Why it's okay to cry about Alan Rickman.

Before I'd opened my eyes this morning, there was a text waiting in my phone that Alan Rickman had died. I, like most people, had no idea he was sick. 

So I spent some time Googling him, reading about his life, his wife who he'd been with since 1965, his roles on stage and on film. And then came the tributes from actors and actresses who'd worked with him, from J.K. Rowling, from BBC News and other media outlets. 

And then came the tributes from the fans - it seemed like every post on my Facebook newsfeed this morning was about Alan Rickman's work. 

And then I started crying a little bit, because the posts were so sweet and so tender; because it's always sad when someone dies. And I couldn't help but feel a little silly that I was crying over someone I'd never met, who I'd never known personally, but only as characters in movies. 

Obviously this is not about me, gosh, no. But I wonder what the kind of tiny grieving we all do in moments like this says about the way our lives get touched by others. It's a special kind of sadness when people we don't know, but feel like we know, are gone. 

As I thought more about it, I don't think it's silly to cry. No, not one bit. 

We didn't know him, but we know the kind of work he produced. In the same way fans of David Bowie's work are mourning their memories this week, I have memories of watching Sense and Sensibility (over and over) with my mom, of Galaxy Quest being projected on a giant screen at my friend's farm, of Harry Potter midnight premieres, of Die Hard this last Christmas Eve in Tulsa.

And all those memories were brought to me in part by this person who found his gift early, and used it to play rich parts, to give joy and belly laughs and heart-panging sincerity to millions of people.

So I didn't know him, of course. But I know what he gave. And it's the loss of that kind of gift that I think we all mourn, somehow. And I think that's okay.

Because without acknowledging the sad parts of life - the parts that stick us right between the ribs, the parts that make us tear up before we even realize we felt something - how do the joyful parts of life have any meaning at all? I think, if you're brave enough to carve out the place in your heart where deep feelings live, then you're vulnerable to these waves of sadness and mind-boggling thrill. It's scary to be subject to your feelings, but oh man...

What a beautiful way to live.

Wouldn't you imagine that these artists - Bowie, Rickman, and their contemporaries - wouldn't you imagine they probably cried a little sometimes, too? Without that open heart, how can you really experience your life? How can you create work that's meaningful? That rings true across generations of people and lifestyles? I don't think you can. 

I think to live that way means you've connected with something transcendent - something that whispers that life isn't really about you. A freedom to let go of all your insecurities and anxiety and concern, and instead to give your gifts as freely as you can. 

So for all the torch bearers like these two wonderful men, who poured out their lives largely for public consumption, who helped to create some of our most precious and special memories about which they'll never know, we shed a few tears this week.

And then we go back to our lives, and hope that trying to live with an open heart can help to create even more moments of purity for us and for those around us.

May we not dam up our hearts and protect ourselves from our feelings. May we follow suit with the people who inspire us most - the transcendent ones - and seek to live outside that constant worry or regret. There is no limit to the amount of good we can do, maybe in just a few lives, if we decide to embrace a life like that.

Even when it's scary. Even when it doesn't feel great. For as long as we can. 

After all this time. 

Always. 



You have too much stuff.

If you're feeling accused at this moment, rest assured it's because I have come to the conclusion that almost everyone I know has too much stuff. Chiefly, me. 

You may be one of those wonderful, rare unicorns who is capable of getting a card from their grandparents and thinking, "This was so sweet. And I'll cherish the memory of getting this card. But the thing, not so much." Aaaaand into the garbage it goes. Because, #clean. 

This is you. 

This is you. 

If so, you are a "Jordan." You are not a "me." 

That 5th grade fun run t-shirt you gave away immediately? I still have it. Oh, did you want to see a note I passed with my friend Ginny Tyler in middle school? Gotcha. Gimme a sec and I'll root through MILLIONS OF BOXES to get it for you. 

This is my life. 

As I'm sure all of you who identify as My Fellow Packrats understand, getting rid of things is really, really hard. Every item is attached to a memory, and if you purge, you might forget it! 

This problem, which had already consumed my life, compounded on itself when I got married. All at once, I was merging my (endless sea of) stuff with Jordan's stuff, then we got all of these unbelievably generous wedding gifts. And then, to add to the hilarity, my parents moved from Alabama to Oklahoma, forcing me to go over there and take every single one of the 30 (not an exaggeration) boxes of my old stuff to my 2/2 house in Homewood.

HOLY PANIC ATTACK. 

Jordan didn't have tons of sympathy for me while sorting through literally decades of childhood memories (I could have been cleaning as I went, obviously), meanwhile I was feeling REALLY sorry for myself, a la famous ugly crier Kim Kardashian: 

When I say I am a packrat, I mean that when I went to get my boxes from my parents, there was an entire large laundry hamper full of ONLY Chi O t-shirts. This is not a drill. This is not an exaggeration. 

So I've been reading up on ways to de-clutter your life, because I just feel like it's time. Apart from the obvious physical nuisance that too much stuff is, it poses a moral question for me: why do I have this much stuff sitting around? Aren't there other people who could be using it? 

In Marie Kondo's (who is a mastermind and you should look her up immediately) books, she proposes three ideas that have changed things at Chez Scott:

  1. "Thanking something for its service." How beautiful is that? So: the items you're holding onto because they were gifts and you feel guilty throwing them/giving them away? Thank them for their service, and let them move to their next purpose. 
  2. Asking yourself, "Does this item spark joy?" She suggests confronting every single item in your house and getting real with yourself - does that item truly make you happy? If not, it's time to thank it for its service and say goodbye. 
  3. Making your items happy. Does that shirt look like it wants to be folded or hung up? Do your books need dusting? Treat your items with respect. 

Jordan and I decided this past weekend that we needed a closet/clothing overhaul. Here was our method. 

  1. We each chose three items of clothing that we knew we LOVED and would never give away. Those items were our barometer for whether future items "sparked joy." 
  2. One person sat on the edge of our bed, and the other person held up every single item of that person's clothing, like a personal assistant (this is what made it fun). The person who owned the item directed the other person to place it into one of five piles: 
    1. Give away
    2. Throw away (for items that are too damaged for anyone to get use out of)
    3. Tailor/dry clean
    4. Nostalgia pile
    5. Keep in the closet

This may sound like a lot, but let me explain a couple of them. 

3. Tailor/dry clean: We were SHOCKED at the number of items that we own and never wear simply because they're stained or ill-fitting. Jordan has so many shirts and I have almost 10 pairs of pants that just don't quite fit correctly. So we decided to nip this in the bud and finally give these items the respect they deserve. 
4. Nostalgia pile: Jordan always laments that his dad didn't keep any of his shirts from growing up in the 60's and 70's, so Jordan wanted to make sure his future son has lots to choose from. These are the items that we don't wear enough to stay in the closet, but we want to hold onto for sentimental reasons. We also promised we'd go back through this box regularly to edit as necessary. 

This process was AMAZING. I can't say enough about how freeing it was to see all the clothes we'd decided to send away from our house in some form or another. Here are our results: 

White box is of stuff we're sending to my friends and relatives who wanted it, center box is the "nostalgia pile," and right-hand box is full of things we're donating. 

White box is of stuff we're sending to my friends and relatives who wanted it, center box is the "nostalgia pile," and right-hand box is full of things we're donating. 

All of these hangers represent clothes that used to be in our home, but aren't anymore: 

And our bureau and chest of drawers, which used to be literally bursting (I couldn't fit any more of Jordan's t-shirts on his shelf so the shelves were buckled up) is now so minimalist that I can't believe we didn't do this years ago: 

Sorry for the alarmingly bad photo quality here. 

Sorry for the alarmingly bad photo quality here. 

Ultimately, this process made us feel SO great and so much lighter, in a strange way. I will say, though, as much as I wanted to pat myself on the back, this is something that's so overdue. Ladies, I'm talking to us here - it's so easy to fall victim to the lie that more = better. It's the myth of the fashion blogger. 

"I have a trench coat, but I don't have a sleeveless trench coat." - Something I have actually said out loud before.

"But I've worn this in front of these people before, I don't want them to see me in it again." - Another thing that has for sure come out of my mouth. Many times. 

There are so many people on this planet who are scraping what they have together in order to make their lives work, and I'm sifting through boxes of clothes I never wear. 

It's a gut punch.

Going through our clothes has now made me very conscious of what I'm going to buy in the future. I actually made a list of the things I need, like a new pair of tennis shoes (mine are actually falling apart) or a new pair of glasses for Jordan (his are eight years old), and I won't buy anything that isn't on that list. 

Excess isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Especially when my neighbor doesn't have enough. 

(Note: I'm aware that not everything I want to give away can be of use. Homeless shelters are constantly getting some things (like M-L men's shirts) and not others (like new socks or XXXL men's shirts), so it's worth researching what can be helpful!) 

So, are you ready to feel better and do your part to help in the process - ready? GO! 

Tom Hanks

"Where did his name come from?" 

Oh no. We must start at the beginning. 

Any of you who know my family well know that we didn't grow up with dogs. Sure, we tried it a couple of times, only to have our fears confirmed that everyone in the house was too allergic. The pet that I grew up with for the longest amount of time was a Betta fish named Tyler Perry (RIP) who lived a spectacular 2 1/2 years and died while I was at summer camp. 

It wasn't that I didn't like animals, necessarily - more that I was indifferent toward them. All dogs were to me as a child were slobbery beasts that shed all over me and made my eyeballs puff up like golf balls. Or, worse, yappy tiny animals that just wouldn't be quiet. I never felt deprived without a family dog to grow up with. 

Then I met Jordan. 

The very first time I went to visit his family in Lillian, Alabama, I got to meet Abby. Abby, a precious Labradoodle with big giant (very human) eyes, totally stole my heart and converted me into a dog person. I was hooked. I had to have one. And, thanks to the miracle of Flonase, I was now out of the allergy woods for the first time in my life.

This is us upon our first meeting. Love at first sight. 

From that point on, it was just a question of when and what kind of dog rather than if I would get one. 

On the phone one afternoon, while Jordan was still in dental school at UAB and I was teaching in Huntsville, we were ping-ponging names for my future dog. 

Editor's note - Jordan will tell you a different version of this story. 

Jordan: How about Brinkley?
MC: I feel like that is familiar to me already...whose dog is named Brinkley? OH! I know! It's Tom Hanks' dog's name in "You've Got Mail." 
Jordan: ...oh. Well, can't use that. Actually, why don't you just name him Tom Hanks? 

He then proceeded to send me a picture of a Goldendoodle (my dog of choice at the time) mashed up with Tom Hanks. It's terrifying, so scroll with caution: 

Told you. The stuff of nightmares. 

That picture made me laugh so hard that the name just stuck. 

In the spring of 2014, Abby and a black labrador...um...fell deeply in love....and she got pregnant with nine puppies. After weeks of impatiently waiting, they arrived. We got a text that the second one out, and the first male, was "chubby and had big paws," so we had a feeling that might be TH. Jordan and I happened to be at the beach 2 weeks after they were born, and it sounds cheesy, but the minute I held him, I knew. I also cried. Because as Kristen Bell says, "if I'm not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, I'm crying." 

Since that first day of snuggling this sweet puppy, I feel like my heart has broken wide open and I have an even deeper capacity to love. This dog is as much a part of our family as Jordan or me, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I loved his puppy breath. I loved how his puppy belly nearly dragged the ground after he finished eating because he's such a glutton (just like me). I love how, in a hilarious turn of events, Tom Hanks has allergies (just like me). I love his big deep sigh when he lays down for a nap (okay, again, just like me). I love how friendly he is toward new people and other dogs. I love his obedient, patient stillness even as drops of drool are falling from his mouth when he's told to wait before he attacks his food or a treat. I love that we can balance a strip of bacon on his nose and he waits until he's told to eat it. 

I love how I'm at my happiest when we take a nap together on the couch. I love his curiosity about Christmas lights and how he's a little scared of inflatable Christmas decorations in people's yards. I love how he's also, inexplicably, scared of pretzels. 

I love his just-out-of-the-bath run around the house. I love how he consistently burps on Jordan, but never on me. I love confusing passers-by as we yell, "Tom Hanks! Get back over here!" through a crowded park.

I love the steady sound of his sleeping breathing. I love how his paws twitch as they run through the open fields of his dreams when he's deep in a puppy sleep. I love how he always ends up with the last bite of food from our plates by gently resting his head on our laps at the table and gazing at us. I love how my parents have his sister, and two of our close friends have his siblings, too. I love how he doesn't care about squirrels or other moving targets, and will retrieve a ball, but then run it straight past you. I love how he knows when I'm sad and sits on my feet. I love his beard. I love the peanut butter that always ends up in his beard. 

I could go on for about ten more paragraphs. You dog people will know what I mean. Loving this precious pup has softened and changed my world in so many ways: snuggling him has made me more gentle; training him has made me more patient; just getting to sit back and watch him has made me more joyful. He's made me consider vegetarianism because I now deeply love animals and care about how they're treated. He's made me incapable of casually scrolling through Facebook, lest I find an article about a lost or abused dog.

None of my friends from Decatur can believe that I've gone from totally ambivalent about dogs to "crazy-lady-who-treats-her-dog-like-a-human-child." I can't either, really. But it was meant to be. This dog and I were always meant for each other. In a weird way, he's taught me more about what unconditional love is like - the "grow a brand new heart to accommodate all the new love you have to give" thing. I can't even imagine what having a baby will be like. I'll probably explode. 

So here's to the dog who changed everything. TH, the canine love of my life.

"Be the person your dog thinks you are." 

Netflix Rex

Jordan and I are traveling back today from Clearwater, so I'm truncating the post a bit.

BUT. 

What I'd love to be doing today, and what I'll probably do tomorrow, is snuggling up on the couch with Tom Hanks and binge-watching some Netflix. I thought I'd give you my favorite shows on Netflix right now - a comedy series, a drama series, and a documentary, and a movie.  

Comedy - The Office. 

If you haven't already watched this show, drop everything and get after it. The Office is just one of those shows that is timeless, hysterical every time, and family-friendly. This is a show I can watch with my parents, grandparents, husband, and (one day) with my kids. Jordan and I have a kind of unhealthy obsession with this show, and all seasons of it are streaming on Netflix. GO. Run to your couches. Tell Dwight I say, "False." 

Drama - Jessica Jones. 

Netflix adapted this comic book heroine into a series brilliantly carried by Krysten Ritter. If you liked her as Rory's kooky friend in Gilmore Girls, you'll love watching her be a total badass in this series. The show itself can get pretty dark, but the plot is strong, the writing is compelling, and the acting is really great. Action packed and bursting with girl-power. Worth it. 

Doc - SOMM.

I seriously can't say enough about how much we love this doc. We've watched it at least twice. Even if you know absolutely nothing about wine (like me), watching people who are training to become Master Sommeliers is the most riveting thing on Netflix. These guys can identify the region, year, and type of wine by SMELLING IT. Let that sink in. They're amazing at their jobs, and watching people be excellent is always entertaining. 

Movie - Chef.

Jon Favreau's  2014 comedy about a formerly-great-currently-washed-up chef is so heartwarming, so funny and so smart. On top of all of that, it includes the most delicious food porn and has a killer soundtrack to boot. John Leguizamo, Sofia Vergara, Scarlett Johansson, Dustin Hoffman, and Robert Downy, Jr. all help make this movie fabulous. Trust me - this is a movie that will leave you feeling inspired, warm and fuzzy, and, above all, hungry. Watch it with a big giant pizza at the ready. It's just a really delightful watch. 

Happy binging! See you Monday. 

 

Run your race, tell the truth.

Jordan and I took a trip to Clearwater, Florida tonight. We're here through Saturday - more on that later. 

On the plane, though, I got to finally sink my teeth into Jen Hatmaker's "For The Love," which I got for Christmas but haven't yet been able to read. (It also served to distract me from the completely out-of-nowhere anxiety about flying I've developed. ...what? Where did that come from?)

I used to say that God lived in the "Shuffle" setting on my iPod (#throwback), because somehow the right song would always play, time after time, song after song. But now I think God lives in moments like cracking open this book on a day when I tried something major.

When I posted this blog to Facebook this morning, I can't tell you how fast my heart was beating. Not because I thought that anything big would happen - I'm not self-important enough to believe that. But because, as my friend Erin White put it, blogs can often appear to be "an exercise in vanity." I was so worried that people would think, "WE-heh-helllll, someone thinks a lot of themselves, don't they??" 

And then I started to get the nicest text messages. And comments on the Facebook post. And people shared the link. (Okay, I made my mom share it, but there were others who did it unprompted, I swear.) 

This is not because I am a big deal. This is not because I am an accomplished writer. I am neither of those things.

This is because, when you have cultivated a circle of people who love you even when you are undeserving, they cheer you on when they know you are on the right track. 

Jen says it better than I could in "Run Your Race:"

"Maybe you need to invest in your gifts. Take a class. Go to a conference. Sign up for a seminar. ... Say yes to that thing. Stop minimizing what you are good at and throw yourself into it with no apologies. Do you know who will do this for you? No one. You are it. Don't bury that talent, because the only thing that fear yields is one dormant gift in a shallow grave. ...You are good at something for a reason. This isn't fake or a fluke or small." 

Um, whoa. 

My initial reaction to writing that into this blog post is, "Yikes, if I include that paragraph, will people think, 'Wow, she sure is tooting her own horn. 'Don't bury that talent?' Okay, diva. Psh. She has a blog. Big deal. Everyone has a blog." 

And then, heavyweight Brené Brown brings the "two" in this one-two punch of REALNESS: 

"Daring greatly is not about winning or losing. It's about courage. In a world where scarcity and shame dominate and feeling afraid has become second nature, vulnerability is subversive. Uncomfortable. It's even a little dangerous at times. ...But nothing is as uncomfortable, dangerous, or hurtful as believing that I'm standing on the outside of my life looking in and wondering what it would be like if I had the courage to show up and let myself be seen." 

More than anything, this blog is an exercise in not in vanity, but in vulnerability. In saying, "I don't think I'm the best, but this is something I have to offer." I think I'm pretty good at writing and I think I'm a pretty good encourager, and those two things combined could provide a moment of not-aloneness for someone else. A moment of community, maybe. 

I don't know if that counts as "the world's deep hunger." Maybe only one person's. Maybe only my mom's. But this is my deep gladness, and because of all the people in my corner, I finally had the gumption to share it. I'm not curing cancer - I certainly don't mean this to be overblown - but today, for me, this was a step toward something that scares me and thrills me, all at the same time.

Your turn.