Category: What I’ve Learned

How Homeschooling in Middle School Affected My QLC in My 20′s

posted 31st August 2010    Written by: Doniree    CATEGORY: Doniree, Family, Season 3, What I've Learned

I was homeschooled through most of middle school.

Specifically, I was homeschooled for five and a half years during third, fifth, sixth, seventh, half of eighth, and ninth grade. I used to really enjoy telling people this because I felt as though my family busted right through the stereotype that was homeschooling, particularly the ‘how’d you have a social life?‘ and ‘didn’t that shelter you?‘ questions that typically followed.  However, I don’t think that stereotype exists really anymore, so now when I talk about those five and a half years, I tout what I felt were the really strong contributors to my work ethic and relationships today.

So, this is my homeschooling story.

Why we did it

Here’s the short story: My parents decided to homeschool my sister and I after my second grade year and her first grade year. They’d run into a bit of a disagreement with the school administration over what kind of information they could and wouldn’t share with parents about what the students were being taught and tested on. Feeling as though they should get to have some idea about what their six and seven year old were being taught, they pulled us out of public school after that year and took matters into their own hands – using an approved national cirruculum from a private school based in Florida.  That was that.

Lessons Learned

Being homeschooled from essentially late elementary school through middle school was pretty formative, and in retrospect, one of the best things to have happened to me. I appreciate the development that happened in those years and feel that there are three things in particular that have shaped me and have influenced my work ethic, professional direction in life, and ultimately the handling of my own quarter-life crisis.

I’m grateful for the years my parents taught us at home because:

I learned how to self-teach. Perhaps one of the best things to come out of being homeschooled from 3rd-9th grade is the ability I developed to teach myself information.  We had cirriculum and my parents were great teachers, but ultimately I was responsible for reading, understanding, and presenting the information I learned about each of the topics we studied.  This came in handy especially in college when professors weren’t spoon-feeding us everything anymore, and expected students to take responsibility for their own futures.  Today, as a self-employed blogger, consultant, and aspiring yoga teacher, the ability to keep myself motivated and constantly learning is as much a crucial part of my personal growth as it is my professional life.

It changed the way I believed work time should and could be structured. I remember starting our “school day” at 8AM (yes, we had to be “on time”) and being done by or shortly after lunch.  What took middle schools 7 hours to teach and accomplish between hallway time, lunch hours, etc., we nailed in 4-5 hours.  Since I’ve left the “traditional” work force again this fall, I’m back to working from home for a few different clients.  Knowing that it’s possible to “work smarter, not longer hours” keeps me focused in the mornings so I have my afternoons to work on my own projects, take yoga, and spend time with my friends – for the most part.  The golden nugget of this set-up is that it reinforces balance, something that remains a massive priority in my life.

The things I’ve learned from my family are some of the most important lessons I’ve learned in my life. From teacher-student lessons to parent-daughter lessons, I’ve learned more than how to manipulate a curfew and how to diagram a sentence.  Thanks to Ma, Pops, Mir, and Jeff, I’ve learned:  Alabama history, how to sauté mushrooms, what to cook cornbread in, how important the first grade is, what a laminating machine could be used for, how to pronounce “Gewurztraminer,” how to play Canasta, what an ERA is, the Caray family lineage (Harry, Skip, and Chip), some inner workings of today’s school system, how to cook with wine, and the importance of down time, alone time, and family time.

A Balance of Learning

Miranda and I went back to public school for high school, and I have to be honest – I loved it.  I know a ton of people who hated their middle and high school years, but I look back on middle school and I see a time in my life where foundations were set, where habits and work ethics were developed, and relationships with my mom, dad, and sister were strengthened.  I look back on high school and see a time when all of those previous years enabled me to self-teach and stay far on top of assignments and classwork in high school, enabled me to keep my head on straight and only get into a little bit of trouble, and ultimately appreciate the balance that was spending a few focused years learning at home so that I could spend the last years of my pre-secondary education rounding out academics with relationships and getting a better idea about what I wanted to do after that.

Role models and support systems

Family plays a huge role in who we are, and how I’ve landed where I’m at today.  I’m eternally grateful for having a support system of parents, a sister, and in the last few years, a brother-in-law that stayed supportive as I hammered out all of my big dreams.  Big dreams that have included from the very start writing, travel, self-managing, and constant learning and now into my late twenties really haven’t changed that much, but through their counseling, teaching, and unconditional love have been better defined and pursued than ever.

{Image credit: I swiped it from my sister’s Facebook page.}

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The Line Between Independence and Aloneness

posted 29th August 2010    Written by: Lindsey    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Lindsey, Love/Relationships, Travel, What I've Learned

There is this really hilarious picture, lost in the electronic abyss of my dead external hard drive, taken at a picnic a few years back. It is the perfect picture of me and the ‘rents.

My parents are calmly standing over their paper plates of picnic fare. Their eyes are on the verge of rolling, but not quite. And in the forefront is me: taking a pause from my stride, striking a ridiculous pose and making a more ridiculous face.

I’m out there, in a way that is quite foreign to my very-normal-American family. I talk loudly, and act louder. I take risks in a way that people don’t, often. I push boundaries that will potentially lead me to failure because it brings a fullness to my life. I’ve claimed my personal freedom to live life for myself.

But I also am drawn by the power of my family. Living at home this summer, I’ve found incredible support and love that I had been distanced from, living out on my own. Being surrounded by my parents, my brother, even my dog, I realize this incredible unit of people, joined by blood and genetics and years of experience and love, is an important key to my personal grounding.

I can’t explain where my free spirit came from, but I know I can’t help but dream big and live with my head in the clouds of possibility. My roots, connecting me to something stable, that is my family.

Here is my million dollar question: how do I find a balance?

Interdependence is a higher state than Independence

When I am alone I miss: Connectedness. Deep conversation. Human contact. Sometimes, when I’m on my own for a really long time and then get a real hug its like fireworks explode. Human contact is an oh-so-beautiful luxury, and something I’ve learned to cherish, more than ever before.

Independence is an art that allows openness to new experience and ideas. Being comfortable, surrounded by the love and support of my family is good. But ripping that away in the raw emotion of aloneness, that is a crazy new game of self-discovery. It leads to personal introspection, development, productivity.

However, alone this track of being alone, I’ve also found myself being more impulsive in my relationships. Seeking deep bonds that emulate those of my family. Depending on newfound friends to hold me down in the way that family does.

Remember my story of how I got back to Michigan this summer? There were several affairs of the heart, that moved me across this country, and each time I was just SURE that this was the answer, that here was someone who’d love me and ground me and support my crazy ideas and be a mobile and modern version of my family.

But impulses are gnarly, dude. They make me an expert in heartbreak, a girl whose hardly been in any relationships long enough to warrant heartbreak possible. And I tend to be overwhelmed by my weak (or possibly far too strong) heart, crushed. Feeling alone.

Hit the Road, Jack, But Always Come Back

There is a moral to this story of heartbreak and aloneness and knowing, if anything, my family will always love me: one-way plane tickets, baby. (After defining and writing out my Joy Equation goals and one good conversation with a friend, there I was at 3 am on Kayak.com.)

Am I running away? Believe me, everyone I’ve told about my impulse decision has accused me of this. I’ll even admit it: I AM running away. Away from the idea of settling and of putting my BIG DREAMS on hold to “be responsible” and start my career. Away from the scary prospect of not changing, not expanding my mind with the great glory of humanity and their beautiful voices and opinions.

Don’t think me a coward, I’m definitely running towards something too: my big dreams. Dedicating myself fully to my actual goals, rather than making them my after-work fare as they’ve become this summer. Surrounding myself with friends who are living the lifestyle I have become preachy and non-actionable about. Towards a conviction that I can be truly independent, and fully in charge of my life. Towards filling my life with experience, and a further developed worldview, a clarity only achieved with the action that global motion brings.

Again, I will be alone.

It takes away the buffer of friendships and romance and family. It gives raw realness to everything. It teaches me something every day. I have new perspective since I paused my nomadic lifestyle to come home this summer. I am clear with my goals. I have recalibrated and I am ready to keep going.

There is something else you should know about me: I have this really frustrating belief that I am meant to be alone, stemming from some bitch palm reader at my high school prom. (WTF, right?!) I am trying to change this. But I have never really admitted it to anyone besides random boyfriends that fizzle out soon after.

I am holding myself publicly accountable on this next stage of life, that no matter what, I am not destined to be alone. I have family that loves me. I have friends that love me. And, what really matters in all of this, I have myself. I must love myself.

{photo credit : α is for äpΩL †}


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Good Enough is Good Enough

posted 28th August 2010    Written by: Renee    CATEGORY: Creativity, Inspiration, Renee, Season 3, What I've Learned

I sat down to write this post and got halfway through it and decided there was no fluidity, no form, no voice, and the whole thing was crap.

It’s writer’s block and it terrifies me. As someone who thrives on feeling productive, knowing that I just scrapped an hour’s worth of work makes me feel helpless and worthless.

I pride myself on my writing efficiency. In undergrad, I could knock out a three-to-five page paper in less than an hour. It would be a coherent, comprehensive work, too. Often, these papers would earn A’s, especially if it was for a class I really enjoyed.

Today? The writing isn’t coming easily. So instead I refill my glass of water… tap out a couple more words…  I check the mail… reread what I’ve written… I grab some string cheese from the fridge… delete a paragraph… I put another coat of nail polish on… and decide, screw it, this idea is not happening today.

And what can I do? How do I find inspiration when my energy turns negative? How should I expect myself to produce top-notch content when I feel sour about every word I type? How do I keep that Judgey McJudgerson voice in my head from constantly judging?

Is there anything more frustrating than not accepting what you produce? Be it music, art, writing, calculations, or whatever your line of work may be. It’s like, you don’t accept it so your client or readers or whatever sure as hell won’t accept it, either. But you know you’re your worst critic, so you try to look at it with someone else’s eyes and it actually just looks worse than you thought it did and please would that judgey voice STOP being all judgey in my head?

You’re certain when you submit it, it’s all mumbo-jumbo and you’re certain you’re just about to be fired because whatever you just submitted is total crap and your four year-old goddaughter could have created something way better than this. Is it naptime yet?

But then I take a step back. I take a deep breath. I roll out the tension in my shoulders. Each article, blog post, paper I write doesn’t have to be perfection. It doesn’t always have to break glass ceilings and burst through uncharted territory and thrill each and every reader. But it has to reach a level of acceptance.

One of my idols, Jane Fonda, writes in her autobiography, “Good enough is good enough.” Sometimes, that’s the best I can do and if I put forth good enough effort, then it’s good enough for me and it’s good enough for my audience. I can be proud of that.

I’m afraid of silly things—revolving doors, salmonella poisoning, things that go bump in the night–but I’m most afraid of not living up to my own expectations. I need to let myself off the hook from time to time and for God’s sake Renee just relax. Being authentic doesn’t mean being perfect, it means being the best version of yourself and meeting yourself where you are and being OKAY with that.

It’s gonna be okay. Relax.

[photo credit: AndWat]

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Happy Wives and Stay At Home Moms Still Get Lonely

posted 27th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Family, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 3, What I've Learned

One day we took my husband to work and headed to the little petting zoo in the next town over. The sun was shining. It was warm–warm for March in Chicago: 53 degrees according to the car. My son was happily speaking his toddler-speak…something about planes, sky, and going to the “zoom.” I had all of this wonderful light, bright, happy, great stuff going on, and yet. . . . And yet I was so overwhelmed; drowning in sorrow, loneliness. I almost started crying.

That morning I just felt so alone. There was no one to share my happiness with that day. No one to share that school-girl giddiness. No one to call up and meet for coffee and a quick chat in the backyard. I missed my old home. I missed my friends. I missed the tall oaks–how they lined the streets and shaded you from the mid-day sun. And the broken-up city sidewalks with their names set in blue and white mosaic tiles at each intersection. I missed the strawberry smoothies and melt-in-your-mouth croissants from the coffee shop down the road. I missed the old craftsman windows and Tudor peaks, the sirens from the police station on 63rd, and the neighborhood market with its fresh flowers and juicy scallops.

I am used to being alone.  After all, I am an INFJ—emphasis on the “I”.  My family moved around a lot when I was young (it is difficult to cultivate deep friendships when you move every 1-3 years).  Before children, my Saturdays were spent walking down to the coffee shop, reading best-sellers, watching movies in bed, and running on the trails— alone.

There are few whom I call friends; I consider most to be acquaintances.  And over the past few years I’ve become quite stingy with my friendship, extending it only to those whom I deem worthy.  (Wow. I hope that doesn’t sound like I think my ish don’t stink.  I just am more careful about in whom I invest my time and energy.)  Yet, lately I find myself craving connection on a level that I never have before.

I was not prepared for this loneliness thing.  When I envisioned my life as a stay-at-home mom I saw myself carting the kids to and from playgroups and playdates, chatting it up on the park bench while the children slid down the slides.  There is some of that, but not nearly enough.  It turns out that as I have gotten older, become a wife and a parent, making friends has not been so easy.  Family schedules don’t always mesh.  Children do not always play nicely.  Parenting philosophies differ.

I thought that I could fill the void by connecting with my tribes online.  Don’t get me wrong—the places and spaces I found on the internet are full of inspiring individuals and communities.  They are uplifting, supportive, encouraging and all around awesome!  However, they are no replacement for real human, face-to-face interaction.  Virtual hugs do not compare to the warm embrace of a kind soul.  I prefer “LOL”s to be literal: deep hearty laughs exchanged over a glass of wine and a medium pepperoni pizza. We humans are not made to be alone.  I need to go find my people.

photo credit

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Collision Course

posted 24th August 2010    Written by: Doniree    CATEGORY: Doniree, Love/Relationships, Season 3, What I've Learned

I had this crazy revelation not too long ago about love and relationships that changed the way I looked at them.  It changed what I was looking for out of all of that, and despite every single romantic comedy telling me otherwise, I knew this to be true:

I do not want someone to complete me.  I do not want to complete someone else.  I don’t want to be a puzzle piece, a void-filler, an other half.  I am a whole person.  I want another whole person to complement the whole woman I am, to make me twice as loving, giving, and powerful as I am on my own, and I wanted for me to be that to him.

I also realized that went against just about everything our culture tells us, everything Jerry Maguire taught us (you…. complete… me), and everything Hallmark wants us to believe about love and relationships.

Rollercoasters and Wild Rides

I didn’t decide to be single for so long – at first.  One pseudo-relationship ended, and it was years before an actual real one began again and in those years I became a media buyer, kicked blogging up a few notches, decided to become a yoga teacher slash freelance writer slash freelance jack-of-all-trades slash nomad.  And maybe I didn’t have time for dating, maybe I didn’t notice if guys had been interested in me, maybe I was so fiercely independent that the idea of bringing someone else into the equation that was my life seemed like the worst possible idea, or maybe the right guy was still halfway across the country living in a mountain town and plotting his own move to Boulder, Colorado.

Or maybe it was all of the above.

The one thing I was at least conscious of was that fiercely independent part.  I remember telling a friend at some point that it seemed like torture, this idea of subjecting some innocent man to my Wild and Big Dreams Life on top of the fact that I didn’t want to settle in any one place in particular for years on top of the fact that I was becoming some hybrid of geeky granola hippie blogger that was still sort of being figured out.

Collision Course

Sometime in the middle of my yoga teacher training (which started in September 2009), I decided I was going to move out of Minnesota.  By mid-December and after deliberations around Chicago and Denver, I finally knew I needed to be in Boulder, Colorado.  I felt it in my heart – I was supposed to come here.  I was never not coming here.

Right around the time I made the decision to pursue the teaching certification, a certain web designer with his own curious spirit and adventurous heart moved from a Colorado mountain town down to Boulder-town,  seeking a more social social life and new relationships.

In February 2010, our paths crossed for the first time – thank you Twitter.  By mid-March, we were buds and randomly running into each other at happy hours around town.  The first week of April, that all changed somewhere over the course of one particular happy hour that turned into bar-hopping that turned into trivia night that ended with the realization that this guy was Something Important.

We shared the same framework, the same geeky interests, and the same overwhelming desire to travel and experience our world – even the places we wanted to see were the same.  I moved to Boulder and met this man who knew that he wanted to spend a few years moving around and living in different cities to really experience life and culture in each of them.  Oh, I do believe I’ve said that before, have I not?

Hint: your high school English Lit teacher would call this foreshadowing.  Stay tuned on that one.

Going my way?

It’s funny.  We have the story we tell people about how we met, and it usually starts with “Well, the short story is on Twitter.”  And then we launch into the longer story about the business he owns, about how I found them online, and about how we then met in a coffee shop one afternoon because of all that.  That’s what we tell other people and our friends when they ask.

The story we tell ourselves is much simpler:  We were on a collision course, our separate decisions leading us to the same place, turning the same page to a new chapter.

The chapter that was born out of a complete upheaval of decisions, of career, and of direction.  A page that turned only after I followed my heart to a big little town in Colorado, to a commitment to myself and my yoga mat, and to a career made possible by an Internet connection and an obsession with writing.

There was an idea of this whole person who needed to be as sure of herself and decisions as she was sure of the sunrise every morning and the sunset every night.  My intentions and convictions were tested and put through the fire, and at some point I emerged a more authentic and complete version of me.  And it was almost immediately after that that my heart opened and our worlds collided, and here we are.


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