns and supplies when my eyes hadn't been able to focus on the detail work for years?

Why was an entire shelf in my kitchen storing a gaudy set of 1960s china that had been passed down from two previous generations? I had never used it, and my daughter didn't want it either. Donate!

As dozens and dozens of boxes and bags were carried out of the house to be donated, I began to feel unburdened. Lighter. Able to think clearer.

Three months after downsizing, I still keep a donation box by the front door. As I continue to sift through belongings, I fill a box with what I no longer need and drop it off  at the American Cancer Society thrift shop, where the ladies know me and my story by now.

I vow to never let "stuff and junk" take over my life again. Before I bring anything new into my apartment, I get rid of something I already own.

A few years ago, before these big changes in my life, I dreamed that my family was forced to evacuate our house and could take only what we could carry. My arms were piled with useless stuff, including my humungous "Betty" doll from childhood. I am embarrassed to say that at that point, I was still holding onto Betty, who was stored in a box in the basement.

What a struggle it was for me to take just a few steps with all this stuff in my arms! I kept dropping stuff and was in despair about trying to determine what was important enough to tote around with me.

I no longer have that dream.

When Good Things Fall Apart so Better Things Can Fall Together

I'm sitting in my favorite neighborhood coffee shop, La Bella Cafe in Uptown Village, where the barista greets me by name and knows my drink of choice: skinny Big Train Chai. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon and I've come here to relax and write. It's special time I anticipate each week.

However, today the regular barista who knows me by name is not working and the shop has run out of my favorite chai. I am not a coffee drinker, which is a rarity here in the rainy Pacific Northwest, home of Starbucks and Seattle's Best. So I ordered a nonfat Mexican hot chocolate instead. And I was pleasantly surprised at how spicy and delicious it was.

On the oversized chalkboard near where I sit, someone has written this apropos quote:

"Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."

It's certainly true in my life, even down to the most minute circumstances. If the coffee shop hadn't run out of my favorite chai, I wouldn't have tasted the delicious Mexican hot chocolate. I would have missed that experience of trying something new. And I am all about trying new experiences.

If I were to step back and look at the bigger picture, this quote is very appropriate for many areas of my life. I'll bet it is for yours too.

Good thing that fell apart: Being laid off from a job that I had poured my heart and soul into for four-and-a-half years.

Resulting good thing that fell together: Starting a new job at the Columbian newspaper that uses my writing skills, but that only requires 40 hours a week. It's so refreshing to be able to leave work and know that I did my job and now have the evening or even an entire weekend for my own pursuits. How refreshing!

Good thing that fell apart: When I lost my job, I had to sell my charming 90-year-old house before it became a short sale.

Resulting good thing that fell together: Becoming a renter for the first time in a long time freed up my time, money and energy that I was expending to maintain a large, vintage house and a yard.

Good thing that fell apart: When I sold my house, I had to downsize very quickly from a three-story house to a one-bedroom apartment.

Resulting good thing that fell together: Before I moved, I had to examine countless boxes of stuff that we had hidden away in the attic--and I got rid of about half of what I owned. That was extremely freeing.

Good thing that fell apart: When I had to downsize and move quickly, even though I was under tremendous stress, I was too busy to stress eat and I was moving my body double time to clear out the house.

Resulting good thing that fell together: My health! As I was going through boxes, I found my workbook about mindful eating and I started examining at my relationship with food with new eyes. Without even trying, I lost 10 pounds in December. That was such an encouragement to me that I joined our community gym and started working out regularly. I have lost a total of 22 pounds and several inches so far. I'm more than a third of the way to my goal in just three months!

I even joined a dragon boat team, the Mighty Women, and I'm anticipating my first dragon boat race this spring. With all the paddling and other exercising, I am changing my body to a much stronger, healthier and smaller body. That's definitely a better thing!

Many good things fell apart in the last two years of my life, but they have been replaced by better things. I'm happier than I have been in a long time. I am living. I am having adventures. I am paddling my own canoe--and having the time of my life.

The next time something good falls apart in your own life, don't despair. Be on the lookout for a better thing to fall together.