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Looking Back at 2017: A Year of Personal Transformation

December 31, 2017

If 2016 was a year that reflected change for me, then 2017 is a year that embodied transformation.

What’s the difference between change and transformation, you ask? For me, change was moving to a new state and starting a new life in a completely difference place. But transformation is personal and represents evolving in a gradual, larger and more meaningful way. Yet the two work hand-in-hand — for me, the change is what brought about the transformation. That’s what 2017 has meant to me.

Twenty-seventeen has been transformative in many ways. First, my world-view has transformed. This is a direct result of moving to a new place, and meeting people I wouldn’t have otherwise encountered. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to see people and the country in a new way. Living in that new space helped me transform my own beliefs and biases.

Second, I re-evaluated what I was doing with respect to my work and writing, and made a choice to really focus on the writing and telling stories that matter to me and that can have an impact in the world. I defined who I am and what I want to stand for; and as a result, I published my first national op-ed piece about how moving from a blue state to a red state has changed my life.

Third, I embarked on a physical and mental transformation when I continued my running habit for more than one year. In the later half of 2017, I challenged myself further with physical activity I never dreamed I had the ability to do. My trainer/friend said to me, “You’ve proven you have the ability to do whatever you set out to do, whether it’s running, participating in a race, or TRX.” Her comment made me realize that the physical activity I was doing led to a mental transformation as well.

Of course 2017 was not without challenges. But I’m a big believer that everything happens for a reason, and that the difficult times are given to us in order to move on to something greater and more meaningful.

I’ve been making these year-end photo collages for the past eight years. They give me a chance to reflect on all the memories during the year. I see transformation in these photos, the most visual aspect is seeing Sophie grow up and watching the natural environment change each season. I really love that my physical space is a constant reminder that life passes by and transformation (both good and bad) happens on a regular basis. It makes me realize that nothing is permanent, and there is always possibility to make a change.

Thank you for reading Leah’s Thoughts and being part of my journey. Happy New Year, and here’s to 2018!

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The Day the Magic Died: December 26, 2016

December 20, 2017

Last year’s Christmas was the same as the years before. On Christmas Eve, Sophie left cookies, milk and carrots out for Santa and his reindeer and went to sleep with visions of sugarplums dancing in her head. She woke early the next morning (aka woke us early the next morning) and rushed downstairs to open her gifts that Santa Claus left by the chimney with care. Like the many years before, it was a magical morning.

But the next day — December 26 — the magic began to fizzle.

When I was furiously wrapping presents earlier that week, I stashed the rolls of wrapping paper under my bed (which I’d never done before). On the 26th, Sophie was playing hide with Bryan and she decided to look under the bed in the bedroom. She was not prepared for what she saw.

A few hours later, Sophie approached me with trepidation.

“I found something under your bed,” she said.

I asked her if she wanted to ask me a question. She answered yes, but then added that she’s afraid to know the answer. Only she did know the answer.

“Mom, are you and daddy Santa Claus?” she asked with tears in her eyes.

In that moment, I was at a crossroads. I could tell her the truth, or continue to perpetuate the myth, making up some excuse about why the wrapping paper was under the bed. But that just didn’t feel right. And part of me knew she already suspected the truth, and I didn’t feel right about lying.

“What do you think?” I answered.

“I think you are,” said Sophie as she burst into tears.

I gave her a hug and confirmed her suspicions.

She cried, not because she was upset with me. But for the same reason I cried when I found out the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. It’s like a part of the magic of childhood was gone.

Those years of being 8 and 9 — before the full-on tween sets in — are an interesting time. Kids are getting old enough to know what’s real and what’s not, but they still want to believe in the magic. They’re not quite ready to let go of being a little kid.

Later Sophie admitted that she started to wonder how Santa could really fit down a chimney. And how he always knew the things she wanted so much. She suggested that maybe she’d soon forget the Santa truth, and things would be back to “normal.” But we both knew that wouldn’t happen.

It seems like just yesterday when Bryan and I debated whether to embrace Santa Claus in our home. I’m so glad we did because the last five years of Santa’s existence in Sophie’s life have been so fun to witness. Especially for me, since I did not grow up believing in Santa Claus and always felt left out when Christmas rolled around.

Truth be told, I’m a little sad that tradition is over. Yet I’m glad she knows the truth too. Like every ending, it’s also a beginning and we now enter a new stage of Sophie’s tween life.

A few weeks after Sophie made her startling discovery last year, she told me she’s okay knowing the truth about Santa. And I think it made her see me and Bryan in a new light (kind of like the moment when we witness a new side of Ralphi’s Old Man in “A Christmas Story”). And then said this:

“Hey, at least I still have the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny to believe in!”

So maybe there’s still a bit of magic left in the world for Sophie after all.

A Look Through the Memories in My Childhood Scrapbooks

December 6, 2017

I’ve always thought of myself as a collector of memories, not necessarily things. The exception is when the things are symbolic of the memory itself. I’ve written about how I’ve kept many of the letters and cards I’ve received over the years. But it wasn’t until recently that I went through my old scrapbooks.

I have two scrapbooks from my childhood. The first is a Cabbage Patch Kid album that contains memories from elementary school. The second “Special Memories” book is all about the teenage and middle/high school years.

When I was looking through my scrapbooks, I found so many things — newspaper clippings, political campaign buttons, prom photos, and all the things you may expect a kid to treasure at some point. I also found items I completely forgot I had.

I read once that you should think back at what you loved as a child if you want to find your passion, or feel lost or unsure of your future path. The truth in this statement came through loud and clear as I looked through my scrapbooks because so many of the things I kept related to writing.


Here’s a look at  some of the memories I uncovered in my elementary through high school scrapbooks.

My elementary school held award assemblies where students received recognition for academic efforts. I never excelled academically, so the only awards I received were for citizenship. Things haven’t changed much; I still excel at time on task and my behavior continues to be excellent.

My dad spent the majority of his career working in academic administration at San Diego State University. He always gave me the mementos he received from attending different events. In 1984, he heard Walter Mondale, the Democratic presidential candidate, and his running mate, Geraldine Ferraro, speak on campus. The admission ticket he gave me is below. My spelling was always atrocious (“knot” and “neet”?!?). You can see why I only received citizenship awards in school.

My sister, Ellye, and I loved going to the San Diego State Aztec football games with my dad.

Hard Rock Cafe opened in the United States in 1982 and later that decade, the restaurant became really popular among my peers. I became obsessed with the restaurant and wearing the Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt that was so popular. The chain opened its first San Diego location in 1988, and going there for the first time was probably the highlight of my year.

Sophie and I attended Disneyland’s 60th anniversary celebration in 2015. At the time — and until I flipped through my scrapbook this year — I had no idea I was at Disneyland on its 35th anniversary: July 17, 1990.

On January 16, 1991, Operation Desert Shield became Operation Desert Storm when the United States attacked Iraq in the first Gulf War. Clearly I felt the need to mark the occasion on my EarthWorks daily recycling tips calendar.

I really disliked high school; always feeling like an outsider. But I found my niche on the student newspaper staff. I was so excited to be “hired” as a reporter for my high school’s Serrandipity newspaper. This is when my love of journalism and writing really took off.

I’m not sure why student journalists needed a press pass as I don’t recall many “privileges of the scholastic press.” But I was so thrilled to have one, and these were the first of the many press passes I’ve had over the years.

In the fall of 1992, I was a senior in high school and the nation was consumed with a presidential election unlike any before. This was the year that featured an established sitting president (George H.W. Bush), a rogue third-party candidate (H. Ross Perot), and a young Baby Boomer named Bill Clinton. I volunteered for the Clinton campaign and must have switched to Perot at some point, since I found both campaign buttons in my scrapbook.

I’m trying to encourage Sophie to keep a scrapbook of her special mementos. I think it’s harder now, in today’s digital age, to think you’ll never have access to memories. But I’ve learned so much about myself looking through these scrapbooks. So I hope Sophie takes my advice and looks through her collections of memories 30 years later.

My Running Journey: From Zero to Something

November 1, 2017

When I was growing up, physical activity was not my forte. I was an indoor kid who spent hours holed up in my room, writing stories and letters to pen pals, running a mail-in newsletter and sticker club (way before the days of the Internet), reading books, and listening to music. And I was perfectly happy and content doing just this. Never did I have a desire to go outside to play or participate in sports like soccer and basketball (both of which my younger sister, Ellye, was a pro in).

When I went to middle and high school, I was confronted with the dreaded hour of Physical Education (PE). Oh how I despised PE. I was always the kid picked last for every sports team. And I constantly lamented about why I had to learn games like flag football (really?!); softball (I was terrified of the ball hitting me); soccer (that was Ellye’s sport); and tennis (okay, I actually liked tennis).

But the worst – the absolute worst – was the required running of the mile each week. I HATED running with a passion. Mostly because it was hard for me. I wasn’t great at physical activity (clearly), and I was never conditioned to run/jog because I never played team sports as a kid. Every week I would try, and tell myself I could run like the wind (with the “Chariot’s of Fire” theme or Christopher Cross’ song in my head). And I always struggled. I couldn’t catch my breath and my legs got so tired and weak, to the point that I ended up walking nearly the entire mile. I was the slowest kid in the group, always coming in last, and always feeling like a failure.

When I went to college and realized I had freedom of choice, a good friend took me to her gym, where I slowly began to realize that exercise wasn’t actually a torture device. The elliptical machine and stationery bike became favorites, while the treadmill remained an enemy. Whether it was with my friend or on my own, I committed to working out a few times each week. After college graduation, my gym membership evaporated, working full time happened, and a family (house, kid, dogs, husband) made life tougher to navigate.

Over the years, I secretly wished I could be like the people I’d see running on the streets, where it looked easy and simple. I would watch Sophie run one mile every morning at her former school’s daily running club and I envied her. I loved (still love) the idea that running is simple — just your mind and body working together. You don’t need a fancy gym membership or equipment. All you really need is a good pair of shoes and (if you’re like me) some earbuds and a great playlist.

But then I’d remember the times I tried running when I was young and convinced myself I physically could not do it. It was too hard, I thought. Or I can’t breathe right. Or my physical body wasn’t built for the activity.

Then one day — October 8, 2016 — something changed in me. I had been in Indiana a little over two months, and I was thinking differently about my life and began learning new things about myself. I also loved the outside environment and nature that surrounded me. I physically longed to be in the green grass, among huge trees, nature and falling leaves (something that did not exist outside my door in San Diego). On that day, I decided running was something I wanted to do. So I laced up and went for a run.

That first run was not impressive, nor was it easy. I walked more than I ran, and I doubt my distance was even one mile. But I did it. And I knew I wanted to continue. So every week, starting at only twice per week, I went outside and ran/walked.

I’ve run in winter and under falling snow. I’ve run in spring when the temperature is near perfect, and the trees are starting to grow green leaves. I’ve run in 90 percent summer humidity that almost felt like I was wading through a thick cloud. And my favorite is the shorter season of fall, where I’m surrounded by brown, yellow and red trees and fallen leaves on the ground. I love physically feeling the differences in the seasons, and running has helped me experience that.

My running has been an interesting journey. I learned from my physical therapist this past summer that the physical form my hips and legs took while running was wrong, and probably a huge reason why I wasn’t progressing and why I’ve been experiencing hip bursitis pain for years. Thus began the conscious effort to correct the way I’ve been walking for 41 years. The breathing can still be an issue. But I’m now able to run longer and walk much less.

I never started running because of a big health goal or to run a marathon. But I love that my body feels like it moves easier and my heart rate drops down to normal much faster than previously. My mind feels clearer when I’m outside in nature (even in the humidity). And in a surprising twist, I actually feel anxious when I haven’t run for a few days.

But most of all, I’m proud of the fact that I’ve consistently stayed with running for an entire year. And I’m happy that the sad girl who could barely handle running in school is finally getting the chance to prove that she is, in fact, physically capable of conquering the mile.

Celebrate Fall with Apple Desserts

September 27, 2017

Fall is my favorite season — apples, pumpkins, falling leaves, cooler weather, sweaters, boots, and warm scented candles. Now that we’re in Indiana, I can actually enjoy these seasonal hallmarks. In the spirit of fall, I’ve rounded up my favorite apple dessert recipes for you to enjoy.

apple desserts collage

Apple Butter Jam apple butter jam1

My Grandmother’s Apple Cake apple cake1

Honey Apple Cake apple cake with writing

Do you have a favorite apple dessert recipe?


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