Don't Be a Loser

How do you improve value?

If you're trying to make a house worth more, you might tear out that old carpet and put in hardwood floors. You might replace the roof. You might fence the yard, add some killer landscaping, or finish the basement. You might overhaul the kitchen and repaint the rooms.

You might, in your quest for renovation perfection, scour Pinterest and Instagram for inspiration, pinning posts of great before-and-after exteriors, awesome living room decor, and cool backsplashes.

A house is a thing that's basically defined by the sum of its parts. It can be appraised, it can become run down. If left on its own, it loses value until maybe nobody wants it. It might be better off demolished or given over to the fire department for a controlled burn.

Some houses are winners and some are losers.

You are not a house. You do not have value based on the sum of your parts. You cannot be appraised. If left alone, you will not lose value until nobody wants you anymore. You are not in need of renovation. You do not need to scour social media for ideas of how to make yourself over to improve your value.

If you have ever thought that you're not as valuable as another person, I am here to tell you to stop being a loser. As you compare yourself to other people and see your deficiencies as you place your life side by side with someone else, you choose to lose. You might wish to win, but someone is always better than you, so how can you possibly stop being a loser?

Now, some might feel motivated by wishing for the success and appearance of someone else. Isn't that a good thing? If your motivation comes from "not being a loser" because you won't have value until you change, then I'm here to tell you that there's a better way. Because, if your goal is to be a winner, someone else must lose. You inevitably wish to place someone lower on the rungs of life so that you can feel like a success.

Here are some signs that you maybe might hope for someone to be a loser so that you can be a winner:

• You think things like, "I might not be as fast as her, but at least I'm not as slow as him," or, "I'm lapping everyone on the couch."
• You prefer to be on the elite team, so that weaker members won't hold you back.
• You think like a victim, believing that mistakes are not your fault, but instead the fault of the people around you.
• When meeting new people, you immediately size them up based on your own ability, appearance, or perceived worth. 

If you want to stop comparing, there is a way. 

Stop seeing yourself as a compilation of attributes that bring value. 

People are not more valuable if they are pretty.

They are not more valuable if they are accomplished.

They are not more valuable if they are faster.

They are not more valuable if they are kind.

They are not more valuable if they are educated.

They are not more valuable if they own nice things.

Unlike a house, you don't need new windows and fresh paint to increase your worth. 

When you set goals for yourself, ask yourself, and learn the "why" behind the goal. If your goal, really, is to make yourself into a person who is more valuable, you've set the easiest goal in the world, because your value is already infinite. You were born with it. You can't possibly improve it. 

If your goal is to move past the limitations you have set for yourself, perfect. If your goal is to improve your health, excellent. If your goal is to give your best day in and day out, wonderful. If your goal is to draw closer to God or to treat others with increased kindness, you're on the right track. If your goal will help you see that you've been worthwhile all along, great.

Yesterday, I had a bit of an aha moment. I was doing all the burpees, and during the second round, my tank top was drenched with sweat and was getting hot and uncomfortable. I thought, "Gee, this would be easier if I could just take my shirt off." But then I thought, no, I'm not ____ enough to do that. Thin, toned, confident... just fill in the blank. And then I remembered, I am not a house. I don't have to be uncomfortable because I haven't met the renovation benchmark I set for myself. So I took off my wet tank top, and I finished the burpees much more comfortably. 

This is Nadine. She was not yet accomplished, fit, educated, well-spoken, or talented.
She has worth. 

Once you see yourself as a person who has infinite worth, you respect yourself enough to set goals for your own benefit. You don't hate who you are, you don't wish for the qualities of others. Instead, you accept that on your path in life, there's just one person, and that person is you. You can't win or lose that race -- but you can keep moving forward, moving up. Don't be a loser. 

Love

When I was in junior high, I had a crush on a boy. He had blond hair and blue eyes and was shy like me. Like most boys in junior high, he probably didn't notice or even really care that much.

I remember how aware I was of everything he did. I would sometimes wait outside before the morning bell just so I could see him walking to school and say hi before he went inside.

When I was in high school, I had a crush on the boy I shared a locker with. I remember being so embarrassed that I am bad at keeping a locker clean that I was religious about making sure I kept my things neat. We sometimes would walk together around the outdoor baseball field and talk. 

When I was in my final year of high school, I loved somebody for the first time. There was a boy who liked me, and he would bring me gifts to my work and we would sometimes walk around the pond and talk about the future. We went out to dinner once, and I still remember wearing a light brown dress and feeling like the most special person in the world.

Then I went to college. While I was there, there were other people. There were bad first dates, bad first relationships, a lot of self-discovery, and even a hasty engagement that started and ended too soon. 

I sometimes would get discouraged because I wondered when I'd be able to meet a person and for things to just work out. No drama, no playing games, but just the ease of meeting and getting to know and falling into step.

And then I found Clark.

Our first date happened three years after I first met him. I met him in the hallway at church when I was in my freshman year of college. Or, I should say, I saw him. At that time, I was too self-conscious to actually talk to people with any degree of normalcy. I just didn't know how to act. I spent my time in high school buried in books and working to get money for college. I'd never been good at making friends, even in elementary school, when making friends should be simple. 

But we bumped shoulders every so often. 

And three years later, after chatting a few times on Facebook messenger, we went on a date on New Year's Eve. We went to see a movie, and we sat outside in the cold on the curb after and ate ice cream together. Neither of us had a car, so we walked two miles together to the movie theater and called a friend for a ride home. I wore this long plaid coat that I loved to death.

As we walked those two miles, the things that struck me most about Clark were how easy his demeanor was and how kind and self-aware he was. I felt at ease, which for me is saying something; I've always disliked meeting new people, and I still struggle to know what to say or how to say things. But Clark is the person where I don't feel that sort of internal tension or wonder what he is thinking of me. I never felt I needed to watch what I said or paint any sort of picture of myself to impress him. 

I think I might have known right then that he was the person for me. 

Clark has been gone this week, and I've had a lot of time to think. No relationship is perfect, and we're not the exception, but I do think love can be perfect even in the face of personal failings.

I don't say the right things sometimes, and Clark forgives me.

I make stupid mistakes sometimes, and he's willing to forget those things and move on.

I'm probably the weirdest person he has ever met, and he laughs instead of making fun.

I get angry for no reason, and he tries to understand anyway.

I often fail at my goals, and he encourages me to keep trying.

I'm often a puddle of anxiety, and Clark doesn't fully comprehend it, but he knows I can get better.

I often think my life, in general, is unexceptional, that my day-to-day routine is simply mundane, and that I can't really claim to be interesting, superior, or inspirational in any way. But I think the reality of love is that steady sense of belonging, that comfortable forward motion that puts the silver lining on the clouds that might cover the seasons of life. It's that two-mile walk to the movie theater in December, where the company you keep during the hike is more valuable than having a car to make the journey easier. It's caring enough to know that an unexceptional life can be made exceptional through hundreds of tiny actions.

In my religion, we believe that families can be together forever. That marriages have the potential to last forever, even beyond til' death do us part. Before I was married, I thought how romantic that was -- you love each other enough to always want to be together. But then, gradually, it meant more to me. Daily, with the small things, we might create a relationship that is prepared for such a lofty goal. Something as simple as choosing not to criticize, giving a word of encouragement, or remembering to leave the onions out of the salad are snapshots of eternity -- an eternity where you're willing to give everything you've got to ensure the happiness of another person, without resentment or fear.

One Year

Have you ever taken yourself by surprise?

I've put off writing this post because in the last few months, I've felt like I haven't made any documentable progress.

But as I was reflecting this morning, I realized that's just not true.

In the past three months, I've successfully done a full pull-up without a band. I can do 15 pushups (real pushups, not on my knees or elevated on a bench). I've increased my bench press max weight. I ran a 7:15 minute mile. I ran 5 miles in under 50 minutes. I've somehow become really good at rowing, which still shocks me every time I sit down and row.

I surprise myself every time I go to the gym. I'm amazed I can go further without quitting. I'm surprised I have the stamina to work faster. I'm stunned when I need to switch out my 35-pound dumbbell for a 40.

A year ago, I looked at the people who could rip out ten burpees no problem and I felt so far removed from them, and this morning, it was weird to think that maybe I'm one of those people. A year ago, I remember laughing every time Nick or Jeff explained a new exercise (You want me to do what, exactly?). Over the box burpees. Double box jumps. Carrying sandbags. Explosive pushups. A plank for five minutes. Maybe the most amazing thing is not that I can do these things, but that I have stopped believing that I can't.

In the last 3 months, I have not lost a single pound. My weight goes up and down a couple pounds depending on the day, and this fact was holding me back from posting. I don't have a stunning progress picture to show.

But pictures don't show the real success.

The real success is that I truly believe my body is good, regardless of how it looks on the outside.
The real success is that I'm way stronger than I used to be.
The real success is that I've met people who make me better as a person.
The real success is that I have improved my sense of self-worth.
The real success is that I've started to become more okay with failing as long as I keep going anyway.
The real success is that I've stopped talking negatively about my body.
The real success is that I've stopped believing there are things I can't do.
The real success is that I believe I'm valuable as a team member, as a person, and as a mom.

A year ago, I said I'd give this a try. Trying turns into doing, doing turns into becoming, and becoming turns into success. Over and over and over.

All or Nothing

Pretty much on a daily basis, I see all the posts and shares, and all the comments.

"Police are all racist bullies."
"F*ck the police."
"Defund the police."
"Fire those officers."
"We hate the police."

I'm biased. My husband is "the police." You can stop reading now if you want to stay in the echo chamber.

I've been told that it doesn't matter that my husband is a good, kind officer who tries to do good work because the police as a whole are broken and brutal.

Excuse me? It doesn't matter?

It doesn't matter that he carries stuffed animals in his car to give to scared kids. It doesn't matter that he always tries to reason with people before resorting to force. It doesn't matter that he counsels people who are suicidal, who have lost loved ones, who are in a great deal of pain. It doesn't matter that he tries, always, to err on the side of mercy. It doesn't matter that he is trying to write a new patrol handbook so that new officers won't have to feel like they don't know what to do. It doesn't matter that he constantly reads articles on improving his work and watches videos of other arrests to see how he can avoid the mistakes that other officers might have made. It doesn't matter that he spent a couple years before becoming an officer counseling drug addicts in rehab to rebuild their lives. It doesn't matter that he became an officer specifically to help these people. It doesn't matter that he spends even more time serving by spending weekends at the National Guard. It doesn't matter that he is always trying to improve himself, that he spends hours and dollars making sure he has all the knowledge and tools to do the best job possible.

Apparently, those things don't matter.

Because some officers push old men down.
Because some departments fail to train officers well enough.
Because some officers take things too far.
Because some officers have taken innocent lives.
Because some officers are wrong.

I suppose it only matters that he chose to be a police officer, and therefore joined the enemy. When I first approached him about becoming an officer, he initially said, "No, I don't want to do that."

"Why?" I asked. "Because I think you'd be good at it."

"Because," he said, "I don't want to be hated. I don't want to be feared. I don't want people to run when they see me."

So we looked into maybe doing the fire department instead. But then, something changed. This work would challenge me more, he thought. I could do more good here. I can communicate well, I keep calm under pressure. I could handle it.

And he has. He really has.

He comes home with gouges in his hands from holding someone in place. The gouges are there because his bare hands were against the asphalt, and he didn't want to use more force, so instead, he just held his ground and let his hands get torn up as the man struggled and fought. He comes home with his face burning with pepper spray because, in order to use it, it has to be used on you first. He comes home with his boots and clothes soaked through because he was standing beside an accident scene in the pouring rain for hours, staring at blood and gore all over the ground. He comes home from protests tired, with scratches on his arms from rocks that were thrown at him. He tries to avoid reading the news because no matter what he did that night that was good and right, those actions will not be seen. He gets a few hours of sleep, and then he leaves again to protect the people's right to free speech, while still knowing that he'll be seen as the enemy to every single person there.

I don't ask you to give up the cause of asking for reform. I don't ask you to ignore the thousands of black people who are hurt and victimized. I don't even ask you to stand down from your peaceful protests.

I just ask you, please, to say that he matters. Can you change the way you talk about him? Can you change the way you talk to your friends, your neighbors, your Facebook friends?

Can you see that officers like Clark are your allies, that they are the people you want protecting and serving? What would have happened if Clark wasn't strong enough to take a job where he knew he would be hated? What if a more blustering, ignorant person was in his place? What if he decided to use his extraordinary capacity for goodness and communication for something more respected and popular?

A good man would be home, safe in his bed, instead of getting rocks and bricks thrown at his head. As his wife, I'd count that as a win. But as a society, we would lose out on the service of a great man. He is the change you want to see.

Please tell me that it matters. Because if it doesn't -- all the anxiety, the training, the trying, the preparing, and the caring would be a waste.