Starting...Now!

My sister and I are only 14 months apart and grew up sharing a room and even a bed. While some people are incredulous when I tell them this, it never seemed strange to us. (Rather than Irish twins, I guess we were "Dutch twins" -- born close together and too frugal to buy another bed.) When I think of my childhood bedtimes, I remember my Dad squeezing between us to pray and tell us stories (and often falling asleep before we did), and playing ever-exciting games like "Don't come over this imaginary line" and "Let's see who talks first." Inevitably, the silence of the No Talking Game would immediately be broken to clarify a rule or make an all-important declaration. We'd begin by saying, "Starting...Now!" but that phrase needed to be repeated several times.

"Starting...Now!"

"Okay, but if I win..."

 "Starting...Now!"

"One more thing -- if you fall asleep first..."

 "Starting...Now!"

And isn't that -- the starting and then the continual re-starting -- often the hardest part?

I was thinking of this phrase recently when I (once again) got behind on something -- and the shame of beginning again got in the way of digging out of my hole.

For example, I get maybe, oh, 10 months behind in #3's baby book, and decide maybe I just should bury it further in the closet. I vow to eat healthier, and then after that third piece of pizza, think maybe I'll try again next week. I start a daily Bible reading plan and find myself a couple of days behind, and rather than just clicking that "Catch Me Up" button, I justify this as a good reason to quit altogether.

And here I go again. "Starting...Now! Starting...Now!"

In her book, Bread and Wine, Shauna Niequist tells of how she wanted to run a marathon, but found herself always answering next year, next year, next year. Convicted of this, she committed. "Yes. I'm signing up," she writes. "And I did. And then I dug out my running shoes -- shoes that had been to the coffee shop and the farmers market but had never been running."

I'm working really, really hard the last few years on learning to say no. I have a problem with overcommitting and filling my calendar to the point of exhaustion. I have a tendency to worry about "What will they think?" before considering small details like priorities, sleep, and mental health.

Yet, the further I get in this journey, the more I realize that it's less about the words yes or no and more about deciphering the voice of Truth from the voices of fear and guilt.

I'm currently reading (very slowly, because I have to keep re-starting) Daring Greatly by Brené Brown.   It's a challenging book about being vulnerable, combatting shame, and living more wholeheartedly. If I haven't recommended it to you already, I'm doing so now.

My tendency as I begin each new chapter, each new section, is to feel a bit of relief as she introduces a struggle (foreboding joy, perfectionism, a tendency to numb yourself) that I'm sure I don't have. And then I keep reading and think, "Oh, crap. How did she get inside my head again?"

And maybe that's the struggle with beginnings, with second tries -- it's the vulnerability of knowing you might mess it up again, it may not turn out right, you may need to start again. It's about, as Brown calls it, shame resilience -- leaning into the pain, leaning into the joy, owning the story.

We may beg for do-overs and second tries as children, but as adults we often avoid anything that would involve us admitting our weaknesses, our mistakes, our secrets -- but this morning, every morning, I know I desperately need a re-start. I need grace.

So, anyone want to start again with me?