Tag: emotions

Sad Songs Say So Much

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Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

We’ve all heard about the the five stages of grief…the milestones that we used to think progressed neatly in a straight line. 

I don’t know about you, but grief definitely does not look that way for me. I might hit some (or all) of the above, but not typically in that order–and I’m certainly not done in just one pass through. If any of you have mastered that, please let me know how you did it. I always end up chaotically bouncing around those five stages like the balls in a pinball machine—sometimes hitting more than one stage at a time. I’m graceful like that. (I’m also a recovering overachiever/multi-tasker, so that might be contributing to the problem.)

The more we learn about grief, the more we realize we have left to learn. If we imagine grief as this large solid sphere that sits inside us, the previous ways of thinking indicate that the ball would shrink over time as we processed it—but that honestly never reflected my experience. The more accurate version doesn’t involve the ball changing size at all, but rather, we learn to construct our lives around it. As time passes, we get more adept at learning to live with it—as it is. Instead of fading away, it’s still very much present. We just learn how to sit with it differently.

Every so often, a smell, a sound (especially a song), or a visual glimpse of something can catch me off guard and immediately take me back to the feelings of that initial moment of grief. A stark reminder that the ball hasn’t shrunk at all…I’ve just gotten used to accommodating it. It has become a houseguest in my soul, and not always a great one. It doesn’t consistently pay the rent on time. It leaves the kitchen a mess and forgets to take the garbage out. Sometimes it kicks back and lets me rest for a bit, but occasionally, it slams into me head-on—demanding attention and not letting up until I acknowledge it.

Anything we have to say goodbye to–jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being–all require us to grieve what will no longer be.

The other myth about grief is that we only feel it when someone dies. The truth is that we will grieve many, many things…not just the deaths of those close to us. We experience so many “deaths” over the course of our lives. Anything we have to say goodbye to—jobs, relationships, former selves, pets, places, ways of being—all require us to grieve what will no longer be. 

In addition to the individual grief we feel, there are also moments of collective grief. I listened to a podcast episode during the pandemic where Brené Brown interviewed David Kessler1 and he talked about the idea of collective grief as well as what he calls the sixth stage of grief—finding meaning. Even though finding meaning can help as we make our way through, he clarifies that “you can’t use it to spiritually bypass the pain you have to go through. You’re going to be in pain, you’ve got to let the pain happen. There’s no way around the pain. If you don’t feel it, you can’t heal it. You’ve got to feel that pain.”

To experience life with our hearts open means signing up for all of it…and I’ll be honest. There have been days when I’ve wanted to slam the doors shut and just not feel. But then I remember what I’d be giving up if I did that, take a breather, and fling those doors back open. 

Finding some respite in Glacier National Park

For those of you who know me well, this won’t be shocking—when things feel heavy, I often turn to music. Whether to help drag me out of the pit or to help me cry the tears that need to come out, I crank the tunes and let myself be where I need to be. If you’re looking for a song to help pick you up out of the grief for a respite, give Shake it Off by Florence + The Machine a go. If you’re looking for a song that will help you sit in the depths without completely pulling you under, try Sad Songs Say So Much by Elton John. And if you’re looking for something that will help get the tears flowing, Easy on Me by Adele just might do the trick.

I’m still working on letting my emotions be what they are and if you’re in that spot, too, remember that “it takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve—and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to.”2 Call on that strength when you need it and surround yourself with people who will encourage you to be exactly where you need to be. Those who will shed tears with you. Who will hike it out with you. Who will sit in silence with you when that’s all you have the energy to do.3

If you’re in the midst of grieving something right now, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to feel the heaviness. The anger. The tears. The exhaustion. The disbelief. The hollowness. The desperation. And maybe even a little hope—that one day, you’ll become better friends with the ball of grief that is setting up camp in your space. That you’ll meet others who will understand what you’re carrying and sit with you while you try to make sense of your new reality. That even though the pain feels unbearable at times—you will make it through. One step at at time. One breath at a time. You’ve got this.

1If you want to listen to the entire episode, you can find it here.

2Fred Rogers knows what he’s talking about.

3These two penguins each lost a partner and meet regularly to comfort each other, standing together for hours watching the dancing lights of the nearby city. #friendshipgoals

What Would Your Inner Child Say?

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A dinosaur. A castle. An airplane. A cupcake. 

Lying on my back watching the tree branches sway and the clouds drift by, I let my imagination run wild as I found the shapes in them—just like I used to when I was a kid. Walking the trail by my house, I had seen a bench down by the creek which I often pass without a second thought. But on that day, I wanted to try something different. So I laid on the bench for a few minutes and simply enjoyed the moment…while trying not to fixate on the intrusive thoughts that often plague us when we’re attempting to be in the mindful present.

“What will people think if they see a grown woman resting on a bench in the woods looking up the sky?”

“Am I laying in someone’s discarded gum?”

“What if I fall asleep and am late to my next meeting?”

“Am I doing this right?”

To pull myself back to the current moment, I focused on the clouds again—not caring if I “got it right”. If the cupcake-shaped cloud became a pie, what did it matter? Why and when did I become so achievement-based? That also got me thinking about when I started to care if I “got things right”.

I’ve had a few interesting conversations with my inner child lately, and she has been encouraging me to let go. To enjoy for the sake of pleasure and to wander for the sake of delight and genuine curiosity. No achievement needed. Until recently, it was difficult (and sometimes impossible) for me to say the simple phrase, “I deserve good things” without a qualifier. In my head, I would believe I deserved good things, but only if I did ‘xyz’ thing or checked the box on an important goal. To believe that I deserved good things simply for being me was a foreign concept.

If you’re having a hard time believing or saying that to yourself, here’s your reminder: You deserve good things simply for being YOU. If you want to take it a step further, say it to yourself out loud. And if you’d like a bigger challenge, say it out loud to yourself in the mirror. Real talk? I’m still working on that one.

The truth is, when you believe you deserve good things and let your inner child lead the way—beautiful things can happen. 

Here are a couple of my recent favorites.

  • In the middle of working on a rather long to-do list, the song “Unstoppable” by Sia1 came on. Instead of ignoring it and carrying on, I decided it was time for a dance party. I had a spoon in my hand that I had just taken out of the dishwasher, and I didn’t even stop to put it down. I cranked the volume and tore it up in my kitchen for those 3 minutes–not a care in the world.
  • When I was in Spain, I woke up one morning and remembered I had brought back half of a pizza that I couldn’t finish the night before. I could have just gotten ready for the day and saved it for lunch or dinner that night, but I rolled right out of bed and straight to the fridge for some cold pizza for breakfast. Still in my pajamas, I took it out to the balcony and listened to the sounds of the city waking up while I enjoyed every single bite that was left as I basked in the morning sun.

We don’t get to know who we are because we’re not listening.

Keri Smith

Giving ourselves permission to throw out the rule book and look at things with childlike wonder can help us see things from a different perspective. And exploring without expectations or a destination, can help us uncover things within ourselves that may have been hidden…sometimes for a very long time. But as Keri Smith says, if we don’t clear out the noise, “We never get to hear our own inner voice-we don’t develop a relationship with ourselves and our minds. We don’t get to know who we are because we’re not listening.”

As a child, Mister Roger’s Neighborhood was one of my favorite shows to watch for this very reason. He was an adult who wasn’t afraid of being honest with children. In helping us tap into real emotions and not being ashamed of them, he normalized so many of the things that it means to be human. Instead of feeling ashamed of anger or frustration or sadness, he made it okay to feel those things. He gave us permission to dream and imagine and be silly. To be unapologetically US. And to encourage others to do the same. In the wise words of Fred Rogers2, “As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has or ever will have–something inside that is unique to all time. It’s our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression.”


I’ll be taking little-kid-Carissa energy into the rest of 2023 and beyond. Watch out world.

We have become experts at filling every spare moment with something to do and entertaining ourselves with all kinds of distractions in those few moments we find “downtime”. Instead of paying attention to the spark within us, we’re bogged down in all the things we think we “should do” and then recovering from the exhaustion by drowning ourselves with various diversions. What if we all channeled our inner children and took 5 minutes a day to go lay down outside somewhere and find shapes in the clouds? If we let ourselves enjoy a slice of cold pizza straight out of the fridge first thing in the morning? If we turned up the volume of one of our favorite songs to an obscene level and danced around the kitchen while waving a large spoon? Or spatula…I’m not here to judge.

Maybe instead of thinking me foolish for lying on a bench looking at the clouds, witnessing my few minutes of cloud-gazing gave someone else permission to honor their inner child. My point? Let’s spend more time leaning into things that light us up. Not only will it bring us joy, but it might be just what someone else needs to see to feel bold enough to do to the same.

Onward, inner 6-year-olds! Now, let’s go name some clouds.

1 If you’re looking for dance-around-your-kitchen song options, here’s a start:

  • “Unstoppable” by Sia
  • “Shake it Out” by Florence + the Machine
  • “Legendary” by Welshly Arms
  • “Green Light” by Lorde
  • “Now I’m in It” by HAIM
  • “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys
  • “Hello” by Dragonette
  • “I A’int Worried” by One Republic
  • “Dancing Queen” by ABBA
  • “Don’t Go Yet” by Camila Cabello

2 If you haven’t read “I’m Proud of You: My Friendship with Fred Rogers” by Tim Madigan, do it. You won’t regret it.

It’s Not All Glitz and Glamour

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“What if I completely lose my balance, slam into the door—accidentally opening it—and fall out with my pants down around my ankles and toilet paper wrapped around me like a mummy?” This was an actual thought I had while attempting the hover technique over a toilet while on a high-speed train. I had tried to hold it, but the water I had downed earlier was looking for a new home and there was no way my bare skin was going to touch the toilet seat in its current state. My fitness tracker told me that I had climbed the equivalent of 97 flights the day before, and when I say that I was feeling a little shaky, that’s an understatement. One of many memories that made me laugh afterwards, but was one of the less glamorous moments of my trip.

When posting about travels, I often share the beautiful pictures and wonderful memories made and leave out the “other stuff”. Let’s face it. That “other stuff” can be uncomfortable. Daunting. Disappointing. And sometimes a little scary. For me, agreeing to experience that “other stuff” is absolutely worth it, but I feel like it’s important to talk about because in many ways, it draws a remarkable parallel to what we encounter in life even when we’re not traveling. What about all the muck and gunk we have to wade through to get to the good stuff sometimes? Buckle up, dear reader. I’m going to lay it bare. 

I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis.

While abroad, I encountered a lot of unexpected things. Closures. Delays. Unclear directions. A bee in my scarf (more on that later). Various toilet “situations”. Feeling like the dumb out-of-towner. Now, this one I expected to feel at times, but I wasn’t expecting to feel it as much as I did. I’m here to tell you…it doesn’t matter how much you prepare and plan, you will encounter moments that make you feel embarrassed, confused, and completely over your skis. 

Lesson 1: It’s Okay to Ask for Help (Yes, Really. It’s Okay.)

By the time I got to Paris, I was feeling pretty confident about my ability to get around. I was on the back half of my trip and had learned a lot about how to navigate in different countries. The place I was staying was a 5-minute walk from the metro station and a 22-minute subway ride from the heart of Paris. I looked up the different metro lines, found the one I needed, and got myself to the station quickly. Easy peasy, right? Then, I got to the ticket kiosk. It took me a couple of minutes to figure it out, but I worked through it and ended up with a tiny paper ticket in hand. Feeling fairly proud of myself, I then walked to the turnstile. 

This is where it all fell apart. I could not for the life of me figure out where to put my ticket. The only thing I saw was a scanner where people badged in with their metro cards. I couldn’t see anywhere to put my ticket. I tried everything I could think of and was at a complete loss. A sweet, small, elderly woman saw me struggling. She walked right up to me, grabbed my ticket, put it in this tiny notch next to the scanner, and the ticket flew in and popped out by the turnstile. She gestured that I was supposed to take the ticket. As I grabbed it, I felt a hard shove on my back as she pushed me through. When I looked back to thank her, she was smiling and waving at me. No words were exchanged, but it was yet another moment where a kind stranger took pity on a clueless traveler and helped her find her way.

Lesson 2: Sometimes, Things Aren’t as Complicated as We Make Them

Remember the bee I mentioned earlier? I was sitting outside this beautiful cathedral in Bordeaux, soaking up the sun and taking in the views when this large bee flew in between my neck and the scarf I was wearing. Paralyzed, I was scared to move a muscle at first—trying to figure out if I could remove my scarf gently enough so that it wouldn’t sting me. I very slowly started to loosen it, and the bee simply flew away. In my mind, I was already doing the mental gymnastics I thought necessary to strategize how I was going to get this bee out and visualizing scenarios of it stinging me and my head swelling up to twice its normal size. But there was no need. Just a little space and a soft nudge was all that was required.

Lesson 3: Have a Conversation with Your Fear

In order to see some of the things I was wanting to see, I knew I was going to have to step outside my “happy place” when it came to heights. When I was climbing the 300 steps up the dome at Sacré-Coeur, I stopped halfway—not sure I could do it. I almost turned around and bailed. I was standing on this little landing that had a sign saying something like, “Only 167 steps to go!” and could feel the anxiety building. With my hand on the wall, my fear tried to talk me out of continuing. “You don’t really need to make it to the top. The view from the bottom is pretty amazing, even if you are surrounded by hordes of people. You’re scared now, but it could get worse. You don’t know what’s ahead.” That’s when I marshaled my courage and said, “That’s right. You don’t know what’s ahead. It could be amazing. You’re safe, and you can do this.” I know it sounds corny, but the pep talk worked and I kept moving. Shakily and one step at a time. 

When I got to an outdoor space before the next flight of stairs, a woman and her son were resting. She asked if I was okay and I said, “Yeah, thanks. I’m just not a fan of heights.” She smiled in understanding and replied, “My husband isn’t, either. He tells people that it’s not a fear…it’s an ‘intolerance’.” We both laughed and I told her I was going to steal that phrase. When I made it to the top, I let myself take as much time as I wanted to soak it all in. Not just because the views were incredible, but because I had done one more thing I wasn’t sure I could do. I had taken one more step toward tolerating my intolerance.

One of the views from the top of the dome of Sacré-Coeur

So often, we associate discomfort with “bad” and avoid it like the plague. We’re wired to. But living in (and with) discomfort is necessary in order to get to the heart of what it means to live a real life. This trip was a serious lesson in the radical acceptance of the present moment. There were so many incredible, jaw-droppingly beautiful moments. What a pity it would have been if I had let the few uncomfortable ones keep me from experiencing all the rest.

I would have missed out on getting to know the lady who ran the smoothie shop I visited when I desperately needed something to cool me down from hiking up and down steep city streets in the middle of a heat wave.

I might not have witnessed someone painting one of the famous Portuguese tiles in a small tile shop I randomly wandered across if the tile museum hadn’t been closed on the one day I could go, nudging me to explore elsewhere.

I would have never found the best sorbet ever if I hadn’t been desperate to find a bathroom and decided it was worth it to purchase something so I could get access to a toilet.

The moral of the story? Life will get bumpy sometimes. We’ll find ourselves in uncomfortable spots. Disheartened. Sad. Unsure. Grossed out. Embarrassed. Frustrated. Anxious. It is an ongoing battle for me to accept those feelings when they come. But it’s getting better…bit by bit. Navigating the bumps is worth it, and by leaning into those moments, we grow. And we get to experience some truly amazing and potentially life-changing things we wouldn’t have otherwise.

We often want to post the Instagram-“worthy” pictures and stories about phenomenal moments. And that’s ok! But I think we’re missing out if we don’t also share the other non-Instagrammable moments*. I hope by putting some of these stories out into the world, it helps others feel freer to share theirs. We are not alone in wading through the “other stuff”. This I know. May we cheer each other on in the glitz and the glamour and the muck and the gunk—for it is all a part of this perplexing, strange, and beautiful life.

*Disclaimer: These particular moments don’t need to be photographed. I feel like you all owe me a thank-you note for not including a picture of myself tangled in toilet paper, looking like a cartoon character as I balanced and braced myself in that train bathroom.